The Unsilent Ring

The diamond ring sang out from the window display. Nestled in a black velvet tray, it conjured images of Alnilam, shining the brightest in Orion’s belt. Elizabeth’s hands pressed themselves against the chilled glass. The ring was audible, if she strained just right; a whirring, humming murmur, just on the edge of hearing. Her feet walked themselves towards the battered door.

It looked like the kind of door that would trigger a jarring bell when pushed, but the only sound was a slight groan. The ring whirred and whispered. She gazed at it, and it filled her eyes. There was a happy squeeze around her finger when she slipped it on. The bank statement in her pocket cringed, though, and she yanked it off again. Without explaining herself to the raised eyebrows of the shop assistant, she ducked out.

The dress in the cupboard cried when she got home. She grew impatient: she had never wanted a diamond. Dreadful, blood-soaked things, plucked from faraway mines by skinny-legged children. He had offered her a ring, of course, the gentlemanly thing – but he had known that she wouldn’t accept. Why think about it now? The veil hugged close to the second-hand dress, shushing it.

She slept in the spare room again. She couldn’t stand the sighing sadness of the wedding paraphernalia anymore.

At 2am she startled awake hear the rustling and jingling under the bed. Foggy-headed, she glared into the darkness. She flung herself out of bed, banging her bare feet painfully on the floor. She hauled out the underbed box and hissed at its contents. Isolated down here, the bridesmaid’s dresses had only just heard the news. They continued chattering amongst themselves as she thumped up the stairs and threw them into their bedroom. Her bedroom. James’s bedroom was now on the other side of town. Other hands stroked his face and turned down his covers in the morning; he listened to someone else’s stories. Perhaps his eyes sparkled bemusedly, as they had for her. She gave the box a kick for good measure. The room exploded in anxious enquiries about his whereabouts the second she closed the door.

The ring tried to haunt her dreams, but she opted to be chased by some demonic creature instead, which was much less horrifying. The ring would get on well with all the whingers here, she thought. It had seemed excessively vocal.

The next day she considered skipping lunch, but the boss practically shooed her out the door. Wandering aimlessly, she ended up following the same route. Her feet knew where they were going. Determined not to look, she turned her head the other way as she passed the shop. Her neck wrenched itself around against her will.

The ring was gone. Her heart lurched up, threatening to escape her throat. Her lungs refused to fill.

It didn’t matter, anyway. She didn’t want a ring, even though it seemed her fingers did, from the way they had arranged themselves to be shoving against the door. Her leg muscles carried her inside.

“Where is that ring from the window?” She heard herself demanding.

The shopkeeper raised his eyebrows; apparently, that was his only means of communication.

“Sorry. I mean the ring that tried me on yesterday. I tried on. I’d just like to know, have you sold it?”

He shook his head, slid open a drawer, and the scream of the ring was deafening. She was amazed he didn’t flinch.

“How much?”

He grinned and gestured to the price tag.

“I’ll take it.” The emergency credit card he had given her jumped into her hand. It hadn’t been cancelled.

The ring clung to her finger.

“What do you think?”

Thumbs up.

Seeming to realise something, the man tapped a sign just above his head with a little black stick like an old-fashioned schoolmaster. It read:

Please excuse my silence. I am mute.

Shame rushed to Elizabeth’s face. She blurted an apology.

He shook his head gently and scribbled on a scrap of paper: “I should have it pinned to my chest. The ring suits you perfectly. Be happy.”

“Thank you.” She nodded and left.

Hurrying along the street, she realised in a rush of joy that she had been wrong all along. She had leapt to the conclusion that if you were forced to be silent, communication was impossible. How could you live and love without words? You could do without legs, without arms, without lungs if you got the right kind of machinery, but without the use of your tongue? Never! The ring was silent. Having won the argument, it had nothing more to say. She wondered how it would react to being taken off again later.

In the event, it said nothing. It lay on the table looking satisfied with itself. Everything else seemed oddly silent too, for that matter. Only the mirror continued to gripe. Her formerly caramel hair was more bird’s nest than Baywatch; her ribs poked disconcertingly through the first two tops she tried. He preferred her in dresses, anyway. She pulled a flattering red one from the wardrobe. It was baggier than she remembered, but a brighter lipstick dragged the eye away from it before you fully registered the loose fit. The mirror shrugged.

The taxi was delayed. Her heels clip-clopped along the floor.

When she got in, the driver only enquired after the postcode, tapped it into his satnav and took off. The silent type, thank God.

She wondered how he would react to her sudden appearance. He might be angry. She suspected she would have been.

The redhead answered the door: his dragon guard. Did she have a name? She was angry, anyway.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“I want to see James.”

“You haven’t got the right.”

The ring glowered in her pocket. She would see him.

Its buzzing energy fuelled her feet as she marched towards the ground floor bedroom, the other woman sighing in her wake. A knock on the door would have been a waste of time. She caressed the handle while the redhead stared, expecting her to lose her nerve. She pushed. It glided open. She crashed in like the lorry had ploughed into his little run-around. He must be getting sick of crashes by now.

His eyes were unreadable. She was startled by how little the room had changed. There was a chart on the wall: it looked like an eye test, but all the letters were the same size.

“I’m sorry.”

The nurse snorted. “He hasn’t recovered, you know. He’s still locked in.” and then, to him: “Do you want to speak to her?” Obviously hoping he would somehow yell no.

He blinked.

“Look, there.” The guide on the wall. “Read the letters slowly. He’ll blink at the right one. She turned and left, disapproving.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left. I was scared. Um… OK. E-T-A-O-I- “

Blink.

“E-T- “

Blink.

“E-T-A-O-I-N-S-“

Blink.

“E-T-A-O-“

Blink.

“E-T-A-O-I-N-S-...wait – itso? It’s OK?”

Blink.

“No, no, it isn’t. I left you. I’m so sorry.”

“Y-O-U-R-E-H-E-R-E-N-O-W.”

“I still want to marry you.”

“H-A-H-A.”

“I do. I will.” The ring strained in her pocket. “Will you marry me?”

“Y- “

Her knees buckled. The ring had pushed her.

She pushed it onto her finger and showed it to him. The smile was still there.

She sat down on the bed beside him, slipping her hand into his. His finger flickered against the ring.

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