I Did Not Know You

I overheard a telephone conversation in an airport the other day -- or rather, I overheard one half of the conversation.

"Did you tell them to call you at my number? They called me, asking for you. I didn't know what they wanted, so I told them I didn't know you."

I thought of the story I had just finished reading, a story of slaves, and I thought of how the safety of a slave lies in unfailing loyalty to his own kind, and to silence. The slave does not converse with his master; he does not collaborate with his master; he does not confide in his master. For being powerless, and having no friends among the powerful, what shall be his recourse if his master betrays his trust in even the smallest thing?

I heard the words again: "I did not know what they wanted, so I told them I did not know you." And I thought, "These are the words of a slave."

Then I was sad for my country, and ashamed, to think that among us are those who have learned, no doubt through bitter lessons, instinctively to relate to one another in this way.