But on entering the Tower he encountered nothing but chaos and pandemonium and total indifference. The speech he intended to make to the scholars within froze on his lips. His heart beat wildly as he strayed into the eye of the hallucination. In fright he thought he would never get out. First he tried in vain to talk to the people there collected in Irish. But all were busy in various languages of distress. Out of a sense of duty he continued to seek their attention. He saw the open door, but thought he would never make it. Yet, with perfect ease, he saw himself walk through the wall that only existed in his own mind. He emerged to find that the chaos made perfect sense again. This made him re-enter the Tower once more, even though some part of him screamed no. Again he strove to preach the word that could not be uttered. To give some form to that which cannot be said. But now the confusion was even more intense. His chin shook uncontrollably. His bowels pounded. This drove him outside, where again he overheard reasonable arguments in Latin, Greek and Hebrew from those within.

They spoke of the sanctity of life, of everlasting life, of violence and peace.

He entered again, like a swimmer going down for the third time. And he would have remained like this forever, going to and fro, if, when he emerged humiliated the next time, another man – a traveller also – had not come and stood enthralled by the perfect sense the babblers made within the Tower.

For a few minutes the two strangers stood together listening to the sensible thoughts, arrayed in the finest language, concerning each speaker’s argument for continued occupation of the island.

Like the traveller before him, the newcomer became hypnotized by the pure disparity and common sense of the voices. Inside the perfect version of the story existed. Perhaps this man was set upon the same quest, sent by the same woman, our traveller thought. The newcomer, looking transcendent and at peace, entered the Tower of Babel. For a while our man stood there waiting to be possessed once more, but suddenly he was released from that fate. The arrival of the other man had allowed our traveller to journey on. He had been released. Someone else had taken his place. Glad of his freedom, he left the other stepping to and fro between the arguments of normality and madness till some other poor traveller might come in his turn and relieve him.

Maisie found her husband’s eyes upon her.

She stopped reading.

“It must be dreadful,” said Sergeant Adams, “to step out into space.”