Future Ship

Ham Radio

61 Ham Radio Ex-Navy man, he stashed one in his car, jammed up beneath the dash where he could twiddle with the knobs and grab the mic by reaching down. He took me to the highest ridge in Litchfield county, parked beneath a cowl of stars to angle for a strand of sound, any signal that might worm its way across the night to find us, heads cocked, faces lit by dials radiant as clocks. He spoke of modulations —amplitude and frequency—invisible waves surging through the atmosphere, how the planet wore a shawl of power, electromagnetic threads he sought to pluck from distant sources—men like him, alone in darkness, jumping fervently from band to band in hopes of making contact. Now and then a voice broke through, edged with vastness, chanting numbers of some long-lost code, though sometimes only blips and dashes, fuzzy phrases couched in Morse: That’s Russia, he’d say, or Idaho.Then passages of static, punctuated by squeals, vague sounds beneath a heaving sea. i’ve never known such loneliness, such passion to be found, as if a scattered pod of whales shrieked locations, dark forms streaked with phosphor in the ocean’s night, while in the town below lights winked and faded, people in their silence seeking rest. ...