In the morning, she stands in the kitchen, waits for the water to boil while the morning traffic floated by on the street below. Her neighbour is up already, too: she can hear his TV, the morning news: a stream of voices through the wall.
She doesn’t want to hear the world yet, switches her CD player on, listens to Dream Café #2 while she has breakfast: Siesta del Sol and Walkabout. In the shop where she works, there’s a different kind of music playing now: Santa songs, to improve the sales. White Christmas, Winter Wonderland, and Jingle Bells, over and over.
Finally her shift is done.
“And now?” her colleague asks.
“Now, into the water,” she says and smiles.
She has brought her bag, the safest way to really go there, especially in winter. As always, the water feels cold at first. Even here, in the public swimming hall, music is playing. She listens to the tunes while she slides through the water, is surprised to hear Heroes de Silencio, on this Thursday in December: Entre dos Tierras.
Later, in the attached sauna, it’s world music: Indian guitars, esoteric flutes. The speakers also cover the room with the loungers, the one with the sign “Quiet, please” at the door – as if silence was a dangerous state, best to be avoided.
Lying there, she wonders what would happen if for one day, silence entered the world.