The Box of Silence

Lina lived in a big city. The city never fell silent. Cars, horns, building sites, the neighbor's television, the seller in the street... Lina could not sleep at night. She covered her ears; the sounds still got in.

In summer she went to the village, to her grandmother. In the village everything was quiet. The first night Lina slept right through. On the day she was going home she cried: "When I get back to the city I won't be able to sleep again."

Her grandmother brought a wooden box. Small, old, with stars carved on the lid. "I have put the silence of the village inside this," she said. "If you can't sleep in the city, open it."

Lina went back to the city. The first night the sounds came again. She opened the box. It was empty. But... Lina listened. Something was coming from the box. A rustling; the rustling of the trees in the village. A chirping; the sound of the crickets in the village. A faraway dog. The wind. And between all of these, a huge, soft silence.

Lina put the box beside her pillow. The sounds of the city drew away; the horns turned into birds, the building sites into woodpeckers. Lina slept.

Years later Lina grew up and realized that the box had actually been empty. She asked her grandmother. Her grandmother smiled: "The silence was not in the box, my girl. It was in you. The box only reminded you where you had put it."

Now you close your eyes too and open your box. Listen to the trees, the crickets, the wind. They are there. They were always there.