The Man Who Hated Noise
Imaginative Tales – March 1957
(1957)*
Randall Garrett & Robert Silverberg
(as S. M. Tenneshaw)

	Mr. Pimms was irritated with the world about him. Nothing but talk of war and blaring TV commercials. But his machine would stop it!

-

	"EXT REE! Ex-tree!

	"Soviet refuses U. S. terms! International tension builds! Reedallabout it!"

	Mr. Pimms snarled bitterly at the echoing shout of the newsboy on the sidewalk fourteen floors below. Angrily, he walked over and slammed down the window. The noise made him wince.

	Even with the window closed, the raucous blare of horns and the throaty rumble of trucks from the distant streets below pounded against Mr. Pimms' ears.

	Noise! People were always making noise! It almost seemed a deliberate campaign to torture him.

	Well, just wait. Mr. Pimms would show them. He'd give to the world the device it had so long needed.

	He smiled contemplatively at the array of wires and tubes on his desk. There was just a little more work to do, and then the Pimms Silencer would—at long last—be a reality.

	He sat down and went to work with a soldering iron and pliers, attaching the components according to the complex wiring diagram he had drawn up.

	As he completed some elaborate joinings of micro-transistors, Mrs. Barnaby, in the next apartment, turned on her TV set.

"What gets all the kiddies' votes?
A great big bowl of WHEETIE-OATS!"

	The strident singing commercial was repeated two or trfree more times. Mr. Pimms cursed under his breath and tried to concentrate on what he was doing.

	"And now, Fenton Quimby, with the news," said the TV.

	Mr. Pimms sighed, got up, and walked over to a wall cabinet. He took out a pair of earmuffs.

	"In case of any danger, ev-ery-one is requested to keep cool and go to the H-Bomb-proof shelters. You will be given plenty of warning," said Fenton Quimby importantly.

	Mr. Pimms put on the earmuffs, reducing the droning voice of the news analyst to a mere mumble. Then he went back to his work.

	He was almost through when a song came blaring through the wall.

"I love you, but I'm apprehensive;
Keeping you is too expensive; You've got me on the defensive,
		Still, I love you baby!"

Mr. Pimms snorted angrily and got up. He walked to his door, opened it, went down the hall and knocked on Mrs. Barnaby's door.

-

	When she opened it, he said: "Mrs. Barnaby, would you please turn down your TV set? I can hardly hear myself think."

	The woman's face wrinkled. "Mr. Pimms, you never do anything but complain. I keep that set turned down so low that I can hardly hear it myself, and you know that."

	"You don't need to shout!"

	 "I am not shouting, Mr. Pimms!" she bellowed. "I am using a normal tone of voice instead of that anemic whisper that you seem to think is a full speaking voice." She slammed the door in his face, and the explosion of sound shook him clear down to his toes. He glared at the bare door for a moment, almost convulsed with anger.

	Then he stalked back into his room. The song was still going.

"1 sure take an awful beating;
1 know, dear, that you've been cheating;
Still, it's humble pie I'm eating, 'Cause I love you, baby."

	Mr. Pimms got out some cotton, vaselined it heavily, and stuffed it under the earmuffs into his ears. The noise became a little more bearable. He went back to work on the Pimms Silencer.

	It was nearly an hour before he finished. By that time Mrs. Barnaby had shut off the television set, so he could check his circuits in comparative ease.

	When everything was finished, he put it on his night table, stared expectantly at it for a moment, and plugged it into the socket.

	The wailing sound of a child's crying came through the wall. Mr. Pimms grinned savagely and jabbed the button on the Pimms Silencer.

	The wail stopped. So did the noise from the street. Mr. Pimms gingerly removed the muffs and earplugs. Still no noise. He filled his lungs with air and shouted.

	Or, at least, he tried to shout.

	He didn't hear a thing. He was surrounded by a complete wall of silence. Feeling a pulsing beat of triumph, he walked over and opened the window. Silence. Perfect, absolute silence.

	According to his calculations, the Silencer had an effective radius of thirty-five to forty feet. No noise could penetrate the invisible barrier. For the first time in his life, Mr. Pimms had the silence his soul so desperately craved.

	He went back to his bookshelf, selected a book, and settled himself in his easy chair. From now on, he was going to enjoy life.

-

	No noise disturbed Mr. Pimms that afternoon. He did not hear the wailing bleat of the big siren atop City Hall. He didn't hear the bellowing voice from the Public Address truck that moved through the streets.

	"ATTENTION! ATTENTION! INTO THE BOMBPROOF SHELTERS, EVERYONE! THERE IS NO NEED TO PANIC, BUT YOU MUST BE IN THE SHELTERS WITHIN THE NEXT TEN MINUTES. HURRY, BUT DON'T PANIC. THERE IS NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT. REPEAT: NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT. JUST WALK BRISKLY TO THE NEAREST SHELTER."

	Mr. Pimms did not hear the scramble of feet, the honking of automobiles, the excited voices.

	He did not hear the voice on Mrs. Barnaby's TV set, either.

	"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please! Enemy bombers have been sighted coming in from the north. The Air Force is doing its best to intercept them, and there is reason to believe that they will be brought down before they do any damage!"

	Mr. Pimms read quietly while anti-aircraft guns hammered at the sky, and the screaming roar of fighter-interceptors echoed.

	Mr. Pimms finished the book and, still smiling happily, walked over to the window.

	He was in time to see something bright falling toward the ground.

	Then, suddenly, the sky was filled with an all-consuming brilliance. The terrible glare of a thermonuclear bomb, brighter than the sun itself, blossomed out over the city. For just a fraction of a moment, Mr. Pimms saw the awful light and felt the searing heat.

	Of course, he didn't hear a thing.

The End