The Price of Silence

Summer in Brighton ended abruptly and August brought opaque sheets of freezing drizzle that whipped against Harley’s third-floor office window. Shivering at his desk in a fleece-lined hoodie, he glowered beyond his bleeping laptop at the wretched gulls screeching with impunity as they drifted past. It was the sort of weather calculated to try anyone's patience and Harley’s was in short supply after working nonstop since last September.

   He’d snapped at Laurel about her dreary article for the Argus before lunch and become even more irritable as the afternoon wore on. His laptop demanded increasing attention, flashing endless banners for impending deadlines and pinging nonstop like a demented child’s xylophone as dozens of emails arrived and countless diary appointments urged an immediate response. Every passing thought sent Harley on questionable research, dragging him down online rabbit holes and diverting him from the job in hand as he reprioritised his day’s work. The constant bombardment was destroying Harley’s concentration and he was at his wits end.

   At length Harley sighed and glancing round the room, decided to challenge Margot.

   “Why do we stand this bloody climate?” he asked her, making a gesture towards the rain-distorted window. “Look at it!”

Margot peered over the top of her screen and lowered her reading glasses.

   “And, if it comes to that, look at us.” Margot glanced at Laurel, who took cover behind her monitor.

   “We're looking more burned out and bedraggled every day.”

Margot exhaled a deep breath and saved her work with a couple of clicks.

   “Speak for yourself, Harley.”

   “You know we are,” Harley said, turning his chair to face her. “You two are looking decrepit and I feel frazzled.”

Margot shook her head before returning to her work.

   “We need a break,” Harley said, “don't you agree, Laurel?”

   “It was a long, hard summer and---”

   “Margot!” Harley crossed his arms as she picked up the phone. “What d'you say?”

   "I can't be expected to produce perfect copy when you’re like this."

   “What we all need,” said Harley, appealing to his two colleagues, “is a place where we can escape work.”

   “How about a silent retreat?” asked Margot, ramming her tongue in her cheek.

   “You know what?” Laurel chuckled. “That sounds perfect, let’s book it.”

*  *  *

Harley surrendered all his electronic devices on arrival at the reception; a painful and debilitating experience akin to tooth extraction with multiple fillings. 

   “May I recommend our complimentary pen and branded notebooks, sir.”

   “Oh, right,” said Harley, glancing at the welcome package. “How quaint.”

   “Our guests often keep a journal or start a gratitude diary.”

   “A gratitude diary, really?”

   “They find it’s a calming way to start each day.”

   “A couple of strong coffees are my preference—-“

   “Our facility discourages caffeinated beverages, sir”

   “You’re not serious?”

   “Welcome to Serenity, sir.”

   “I’m expecting my two colleagues from Henderson Associates.”

   “Your two-week booking is for a Mr Henderson only, sir,” The receptionist furrowed his brow as he scanned the paperwork. “We’re not expecting anyone else under that name….”

   “There’s a mistake, I’m sure—-“

   “Let me welcome you to Serenity Falls and wish you a restful stay—-“

   “But… but… there must be—-“

   “Davide will take your bags and guide you to your room…”

*  *  *

Harley’s first day was hellish; headaches, blurred vision and nausea. He stayed in his room and drank his bodyweight in filtered water, munched oat cakes, celery sticks and bowls of assorted nuts and berries. Still furious with himself for swallowing his colleagues’ clever manoeuvre, he passed the time, scrawling dozens of letters threatening to terminate their employment on his return.

*  *  *

During the first night at Serenity Falls, he rolled around and tossed off his bedding. Covered in sweat he opened the windows then as the night breeze lowered the room temperature, he stomped about wrapped in the quilt before slamming the window and throwing himself at the mattress. Later, Harley paced the room and showered three times before glugging all the complimentary bottled water; it had a bitter after-taste and took some getting used to. Finally, fraught and exhausted, he achieved a few precious hours of shut-eye.

*  *  *

Just after eleven A.M. he opened his eyelids and wiped away the sleep from his tired face. By his bedside was a note. He scanned the message, which was an invitation to dress in something comfortable and join his first meditation class, and a reminder to observe the silent order. Harley tossed the card to one side and stumbled into the bathroom for a shave.

   “Jeez,” he said, stretching his jaw as he scraped the stubble off his chin. “They’re going pay for this when I get back.”

   “Digital withdrawals are fiendish, sir.” 

   “What the---” Harley peered at the half open bedroom door.

   “I apologise for my intrusion, sir.”

   “I should say so---"

   “The management were concerned about reports from your neighbours during the night and---”

   “And I’d like to complain about my mattress,” said Harley, wiping shaving foam from his chin. “I couldn’t sleep a wink.”

   “We understand, sir.” Davide entered the room, carrying a tray. “I assume you were advised about what to expect.” 

   “And I assume this is breakfast?” Harley accepted the glass of green juice. “Hmm… not bad. Dare I ask what’s it in it?”

   “We provide only the finest ingredients and---”

   “All right, I get it.” Harley knocked back the rest of the glass. “I’m sure I’ve been given your promotional material, so meanwhile, any chance of an espresso?”

   “I’m afraid not, sir.” The man sighed and rested the tray and full jug of juice on the low table. “I must remind and advise you that silence is required beyond your bedroom door.”

   “Mum’s the word, eh?” Harley said, tapping the side of his nose.

   “Indeed, sir. It’s all about self-compassion.”

*  *  *

Harley dressed in the loose-fitting white tracksuit the visitor left hanging on the wardrobe. He flicked through the pamphlets scattered on the dressing table, having not immersed himself in any of Serenity’s literature. Following the advice of the institute’s medical practitioner, he sipped the green juice until he’d finished the decanter’s entire contents.

   It was about midday when he heard the shimmering tinkle of a distant bell and the patter of bare feet approaching down the corridor outside his room. Harley poked his head around the bedroom door to see doors opening and a serene parade drift past. Out of curiosity, he joined the stragglers at the rear of the procession.

   They all floated through the austere building in silence, like children attending their first assembly at junior school. On reaching the auditorium, they shuffled to a halt and hovered, facing the raised platform. Harley followed their lead when they dropped down on the floor and assumed a crossed leg position. A bald man in a white robe walked up onto the stage and steadied himself behind a solid mahogany lectern. Stroking his tanned chin as he spoke, he introduced himself and welcomed newcomers to Serenity Falls.

   A slender middle-aged woman with tight cropped bangs and tattooed arms bum-shuffled into a space next to Harley. The colourful mosaic of skin decorations swirled up from her wrists and disappeared from view under rolled-up sleeves like a slithering serpent hiding from prying eyes. She turned, amused at Harley’s interest and raised an eyebrow.

   “Sorry,” he whispered, “I wasn’t staring at you…”

   With a sly grin she tilted her head, spread her mouth sideways with her forefingers, wiggled a pink tongue at him, and spun her eyes like the tumblers on an excited slot machine. 

   Harley bit his top lip to stifle a spluttered chuckle. She turned to face forward as if nothing had occurred, leaving Harley to handle the venomous stares. A ripple of pale faces turned one by one, in a debilitating wave of disapproval. The presenter met Harley’s eyes with a cold gaze and tutted before continuing.

   “When you make a vow of silence you either set your own limit, or you take on a limit offered to you by your preceptor. In the first case, it's up to you whether your promise includes refraining from laughter. In the second case, if you'd like to keep silent, it would be advisable to avoid the kind of social engagement that usually precedes laughter.”

   Everyone nodded in agreement, whilst one or two jotted items in their Serenity notebooks. Harley couldn’t imagine keeping quiet for two weeks let alone keeping a straight face. Maybe he was too jaded for all this. Perhaps he hadn’t accepted he had a problem. Possibly he was too far gone for all this palaver to be effective?

   At the end of the motivational presentation, the guests were invited to assume a comfortable posture and close their eyes. 

   “Lie back if necessary and discover your own space to be comfortable…”

A monophonic drone issued forth from the PA system and a soporific voice instructed the congregation how to drift into a state of relaxation. 

   “Let the silence be your guide to inner calm and connectedness…”

There were prolonged exercises involving muscle tension and release and the voice described deep breathing patterns and concluded with extended exhalations. 

   Harley felt his mind wander back to the myriad of tattoos on his neighbour’s body, wondering how much more there was to discover. Pleasant thoughts of dappled sunlight, rippling meadow grass and trickling brooks filled his mind as the aural architecture altered and echoed around the auditorium. Sounds that were familiar and yet distant, resonated within his subconscious like ghostly memories of some former life. Deep rumbling gongs and elongated chimes cascaded like silver tea spoons tumbling from a cutlery drawer and clanging on the steel walls of a deep well into infinite space. The soundscape was an aid to relaxation and combined with the potent juice, acted like some ambient musician’s methadone induced hallucination.

*  *  *

   “Hey there,” whispered a woman’s voice. “Time to go, neighbour…”

Harley drew in a sharp breath and saw her concerned face peering down at him.

   “What happened to me?”

   “It’s the liquid dementia, man.”

   “Where’s everyone gone?” He rolled onto his elbow and sat up, looking around the dark and deserted auditorium.

   “You’ll figure it out,” she said, flexing her tattooed arms and pulling Harley upright.

“Just keep your wits about you.”

   “And no laughing, right?”

   “You got it,” she whispered, frowning. “And keep your voice down.”

   “They’ve got cameras here?”

   “You bet they do.”

*  *  *

Harley had no reason to doubt the woman who escorted him back to his room. 

   “This is where we say goodbye.”

   “Do you have far to walk?”

   “I’m your neighbour, neighbour.”

   “It’s Harley, by the way and sorry about last night.”

   “Like I said, neighbour, they’ve got cameras everywhere.”

   “Ah, right,” he said, setting his jaw. “I get it now.”

   “Hey, well done.” She chuckled. “Aren’t you the smart one?”

   “Thanks, I appreciate it, neighbour.”

   “It’s Steff,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “And lay off the green juice.”

   “I thought they recommended it---”

   “If you value your sanity.” She gripped his arm. “Leave it alone.”

  *  *  *

The next afternoon Harley knocked on Steff’s door and it swung open. The room was stripped bare and showed no sign of his neighbour’s presence. The cleaning staff made no comment and set about turning down the bed for a new guest. 

   Harley’s one and only encounter with Steff haunted him, but he ignored her nutritional advice, succumbing to the juice’s calming effect. Harley soon found the house’s favourite liquid breakfast helped him at all times of the day. 

   However, it only takes a moment to wake up to reality. It’s a question of regaining one’s consciousness and becoming aware of one’s surroundings. The inner voice is a vital force, not to be ignored. 

  *  *  *

Harley drifted for a couple weeks, oblivious to his business and life in Brighton. He followed the silent order and joined all the relaxation therapies on offer at Serenity Falls. One morning he discovered a compliment slip under his bedroom door. The note told him that his office had called, and left a message. ‘Please come back to work, Harley’ it said. ‘We miss you and need you back in Brighton.’ 

   Harley folded the note in half and left it on his dressing table. When he returned later, it had vanished. He never gave the matter a second thought, calming his nerves with a chilled glass of Serenity’s all-day breakfast juice.

*  *  *

After three weeks, possibly longer, Harley had a moment of realisation. All those reverberating gongs and chimes in Serenity’s auditorium sounded like slowed-down versions of the noises in his office. He imagined what they would sound like in real time and it dawned on him they were the bleeps and alerts he’d tried to escape, but processed through an echo chamber and played to induce a dream state of hazy recollections. He had to leave Serenity Falls by whatever means, and tonight if necessary.

*  *  *

It was Thursday afternoon when Harley’s eyes blinked open to find a seagull perched on his chest. The clumsy scavenger was picking through detritus and scraps with its sharp beak. Harley thrusts his arms aloft to protect his face and the wretch recoiled in a raucous retreat, beating its wings furiously to escape. 

Harley twisted onto his side and felt himself sinking as he floundered in mounds of stinking debris. A ship’s hooter nearby indicated an unfamiliar environment and a rolling motion in his guts told him he was no longer on land. Looking around he could see a wheelhouse and a rust-gnarled chimney, billowing dark clouds of soot. He’d no idea where he was heading, but when he returned to his office there’d be changes afoot; enormous changes, and no doubt about that.

The End