#writing #fiction #rbchallenge
The Babelophone
Note: Reader’s discretion advised.
Maria looked out the window of the car, watching the city pass by in a blur. She switched her focus between the glass in front of her and the subjects beyond it, sometimes focusing on a passerby, or a trashcan, before it drifted from view as well. To none of it did she give any sort of serious intention, unless a dog passed by, in which case she followed it with particular curiosity until its exit, stage left.
She turned to the driver—her mother, aged 53—who was deep focused on driving. Maria tapped her on the shoulder and she turned, before signing with one hand: Are you okay?
I’m fine, Maria signed back. When are we getting there?
Soon She replied, trading glances between her and the road. I’m just looking for parking.
Maria sighed deeply and fell back in her chair, returning her attention to the window. It was an audible sigh, and on some level she knew this. Despite her deafness, which had accompanied her her whole life, she nevertheless had a working understanding of sound based on vibrations and the feeling of her vocal chords. And yet in an act of rebellion against her mother she acted the unassuming part: A twofold strategy to both convey her discomfort and to avoid an opening for retaliation. Maria was 32.
Maria’s mother had invited her on this outing as a gesture of goodwill. She wanted only the best for her daughter and was determined in all cases to support her health and motivation. She often advocated for outings such as these: to public parks, nature hikes, museums, etcetera, as a break from her regular activities, which had consisted of occupying the space between her room, the kitchen, and the bathroom with perpetual languor. Maria had been in a stupor since returning from Europe, having run out of funding to pursue her dissertation. She returned to the townhouse where she had grown up, promising to “only stay for a month, maybe two” before she’d have enough money to return to Europe. There she envisioned herself, once again sipping a Caffè in a little porcelain cup on the river bridge, steam rising in the air under the flight of a dozen little white doves.
Maria regarded the efforts of her mother with an innocence so pure that she occasionally appreciated her mother’s simple solutions to her own complex identity. Sometimes this appreciation chanced to metastasize outside her mind. In such cases like today she accompanied her mother, though always with the stipulation that she evoke a mild air of boredom and discontent in service of some imagined loss of prestige.
What is this again? Asked Maria. Her mother looked on forward, unaware of her daughter’s gestures. Outside the window, the passerby had been increasing in number until now, where they marched in crowds to some great epicenter of activity. Maria sighed again and looked off, the performance unobserved by her mother.
Eventually they came across a barricade manned by a single traffic cop. He waved them off the main street, where they found parking in a lot demarcated for the event. She turned off the car—and the radio—which frustrated Maria. She hadn’t realized it was on, and it wasn’t like Maria was competing with it for attention, but nevertheless she felt it a slight to her dignity.
They walked back to the main street, before joining the current of people. She held her mother’s shirt with a slight pinch, one of a plethora of implicit habits formed in adolescence to avoid getting lost. Finally, her mother turned to her. Come come, aren’t you excited? I have been waiting all day.
Where are we going?
Didn’t I tell you before? The Amphitheatre.
They walked on a little further. Yes, but what is the event? She felt the familiar rise of frustration, as if her mother should’ve learned over the years to infer the meaning of the yet to be spoken questions.
It’s by that doctor I told you about. From the University. He made some big revelation in his research. He studied this problem for years and years, slowly losing his funding and outside interest. Eventually the University was going to cut him off completely but he figured it out!
Her mom had never been the scientific type, and the sudden interest struck Maria as curious. I’ve never seen a crowd this big. You’re telling me this is for a research presentation?
Yep, they’re radioing it across the whole country too, even the world. All the papers were talking about it for weeks. And it’s right here in our town. What are the chances?
What did they discover? The next atom bomb? Cure for cancer? Must be something incredible.
They didn’t say, but It’s supposed to be utterly profound.
The crowd eventually arrived at the Amphitheatre, a brutal concrete set of seats that rose up and out in an arc around a central stage. There were thousands of people about, chatting and waiting, and all the seats appeared to be taken hours ago by enduring visitors. Maria and her mother pushed through nevertheless. Her mother arranged a spot plus one beforehand with the school right at the front on account of her disability. She argued that just because her daughter couldn’t hear didn’t mean she couldn’t read lips.
They found their spot and waited, the stage empty except for a lone microphone. It was stylized after old Americana, with a large red velvet curtain that flapped in the wind and brass stanchions connected by big bushy ropes alternating red white and blue. Maria found it charming.
Eventually the curtains opened and several men in suits came out. The crowd seemed pleased. One of them, a tall older gentleman without hair and large, tortoiseshell glasses, took to the microphone and began speaking. Maria could read his lips well enough due to their close proximity to the stage, even when the man’s occasional motions eclipsed his face behind the microphone.
He engaged in a series of formalities, which Maria paid half attention to. It was something along the lines of, “Thank you to everyone who made this possible, notably… …for the University of … for allowing me the opportunity… …truly wonderful…” and so on. Eventually, after another round of clapping the crowd settled and the man began to get to his work.
“As some of you may know, I am a professor primarily in logic and computation. If you know me personally, I may have even graded your assignments and papers. My work falls naturally into this discipline, as does the research—my life’s work—which I am to present to you all today, which we will get to in just a moment.”
“But I do not want to underscore the importance of this discovery, or how many contributors there have been and across so many disciplines. This work represents the culmination of research in acoustics, in biology, coupled with the newest of technologies utilizing everything we know about the human mind.” He looked off behind the stage, beyond where Maria could see. “If we could bring it out now, thank you…”
A haggle of lab coated men wheeled a large box into the center stage, from which extruded a tangled mess of thick rubber wires running every which way. She followed them with her eyes and, to her surprise, found that many of them connected to large speakers she hadn’t noticed before, which surrounded the stage in great quantity. Based on their size—each one nearly as large as the box itself, which was a head taller than the scientist—they were likely capable of great amplification.
The lab coats ran around in a frenzy, connecting wires and flipping switches, all in concert to some purpose invisible to Maria and the audience, who looked on with amusement. “This device is not my research. Well yes, it is essential to the work, but only in the way that the microphone is a necessary apparatus in conveying the voice of the singer. Indeed, this is exactly that: A synthesizer of sound alike to none ever before seen! The real wonder lies in the sound itself.”
He moved around the box, admiring it like an artist might a sculpture. “Based on current theories of information, we have reason to believe that information is not pure, but is inherently correlated in its form. Let me give an example. Imagine a tree. Yes, a tree, picture it in your mind. Hmm? Do you have it? Think about what this tree is like. It is likely woody, with leaves out the top. It is a birch perhaps, or an oak. Nevertheless, it does not matter.”
“What I have conveyed to you is the concept of a tree. But each of you pictures something a little different. This is an inevitable fault of the medium with which I have transferred this information—by voice to your ear, where sound is registered as thought. If I wanted, I could portray a tree another way: perhaps by drawing, or more explicit description. If I wanted, I could simply place a tree in front of you! Now that would solve any ambiguity!”
He paced around the stage, now with greater enthusiasm. Incidentally his voice trailed off, and to Maria’s amusement a stage hand reminded him to stay near to the microphone. “I hope you follow me in noticing a great problem. That in communication of any information, a specific labelling must take place. We cannot convey all aspects of a thing, no! Not to any practical extent. When I refer to a person I know, I do not describe their hair, their outfit, their every strand of DNA. Instead, I speak only their name, and hope that the other party can fill in the blanks. With every labelling, we engage in—and forgive me for speaking so anti-scientifically—an amputation of an infinitude of characteristics. And as a result, the graceful conveyance of pure ideas has a great motive. It has been the works of scientists, engineers, of songwriters and poets, and painters. If only we could convey essence, purely and practically without loss!”
The scientist stopped for a second, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “My friends, it would seem we have done just that. This machine, this Pangloss, through careful calibration, has been designed to output a set of modulations—sounds—that when processed by a sapient being convey immediately the exact essence of a thing. Imagine that! Being able to wire your symptoms directly to your doctor, or your pitch to your boss? Or, imagine beaming your love in full, directly into your dearest? Imagine, a world were the great loss of miscommunication can be avoided, which has so devastatingly affected the world thus far in its relation to wars, anger, and disagreements. This great device, I hope, will unite the world.
At this moment, a lab coat handed him a device, which bore a small red button and from which jutted a large antenna. The scientist paused for a moment, before continuing. “A lot has gone into this, and despite promising preliminary tests, it has never been tested—before now—in full. We have decided to test the machine for the first time live, before the world. In theory everything should go well, though of course, theory is separate from reality for a reason. Nevertheless, we are not worried about failure. If the device fails now to work, we will simply adjust it in real time.”
“What we would like to note however, is an odd peculiarity of the machine. See, for reasons I won’t explain, the device operates according to an esoteric logic. It is not so simple to find an idea and then to purify it, no. This issue is circular, because how should the device know what to produce if it cannot be told the essence of the idea? Is that not the problem the device itself intends to solve? And if you could communicate an idea in purity, then what need have you for the device?”
“As I said, it is complicated, and I will no longer bore you. But because of this, the device is produced in such a way that it always produces information according to absolute purity. The calibration then must be done manually, by going through all producible sounds, and labelling them. We have calibrated the device blindly. Based on our best estimated, we expect the sound you hear to essentially convey a positive idea, something similar to a deep peace, satisfaction, and pride, but we will not know for sure until it is tested.”
The scientist smiled. “Well, I have spoke long enough. It is time to test the device.” The crowd began to cheer and move rapidly, obscuring Maria’s vision. Hey what gives? She signed to her mother, who simply nodded along with enthusiasm. Between the bouncing crowd, Maria made out a few more words from the scientist, who had engaged the machine and was now sitting back in a chair among his colleagues. “The sound will soon… your ears… You might notice a slight… as the… begins to…”
Maria lost focus of the stage completely, instead focusing on how the crowd jostled her left to right between their celebrations. She noticed no great difference in the crowd or herself. She wondered if maybe it had already taken affect. Perhaps this was the expression of pure satisfaction? She looked to her mother. Do you hear anything?
Her mother turned. She looked confused. It’s building up, like a machine starting. It’s hard to describe, it is almost rhythmic, deep, but also organic. Can you feel it? The speakers?
No I don’t feel anything. Maria turned to the stage again, looking at the great big speakers. Despite her disability, she still expected to feel vibration. Much of the effect of sound could be felt as well as heard. Maria remembered attending a concert once in Brussels. They had played Beethoven’s 9th Symphony, famously composed when Beethoven himself was well into his own deafness. She remembered the fourth movement in particular. She remembered the chorus: how she had felt the sound reverberate deep within her chest through her seat, how it had filled her with a great sense of awe and magnitude. But here, with so much energy and so many people in the way, Maria found it hard to discern any noticeable vibration.
Maria began to feel incredibly frustrated by the whole thing, and was about to storm off to the exit when suddenly a great tranquility overtook the crowd. This startled Maria, and she looked around for the source of the pause. Looking around she saw nothing out of the ordinary, but she noticed that every single audience member was perfectly still, staring intently at the stage. She turned around to see what it was they saw, but there was nothing. The scientist and his colleagues were similarly tranquil, themselves facing the machine and looking on with curious intent.
She looked around for her mother, who had moved slightly in the confusion. She spotted her from behind and wrestled her way through he crowd towards her, who neither resisted nor moved between her shoves, but simply parted placidly as if they were all engaged in some great hypnosis.
Maria poked her mom, who seemed not to notice. She then shook her more violently and turned her around. She signed Mom? What is happening? Why did everyone stop? What happened?
Her mother looked forward, but not at Maria. Her eyes were glazed over—they were red, filled with tears. Maria shook her again, looking into her eyes. Mom! What is happening?
For a moment, her eyes flicked to attention. She seemed to recognize Maria again, first with confusion as if being pulled from a great sleep, and then again with a smile. She made a poor attempt at signing, which Maria could hardly discern. Don’t you hear it? Don’t you hear it? Oh, oh wow, it is so wonderful…
Maria began to tear up. What? What do you hear? Are you okay?
I… it is like a great veil lifted, a total purity… My whole life, how have I missed this? Like I have been only a half this whole time, finally to be made full. Don’t you hear it? It is so wonderful…
Mom please, you’re scaring me! Maria shook her mother with an increasing energy, but she once again fell into unresponsiveness. She shifted again towards the machine, and stood motionless, like the rest of the crowd.
Maria fell to the floor, exhausted and confused. She could not bear it. Among the docile bodies she wept silently to herself, wishing the nightmare away. That was when she noticed the vibration.
Through the floor, she felt a faint rhythm. A pattern of pulses and tapping’s, which was at one moment machine like and regular, and then organic, as if from some deep labyrinthian beast.
In a moment of desperation she listened closer, bringing her whole body to the floor. She felt the vibration, let it move though her being. Yes, she could feel it now. She felt the pulses, the tapping. The strangeness of its action. For a moment, she thought she felt something. A sensation of wonder, joy, or intrigue. But then again it was lost. Whatever the machine conveyed was clearly effective, but while Maria felt it move through her body its effects were clearly delegated only to the audible realm.
The crowd began to move again, but not like before. They swayed, ever so slightly, like ears of corn in a field. They moved about in a trance, randomly, but over time their movements coalesced into a metronomic dance, side to side. Maria looked again at her mother, who smiled a great ugly smile at the machine, her eyes red with tears. The others around her looked much the same, some with snot and saliva running down their faces and onto their clothes.
Then, their movements became a dance. They began jumping about, first in rhythm and then irregularly. Their movements frenzied, and they looked around from the machine: At their clothes, at the sky, at the floor, at each other. They began to take each other in hand, smiling and laughing, jumping around manically and bumping into each other with violence and great disregard.
Maria brought herself to the floor, shielding herself from the crowd. She felt herself shoved and kicked, though indiscriminately, and she brought her arms over her head like a small child.
The crowd ever increased in energy. They began hitting each other, purposefully, as if apart of some great game. They never ceased laughing, and smiling, and they ripped at each others clothes and their own—and their hair, which they yanked and pulled by the bunch. A passerby grabbed at Maria’s arm and pulled her to the floor, where she stumbled under the feet of the terrible storm. By now members of the crowd had fallen, first the children and elderly and then slowly began the women and frail. All around individuals danced and leaped—their faces bloody and bruised, their clothes ripped and soiled. They attacked each other indiscriminately without regard for anyone, even themselves. All the while they smiled and laughed.
Maria felt herself assaulted again and again. She was kicked, elbowed, punched, and gripped. She tried with a last gasp to gain her composure, lifting herself over a fallen woman, when a large brutish man elbowed her in the nose, bringing her down to the ground again.
Maria looked up at the sky, in total disarray. The crowd leapt and danced and cried and laughed above her, and Maria felt herself getting tired. As a great fatigue began to take over her, she noticed her mother, who was still standing. Her clothes had been ripped and bloodied, her hair ripped out in chunks. Her eye was bruised, and certainly her arm was broken. And yet she smiled and laughed all the same, like some kid on holiday. In a moment of lucidity, she noticed Maria on the floor. She leaned over, signing pathetically with a broken wrist, Don’t you hear it? Is it not wonderful? Such great joy, like crisp spring air… Oh don’t you hear it? Don’t you hear it?
But Maria did not hear it. She closed her eyes, embracing the darkness. And as she did, she felt the vibrations of the speakers. Their slow, rolling rhythm, composed of pulses and taps and deep terrible groans. And, just for a moment, Maria thought that she might’ve noticed a feeling of bliss.