Silence. John Cage

of

      planes bound for the

      west. When the wea-

      ther was good, the

      windows were o-

      pen: a plane

      passing above drowned

      out Dr. Dai-

      setz Teitaro

      Suzuki. Nev-

      ertheless, he

      never raised his

      voice, never paused,

      and never in-

      formed his listen-

      ers of what they

      missed of the lec-

      ture, and no one

      ever asked him

      what he had said

      while the airplanes

      passed above. Any-

      way, he was

      explaining one

      day the meaning

      of a Chinese

      character—Yu,

      I believe it

      was—spending the

      whole time explain-

      ing it and yet

      its meaning as

      close as he could

      get to it in

      English was “un-

      explainable.”

      Finally he

      laughed and then said,

      “Isn’t it strange

      that having come

      all the way from

      Japan I spend

      my time explain-

      ing to you that

      which is not to

      be explained?” ¶That

      was not the stor-

      y I was go-

      ing to tell when

      I first thought I

      would tell one, but

      it reminds me

      of another.

      Years ago when

      I was study-

      ing with Arnold

      Schoenberg someone

      asked him to ex-

      plain his technique

      of twelve-tone com-

      position. His

      reply was im-

      mediate: “That

      is none of your

      business.” ¶Now

      I remember

      the story I

      was going to

      tell when I first

      got the ide-

      a to tell one.

      I hope I can

      tell it well. Sev-

      eral men, three

      as a matter of

      fact, were out

      walking one day,

      and as they were

      walking along

      and talking one

      of them noticed

      another man

      standing on a

      hill ahead of

      them. He turned to

      his friends and said,

      “Why do you think

      that man is stand-

      ing up there on

      that hill?” One said,

      “He must be up

      there because it’s

      cooler there and

      he’s enjoying

      the breeze.” He turned

      to another

      and repeated

      his question, “Why

      do you think that

      man’s standing up

      there on that hill?”

      The second said,

      “Since the hill is

      elevated

      above the rest

      of the land, he

      must be up there

      in order to

      see something in

      the distance.” And

      the third said, “He

      must have lost his

      friend and that is

      why he is stand-

      ing there alone

      on that hill.” Af-

      ter some time walk-

      ing along, the

      men came up the

      hill and the one

      who had been stand-

      ing there was still

      there: standing there.

      They asked him to

      say which one was

      right concerning

      his reason for

      standing where he

      was standing. ¶“What

      reasons do you

      have for my stand-

      ing here?” he asked.

      “We have three,” they

      answered. “First, you

      are standing up

      here because it’s

      cooler here and

      you are enjoy-

      ing the breeze. Second,

      since the hill

      is eleva-

      ted above the

      rest of the land,

      you are up here

      in order to

      see something in

      the distance. Third,

      you have lost your

      friend and that is

      why you are stand-

      ing here alone

      on this hill. We

      have walked this way;

      we never meant

      to climb this hill;

      now we want an

      answer: Which one

      of us is right?”

      ¶The man answered,

      “I just stand.” ¶When

      I was studying

      with Schoenberg

      one day as he was

      writing some

      counterpoint to

      show the way to

      do it, he used

      an eraser.

      And