In Search of Silence
Hugo Woodstock, chief executive officer and majority stockholder of a Fortune 500 electronics company, was a man living at the end of a very short rope. For many years, the billionaire had been working around the clock under such stressful situations that his nerves were all but shattered. His medical complaints, both real and imagined, were legion. Every morning he woke in fear of an impending stroke, a heart attack or, at the very least, a complete nervous breakdown.
The eminent New York physician, Dr. Abram Eckles, removed the blood pressure cuff from his patient's upper arm and asked, "Have you been taking your medications?"
"Every day just as you instructed, not that it has done me any good! If you haven't got anything stronger, Doc, can't you at least increase the dosage of the medicines you've prescribed?"
Dr. Eckles shook his head, and declared firmly, "I've already told you, Hugo. We have to maintain a safe balance between your heart medicine, your blood pressure pills, your sleeping capsules and all your other medications. We want to avoid any dangerous interactions."
"I don't get it," the patient complained for the umpteenth time. "I must take close to twenty capsules a day. Hell, with what I pay that damned pharmacist, I could buy a new automobile every year. Yet my nerves are still shot to hell, I can't sleep a wink at night and I continue to have these annoying chest pains."
In the past, Dr. Eckles had had other patients like Hugo Woodstock, but thankfully they were few and far between. The wealthy electronics CEO was, quite simply put, a hypochondriac. While it was true that he did suffer from a serious nervous condition and insomnia, these ailments might be attributed to his constant worrying about his health. Except for the infected tonsils that were removed when he was thirteen years old, all of Hugo's illnesses were psychosomatic.
"Have you been getting enough exercise?" the doctor asked.
"Exercise? You've got to be kidding! I work sixteen hours a day. I don't have time to go jogging or join a gym."
"Hugo," the doctor said with a heavy sigh, "modern medicine does have its limits. As your doctor, I must advise you to start taking better care of yourself."
Hugo's face turned white.
"Why? What have I got?" he asked, fearing the worst.
"A common disease these days: too much stress. When was the last time you took a vacation and forgot about your work?"
"I can't remember."
"I thought not. Hugo, my friend, this is the most inexpensive prescription I'll ever write for you."
Dr. Eckles reached for the prescription pad on his desk and wrote across the top page, PEACE AND QUIET.
Hugo paid the receptionist for his office visit and, on the way out the front door, angrily crumpled the doctor's bogus prescription and tossed it into the wastebasket.
* * *
Three weeks later Hugo Woodstock suffered a mild heart attack.
"This isn't exactly what I meant by a vacation," Dr. Eckles joked while checking on Hugo's progress in the hospital.
"How long will I be out of work?" the patient inquired.
"It's hard to say. It depends on how quickly you recover."
"Will I need bypass surgery? A pacemaker? One of those defibrillators? Will I have to wear a portable heart monitor?"
"Hold on, Hugo! Nothing so drastic is warranted. I'm putting you on a special diet, and you're going to have to exercise whether you like it or not. Now, if you don't mind my being blunt, you've got more money than you know what to do with. Take a few months off, go to some island, and take a daily walk on the beach. Stay away from cell phones, fax machines and laptop computers. Leave your work behind, or the next heart attack you have could be fatal."
Hugo reluctantly followed Dr. Eckles' medical advice. He took a leave of absence from his job (since he was the CEO and major stockholder in the company, no one dared stop him) and flew to a sparsely populated, remote island off the coast of South Carolina. There, he checked into the most expensive hotel available. It was early March, and with the tourist season still several months away, the hotel was practically vacant.
At first, Hugo had difficulty getting used to the slower pace. An important man who had always had meetings to attend, crucial decisions to make, correspondence to dictate, phone messages to answer and crises to resolve, he was now faced with sixteen hours of free time. Eventually, however, he fell into a comfortable routine. For the first time in his life, he slept late in the mornings. When he finally woke up, there was no hectic rush to beat the morning traffic to the office. He could enjoy leisurely eating breakfast and often had a second cup of coffee—decaffeinated, of course. After a long, hot shower, he would then take his daily walk, returning to the hotel in time for a light, healthy lunch. Hugo would then spend the rest of his day reading, stopping only long enough to eat his dinner.
Hugo had long ignored Dr. Eckles' advice about taking a vacation, yet surprisingly once he complied with his physician's instructions, he found that he did not miss his old lifestyle. In fact, much to his surprise, he enjoyed the change a great deal. He had been born in the city and lived there all his life. While it's true that running a large corporation required frequent travel, his business always took him to other large metropolitan areas not much different from New York. They were all overcrowded, hectic and, worst of all, noisy.
Now Hugo wondered how he had ever managed to fall asleep in the deafening city. How could he have turned a deaf ear to the blaring car and truck horns; sanitation trucks; public transit trains and buses; jackhammers; strident ambulance, police and fire sirens; and the many other diverse sounds of his fellow New Yorkers?
I most definitely do not miss the noise of the city, Hugo thought, as he lay back on the hammock on his private veranda.
After several months passed, Hugo decided to extend his vacation, even though he was feeling much better. His business, which was in the capable hands of his younger brother and his competent board of directors, would not suffer from his absence; and if truth be told, Hugo was not looking forward to returning to the stressful existence he had left behind. On the contrary, he dreaded it.
Unfortunately for Hugo Woodstock, spring came to an end and July ushered in a drastic change in the life of the previously quiet island. Schools on the mainland let out for the summer, and families flocked to the beaches. Parents brought their children, their cars and their noise with them. The former serenity of Hugo's sandy seaside paradise was now shattered by the din of boom boxes, children's playful screams and motorboat engines. The vacationing billionaire's rattled nerves, which had greatly improved over the previous three months, were all but shattered by the unexpected clamor.
"I want another room," he complained to the manager of the hotel.
"But, sir, the captain's suite is the finest one we have."
"I want a room that's quiet, where I won't have to listen to all the racket outside."
The hotel manager shook his head.
"I'm afraid there is nothing I can do to help you, Mr. Woodstock. There are no soundproof rooms, neither here nor in any of the other hotels on the island."
Anxious to reclaim the peace and quiet he had come to cherish, Hugo contacted a travel agent.
"It's awfully short notice," the woman said. "Most of the resorts are booked up through the beginning of August."
"I don't want to stay in any resort with a bunch of loud drunks, rock 'n' roll music, whining children, wailing infants or noisy motorboats. I want someplace that's secluded."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Woodstock," the travel agent apologized. "I can't help you. Our agency only books rooms in resorts and large hotels. If it's a more isolated locale you want, you might check with a realtor. Perhaps you could find a cabin or vacation home to rent on a short-term basis."
Hugo, a man of substantial wealth, did better than that. He bought his own island off the coast of Maine. It wasn't a very large or impressive island—no Nantucket or Martha's Vineyard—but it was quiet. As such, it was well worth the small fortune he had paid for it. After moving into the sole house on the island, Hugo informed both his brother and his doctor that he would be staying there for at least three or four months.
"What's this sudden love of country living all about?" Dr. Eckles asked when he received his patient's phone call. "There wouldn't be a woman up there with you, would there?"
"You think I've found a woman? Heaven forbid! No, I have discovered the perfect companion: silence. I adore it. As a matter of fact, I do believe I'm becoming addicted to it," the normally solemn Hugo announced with a rare outburst of giddy laughter that took his physician by surprise.
Although said in jest, addiction was the perfect word to describe Hugo's need for silence. He craved it like a narcotic. He needed it if he wanted to keep his sanity. Like any true addiction, though, his cravings grew worse. In the absence of any loud, jarring sounds, the small annoying noises began to bother him more and more.
During the first month he spent in his new house, Hugo tossed out the clock because its constant ticking made him angry. Next, he turned off the refrigerator because he hated its incessant humming and unplugged all his appliances, vowing never to use them again. He even avoided noisy foods like potato chips, pretzels, celery and apples and drank only bottled beverages rather than turn on the tap and hear the water splashing into the sink.
Once the inside was quiet, however, the noises from the outside invaded his inner sanctum. There were chirping crickets, squawking birds, squealing seagulls and the never-ending sound of the waves crashing on the beach. Longing for complete silence, Hugo hired a handyman from the mainland to spray soundproofing foam on his walls, virtually cutting off all sounds from the outdoors.
For several weeks Hugo's habit was satisfied. He had effectively banished the noise from outside and eliminated that from within. That is a funny thing about hearing, however—all one's other senses are voluntary. If you don't want to see something, you have only to shut your eyes. If you don't like the smell of something, you could either pinch your nostrils or breathe through your mouth. Taste? Easy. Don't put anything in your mouth. Touch? Keep your hands away. But how can you effectively turn off your hearing? You can try deadening a sound by putting plugs in your ears, but you could never completely shut out those pesky sound waves.
* * *
Over the next few months, ensconced in his remote New England mansion, Hugo lost contact with his brother, his doctor and everyone else, for that matter. He never left his house, except to receive his biweekly delivery of soft white bread and bottled water. Had Dr. Eckles seen his patient in his current state, he would no doubt have hospitalized him immediately. Not only had Hugo lost a good deal of weight, but he had also not shaved, bathed or brushed his teeth since he had left the expensive resort hotel off the coast of South Carolina. Such activities involved running the water, and the attendant splashing was more than he could bear.
Then one night, while Hugo slept peacefully in his bed, a strange new sound awakened him.
Thump ... thump ... thump.
Hugo winced at the steady, rhythmic throbbing. Where was the noise coming from?
Thump ... thump ... thump.
He got up from his bed and searched his house. He felt as though he were playing the child's game of huckle buckle beanstalk, only there was no one to tell him if he was getting warmer or colder. The sound neither grew nor diminished in volume, but as Hugo became more agitated, the velocity of the thumping increased.
Thump ... thump ... thump.
Hugo frantically searched the house—every cabinet, closet, crevice and drawer—yet he could not find the source of that god-awful noise. Finally, frustrated, he slumped down in his easy chair holding his head in his hands in defeat. As he rubbed his throbbing temples with his fingertips, Hugo felt his pulse beating steadily. Then he realized that the annoying thumping sound that he had been hearing was sounding in unison with the thumping of his pulse. That infuriating noise was the beating of his own heart!
Hugo returned to bed, but not to his peaceful slumber. The infernal thumping of his heart echoed in his ears. What was he to do? This was not a sound he could block out, for it was coming from within his own body.
As the hours slowly dragged by, Hugo lay exhausted in his bed. His head was splitting from tension and lack of sleep. Once again, he got out of bed, this time to find the medication Dr. Eckles had prescribed for him.
He swallowed a handful of his heart pills and a second of sleeping capsules, washing them all down with his bottled water.
One of the two must help, he thought.
As the early morning sun peeked into the room from the perimeter of the room-darkening shade that hung over his bedroom window, Hugo felt the overdose of medication beginning to work its magic. His heartbeat was slowing, and his eyelids were getting heavy. A faint smile appeared around the corners of his mouth as he drifted away to a peaceful place far beyond all sound.
Thump ... thump ....
Silence.
The only time I can get any silence is when Salem is sleeping. Lucky for me, he sleeps a lot!
