The Green Glass Sea (4 page)

She turns to leave just as the fat man gets up. He has been sitting next to a radio, a big wooden cabinet radio with black knobs and a glowing yellow dial. Dance music is coming out of it, which means that it works, even on a moving train.

Dewey smiles. Maybe she will come back and try out her own radio in the morning, when it is too early for cocktails. It is almost finished, and she has been wanting to test it for a week, but Mrs. Kovack didn't approve of girls building things and was always watching. The timetable says the train will stop at a place called La Junta at 6:50. She isn't sure where that is, even what state, but if it has a train station, it might have a radio station too.

Dewey whistles softly under her breath as she walks to her car. She feels better having a plan.

Back in her own seat, she reads the timetable again to make sure about La Junta, then returns to her book. When they pull into Kansas City, at 9:30, it is snowing. A gust of cold air blows through the car when the doors open. She watches the flakes fall through the cones of yellow light cast by the lampposts of the station.

The train stays in this station for an hour, so Dewey brushes her teeth in the little steel sink in the bathroom and gets ready for bed. She takes off her shoes, leaving her socks on, in case her feet get cold in the night, and hopes her dress will not be too wrinkled in the morning. She doesn't want Papa to think that she is sloppy. He will probably understand because of the train and the war.

When she returns, Eddie has tipped both seats back into reclining positions, and laid out a bed with a white pillow and two cream-colored blankets that say SANTA FE on them in red letters. The blankets are a little scratchy, but warm. Dewey takes her glasses off and tucks them inside her saddle shoe, sliding it under the seat. The train pulls out of the station, and five minutes later all the lights go out, except a line of dim blue bulbs near the floor.

In the darkness, Dewey reaches down and pulls Einstein from her shopping bag, uncovering a packet of letters from Papa. She strokes one envelope with a fingertip, then cuddles the soft yellow duck tightly under one arm and burrows under the blankets. The wheels of the train make a steady, soothing chukka-chukka-chukka sound and soon she is fast asleep, rolling west across the dark prairie.

The sound of a man's loud snoring wakes Dewey up. She lifts the corner of the window shade. It is not quite morning, but light enough to see shapes outside—low hills and a few scattered trees. She puts on her glasses and lopes to the bathroom in her bare feet. Men are sleeping sitting up, their ties loosened, their hats tilted down over their faces. A few are awake, rubbing their eyes and grumbling in their blankets, but the car is quiet.

Dewey doesn't know how long people are allowed to sleep on a train, if there will be a bell to start the day, like school. Now is a good time to go to the observation car to test her radio, if she wants any time alone. She puts on her shoes and then, as quietly as she can, picks up her shopping bag by its twisted paper handles. The bag crinkles and she freezes, holding her breath for a minute, then walks very cautiously, heel-to-toe, out of the car of sleeping people, holding the bag out from her body so it will not make noise. She is used to being quiet in the morning because Nana is always cranky until she's had her coffee.

The observation car is completely empty. Dewey smiles and opens the blue curtains covering the long windows at the end. They are traveling west, so the back of the train faces east, where they have been. The tracks seem to emerge in two unending lines from underneath the train. The sun is just peeking over the horizon, and the light in the car is reddish gold. Everything is quiet and still, except for the sound of the train wheels, which she is getting used to.

She sits on the carpeted floor of the car, between a half circle of armchairs and the windows, and carefully arranges the pieces of her radio around her. The chrome tables are big enough for cocktails, but not for setting up an experiment. She opens
The Boy Mechanic
and weights the book flat with the edge of the bag so that she can read with both hands free.

The radio is inside a wooden cigar box so its delicate parts won't get wrecked inside the shopping bag. She lifts it out and sets its wooden base, the lid from another cigar box, flat on the carpet. A round blue paper Morton's Salt container, wrapped around and around and around with copper wire, is screwed onto the base. The wire is wrapped so tight and close together that it looks like the bottom of the cylinder has been corrugated with melted pennies.

Wires dangle from the top and bottom of the cylinder, and bolts and screws dot its wooden base. A metal arm, canted out from a slender post like a tiny fishing pole, ends in a minuscule whisker of wire suspended over a lump of a dark gray mineral.

Dewey stares at the diagram in the book, then winds the bottom end of the copper wire tightly around the bolt holding the metal arm. She looks back and forth between the book and the radio on the floor and tests a few connections with her fingers. Then she pulls a single black Bakelite earphone out of her bag and winds the last inch of bare wire from its brown fabric-wrapped cord around another bolt.

She holds the earphone up to one ear and listens. Nothing. She peers intently at the picture in the book, then back at the radio. It
looks
right. She wishes she knew what time it was, how close they are to La Junta. She looks out the window. The landscape shows no sign of civilization, just flat brown plains with mountains in the near distance. She sighs, loudly.

“Oh!” says a voice from behind her. “Sorry. I thought I had the place all to myself. I didn't see you down there. ”

Startled, Dewey drops the earphone, and turns around.

Sitting in one of the armchairs along the wall is a slender young man in brown pants and a very wrinkled white shirt. He is reading a copy of
LIFE
magazine with a general on the cover. A lock of curly dark hair hangs over one eye. He is smiling, a kind of silly grin, and needs a shave. He stands up and looks over the chairs to see what Dewey is doing.

“Ah,
The Boy Mechanic
, ” he says. “One of my favorite books. A little dry, but very instructive. I built my first radio from it, except I used an oatmeal box. Can I take a look?”

Dewey nods, and the man moves one of the chairs out of the semicircle and steps carefully into the makeshift laboratory that Dewey has created on the carpet. He squats back on his heels and examines the radio.

“Nice work, ” he says after a minute. “That's a beautifully wrapped inductor coil. ”

“Thank you, ” says Dewey. She feels pleased by the compliment, because he knows what he's talking about, even if he looks like a bum. “Except it doesn't work. ”

The man looks at the radio again, and snaps his fingers. “Ah! I see your problem. You haven't hooked the coil up to the aerial wire. ”

“So I'm not getting any signal, ” Dewey says slowly. “Or any power. ”

“None at all. ” He looks out at the desolate landscape. “No guarantee there's anything out there to get, but we can try. Do you have more hookup wire?”

Dewey reaches into a crumpled brown paper bag and pulls out a metal reel of thin, cotton-covered wire. She hands it to him.

“Perfect. We'll need about twenty feet. ” He takes out his pocketknife, unrolls a length of wire, cuts it, and hands the reel back to Dewey. “Do you know how to strip the ends?”

“Yes. ”

“Great. Here. ” He turns the knife around in his hand and gives it to her, handle first.

Dewey scrapes the black cotton off each end, leaving an inch of bare silver wire. “It wraps around here, right?” she says, pointing to the dangling bit of copper wire at the top of the coil.

The man nods, and she wraps the silver and copper wires together like two tightly entwined snakes.

“Excellent, ” he says. He looks around. “Now, if we were in a house, our best bet would be to run the aerial out a second-story window. But I don't think these open. ” He taps on the glass. “Still, reception is better through window glass than metal train sides. ” He stands up and pushes the loose end of the long wire through a curtain loop. The silver metal rests against the glass a few inches from the ceiling of the car.

“Give it another listen. ”

Dewey holds the earphone up to her head. “I hear static!” she says excitedly.

“Good. Something's working. ” He looks down at the radio. “You don't have a slider on this one, so you can't really tune it. But try moving the cat whisker around on the crystal, see if you can pick up anything else. ”

Dewey extends a finger and gently moves the little fishing pole around, a tiny fraction of an inch at a time. After a few minutes, she shakes her head. “Just fuzz, ” she says. She looks out the window again. “Do you know if there's a radio station in La Junta?” She pronounces the hard J.

He smiles. “La
Hoon
-tah. It's Spanish. But no, I don't know for sure. ” He looks at his watch. “We're only ten minutes out from the station. You'd think if they were broadcasting we'd pick something up. Maybe it's just too early. ”

“Maybe, ” Dewey says slowly, thinking. “I know how we can find out. ”

“How?”

She points to the cabinet radio in the center of the car. “That one has a tuner. If we can find a station, then we know there's a signal. And we'll know what to listen for. ”

“Brilliant, ” says the man. “Let's do it. ”

“Are we allowed to turn it on?”

“I see no signs or armed guards. ”

They grin at each other like co-conspirators and approach the big radio. He turns a large black knob and the set begins to hum. The yellow dial in the center glows faintly, then brighter as the tubes warm up.

“Start at the high end and work down, ” he says. He slouches into the chair next to the radio and cocks his head, listening.

Dewey turns the dial. The cloth-covered speaker of the big radio pops and hisses with static, and once they hear a faint hint of what might be voices, but they won't come in any better than a faraway whisper. She gets all the way to the other end of the dial without finding a clear station.

“Nothing out there, ” she says, turning off the radio with a sigh. “I'll have to test mine some other time. Thanks for helping me. ”

“Sure thing. Let me unhook you. ” He gets up and removes the long wire from the curtain, wrapping it in a neat coil around his fist before handing it to Dewey. She tucks it between the salt canister and some bolts, then puts the radio back into the cigar box as the train begins to slow down.

“La Junta, Colorado, right on schedule. It's six forty-nine, Mountain War Time, ” the man says, looking at his watch again. “I'd guess you'd better scoot on back. Your folks are probably up and ready for breakfast by now. ”

“I don't have any folks, ” says Dewey. “Not on the train. ” She closes
The Boy Mechanic
and slips it sideways into the shopping bag.

“You're by yourself?” The man sounds surprised. “How far are you going?”

Dewey puts the wire back in the paper sack. “The next station. Lamy, New Mexico. ”

“Really?” The man smiles. “Me too. Is that where you're from?”

“No, my papa just moved someplace around there. I don't know where yet. ”

“What kind of work does he do?”

“He used to teach math at Harvard, before the war. Now he's doing some kind of secret stuff. I don't know exactly what. ” Dewey shakes her head.

“Well, well, well, ” says the man. “I did my undergrad work in Cambridge, at MIT. Small world. What's your dad's name?”

“Jimmy Kerrigan. ” Dewey looks up and is puzzled to see that the man is grinning as if he just won a prize. “What?” she asks.

“I know Jimmy. I met him at a party last month. We got to talking about codes and puzzles, and he gave me a dandy. ” He puts out his hand. “Looks like you and I are going to be neighbors at a place we call ‘the Hill. ' I'm Dick Feynman. ”

“I'm Dewey, ” says Dewey, shaking it. “Dewey Kerrigan. Where is the Hill?”

“Up in the mountains a bit. ” Dick waves his hand at the landscape beyond the window. “You'll see in a few hours. But hey, now that we're properly introduced, do you want to have breakfast with me? I'm dying for a cup of coffee. ”

“Will there be pancakes?” Dewey loves pancakes with syrup. Nana mostly made her oatmeal.

“They were on the menu last time I took the Chief. ”

Dewey looks around to make sure that there aren't any radio pieces left on the carpet and thinks about breakfast. Nana said never to eat food from strangers. But since yesterday there have been nothing
but
strangers. And Dick has introduced himself, and knows Papa, so it is probably fine. She hopes so, because she would like to talk more about radios.