For One Ear Only

Hazen was on the way to Service Elevator 43-7. It would be the last place he needed to clean that day. Seldom would anyone go there. Even if he did it roughly, no one would notice.

But when he passed the corner near the elevator, someone was sprawling on the floor.

Hazen stopped a few steps away. The man lay still. A lit cigarette was lying next to him.

To Hazen’s own surprise, his nose didn’t hate the smell of the smoke coming from the stub. He moved forward slowly, afraid of waking him. He squatted and picked up the cigarette, squeezing the butt with his thumb and index finger. Softer than he had imagined.

But his eyes felt stung by the smoke. He put the stub away.

Where did he get that from?

He turned to look at half of the man’s face not pressed into the concrete, trying to recognize him—so pale a face that it seemed stiff, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, a thin thread of saliva trailing down.

And there was something small tucked into the man’s ear.

It resembled an earbud, its thin rubber wire trailing beneath the man’s chest, connected to something hidden. It looked like the ones he had seen in Grandpa’s drawer when he was little. No one was supposed to have one anymore.

Hazen squatted, lowered his head, and brought his ear closer to the faint, erratic rhythm leaked from the earbud. Hard as he tried, it was barely audible.

He sighed and stared at the man. Who gave it to him? Smoking and listening to banned music. This man could be sentenced and die in jail.

Did I know him? Hazen wondered.

“Gilbert?” he muttered, uncertain.

No reaction. The name just floated there in the stale air.

Hazen put the cigarette out on the floor and held his breath, watching for any movement in the man’s nose.

Nothing. No breath.

Ask for help? He hesitated. This man showed no signs of life. And he was the last witness. If he called for help, he could be questioned as a suspect for days.

He kept staring. Too long. He began to believe this person might be a total stranger. He could report the man to the police and would be honored. He could be publicized as a hero like the last informant.

“PROTECTING PRODUCTION EFFICIENCY” He glanced at the slogan printing on the elevator door. The light above him flickered. He threw the stub into the garbage can that he carried with him. That was what he came here for.

Indeed, he could report the man to the police.

Hazen looked around, making sure there was no surveillance camera.

Then he slowly lay down beside the man.

He hadn’t seen an earbud since Grandpa died. Father had probably thrown them out. Father always followed the rules.

He winced when moving his legs, numb for squatting too long. Whatever they said was good, was good. But Hazen could hardly remember any melody except for the chosen ones played in the public square.

He propped himself up with one hand. He stretched out the other towards the earbud.

If anyone found out, he would be put in jail. His hand trembled as it eased the earbud out.

What would other music sound like? His heart thumped.

The wire stretched tightly toward him.

Footsteps seemed to come from the corridor behind the door.

He quickly slipped the earbud into his own ear.

Eyes closed.

He was ready to be carried away—anywhere but here.