The Sound of Silence

Out in the open wisdom calls aloud, she raises her voice in the public square; … Then they will call to me but I will not answer; they will look for me but will not find me … For the waywardness of the simple will kill them, and the complacency of fools will destroy them; but whoever listens to me will live in safety and be at ease, without fear of harm.” Proverbs 1:20, 28, 32-33

Jonas slid his finger across the tablet screen, dismissing the notification with an impatient sigh. It was another article shared by his sister, Cláudia: “The Dangers of Aggressive Debt in Times of Crisis.” He archived the message without reading it.

“I know what I’m doing,” he muttered to himself.

He was on top of the world, or at least on top of his world. His construction company, “Jonas Buildings,” had secured the contract for a luxury condominium, his biggest project to date. He had achieved this with a bold strategy: maximum leverage, heavy bank loans, and the promise of record-breaking delivery time. The “old-timers” in the market called him reckless. He called himself a visionary.

The voice of wisdom, for Jonas, was just background noise.

It cried out in the public square of his daily life. It was his bank manager, a cautious man, advising, “Jonas, this variable interest rate is a dangerous bet. The scenario can change.” Jonas ignored him, seeking a larger initial loan.

It was his foreman, old Batista, with his calloused hands and decades of experience, saying, “Mr. Jonas, we can’t cut costs on the foundation. This soil here is treacherous. A heavy rain…” Jonas cut him off with a gesture, accusing him of being a pessimist and trying to delay the schedule.

It was his wife, asking to look over the finances together, to create a reserve fund.

“We are living on the edge, Jonas. What if something goes wrong?”

He would reply with arrogance, “Trust me. Failure is for the weak.”

He hated instruction and scoffed at any rebuke. He considered caution a weakness and prudence a synonym for cowardice. He was the master of his fate, the architect of his success.

Then, calamity arrived. Not like a clap of thunder, but like a fine, persistent rain that no one took seriously at first. A small shift in the government’s economic policy sent interest rates soaring. The cost of his loan doubled overnight. Then came the summer rains, heavier than predicted. The construction site’s ground, just as Batista had warned, began to give way, compromising part of the structure.

The disaster he had so despised ate him alive.

Calls from creditors became his background music. Suppliers suspended deliveries. The client threatened to break the contract. Panic, a feeling he did not know, settled in his chest like a violent tenant.

Desperate, he began to seek the help he had once rejected.

He called the bank manager, begging for a renegotiation. The voice on the other end was cold and formal, “I’m sorry, Mr. Jonas, but there is nothing we can do at the moment. You were aware of the risks.”

He sought out the foreman, Batista, who had already resigned. He left several messages. “I need your advice! What do I do?” The messages were never answered.

That evening, he found his wife in the living room, her face drawn, with a pile of bills on the table.

“You were right,” he said, his voice broken. “We need to talk. Help me understand this.”

She looked at him, and for the first time, he saw not love or admiration, but a profound weariness.

“I tried, Jonas. For months, I tried. Now… I don’t know what to say anymore.”

It was the exact echo of the proverb. He now cried out for them, but they did not answer. He searched for them in the dead of night, but he only found silence. The wisdom he had despised, now, in his moment of greatest need, refused to attend to him.

Sitting in his luxurious living room, which would soon no longer be his, Jonas opened the tablet. His sister’s article was still there, in the archive. He read it. Each paragraph was a precise description of his downfall. Wisdom had been there all along. It was not hidden. It was crying out in the streets, in the advice, in the warnings.

He had not been a victim of bad luck or a treacherous economy. He had been a victim of his own arrogance. He had loved his mockery and hated knowledge. And now, he tasted the bitter fruit of his own way, filled with his own devices. The only sound that remained was the deafening silence of all the voices he had refused to hear.

(Made with AI)