The Mystery of the Noisy Child

I arrived in Saint-Etienne at the beginning of July. The summer months see people moving out of the cities and into the holiday locations for their annual vacations. As a result, the city seems deserted. I spent the first two months in this new city seeing on an average one person every five minutes when I was outside on the streets.

Thus, when September began and the schools opened, more importantly the primary school just across the road from my house, it took me some time to get accustomed to all the noise every morning. It was during the first week of September that something very interesting happened, and this is the story of that very event.

I wake up at 6:40 every morning and by 8:25 I leave my apartment to go to work. Since the first week of September, every morning sometime between 8:15 and 8:17, I hear a child singing in the corridor just outside my door for a few seconds. Just about a second later, I hear a sound as if someone were asking the child to be quiet. It sounds like "Shh!" The child does not stop. Around two seconds later, there is a second "Shh!" and the child becomes silent.

When I heard this the first time, I did not attach much importance to it. However, the next day, the exact same sequence of events followed. This is when my curiosity was piqued.

The first day when I heard the child, I had formed the following story in my mind. I had assumed that the child was going to school accompanied by a parent. As the child sang, the parent said "Shh!" to ask the child to be quiet. The child did not listen and continues to sing until the parent says "Shh!" again. However, I asked myself the following question: "Why is it that everyday the child becomes quiet only after the second time the "Shh!" is said?"

I could have just looked out the door the next day, but I thought it to be a nice challenge to be able to figure it out on my own. Therefore, later that day, I examined the corridor. Standing at my door, there are two elevators straight ahead. The inner doors of the elevator are sliding doors while the outer doors, which open on each floor are of the swinging type. To the right of the elevators is the door of the only other apartment on my floor, which is the ground floor. An old couple lives in this apartment and they have no small children in their house. To the left of the elevators is the security door which has heavy glass panes and leads to the exterieur of the building. Thus, anyone wishing to enter or leave the building must pass through this door.

Having seen this I thought about the events and arrived at a solution. I verified it the next day and was delighted to see that I was correct. If you wish to solve the problem yourself, I suggest you stop reading here because I will describe my solution in the remaining part of the text.



I first brought to mind the fact that I had seen nothing, but only heard. Therefore assuming that the sound of "Shh!" was made by a person is pure speculation. The sound the child made was definitely beyond doubt that of a child. This led me to the following solution to the problem. The child goes to school every morning around 8:15. He descends using the elevator and is in the habit of singing or making some sound as he walks out. The first sound of "Shh!" is not made by a person, but by the closing of the swinging door of the elevator. Of course, this does stop the child from singing. In order to exit the building, the child now moves to the security door and opens it. All this time, he continues his song. As he leaves the building by the security door, it is the door that makes the second "Shh!" sound. After the door closes, the thick glass prevents the transmission of sound. Therefore, I do not hear the child any more, even though he may as well still be singing outside.

Fifteen Minutes

Vincent always wished he had more time. He needed more time to finish his homework, he needed more time to sleep and he needed more time to play.

Vincent was neither lazy nor stupid. He was a genius, who was interested in so many things, that 24 hours in a day were just not enough for him. To add to that, he was a perfectionist, who would go to any length to ensure that his work not have even a single error. He was commended for this sometimes, but most of the time, he was reprimanded for not being able to finish on time. If there was one aspect where he had not been able apply his perfectionist tendencies, it was time.

Vincent's prayers would be answered, in a twisted sort of way. He would indeed have time.

That fateful weekend, we were going to the forest nearby to spend the morning. It was to be one of those trips where we would observe the plants that we learned about in botany class, and see the birds we saw in the encyclopedias that we rescued from gathering dust in the library. It would be a trip when we would flatter the great Sherlock Holmes, if imitation is the best form of flattery, by trying to draw conclusions from whatever we saw around us in the woods.

Vincent & I always loved going on these walks in the woods, and getting up at 6 am didn't seem to bother us as much as it did on the busier five days of the week. We went out of the hostel by 6:30 am after a light breakfast of bread, butter and eggs. This morning was a little different, the air was still, and the morning light had a shade of orange to it. It remained like that as we covered the two kilometres between the hostel and the entry to the woods. It was nearly 7 am now, and the sunlight was beautiful in its orangeness, as it leaked through slit-like openings between the tall trees.

Vincent, having finished reading his last book of short stories with the famous detective as the protagonist, was more interested in observing things and drawing incredible conclusions than in occupying his mind with the poet's fantasy when he saw the beauty of the forest. His attention was immediately drawn towards the dirt path where we were walking, as he pointed out the marks of bicycle tyres, and different kinds of footprints. I had read Sherlock Holmes before, but Vincent was the genius, who actually possessed the intellect capable of becoming like him in real life, if he had more time, that is. As we proceeded deeper into the woods along our regular route, Vincent suddenly stopped near a boulder. He asked me if I had seen the stone there earlier, and I replied that I did not remember. Vincent was positive that it had not been there before. As I protested that he was going too far with his pretense of Mr. Holmes, he actually showed me proof that he was correct. There was a trail of trampled grass behind the boulder, about as wide as the boulder itself.

We were excited at the chance to solve a puzzle, however unimportant it may be, and we set off on the trail of trampled grass. Ten minutes later, we reached a small clearing in the woods, where the trail ended. This was a very strange clearing, because the grass itself was no longer present. In the clearing, we saw a small circle of dusty ground with the grass ending just at its periphery. There was a shiny metallic object at the centre of this circle.

Vincent, forever the intrepid explorer, ordered me to stay where I was, as he walked towards the centre of the circle. The moment he entered the circle, Vincent vanished!!! I couldn't believe my eyes. I looked again, and found that both Vincent and the shiny object were gone. I ran into the circle of dust, waving my arms and calling out to my dear friend, but there was no reply. He had simply disappeared. I panicked, and quickly started running back to the hostel.

In about fifteen minutes, I reached the hostel, and was running up to the warden's office when I was stopped on the staircase by an elderly gentleman who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. I was about to step past him, when he handed me something that left me staring in wonder, it was a tattered copy of The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes, with yellowing pages, and on the cover I saw written in the handwriting of Vincent's father, "To Vincent, with love. Happy Birthday" and the date was last Thursday's!!! The gentleman asked me to calm down, and said he would explain everything.

As we sat down on the staircase, he introduced himself as my friend Vincent. I simply stared at him in disbelief. He told me that he was the same person whom I had seen vanish before my eyes just fifteen minutes ago. Hearing this I did not have any doubt that he indeed was Vincent, in fact the tone of his voice, and even his face, both bore some resemblance to those of my friend's. Through my utter confusion, I managed to somehow ask him what was going on. He began his explanation with the words, "My prayers have been answered."

He continued to explain. The metallic object that we saw just a few minutes ago was some sort of time bending device. Its effect was restricted to about a metre from itself in all directions, where it sped time up to many times faster than the surroundings. He went on to explain that when we saw the circle of dust, it was more like a sphere of dust, where time was moving at a rate several times faster than ours. Grass was growing inside it, dying and growing again at such a pace, that we could not see anything at all. When Vincent had picked it up, he had not realized anything, but then when he looked more closely, he saw grass under his feet, and that I just stood there, motionless, in front of him. Birds in the sky seemed to just hang there with invisible threads. Being the genius that he was, he immediately understood what was going on I did not believe him in the beginning, but then he showed me the metallic object, shiny as ever, which he had preserved with him.

He said that I too was now within the sphere of influence of the object, and we walked downstairs to see a world that was as still as a painting is.

Birds were stationary in mid-air; people in the yard seemed to be very realistic statues.

Then it dawned on me, and I asked Vincent how much time he had spent within the circle. He replied that time had no more meaning for him, but for my sake, he pinned the duration to nearly forty years. He had actually lived forty years of his life in fifteen minutes!! He said that he had not been "inside" all this time, he had come out once every few months, which would be intervals of a second or less in our time, in a variety of places all around the world.

Vincent had also written volumes of scientific and philosophical literature, which he had stored in my room. I saw the stacks of old yellowish pages filled with formulae in Vincent's beautiful handwriting. As he was no longer a part of this world, he had given all this to me.

I could not fathom the reason why someone would spend an entire life in solitude within the circle of his own time, and live in a world of statues.

Vincent explained, "My prayer was answered." Then he stepped back from me, and disappeared, just like he did fifteen minutes ago.

Neko no Sara (Cat's Plate)

This is a Japanese folk tale called Neko no Sara (Cat's Plate).
In the era when Tokyo was known as Edo, there was an antique shop owner, who would scout the city for antiques that the owners would have without any knowledge of their true value. This way he would buy them for a low price and would make a big profit when he sold them to collectors.
Once he visited a house, where an old war helmet was being used as a flower pot. He told the mistress of the house, “Look at those pretty flowers, but the ugly helmet ruins their beauty. Why don't you plant them in a nice vase?”
The mistress replied, “But vases are expensive. I could not afford one.”
“Don't worry, I will bring one over, and you can use it for your flowers. I have several vases lying around at home.”
Thus he brought a vase to plant the flowers in, and carried away the helmet. A few weeks later, he sold the helmet for an amount five times the price of the vase. He was very happy with the way he found his antiques.
One day, he was on one of his scouting trips, and was tired after spending the whole day without spotting any antiques. So, he stopped at a roadside stall for some tea and snacks. As he waited for his tea, he spotted that the stall owner had three cats, and they ate out of an old, cracked bowl. On looking carefully, he noticed that the bowl was definitely something that could fetch at least three hundred gold coins were a collector to set his eyes on it.
A plan started forming in his head, and he picked up one of the cats, and started petting it.
The stall owner arrived with the tea, and seeing the guest playing with the cat, he warned, “Please be careful okyakusama, the cat may scratch you.”
“Oh no, I love cats. I know how to play with them.”
After the antique shop owner had finished his meal, he paid the stall owner, and sat down to play some more with the cat. A few minutes later, he said, “Would you give me this cat?”
The stall owner was very surprised.
Seeing his expression, the antique shop owner said, “Of course, I will pay you. In fact, I will pay you three gold coins for this cat.”
“This cat? Why would you pay three gold coins for such a dirty cat?”
“Well, my wife and I have no children. So we had a cat for company. But last week he ran away, and my wife has been very sad since then. She would be very happy to see this adorable creature.
“I insist you sell me this cat.” Having said this, he put three gold coins on the table. The stall owner was surprised, but collected the money.
As he was leaving, the antique shop owner picked up the cat's feeding bowl. The stall owner stopped him and asked why he was taking the cracked old bowl.
“Well, the cat will not eat out of any other bowl, would it?”
“You don't need to worry about that. This cat is not that particular. Here, take this nice new bowl for the cat.”
“No, no, I would like to feed the cat in this bowl, since it habitually eats in it.”
Now the stall owner said, “Actually I cannot let you take this old cracked bowl away. It is worth at least three hundred gold coins.”
The antique shop owner tried very hard to look surprised, and exclaimed, “Three hundred gold coins?! Then why do you feed your cats in it?”
The stall owner replied, “That way, I often sell a dirty cat for three gold coins.”

Shibahama

I am not the author of this story. I heard it from a friend, and would like to share it with you. It is an old Japanese tale, called Shibahama.

A long time ago, when Tokyo was called Edo, there was a town called Shiba, and a fisherman named Uokoma, who lived there. He knew a lot about fish, and was very good at his work too. However, he had one flaw: he loved to drink sake. So, when he would get drunk, he would stop working, and wander in the streets, saying, "Who cares about my business anymore?" And then, he would sleep all day long.
His wife was very worried about the state of the family, because Uokoma had been on a long drinking spell, and had not gone fishing in a long time. The debts from all the sake and food were growing, and this troubled her deeply.
One night, she was unable to sleep, and finally, an hour before daybreak, she turned to her husband as he lay deep in slumber. She shook him, and said, "Hey you! Hey you!! Wake up, and go to work!!" He woke up, dizzy from his drinking, and asked her what the racket was all about. She told him again, "Go to work!"
He said, "But my shoes are all worn out."
"I have got new ones for you. Here they are."
"But my nets are all tangled up."
"No, I straightened them out for you."
So Uokoma reluctantly got up, and stepped out in his new shoes and carrying his nets under his arm. He returned within a minute and shouted, "You stupid woman! Its not even day now! How can I work in darkness?!"
His wife replied, "No, you must go now. It will be daybreak soon." Thus, she sent him off to fish and waited for his return.
An hour after sunrise, Uokoma came back. His casks still had fish in them.
"Why did you not sell them? Why did you come back so early?", she asked.
"Well, I went to the market, but it was too early, and none of the shops were open. So I decided to sit by the river, and wait until the shopkeepers came. As I sat there, I started feeling sleepy. So I walked up to the bank to wash my face. As I stooped down, I felt something at my feet. I looked, and saw something shiny."
"What was it?"
"This!!", said Uokoma, as he slammed down an exquisite wallet down on the table.
His wife opened it, and found it full of golden coins.
"There are 50 ryou in here! We are rich!", shouted Uokoma. "Now give me my sake. I have done enough work for this month."
Saying this Uokoma started drinking again, and within a few minutes went back to sleep, while his wife sat at the table counting the ryou again and again.
That day, Uokoma woke up late in the afternoon. He was in a good mood, and sang a greeting to his wife, "Konbanwa!" She merely shrugged, and pointed to the tangled mass of nets, and his torn old shoes, and said, "Please go fishing. We don't have any more money!"
"What?! What happened to the 50 ryou I found this morning?"
"50 ryou?!"
"Yes the wallet, with the 50 ryou!"
"What are you talking about?"
"I brought home a wallet with 50 ryou. You saw it too."
"I saw no such thing. You must have dreamt it."
Uokoma knew that he had been drinking and it was quite possible that he had dreamt the whole thing. Yet he searched everywhere, but by nightfall, he was tired, and started to believe his wife. He sat beside her, and said, "Yes, it must have been a dream, a very cruel dream."
She replied, "Perhaps this is God's way of punishing you for not working."
"If that is so, then I will work very hard from tomorrow. I will not drink a single drop of sake!"
Uokoma was true to his word. He woke up before daybreak, went fishing, and sold his fish at the market before the first customers came in. He would spend the rest of the time mending his nets, and his boat. He paid off his debts one by one, and was free of them all in a few months. All this time, he never went anywhere near sake. His wife was happy that her husband could now walk as a proud man. They were living comfortable lives and were very happy.
Three years passed like this. One morning, after making his sale at the market, Uokoma was tending to his boat, when he found a tiny leak. So he went back to his shed to look for a plug. As he was looking for it, he came across a small box in one corner of the shed. He picked it up and opened it, and he could not believe his eyes. Inside the box lay a pair of brand new shoes, and the same wallet he had dreamt about three years ago!
Uokoma ran to his wife, and asked her how they came to be there. His wife explained, "It was not a dream. You really did find the wallet."
"Then why did you lie to me? Why did you hide it?"
"If I had given you the wallet, would you be like you are now?"
Uokoma sat silently for a while. Then he suddenly spoke, "You are a Daimyo wife. Truly, you are a noble wife. Thank you."
She replied, "I am sorry if I hurt you. I only did it because I love you."
She poured him some sake, "Here have some."
"No! I vowed I would never drink another drop."
"You are not that man who is controlled by drink anymore. You can have a sip."
Uokoma replied, "No, I will not have any sake. What if this too became a dream?"

Confession

The bell at 1:15 pm marked the end of the school day. After the prayer, I hastily packed up my books into my bag, and ran out into the courtyard. Another busy day in kindergarten was over. With various combinations of the angular english alphabet to form words, the curvier Hindi lettersi n confusing shapes, and other things jumping around in my head, I was running towards the school gates, where the bus would be waiting for me.
It was a hot April afternoon. Summer vacations would start in two days. However, at that moment, all I could think about was the orange cylinder of ice, sheathed in a plastic tube, that some of my friends were sucking at. This “Pepcee” was a favorite of all kids. At one rupee for the four-inch pepcee and three rupees for the twelve-inch long one, kids could afford it with their pocket
money. Well, most kids could, but I could not. I could not afford it because at the time, my pocket allowance was the princely sum of zero rupees.
I had asked my parents several times to give me one rupee so that I may indulge in the pleasure of biting the pepcee, but they, in their desire to protect me from anything that may bring disease, they decided that I must stay away from the pepcee. I had absolutely no idea what the pepcee tasted like, for nobody ever shared his, and I was too poor to buy my own. Yet, the very fact that one would not share it indicated that it must be something amazing.
As these thoughts as replaced the alphabet, and were bouncing around in my little five-year old head, one of my friends walked up to me and said, “Tomorrow is the last working day before the vacations. We will buy the big pepcee tomorrow. Get three rupees for it.”
Peer pressure is a strange thing. It makes one commit to doing things one knows is impossible. I replied, “Sure!”
While the bus made its fourteen kilometre long journey from school to my home, my determination to obtain the three rupees grew stronger. I devised a master plan. I would first ask my parents to give me the three rupees. If that did not work, I would tell them that all my friends were having it. They would understand. The concept of lying had yet to be born.
Well, they did not understand. I was not a stubborn kid, so I simply walked back to my room. No sobs, just a few tears rolling down my cheeks. In fifteen minutes, all was forgotten, and I was happy as ever playing with my cars.
For some reason, I walked into the kitchen. Nobody was there. I rolled my car up the vertical cliff, and turned off at the first plateau. Weaving through the tall cylinders filled with powders of different colors, and an occasional one with some liquid, the car moved forward on its expedition. Suddenly, the intrepid explorer discovered treasure!! It was in the form of a metallic hexagon, with the number 3 embossed on it. Could someone have left it here? Has it been forgotten? Finally, the greed of the treasure seeker overwhelmed the well-meaning concern, and the explorer quietly picked up the treasure, and put it in his pocket.
The next day was the last working day and summer vacation would begin at 1:15 pm!! Everyone was excited. The day passed very quickly, and as I rushed out of the classroom, there was only one thing on my mind. The coin in my pocket, and the twelve-inch pepcee that would soon be mine.
As I approached the gate, I started looking for the friend who had proposed the grand plan the day before. I spotted him near the pepcee cart and I ran towards it. The disheveled looking pepcee seller was giving out ice cylinders of different colors, orange, green, black and yellow to little hands, in exchange for tiny metal discs. I finally reached the cart, hoping that it was not all sold out. He said, “Quick give me your three rupees!!” I pulled out my coin from my pocket and gave it to him. He was surprised. He said, “Ha!! This is not three rupees! This is a beggar's coin!!” He dropped the coin back into my hands and moved on to get his pepcee.
At that moment, I remembered what we had been taught in class a few weeks ago. The coin I had was not a three-rupee coin; such a coin did not exist. It was three paise. In my rage I flung the coin on to the road and walked back to the bus.
I never spoke of this incident to anyone until a few years ago, when I confessed to my parents about stealing three paise from them in 1988.