The Silent History: A Novel by Eli Horowitz, Kevin Moffett, Matthew Derby

If you spend all your life studying subtle alignments you’re going to have moments like this. There was a knock on my door one morning and this woman, very open and soulful with a gingham headscarf, stood there with her daughter. I had never had the privilege of close proximity with a silent. I’d seen them on television, of course, and in public, and I thought they were wonderful, but nothing prepared me for Amanda. She looked about eight years old, but with none of the chaotic energy that most children emit. She was frightened, I knew this right away. Her eyes, which fixed very suddenly on mine, told me this. She was tired of being incompletely understood, and her tiredness would soon give way to despair. I also knew that she was intrigued by me and my meditative bearing, as well as my pleasantly eclectic living room.
    The mother said, “Can you just help me with her for a little while? You seem so kind and patient and wise.”
    This is approximately what she said. Words are the least important part of this story. They both entered my foyer. The mother, too, seemed tired. She thanked me and gave me her phone number and left. I held Amanda’s hand as we walked into the living room. She was a polite and sturdy and beautiful little girl. I poured her a glass of water without ice and gave her two flaxseed crackers.
    Please don’t ridicule what I’m telling you. If it helps, forget about anything that makes you skeptical. It doesn’t matter. Forget how she got there. Forget the crackers. Forget me, even. I have my techniques, some learned, some instinctive. If I told you about spirit colors and constancy mapping, you wouldn’t believe me about what came next, and it’s important for you to believe me.
    We sat facing each other on my couch. I held both her hands and I started breathing deeply—involuntarily, mind you—and Amanda stared at me and began reciprocating. In-out-in-out. We were imprinting on each other. I nodded very slowly and Amanda did the same. It moved me. I could feel my inner places hollowing out to make room for something.
    “You don’t need to speak,” I said. “What bridges us is nameless.”
    Amanda continued to nod. Her pupils glowed with a pure ineradicable sincerity. Most of us keep our fires deep within our caves, but Amanda’s burned in every blink of her eyes.
    I extended to her a volley of fellow feeling. Amanda accepted the volley and answered simply. People are always asking me what it was she said. She didn’t say anything. She emitted. She doused me with her inner stream.
    When her mother arrived we were still holding hands. Amanda had fallen asleep, but we’d continued communicating.
    “She’s a medium,” I told the mother. “She’s the most beautiful thing in the world.”
    “What happened?” she asked.
    I reached out and took her hands. “Love,” I said. “Communication.”
    I’m not unaware of the effect I have on people. I know I alarmed this woman. It’s just, I knew I had found what I’d been searching for. This kind of natural communion.
    We have so much to learn from these people. You have to understand, words are just conduits. We invented them because we needed something to hook at the truth—but words have become an obstacle, a smoke screen. Even what I’m saying right now, it doesn’t approximate what I actually mean. There was a time, not as long ago as you think, when we had no words. We were just pure intention and purpose and spirit and feeling. An open fire. These children were put here to return us to those days. Watch them, understand them. Meet them with love. Listen to all they’re not saying.

 
    PRASHANT NUREGESAN
    ATLANTA, GA
    2018
    Isabelle, my niece, was diagnosed with the silence, and that was a real lightning rod for me, in that it really gave me the focus to come up with the design for the Chatter. If I see a need, the first thing I’m thinking is how to fill it. That’s just me. That’s how I operate. Cereal takes a long time to