The Singers And The City Of The Deaf a work of Fiction by bill pascoe (bill pascoe) I prefer my stories to speak for themselves, but you could see this as a parable of discrimination of any kind. A sad fairy tale - we do not have to write dirty realism, this kind of stuff can be more honest than realism. I like brevity. A beautiful simplicity. ëIt seems strange that a city named the City of the Deaf should be so renowned for its songs. How is this so?í The old man - he must have been about three hundred - stroked his beard and motioned me to take the stool in the corner of his alchemical shop. ëI was just a young man when it happened.í he began, ëAbout twenty odd. Long time ago. There was another race back then. They were like us in every way except for one thing. They were each born with the most beautiful voice you ever heard. The children of these people did not cry but sang sweet songs. This way people were unavoidably attracted to them and gave them all the affection, cleaning and nourishment that they needed. ëTheir parents earned their living singing these irresistible songs. They never worked or produced anything but music. But their song was so sweet that it had a powerful effect on the people who were not of this race. They could not help but be overcome with awe, and feel compelled to offer items of appreciation, food and lodgings, beautiful gifts, words of praise and love. They were called the Singers. ëThere was, however, some discontent felt towards them. To some it seemed they were parasites on the community. They contributed nothing, except their songs which were of no use to anybody. They merely sapped the land and its people of all their food and wealth, contributing nothing in return except passing vibrations in the air. They were downright lazy. Ordinary, decent folk had to spend their entire life working their guts out, only to give it away to people who did nothing. There were aggressive actions made towards the Singers. Some would attack them or hurl abuse but the Singers merely sang and their assailants, unable to resist the seduction of their voices, halted their attacks, giving way to admiration. ëFinally one of the Anti-Songsters had the bright idea of stopping up his ears with wax. Unable to hear anything he would be able to attack the Singers without resistance. One day he prepared himself and went out into the city seeking Singers. He found one standing in the square with a large crowd gathered round listening. With his wax firmly in place he made his way among them. He drew his knife and lunged at the Singer. The listeners were unable to stop him and he cut the Singerís throat. ëAs the crowd encroached upon him in anger, he raised his voice, "Listen to me! Before you kill me, listen to what I have to say! The Singers are our enemies! They are seducing you. Bleeding you dry of all your hard won earnings. Donít you see!" Without the Singerís voice present to deny him the crowd began to listen. He lectured on all his grievances. Some Anti-Songsters, who had been passing when they heard the singing and been compelled to listen, raised cries of assent. Soon the whole crowd was in agreement and very angry. "Stop up your ears with wax!" said the speaker, "So we wonít be taken in by their useless songs!" He handed out wax and told others to go home and get some more. When they could no longer hear him he passed out leaflets declaring his views. He saw their lips saying, "Yes, yes." ëThe deaf and angry mob marched through the city, gathering support as they went, picking up weapons where they found them. They sought out the Singers in all their hiding places. The Singers did not know how to defend themselves. They had never encountered physical violence before. The only thing they knew how to do was sing. And sing they did until they lay dead. I was the only one who did not stop up my ears. ëThe song of every Singer rose above the city in perfect harmony and rhythm. I have heard no other sound so beautiful and soaked in tragedy as this. But I could do nothing to save them, the mob was too large. I would have been slaughtered along with the Singers. They could not hear my words of protest. All I could do was sit by the road and weep bitterly. ëWhen the song had been silenced, the deaf took out their earplugs but found that they could not hear. See, in the wax was an anaesthetic acid which ate away at the inner ear without you knowing. They spoke but no-one could hear. I heard their voices - once bold and angry, now frightened and confused. Not knowing what to do they looked for their leader. They searched the city until he was seen high above them, dangling from the tallest building. Realising what he had done he had skulked away and hung himself. ëNews of his death spread quickly. At his feet the people now were aimless. In frustration some lashed out in violence, some ran terrified, others hugged each other like frightened children. Some, making the most of the situation, began looting. There were many more deaths that day. ëThe following day things calmed down a little and after a while people went back to doing the things they ordinarily did. A year or two passed and most had learned to lip read, to speak with their hands and were skilled at writing notes and letters. But no-one was ever very happy. Their silent lives seemed dull and lifeless. They longed for sound. It began to seem as if there was never anything so beautiful as the songs that had once filled their ears. Now they deeply regretted what they had done. They regretted it more than the loss of their hearing. ëSo in an attempt to recompense, in memory of the Singers, as the next generation sprang up, they recruited teachers from other parts of the land to teach their children to sing. They set up great schools and academies of music and it became compulsory for everyone to know how to sing. Many refrains have been composed in the honour of the Singers and in praise of other things but I have never heard any song so sweet as those that were silenced that day. That is how we came to be called the City of the Deaf and why our music is famous throughout the land.í Created on Mon, 29 Sep 1997 and last modified on Sat, 20 Dec 1997.

LOUDonline - http://www.loud.net.au - Fri, 10 Apr 1998