Ghost Radio

To my extraordinary family
—Caitlin, the most beautiful wife a man can have, y mis chiquitos: Inés Celestia and Leopoldo Valerio (you grew up ten years in a week and I love you). To my mother, Andrea Valeria, whose voice is loved by all radio waves, including the astrophysical powers that emit them. To all my big familia—my dad, Leon Garcia, Gwendollyn, Christianne, Everardo, Joseph, Robert, Eloise, Roman, Tula, Magaly, Alexis, Guillermo, Jane, Solveig, Jim, James, Sophia, Christina, Norbushka, Hubbaba—everyone else in this world and the other.

Joaquin turned the dial
on his ham radio, letting his fingers rub against the worn edge.

He was trolling the six-meter band.
The magic band.
Not transmitting, just listening. Looking for some conversation, a good “rag chew” as the hams called it, that might distract him, and help him forget his worries about the coming week.

It was called “the magic band” because of its unique ability, under the right circumstances, to transmit and receive messages over very long distances with short antennas and low power. For this reason, the band attracted a wide range of aficionados. From high school students looking to get the most out of a cheap rig, to the kind of techies who casually tossed around phrases like “sporadic E propagation” and “F2 layer refraction.”

Tonight it didn't feel very magical. Pedestrian was more like it. The conversations were limp and surprisingly sparse.

But somewhere around 50.24 megahertz, just past some Morse-code warning of thunderstorms off the Catalina coast, he caught a burst of static that intrigued him.

Years ago, Gabriel had taught him about the majesty of white noise: the monoliths of structure hidden in the chaos.

And this burst was chunky with structure.

He cocked his head toward the speaker, taking it in. It came alive in his mind. He imagined hanging over it, watching it roil beneath him like an angry sea. Then the roiling sea solidified, becoming jagged rocks and mountains. And then it was just sound again. But with a purpose, accreting toward a common goal. Sound seeking personification.

The room receded as he leaned closer to the speaker.

The sound seemed to tease him: its lattices of structure briefly weaving together, only to slide apart seconds later. And what the static became, in those short moments of cohesion, sent shivers down his spine.

It was a voice.

It was very clearly a voice.

He tried to convince himself he was hearing bleed-over from another signal. But this wasn't mixed in with the static. It was a voice constructed
from
the static.

He caught several phonemes, and the click of a consonant or two; but he couldn't stitch them together. He couldn't make out words.

He leaned closer, concentrating.

Slowly, from the rise and fall in intonation, he realized he was hearing the same sentence repeated over and over again. But he still couldn't make out even a single syllable.

He bent even closer, his ear inches from the speaker.

His brow furrowed and his muscles tensed as he searched for the meaning. It was almost there. He felt it roll gradually toward him, like a slow-moving ball.

Almost…

There was nothing else in the world, just him and these sounds.

Almost…

Nothing but this struggle.

Almost…

The first word was on the brink of unveiling itself when he felt a presence in the room with him; something brushed his shoulder. He whipped around ready to strike, only to see the familiar, laughing face of his girlfriend, Alondra.

“I love this: the host of the ‘scariest show on Mexican radio' is frightened by a tap on the shoulder.”

“Very funny,” Joaquin said, still somewhat shaken.

“You're a bit like a cartoon character when you're frightened.”

“You're in ‘tease mode' tonight, I see.”

“A furry animal, I think. Cartoon rabbit maybe.”

“And it's not over yet.”

“No, a cartoon mouse! Big eyes, little whiskers twitching.”

Joaquin forced a chuckle, and as his senses returned, he shot Alondra a sly grin.

“Bet you were one of those girls who got a bit weak-kneed over cartoon animals.”

“Maybe,” Alondra said, her eyes going wide and looking very much like a cartoon herself.

“Let's test the theory.”

He pulled her close and looked deep into her big brown eyes.

“But you don't seem like a furry animal anymore.”

“That's the thing about us furry animals. In the daytime we're all hijinks and songs, but at night we get serious. And I mean
very
serious.”

“Now, that's a theory
I'd
like to test,” Alondra said, pulling him toward the bedroom.

 

An hour and a half later, Joaquin lay on his side looking at Alondra's lean naked body beside him. It glistened with a thin layer of postcoital sweat. She snuggled close to him, looking into his eyes.

“You worried about the trip?”

“Not really.”

“Your big play for ‘crossover' appeal?”

“You know it's not about that.”

“I know. Still in ‘tease mode,' I guess.”

Joaquin smiled and pulled her closer.

“Thinking about Gabriel?”

Joaquin nodded. He hadn't realized it until Alondra asked the question. But Gabriel had been in his thoughts a lot recently. Maybe it was the trip back to Texas; maybe it was just the time of year. Whatever the reason, Gabriel had felt especially close these last few days.

“Thought so. You had that look.”

Joaquin decided not to ask her what she meant by that. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Joaquin shook his head.

Of course, he really did want to talk about it. He wanted to talk about Gabriel and the voice on the radio tonight, and the countless other things that had been coursing through his mind since he first learned he'd be heading stateside. But he couldn't do it right now, maybe not ever.

“You know I'm always here for you. Anytime you want.”

“I'd rather just try to get some sleep; emphasis on ‘try.'”

Joaquin leaned over to shut off the light, still holding Alondra against his chest. As he lay back down, Alondra let out a contented sigh. Within minutes, her breathing deepened and he knew she was fast asleep.

Sleep didn't come as easily for Joaquin. His thoughts returned to the voice. He tried to convince himself it was some kind of illusion, brought on by anxiety about the week ahead. But he knew that wasn't the case. He knew this was the first sign that his trip would provide him an answer to the mystery that had plagued him for almost eighteen years.

As he drifted off to sleep, thoughts of the voice and the trip receded, and he found himself remembering a recent caller to his radio show.