Can’t Hear a Thing

Silence.
Nothing.
The plane shyly peered its nose out from thick English clouds, glanced around, circled languidly, and caressed the tarmac so gently, as if a groom brushed his beloveds cheek at the altar.
Applause burst from the passengers, but the pilots heard none of it.
Nor did they reach the ears of Nicholas Chapman, whose hearing had vanished mid-flight.
Chapman kept pinching his nose and blowing, trying to clear his ears.
Air sneaked out from everywhere, except where it was needed, and his mind remained enveloped in white static.
Nicholas returned from Surrey, where hed visited his mother, just in time to prepare for work.
His wife, Martha, hadnt slept.
She stormed around their small London flat, frantically shifting objects to and fro.
Nicholas wandered into the kitchen and started packing his lunch.
Still, the sounds did not return.
Im leaving!
Fed up, absolutely sick of it!
This miserable life, your salary that barely stretches to the next payday, our poky flat in the middle of nowhere.
I thought I had chronic loveit turns out I just caught something! Martha lobbed her confessions at Nicholass back as he calmly packed potatoes into his thermos.
Im leaving for Simon.
You dont know him, he doesnt know you, but hes wonderful.
I actually feel something for him, the sort youre supposed to feel.
And dont worryIm perfectly clean in this.
Nothing happened between us.
So Im leaving as a proper woman, so you wont have anything to gossip about later, especially with your mother.
Nicholas finished assembling his lunch, carefully placing everything in his bag, and set about brewing coffee.
No response?
Im here pouring my heart out, and you say nothing?
Martha! Nicholas called over his shoulder.
Would you mind ironing my jeans for me?
What?
Jeans?!
Are youwhile Im speaking about feelings, you want your jeans ironed?
Forget it!
I thought youd stop me, perhaps.
Finishing her tirade, Martha snatched her bag, confused it with Nicholass work lunch, and, half blinded by anger, stormed out.
Only when the flat quivered from the slammed door did Nicholas realise his wife had truly left.
Wheres she off to at this time?
And my jeans Wait, wheres my lunch? These were the thoughts swirling as Nicholas processed the mornings impromptu breakup.
Disheartened, unable to locate his two thermoses, he left for work wearing wrinkled trousers.
Entering the lift, Nicholas nodded at Mrs.
Whitmore, the building association chaira woman who, judging by her monthly collections, might as well still be paying tribute to medieval kings.
Rumour had it her perfume could revive horses and flush enemies from their hiding spots.
Nicholas held his breath, stepped inside, and turned to face the door.
As the lift descended, it felt more like a gas chamber than anything else.
Youve not paid for pest control.
The exterminators are coming round todayroaches throughout the building.
Need you to hand over your share, can transfer it to my account? Mrs.
Whitmore pressed.
Nicholas said nothing, observing as her perfume slowly melted the rubber seal on the lift doors.
Need it by tonight, alright?
Send it over?
No reply.
So she leaned closer to his ear and barked, By the end of the day.
Understood?
Congratulations.
Whos transferring you then?
Back to Cambridge? Nicholas revived, genuinely believing the woman to be a descendant of some legendary king.
She rattled off a stream of words-itch, -wick, -ing, -ardwhich struck Nicholas as something from olden English rather than contemporary language.
Not interested in deciphering her meaning, he just nodded, as if viewing abstract art.
The lift doors flew open and Nicholas stepped into fresh air as Mrs.
Whitmore marched off to collect payments.
Nicholas worked as an electrician.
Since last week, hed been assigned to a site where a prickly client, lacking both creativity and financial skill, insisted on getting a bespoke masterpiece.
The clients materials and plans had a whiff of something unpleasant.
Nicholas wasnt alone.
Alongside, the plumber and the decorators were equally trapped in this design cul-de-sac.
While Nicholas chopped into walls for wiring, his colleagues sweated in other rooms.
Suddenly, the client appearedhaving spent the night carousing at a mates birthday.
Creative energies buzzing, the client decided to check on the renovations before bedding down.
Everythings wrong! the client bellowed, stamping his foot.
Sockets should be arranged in chessboard fashion, and the chandelier three degrees off-centre from the earths axis!
Do what I say or you wont get paid!
With equally peculiar demands and threats, he invaded every room and finally barricaded himself in the nursery, where he promptly fell asleep atop bags of plaster.
Seven hours later, resurrected, he opened the door to witness the outcome of his bizarre instructions.
By that time, the builders had opened a passage between living room and kitchen, and a guest toilet appeared in the combined bathroom.
Clients clothes were dusted white from plaster; his face paled with horror.
He remembered none of his commands and attempted to accuse the workers of sabotageexcept they showed him video evidence.
Nicholas alone had not altered anything, since he hadnt heard any new orders.
Perhaps overwhelmed with emotion or despair, the client rewarded Nicholas with a modest bonus for steadfastness against drunken creativity, and fired the rest for failing to resist.
Nevertheless, under pressure, he paid for all work completed.
That evening, hungry and exhausted, Nicholas finally resolved to see a doctor, desperate to rejoin the world of sound.
On the way, a surly neighbourhood dog tried to scare him off with loud barking, but in Nicholass silent universe, it played out as a wordless filmpeople and animals acting out their dramas.
Without script, Nicholas simply walked on, unfazed.
The dog soon grew bored and let him pass.
May the sounds be with you! the doctor said, drilling into Nicholass ear.
Once restored, Nicholas hurried home.
Along the way, he pulled out his unexpected bonus and bought a sausage roll and a modest bouquet for Martha.
At the entrance, his neighbour greeted him with a gloomy face.
Heard the news? the neighbour asked.
I havent heard anything all day, Nicholas replied, poking his finger in his ear.
Mrs.
Whitmorethe medieval onecollected money from everyone and vanished.
Moved to another city and cut all ties.
Planned it in advance.
Hit all seven stairwells.
Did you pay?
No, didnt pay, Nicholas shook his head.
She said something about her transfer this morning, couldnt make sense of it.
Lucky you.
I paidfool that I am.
One bright spot: by the time shed got round every floor, the roaches dropped dead anyway, thanks to her perfume, the neighbour smirked.
Not so much to regret, really.
Nicholass flat greeted him with aromatic food and an unexpectedly tender wife.
Forgive me, Nicholas, honestlyI lost my mind, something came over me.
Dont even know what.
Solar flares, maybe.
I take all my words back and promise nothing bad happened.
And theres no Simon.
I went to my sister, let off steam, and my head sorted itself out.
You reacted perfectly this morninglike a real man.
That snapped me out of it.
So, will you forgive this foolish woman?
Martha covered Nicholass face with warm kisses and ushered him to a well-laid table.
I heard nothing, really, Nicholas confessed, feeling like hed received an unwarranted reward.
Thank you! Martha squeezed him tight.
Good heavens, Nicholas thought, having done nothing remarkable all day.
Maybe going deaf more often wouldnt be so bad Life might just get easier.Later that night, Nicholas lay in bed, Martha nestled against his side, her breathing calm and steady.
Rain tapped gently against the window, the world outside soft and distant.
He listenedtruly listenedto every sound: her laughter echoing from the kitchen, the kettle whistling, even the stubborn old pipes rumbling like muted thunder through the walls.
It all rushed back anew, an orchestra hed taken for granted.
He smiled, thinking about Mrs.
Whitmores escape and the clients odd reward.
About the days silences, and how, in losing one sense, hed gained a strange clarity.
His life, barely stretching payday to payday, suddenly felt overflowingwith odd luck, with warmth, with a second chance.
Marthas hand tightened around his.
Dont you ever dare miss breakfast again, she whispered.
Nicholas blinked, feeling the weight of gratitude pressing gently on his ribs.
For once, he didnt need to say anything; the world seemed to have said it all for him.
The evening hummed with hope and, quietly, he promised himself: tomorrow, hed listen even harder, not just to sounds, but to the spaces between themthe moments where the heart speaks loudest.
Outside, the rain fell, cleansing the city of debts and regrets.
And in their small flat, Nicholas savored the rare, clear music of a life unexpectedly well-lived.