SELENA ENTERPRISES, Toronto, Canada. All rights reserved
The novel first published in the magazine THE NEWS OF THE NEW WORLD, North Carolina, USA, 2001/2002
Reprinted with permission
Mr. Brian O"Broen was an artist - innovator. Unlike dull landscape, marine and portrait painters who paint what they see, he painted what he felt. The process of extraction of deep-lying feelings from the bottom of his subconsciousness required utmost concentration and absolute quietness. It was an arduous job, indeed!
His best picture was a result of a year-long concentration at the undersensible level of subvirgin feelings. Finally, after tedious spiritual work, he took a clean canvas, painted it all black and with a tailor"s ruler drew a straight white line across. The picture was entitled "My way in the ocean of human dirt".
Unfortunately, narrow-minded visitors to art stores were not smart enough to appreciate masterpieces of the advanced artist. His pictures were not selling well and Brian could hardly make both ends meet.
Buying his first house, the artist could hardly scrape together five percent for a down payment and borrowed the rest from the bank. He decided to buy a brand new house in a new subdivision. The advertising asserted that the houses were detached ones. But the first time Brian arrived on the site he decided that he simply got the wrong address. Those were townhouses.
Having come closer, the future home owner realized that there was no mistake. Simply the space between the houses was so small that a person with regular eyesight could not see it from afar.
There was only one lot left and at first sight it seemed that the only dwelling that could be sandwiched between two adjacent houses was a well-flattened rural shed at the most. But an affable salesgirl assured Brian that there was an ample room to put in a standard three-bedroom house with a beautiful name Snow Queen.
The artist approached one of the houses under construction, cast a doubtful glance at the cheap vinyl dress of the snow-white queen, picked with his finger at the suspicious pink stuff constituting the wall of the dream home and asked :
"Who are my neighbors?"
"Nice people!" the saleslady assured him with a charming smile.
When Brian moved in, he found out that his nice neighbor on the left-hand side was a great fan of rock"n"roll music and biking. He made both ends meet by doing some odd jobs like garbage removal and driveway fixing. Every day ending in "y" he bummed around the backyard fixing his old "Yamaha" to the accompaniment of the popular reinforced concrete and cast iron group "Lead Limousine". The clanking of a heavy hammer against the body of his dying two-wheel buddy merged with the hundred-watt blood-curdling wail of his favorite song:
"Heavy metal lover has nothing to lose but his metal chains,
"Heavy metal lover has nothing to fix but his metal brains . . ."
It created such a terrible noise that in summer the flies and mosquitoes were killed in mid-air.
Driven crazy by daytime concertos that penetrated without any attenuation to every distant corner of his house, Brian could not help waiting for salvation of nightfall. But in vain. The neighbors on the right-hand side also could not help waiting for the same period of the Earth"s revolution.
They both were unemployed and it looked like they had no problems with this. The young couple already had five children and it appeared that they aimed to increase this number at least fivefold. All day long they slept like stones. And it was no wonder why.
When first dusk came, Brian had to endure another concerto that lasted till the first sunbeams glided through the foliage of the trees. Throughout the entire night, he had to share the beauty and wildness of young and tireless love pouring from the neighboring house through the paper walls of both dwellings.
His first month in the new house confirmed Brian"s doubts about the suspicious pink stuff. Now he realized that the house actually did not have walls at all in any regular sense. The queen turned out to be naked! What"s more, as an inexperienced first-home owner, he did not take into account that buying a cheap house one also buys cheap neighbors.
The unfortunate innovator decided to fix this blunder. He bought his next house in the most prestigious and expensive area of Smallton. The beautiful one-acre property was well- treed and bushed. There were no visual neighbors at all. It was a piece of paradise!
Luckily, Brian"s bank had started a fantastic new project for its clients - "everlasting all-generations loan" with ten times bigger mortgage amount and ten times extended amortization period. The borrower signed an affidavit that his children, his grandchildren and the children of his grandchildren would amortize the amount of money borrowed for 250 years. Some skeptics called it an "everlasting slavery loan" but Brian had no choice. He dreamed about privacy, peace and quietness. He signed eternal slavery papers and became the owner of another dream home.
When construction started Brian was a little bit disappointed. Again he saw the same pink stuff instead of real walls, only in much larger quantities. But neighbors seemed to be so far away that the advanced artist put his concerns aside and locked them into distant drawer.
On the closing day , just in case, he asked the salesperson:
"Who are my neighbors?"
In return he again received a standard smile and a standard answer:
"Nice people!"
Life in a wealthy neighborhood did not bring more satisfaction than life in a poor one. Each owner had an acre of lawn, at least two calf-sized dogs and a pool. Some had tennis courts.
During the summer there was not a single minute when somebody was not mowing a lawn. For some unknown reasons gas-driven lawn mowers were not included in the list of motorized vehicles, so they did not have any mufflers. Probably it was done for educational purposes so new generations, that did not participate in World War Two, knew how the approaching German heavy tank "Tiger" sounded. Brian"s neighbors liked to launch this wide-scale tank offensive especially on Friday and Saturday nights when it was so nice to relax on the patio and enjoy the rustle of leaves and the chirping of birds.
The cannonade from lawn mowers, dogs barking and around-the-pool boisterous merriment hung over the area from early morning till late at night.
After this, Mr. O"Broen came to the conclusion that the only nice people were dead people. He bought a piece of property that had been on the market for ten years without any success. The problem was that this property was completely surrounded by a cemetery and most people, due to some strange prejudices, did not want to buy it.
Finally Brian had found the place he was looking for! At night, he had strange visitors in white shrouds, with empty eye sockets and scythes in their hands who stood behind his windows. But since these really nice people were well-behaved and quiet they did not bother the artist-innovator . . .
The pot hunters approached the house when it was growing dark. Commandante crossed his fingers, said: "Let it be" and pressed the door bell.
"How are you tonight, sir?" Nick asked with a magnificent smile when Brian opened the door.
"Good," the house owner muttered in response.
His face clearly indicated that he would have been much better if the unexpected visitors vanished to the nether world.
"Sorry to bother you. We are from Quietness Canada. It is a new non-profit organization that has the objective of eliminating all noise factors from the life of Canadians. We believe Canadians deserve it! So we poll people and collect suggestions that might be helpful in this important undertaking. Would you like to share any ideas with us?"
Brian"s face lit up.
"Sure!" he exclaimed.
Who would have more ideas on this issue if not him! In a second Brian did a complete about-face turn and from a sullen badger turned into a cordial host. He invited the visitors in, had them seated and said:
"It"s so nice that there"re people who are still doing some useful business in this country. First I decided you were from a tribe of advertisers, fund-raisers, door-to-door distributors or something of this kind. There is an army of these nuisance-mongers knocking on my door daily!"
"More than true!" Nick exclaimed. "One of the goals of our organization is to stop door-knocking and telephone harassment. We"re working with members of Parliament to pass a bill that will declare any unsolicited penetration into the private life of our citizens illegal regardless of the physical or electronic means used for this burglary."
"Absolutely!" Brian agreed. "We need legal protection from those brazen-faces poaching on our properties daily"
"This is outrageous!" Commandante agreed readily. "Every day I spend at least half an hour cleaning out heaps of junk from my mail box. There"re suggestions to buy a winterized brassiere I Miss Your Hands in Distant Lands with woolen padding, pizza of UFO size for 50 cents provided I subscribe to a new magazine Ufology and Urology or an eternal multi-purpose vacuum-cleaner that can be used for absolutely everything but vacuuming. Aside from this, I get constant nagging calls with the same offers on the phone. There"re tens of thousands of businesses in this area. If everyone starts picking my phone number from the telephone directory to call advertising his products, life turns into a nightmare! I"m not a lady missing her boy-friend in an area with extreme climate conditions, I hate pizza because finally it results in pizza-shape figure and I don"t need the eternal vacuum-cleaner because I don"t want to live forever.
"Last year I called my local branch of Buzz Canada and asked them to take my name from the telephone directory. Guess what they answered me? It"s our pleasure to do it for you, sir, but you have to pay additional ten dollars "privacy fee" every month! What for? Because they have to spend man-hours taking my phone off their computer. Did I ask them to put my name in this directory when I got the phone? No. They did it automatically because it"s more convenient for them to do it in this way. When you get the phone they provide you with service you didn"t ask for and then charge you a monthly fee to cancel it. I anticipate that tomorrow they"ll call me and say: "Dear sir. Following our commitment to excellence, Buzz Canada has introduced a terrific new Early Bird Service. Every morning at five o"clock you will get an extra-strength wake-up call. If you don"t want to get this service you have to pay a $25 monthly cancellation fee.""
Brian burst into laughter.
"Exactly! That"s the way these money-grabbers work."
"If you don"t mind, let"s go down to business," Nick said.
He opened his briefcase and got out a jotter, demonstrating readiness to write down all the brilliant ideas of the champion of the quiet environment. While doing this, he looked around the living room. The dream plant was standing in a distant corner.
"Is that the right one?" he asked Jack silently with his eyes.
The Adjutant shrugged his shoulders that apparently was supposed to mean:
"I don"t know. They all look alike".
"So, what do you think about the noise environment in our town?" Commandante asked.
"It"s disgracefully outrageous and outrageously disgraceful! City authorities do not pay any attention to this major problem. The mass media are full of concerns about pollution. Traffic exhaust pollution, chemical pollution. But what about noise pollution? It"s scientifically proven that each additional decibel of noise reduces life expectancy by one year. Roaring traffic, screaming kids, barking dogs, rattling lawn mowers and snow-blowers. All this takes away ten to fifteen years of our lives! Permanent exposure to noise severely damages all internal organs and especially the spinal cord and prostate gland.
"Do you know why most of men lose their sexual potency by 50 years? Because for half a century they absorb outside-house noise produced in their neighborhood!"
"And inside-house noise produced by their wives," Jack added in his mind.
"So, let"s start with noise produced by kids," Brian continued.
"Very important issue," Commandante agreed. "Children are flowers of life. On the graves of their parents."
"Very true statement," Brain smiled. "So, my suggestion is as follows: the city planning department has to introduce a new by-law. When a new subdivision is started, it must be specified in one of four categories: for families with babies, for families with toddlers, for families with teenagers and for families with dogs. And no mixed subdivisions. That immediately solves all the problems."
"What a brilliant idea!" Nick admired out loud, writing it down in his jotter.
"And what to do if there is a baby, toddler, teenager and a dog in one family?" he mused. I would suggest to introduce a fifth category: subdivision without people at all.
"You don"t like dogs, do you?" Jack asked.
"I don"t like their owners. Typically, they"re selfish SOBs who don"t care about anybody but their toys. For me, it"s enough to look at a dog and I can tell everything about its owner. If a dog barks, if it"s off leash and crapping wherever it wants that means its owner is as ill-behaved as his pet and most likely he"s also mentally off leash, used to bark at his households and mess all over the place.
"In every conservation area it"s posted: dogs on leash, pick up after your pet. Do you see many dogs on leash while walking in conservation areas? Did you see many people picking up after their dogs? Do any overpaid city clerks monitor their posted by-laws? No. It"s high time to solve the problem of dogs in the city in the way the problem of smokers versus non-smokers was solved - complete segregation and separation There should be separate residential areas, parks, walking trails for dog owners so that normal people can enjoy their walks without listening to nagging barking and watching their feet."
"Would you like a cup of tea?" the artist-innovator asked suddenly.
He was very pleased at how attentively he was listened to.
"That"s very nice of you," Nick answered.
When the quietness lover brought the tray with tea Commandante pointed at the rubber plant and said:
"That tropical plant is so beautiful!"
"I"ve bought it at my son"s school. I"m separated from my wife. From time to time I spend a day with my boy. They were raising some money and he asked me to buy it to contribute to the class fair. Actually I don"t need it and its leaves pick up home dust. It"s only an additional nuisance in the house. Clean it, water it. I wanted Freddy to take it to his place but my ex said that she needed it as much as a fish needs a satellite dish. I would have been surprised if she had accepted something associated with me".
"We"ve got a small office for our branch of Quietness Canada. My colleague and I try to make it attractive and cozy, to decorate it with some plants but, you know, the funding we get is so insufficient . . ."
Nick looked at Brian in an inquiring way.
"If you like this plant I"d be happy to donate it to your organization," the artist replied generously.
"Really!" Commandante exclaimed. "Thank you very much, it"s so kind of you. It would definitely beautify our office. I will put it near my desk under the poster with our motto: "Quietness is the mother of all virtues, noise is the father of all vices"".
"You"re very welcome," Brian replied and continued with twofold ardor.
"I also have action items elaborated for reducing noise from lawn mowers and snow blowers, cars and trains, buses and radios, sport grounds and amusement parks, birds and mosquitoes.
"Let"s take lawn mowers. It"s so easy. Cutting grass in a neighborhood must become the responsibility of the city. Like garbage collection. I pay so many taxes, surtaxes, subtaxes and supertaxes that I don"t have enough fingers on my hands and feet to count them. Why do they pick up our garbage once a week on Mondays and can"t cut the grass in the entire neighborhood also once a week, let"s say on Tuesdays. Then the rest of the week becomes noise-free. Or let"s take blue jays. You know what nasty loud voices those birds have . . ."
"Now he"ll suggest to shoot them with a laser-sight slingshot," Nick thought and suddenly realized that if the champion of the quiet environment would not be stopped, the companions would probably be stuck here for the rest of the week.
Commandante looked at his watch and suddenly exclaimed:
"I"m sorry! I almost forgot that we have another appointment for tonight. It"s so frustrating that we have go since your ideas are so helpful. Your input to creation of the perfectly quiet environment in our towns is precious!"
Seeing how much the advanced artist was disappointed Nick added:
"But if you don"t mind we can continue Monday in our office. By the way, you"ll see how your plant works for the benefit of Quietness Canada. Is ten o"clock a good time for you?"
Ten o"clock turned out to be perfect time for Brian and he got an address for a nonexistent street, building and suite number.
After an extended farewell, the companions left the house. Jack was carrying the plant and it seemed to him that the pot was burning his hands. While walking among the gravestones he tried to identify whether it was his cherished plant or not but it was difficult to do in the darkness of the cemetery. Jack looked at the plant, sniffed it and even bit off a piece of a leaf as if he could identify it by taste.
When the house was out of sight, Nick commanded:
"Stop. Let"s check out the guts of this green son of a gun."
Jack dropped the green son of a gun on the ground and attacked it with the passion of an enraged bull. Commandante held a flashlight floodlighting the corrida place while the Adjutant was tearing off the roots, digging out the soil and throwing it all over around.
"Take it easy, take it easy," Nick whispered, trying to relax his companion.
Finally, when the pot was empty, Jack broke it into small pieces. No traces of the card . . .
Commandante moved the shaft of light from the pot to Jack. The Adjutant was standing on all fours at the background of a gravestone. He was pale. His face and his hands were blackened with the soil and only his teeth were sparkling in the light of the full moon. It made Jack look like an outraged vampire who left his grave only a second ago.
"You know, professor, if I were a Hollywood producer I would have immediately granted the role of count Dracula to you without an audition. Do not howl at the moon, my friend. The first attempt like first love is usually unsuccessful. Always remember the difference between an optimist and a pessimist. Now only nine pots left. No matter what the result is, tonight we earned one million dollars."
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