She walked for years without finding any door. There were only walls, and above her, bridges. She saw suits, suitcases, ghosts, floods and fires.
She explored the whole city, hidden, every night, and one day, she met him. It wasn’t the romantic gesture she hoped for – she had been dreaming for a long time of fireworks (she had discovered their existence in her grandmother’s autobiography). Something about him made her pause, though. There wasn’t any noise. There was almost no face. Maybe it was the silence, so disarming, so vulnerable, that won her over. They didn’t know where to go: he couldn’t go to her place, and she couldn’t go to his. So they met again each night, at the spot where they had met, without any appointment, randomly, randomly but still every day. The walls had another flavor with him, the suits too. She wasn’t as afraid as she used to be anymore. Sometimes, they even faced dawn. When the policemen appeared, they ran. They seemed to float, rather, because their steps made no sound.
They liked daytime more and more. There was something in the morning light, a flavor, that filled her with joy. She felt in her a new being, a tiny individual, who would one day have his tower, his bridge, his walls. One day, he too would have rooms et hallways filled with murmurs and secrets that he wouldn’t be able to share with anyone. That’s why she decided, moved by the fear that her child would be born in the same silence, surrounded by the same unbreakable walls, to break the rules. She took her lover by the hand and invited him home – it was like a hotel, a heart-hotel, because of how much it contained, how many rooms and hiding places, old furniture, paintings, books, sounds. It was a confusing concert of voices, a volcano of hopes and worries. She made him explore her fears and he didn’t leave her. She made him explore her ecstasies and he didn’t leave her.
One night, he put his hand on the doorknob of the stairs that led to the basement. She shivered. She never went to the basement. She, the rebel, the undefeated, the silent wanderer of the nights, she didn’t go into the basement. It was so dark, down there, so cold: there remained screams that had never found their silence. She resisted and resisted. Days passed. Something was wrong. There was in her hotel like a sadness that infiltrated the silence and devoured it, that transformed it into weight and not joyous freedom anymore.
More and more, he wouldn’t come. She was so preoccupied by the idea of the basement that she didn’t see him anymore. She wouldn’t talk to him. She blamed him of filling her with this obsession. However, the day when she decided that everything would change, he’s the one that she went looking for, at their meeting place of every night, where she had stopped going weeks ago. He was there. He had always been there. Together, they opened the door, him being her, waiting, his hand near her shoulder but without touching her. They went down the stairs and saw a catastrophy. Everything was covered in dust and pus. There were insects, rotten water, scary paintings and rugs covered in blood and vomit. On that day, that was enough, just a peak.
They came back a week later, and then more and more often. They cleaned up the basement. Her body, somewhere, was dreaming of them. Meanwhile, they destroyed and rebuilt everything. There were many, many tears and much waking up. Everything stopped and they always had to start over. With an infinite patience, he helped her and she let him. When they were finished, they understood something: now they would have to wake up the woman, the pregnant woman, up there, above the bridges and clouds, the one who was alone and scared, the one that no one helped. They had to give her, together, the hope that other lives were possible.
With the police chasing them, they started exploring the other towers. Two deaths were possible: if they stopped their crazy chase, then the woman who was asleep and hopeless would die; but if they got caught and shot, then she’d be brain dead. In order to save their own lives and their own love, they had to save her. But what was she looking for? Where had she sidden her most secret desires? Why hadn’t she ever let someone help her? And in which tower, which tower of this huge skyscrapes town, was the Oracle, the child, the old lady, the everything and the nothing, the secret voice that, from deep inside us, can always guide us – if in the midst of silence we learn how to listen to it -?