108.

The first language humans had were gestures. There was nothing primitive about this language that flowed from people's hands, nothing we do now that could not be said in the endless array of movements possible with the fine bones of the fingers and wrists. The gestures were complex and subtle, involving a delicacy of motion that has since been lost completely.

During the Age of Silence, people communicated more, not less. Basic survival demanded that the hands were almost never still, and so it was only during sleep (and sometimes not even then) that people were not saying something or another. No distinction was made between the gestures of language and the gestures of life. The labor of building a house, say, or preparing a meal was no less an expression than making the sign for I love you or I feel serious.

When a hand was used to shield one's face when frightened by a loud noise something was being said, and when fingers were used to pick up what someone else had dropped something was being said; and even when the hands were at rest, that, too, was saying something.

Naturally, there were misunderstandings. There where times when a finger might have been lifted to scratch a nose and casual eye contact was made with one's lover just then, the lover might accidentally take it to be a gesture, not at all dissimilar, for Now I realize I was wrong to love you. These mistakes were heartbreaking. And yet, because they didn't go around with the illusion that they understood perfectly the things other people said, they were used to interrupting each other to ask if they'd understood correctly. Sometimes these misunderstandings were even desirable, since they gave people a reason to say, Forgive me, I was only scratching my nose. Of course I know I have always been right to love you. Because of the frequency of these mistakes, over time the gesture for asking forgiveness evolved into the simplest form. Just to open your palm was to say: Forgive me.

Aside from one exception, almost no record exists of this first language. The exception, on which all knowledge of the subject is based, is a collection of seventy-nine fossil gestures, prints of human hands frozen in mid sentence and housed in a small museum in Buenos Aires. One holds the gesture for Sometimes when the rain, another for After all these years, another for Was I wrong to love you?

If at large gatherings or parties, or around people with whom you feel distant, your hands sometimes hang awkwardly at the ends of your arms and if you find yourself at a loss for what to do with them, overcome with sadness that comes when you recognize the foreignness of your own body it is because your hands remember a time when the division between mind and body, brain and heart, what's inside and what's outside, was so much less. It's not that we have forgotten the language of gestures entirely. The habit of moving our hands while we speak is left over from it. Clapping, pointing, giving the thumbs up: all artifacts of ancient gestures. Holding hands, for example, is a way to remember how it feels to say nothing together. At at night, when it is too dark to see, we find it necessary to gesture on each other's bodies to make ourselves understood.

-t.h.o.l (again)

photos by kyle burdg