We have so little mystery left in our lives. From 24-hour news channels that never rest to high-powered lenses that never blink and an Internet that never sleeps, no salacious detail goes undissected. No scandal goes unsalivated over. And no stone goes unturned — no matter how much we’d rather just let the moss grow. Which is why I’ve come to savor the few mysteries we have left. Why Mona Lisa was smiling. Where that other sock goes in the dryer. And what Bill Murray whispered into Scarlett Johansson’s ear at the end of Lost in Translation.

In that one sublime mumble, our imaginations took flight. In not knowing, his words remained perfect. In our mind’s ear, we heard whatever we wanted to hear. The beauty of the indecipherable is in its hope. Which I will now dash for you.

You see, some techno-spoilsport claims to have deciphered the Lost whisper. So now would be the time to stop reading if you like not knowing exactly where that other sock goes in the dryer. I mean it: Stop reading. Don’t click the play button. Go get a sandwich (but then, of course, come back and finish reading all the other fabulous AfterEllen.com bloggers’ posts).

Those of you left, click the play button and say goodbye to another one of life‘s great mysteries.

Uh, kind of underwhelming, no? But then, nothing could live up to our expectations. The ethereal perfection of Sofia Coppola’s open-ended ending is that we can tie up the loose ends ourselves however we please. Now, if this audio reveal is to be believed, we know Bob told Charlotte, “I have to be leaving, but I won’t let that come between us, OK?” To be honest, I can’t hear it.

And apparently vid22dotcom isn’t the only one with expensive sound processing equipment to burn. According to IMDb, the BBC2 program The Culture Show took a crack at Bill Murray’s mutterings and decided he probably said, “I love you. Don’t forget to always tell the truth.” Hmm, well, that’s a little better. And I think I hear the word “truth.” But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

For her part, Sofia contends that the whispered words were unscripted, so Bill and Scarlett are the only ones who know what was really said. While it’s impossible to completely unring the bell, I rather relish the continued ambiguity of the exchange. Because, really, those words weren’t for us. They’re for them. They’re private. Believe it or not, we don’t have to know everything every second. Now, for God’s sake, do not tell me what was in the Pulp Fiction suitcase.