Part 25 (2/2)
He nodded. ”I want you to try something out of the box,” he said. ”I want you to call Buddy on his cell phone.”
Mara looked at him puzzled and reached for the phone in her jeans pocket.
”No, no.” Ping pointed at the radio. ”Call him on that.”
”You've got to be kidding.”
”Just imagine it, like you have been doing. Just pretend. Humor me.”
Mara lifted an eyebrow, rolled her eyes and closed them. She visualized the radio sending a signal out of the warehouse to a local cellular tower. She imagined turning k.n.o.bs back and forth to manipulate the static so it emitted the appropriate dial tones to send out Buddy's phone number. After a few seconds, she heard a ring. She opened her eyes. The ringtone came out of the radio speakers.
”h.e.l.lo?” Buddy spoke from the grille of the Philco 90.
Stunned, Mara didn't speak for a minute until Ping leaned over, tapped her on the knee and pointed at the radio.
”Buddy, this is Mara. How are you doing?”
”I'm great, Mara. How are you?”
”I just thought I would call and see how your phone was working.”
”It works great. No more echoes.”
”Great. Well, I better let you go, it's getting late.”
”Okay, bye.” He hung up.
She stared at Ping. ”Explain to me how you did that.”
”Mara, I didn't do that. You did.”
”You said I had to believe it before it would work. I don't believe I can call someone's cell phone using that old radio.”
”On some level you must believe it, because you did it. I think you have always believed you could make machines and technology do what you want,” he said, standing up. ”Soon you will be able to do a lot more, once you practice and gain some confidence.”
”So I have the ability to tune a radio with my mind. What good is that?”
”Mara, your ability is much more profound than that. You are a progenitor. Just be patient, and you will see eventually. Why don't we pack up this stuff and call it a night?”
”That sounds like a great idea,” Mara said. As she stood up, a wave of dizziness caused her to stagger a couple steps. ”Whoa, that's strange.”
”Are you okay, Mara?” Ping stepped up to her and braced her arm.
”Maybe I got up too fast.” She shook her head and cleared her vision. ”I'm good now, I think.”
She walked over to the radio and disconnected the extension cord. She looped the electrical cord over her arm, pulling it across the warehouse floor until the plug wound around the corner of the cabinet.
”Where was that plugged in?” She pointed to the far end of the cord.
”It wasn't plugged in. There was no need.”
”Well that radio didn't power itself.”
”No, you powered it.”
”That's ridiculous.” Her face reddened.
”There aren't any outlets within reach of this cord.” He waved an arm around the cavernous warehouse.
”You must have a battery of some kind inside the radio.”
Ping pointed to the radio. ”Look for yourself.”
Mara finished winding up the extension cord and sat it on the ground next to the radio. Sitting down beside the Philco 90, she slid it around to face away from her. She pried open the back panel with a fingernail and looked into the cathedral-shaped wood box. It was empty. It contained no electronic components, no tubes, no wires.
”There's no radio in here. It's just the sh.e.l.l.”
”Exactly.” Ping smiled once more.
CHAPTER 39.
THE FOLLOWING EVENING, Ping walked into Mara's shop with a newspaper tucked under his arm. He browsed the shelves waiting for her to finish for the day. Mara put the final touches on a vintage Polaroid camera, flipped up the bar holding the flash, pointed it at Ping and pressed a b.u.t.ton. She retrieved a photograph from a slot in the camera's base and waved it in the air while it developed. After a couple minutes, she handed him the picture.
”Now that's grease-monkey magic. No metaphysics required.” She folded up the hinged device and placed it on a shelf behind the counter.
Ping took the picture and smiled. ”I used to have one of these. Why would someone want an old Polaroid with all the digital options available? Can you even buy the film cartridges for these nowadays?”
”You can buy the cartridges online. Some people just love the whole experience of it. Taking the picture, watching it develop. It is kind of cool.” She pulled the money tray from the register and walked it back to her office, calling back over her shoulder as she went, ”So what is the lesson for this evening, sensei?”
”I'll ignore the inappropriate Asian stereotype,” he said, unfolding the newspaper on the counter. ”Have you read the news today?”
”If the day is slow, sometimes I'll catch up online when I'm doing office work, but not today.” She returned with her jacket. ”You ready to go?”
”I was thinking that instead of going to the warehouse this evening, we would go visit the pilot of the flight we were on.” He pointed to the newspaper. ”Pay our respects.”
Mara leaned over the counter. A headline of an article at the top of the inside page read ”Flight 559 Pilot Suffers Mysterious Illness.” Mara scanned the story, which reported that Matt Sandoval, the pilot of the flight that went down in the Columbia River a little over three weeks ago, suffered from an undiagnosed and untreatable condition. He had an unknown blood disorder and trouble breathing. The condition, which he did not have before the accident, was described as life threatening, but the article said he had been released from the hospital and was being cared for at home.
”Why would they release him if he was in such dire condition?” Mara looked at Ping.
”My guess is he is going home to die. If there was something the hospital could do, they would keep him there and treat him.”
”I feel bad for him, but why do you think we should go see him? It's not like we know him or anything.”
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