The Silent ones
Devet Seminar
The faint light emitted by the monumental central chandelier, almost entirely devoid of lamps, cast too many shadows so it was very difficult to distinguish objects from the people in the room. However, while it was natural for the objects to remain immobile in their places, it was not so natural for dozens of human beings, identical to each other, with their bare, shiny skulls, to end up looking like a collection of bizarre mannequins.
Like chandeliers and wall sconces, they sat still, passive, as if awaiting the arrival of hundreds of messenger pigeons bearing news of the deaths of their families or their impending deaths. The room was full, I insist, and for the static occupants of the chairs, it was as if time did not pass. Most seemed to be staring at one point in the space; a few, on the other hand, had their eyes on the empty plates and glasses. No sound could be heard, except for the pattering of the rain on the roof. A persistent rain that had lasted for weeks had forced me to remain in this enigmatic and gloomy room. I was the only one who paced the place, compelled by tedium. And if I didn’t insist on disturbing the inert creatures around me, it was simply because it ended up being a futile activity. They were never bothered by my pinching and shoving, shouting, shaking, and thrashing. Whatever I did, they would return to their original position, ignoring me completely.
I admit that it was difficult to decide to stay in this sort of palace with evident signs of it being centuries-old, lost in the suburbs of the city, accompanied by those serialised humans that someone had manufactured, and which, I imagine, could not be sold due to the recent economic crisis. But how was such irresponsibility possible? To leave them to their fate? The manufacturers were supposed to educate and individualise them, even to the point of leaving them active and functional, if they failed to sell. But this… this was unacceptable.
I sat down next to them, tired of boredom, and stared at the dot in space they were staring at. The dot was between the huge luminaire and a door, about two metres high. I fixed my gaze as if I were one of them, and what I saw was very strange. I couldn’t quite make it out, but at first, it was a sort of floating blue blob, as if it were a dense, coloured smoke, self-illuminated perhaps.
It moved slowly as if the exhalations of those of us who were there had the power of slight breezes. Within seconds, the smoke began to expand undiluted, covering almost the entire room. You couldn’t even see the serried bald heads that were almost glued to me. Now, if I had to define what I felt during that vision, it was nothing, absolutely nothing, I didn’t even feel my body, and maybe that’s what got me: I had fallen asleep.
When I woke up, I saw the quiet ones stand up and walk quickly in pursuit of something. I moved along with them without even thinking about it, without being able to help it. I could hardly make them out with so much smoke around, but it was a fact: we were all walking at the same pace. I turned towards the blue dot at the top, just as the smoke stopped, and as it dissipated, I was able to stop walking.
Who knows how much time passed, but it was no longer raining, though the darkness persevered, and the place was no longer that still and dull banquet hall.
We were in the middle of a street illuminated by shop lights. The serried people had acquired expression and were now talking in groups as if they all knew their purpose and whereabouts. Some addressed me as if I understood the conversation, but I didn’t, I was the only one confused. I mingled among them and they were all saying the same thing. Dazed I looked up at the sky. There was nothing but a tin ceiling instead of stars just beyond the blue dot that didn’t move. I knew then that it was a lighted camera. I turned around and saw my reflection in the glass of one of the shops, no different from the others in the series, except for one detail: I was the only one who noticed everything.
The smoke filled the place again and everyone went silent.
I, on the other hand, was walking with nowhere to go.
I understood: the programming was irremediable and I was the only one trapped with a conscience. What for? It was impossible to know. I deplored my fate, but it was useless. The sequence repeated itself inexorably, as it had a thousand times before.
Devet Seminar-was born in Breza, Bosnia and Herzegovina, on 6 April 1992. His parents travelled to America to escape the horrors of war when he was less than a year old and settled in a small town near Medellín, Colombia. He has been writing since he was a teenager, always in Spanish.
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