One night a terrible screaming sounded through the city. It sounded so loudly and piercing that there was not a soul who did not hear it. Yet when people turned to one another in fear and were about to remark “Did you hear it, that terrible screaming?” they changed their minds, thinking: “Perhaps it was my imagination, perhaps I have been working too hard or letting my thoughts get the upper hand” (one must never work too hard or be dominated by one’s thoughts); “perhaps if I confess that I heard this terrible screaming, others will label me insane, I shall be hidden behind locked doors and sit for the remaining years of my life in a small corner, gazing at the senseless writings on the wall.”
Therefore no one confessed to having heard the screaming. Work and play, love and death, continued as usual. Yet the screaming persisted. It sounded day and night in the ears of the people of the city, yet all remained silent concerning it, and talked of other things. Until one day a stranger arrived from a foreign shore. As soon as he arrived in the city he gave a start of horror and exclaimed to the Head of the Welcoming Committee, “What was that? Why, it has not yet ceased! What is it, that terrible screaming? How can you possibly live with it? Does it continue night and day? Oh what sympathy I have for you in this otherwise untroubled city!”
The Head of the Welcoming Committee was at a loss. On the one hand the stranger was a Distinguished person whom it would be impolite to contradict; on the other hand, it would be equally unwise for the Head of the Welcoming Committee to acknowledge the terrible screaming. He decided to risk being thought impolite.
“I hear nothing unusual,” he said lightly, trying to suggest that perhaps his thoughts had been elsewhere, and at the same time trying to convey his undivided attention to the concern of the Distinguished Stranger. His task was difficult. The packaging of words with varied intentions is like writing a letter to someone in the foreign land and addressing it to oneself; it never reaches its destination.
The distinguished stranger looked confused. “You hear no terrible screaming?”
The Head of the Welcoming Committee turned to his assistant. “Do you perhaps hear some unusual sound?”
The assistant, who had been disturbed by the screaming, and had decided that very day to speak out, to refuse to ignore it, now became afraid that he would lose his job of he mentioned it. He shook it head.
“I hear nothing unusual,” he replied firmly.
The distinguished stranger looked embarrassed. “Perhaps it is my imagination,” he said apologetically. “It is just as well that I have come for a holiday to your beautiful city. I have been working very hard lately.”
Then aware once again of the terrible screaming he covered his ears with his hands.
“I fear that I am unwell,” he said. “I apologize if I am unable to attend the banquet, in honour of my arrival.”
“We understand completely,” said the head of the Welcoming Committee.
So there was no banquet. The Distinguished Stranger consulted a specialist who admitted him to a private rest home where he could recover from his disturbed state of mind and the persistence in his ears of the terrible screaming.
The specialist finished examining the Distinguished Stranger. He washed his hands with a slab of hard soap, took off his white coat, and was preparing to go home to his wife when he thought suddenly, “Suppose the screaming dues exist?”
He dismissed the thought. The Rest Home was full, and the fees were high. He enjoyed the comforts of civilization. Yet supposing, just supposing, that all the patients united against him, that all the people of the city began to acknowledge the terrible screaming? What would be the result? Would there be a complete panic? Was there really safety in numbers where ideas were concerned?
He stopped thinking about the terrible screaming. He climbed into his jaguar and drove home.
The Head of the Welcoming Committee, disappointed because he could not attend another banquet, yet relieved because he would not be forced to justify another item of public expenditure, also went home to his wife. They dined on boiled egg, bread and butter and a cup of tea, for they both approved of simple living.
Then they went to the bedroom, switched out the light and enjoyed the illusion of uncomplicated dreams.
And outside in the city the terrible screaming continued its separate existence, unacknowledged. For you see its name was silence. Silence had found its voice.