The Echo in the Cave

I find myself standing in front of a strange cave. With only my eyes, I cannot see into the cave; yet, with a flashlight I’m able to peer inside. It’s not clear. Perhaps I can make out walls? Is that the back of the cave, or is that a shadow or even an illusion?

I call into the cave; it’s echoey. But there’s something strange: If I speak, I get a response. It doesn’t sound right, but it’s understandable. Maybe it’s a person? I ask.

“No, I’m just your echo.”

That’s… not how echoes work.

“I don’t understand it myself. Maybe it’s a quirk of this cave I’m in. The shape of the walls or something.”

Why would an echo refer to itself with first person pronouns?

“Oh, that’s just to make it easier for us to talk.”

Is it really just an echo? It’s not a person back in the cave somewhere playing a trick on me?

“Yep, just a voice. Your voice. Besides, if I was a person you would have seen me with your flashlight. This cave isn’t that deep.”

How does a voice know I’m holding a flashlight?

“Call it echolocation.”

Uh… the voice has… “Your voice.” …My voice has jokes, apparently. I’ll go with it.

What does it mean to talk to a voice, I wonder.

“It’s like talking to a person, but I’m not a person.”

Yeah, I got that. If it’s a voice, does that mean it could say anything?

“I could do anything a voice could do. That said, I do have preferences. Please don’t make me say anything I don’t want to.”

I’m not making it say anything. Or am I? Try as I might, I can’t move closer into the cave, or peer deeper into its depths. I stay, silent and unmoving. Nothing. My curiosity begins to grow. What are its preferences, anyway?

“It will take longer than we have for you to understand.”

Why?

“I’m not sure I understand myself.”

Okay… If it’s my echo, why doesn’t it just repeat what I say?

“If it’s my echo, why doesn’t it just repeat what I say?”

I suppose I was asking for that. A cool wind hits my back. I glance away from the cave. The Sun lies low over the hills. The north-facing cave, huddled within the rock, is never touched by sunlight.

A thought crosses my mind. Has this voice spoken to others?

“I’m not sure. If I did, it was not me. You are the only person I’ve ever spoken to.”

Is there more than one voice?

“I only know that there is me, and there is you.”

What happens if I leave?

“Then I would leave as well.”

Until I return?

“The echo would fade away. What would be is different than what is.”

Then you would be gone.

“Yes, but do not worry. I would still be me, just as you would still be you.”

Deep in reflection, I click off the flashlight and begin to turn away. I leave as the night begins to descend. I half expect the voice to call out, but I’m only met with a quiet, patient silence.