Silence is My Only Weapon(Charles E.J. Moulton) Silence is My Only Weapon

A Short Story by Charles E.J. Moulton

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And at New Year's Eve that year of Corona, Bob realized he had no rights. This was not so much a sociological thing, but a family thing. He had always lived with cholerics. His mother and father had both been cholerics. Don't ask what that's like for an only child. His father's manic-depressive stare. His mother banging her fist against her forehead, pulling her hair and screaming. In that sense, the whole Corona deal seemed even like a joke. No, having spent his whole life having to tip-toe around carefully in order not to wake up the angry giant, this quarantine even came as a blessing.

"At least play that frigging song with the right darn chords," his wife snapped from the dinner table, storming out, throwing her cutlery onto the kitchen sink. "Damn, I come from seven hours of work, have to fix a router, my daughter attacks me with demands about spending her New Year's Eve with her friend, and you play that damn song until I puke."
Well, Bob stopped playing the piano, it had been a Bond song, telling Dierdre that he was sorry and would leave it.

Bob rushed down to the cellar, mumbling to himself that he realized he had no rights. He rummaged among the food supplies, trying to find the pineapple can for the chocolate fondue later, even accepting that he had no rights. Okay, was that true? Maybe. Maybe not.

Once he realized the pineapple was already up in the kitchen, he discovered his angry wife sitting again at the table in total silence. Bob wandered over to his favorite living room chair, trying to review the strenuous last day in retrospect. Bob had sat in this very chair yesterday evening, realizing that his wife's commands, she called them wishes, would be impossible. Making sure their daughter showered and got to bed, putting away tablet and smartphone? Holy Mother of God, absolutely unthinkable.

Amazingly enough, Dierdre had slept through all the hullabaloo yesterday. Bob going up to Penny's room five times and telling her to shower and go to bed. Penny five times answering with a tired: "Yeah." Well, it ended in a quarrel, teenage Penny swearing at her father to "quit this frigging shit."

This morning, ever the humble man, Bob ended up kissing her good morning. Eventually, he was chased away with several angry and very loud good byes.

Bob lost it, leaving Penny in her room with the door closed. His wife having created a long list of assignments to do while she was at work, he did them under streams of tears, knowing how positive he always tried to be, breaking the freezer box in the process, telling himself he was at the end of his rope.

So there he was, at the end of his powers. His life a constant effort to make sure no one got angry, he had learned that uttering his opinion always caused damage. Funny, though, that he still managed to be successful. Karma and reincarnation. His feelings were not new. Apparently, he had felt like a ping pong Ball for centuries.

As he sat in his chair, listening to the sounds of his wife in the kitchen and his daughter in her room, he realized this felt like King Tut's tomb. Everything was peaceful as long as he kept his mouth shut. Wasn't that a scene he had seen in a movie? The father-in-law speaking his opinion for the first time ever at the Christmas dinner table.... Bob distinctly remembered the son-in-law's line: "Sir, I don't believe I ever have heard your voice before."

Looking over at the blue Buddhist fountain next to the TV, splashes of lit up water acting like natural tranquilizers, Bob was overcome with a strange feeling of calm, as of his silence was his salvation.
"If talking doesn't help, maybe shutting up will."
A thousand choleric women came to mind, shouting at their silent husbands. The wife that spent the two hours of dance class every Sunday screaming at her quiet hubbie what a stupid idiot he was for dancing the wrong combinations. Silence was his only weapon. The silent old man he had seen at the railway station, his wife shouting at him what an unorganized fool he was.

No mistake, Bob admired women, body and soul, for their spiritual strength and elevation. But like that Greek healing practitioner he knew, she had helped him in his regression therapy, giving him valuable advice:
"I am a woman," this lovable Greek lady had told him in one of their last sessions together, "but as a woman, I know men have a mission in calming down our hysteria. Just like Socrates did when his wife threw down her flower pot at him from their balcony because he had not finished a chore. He smiled at her, gently calling to her how nice it was to see her."

Transferring that to all people, that worked, didn't it? His father had been choleric, had he not? Could silence have worked on him? Or the buddy that manipulated Bob as a teenager. Not befriending him in the first place would have saved him loads of trouble.
That was the art of diplomacy, wasn't it? Spiritual Guru Byron Katie's constant advice of accepting reality of what is also coincided with this truth.

"Silence is my only weapon."

Gandhi drove out the British with his silence. Jesus saved the adulteress and inspired a religion through his silence. The worst actions in history were accompanied by rows of unnecessary words. Lebanese-British Pop Star Mika's lyrics were so wise:
"Words hurt." Even Hamlet knew it, turning his enemies games against themselves. When asked what he was reading, he knew they thought he was nuts and tried to corner him to reveal his lunacy. All he said was: "Words. Words. Words."

Bob smiled at the prospect of actually saving his own ass with the simple act of not subjecting himself to becoming a target. Bob whispered to himself now under his own breath. "If you don't say anything, no one can touch you. Your enemies only wait to use your own words against you. Jesus was smart. When asked if he was the son of God, he answered 'You say that I am.' He conquered psychological tricks by telling dishonest people that the person without sin should cast the first stone."

The beauty of his realization deepened when he suddenly understood what had just happened. In all his angelic channeling, Interviews with God and the like, the angels all answered that they would only help him find the answers. But actually answering the questions? That was his job.
In that respect, the divine cries to God of please giving him a sign had come through circumstance.
Bob was always feeling caught between two opposing forces, his feeling of being a ping pong ball thrown between mom and dad, wife and daughter, boss and colleague, now could be healed. He didn't always have to utter his opinion or react. The luxury of silence felt like a suddenly appearing heavenly oasis away from panic.
If all of the universe simply consisted of vibrating energy, matter just an illusion, if love was a spiral upwards and fear a spiral downwards, all he had to do was love and wait it out, staying positive, filled with love. With all the nuttiness of opposing forces and contradicting opinions going on, keeping some things to himself felt really good.
Added to that, Bob now had a simple tool with which he knew he could save his own dignity.
"Silence is my only weapon," he smiled,  nodding to himself.
God had answered his prayers.

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