As he walked, his thoughts cried out against the silence. He glanced suspiciously from side to side. If only he could hear the sounds of the city. But except for human voices and music, the city had always been silent. The human voices spoke only words written by the Superfathers, and the music came from records that had been composed by them--all this back when the city had first come into being. Other than these sounds there could be only the quiet all around. No chugging motors or scraping footsteps. No crashing engines in the sky, or pounding of steel on stone. No shrieking of factory whistles or clanging steeple bells or honking automobile horns. None of this to pluck and pound at nerves, to suggest that this place was not the most soothing and gentle of all places to be in. There were no winds to swirl and moan away into the distance. The chirp of birds had long since been stilled, and so had the patter of rain and the crash of thunder. There must not be any of these sounds either to lure the imagination into some distance where danger and excitement might be waiting. Now he was walking toward the door of his apartment house. It swung open. Thirty seconds later he stopped before another door. It too swung open. His wife stood in the middle of the room, between two traveling bags. He moved slowly toward her and stopped just out of arm's reach. "What's this?" He gestured toward the bags. "Where're you going?" She stared at him for a long moment, her face set. She was of his height and build and wore a suit the same light grey as his. Their hair cuts were identical, their faces sharp featured and pale. They might have been brother and sister--or two brothers, or two sisters. "I'm going to the marriage center." "What for?" He had tried to inject surprise into his voice. But the tone was listless. "The Superfather called about your dream." Twenty-three turned away, lighted a cigarette. He should beg her to stay, should promise to change. But the silence was in him, like a sickness. "A terrible thing's happening to you. I don't want any part of it." She picked up the bags. "When you come to your senses, you know where to reach me.... _If_ I haven't already made another contract, I _might_ come back to you." She hesitated at the door. "There's one thing I don't understand. You haven't begged me to stay. You haven't broken down. You haven't threatened suicide." She paused. "It's standard procedure, you know. It might even make me decide to wait awhile." "I don't want you to stay," he said. He felt a shock of surprise. It was as though a voice had spoken from behind him. He watched the door shut between them. * * * * *