This is for my latest writing assignment from
Mr. Sternberg and it was a hard one! We had to incorporate a quotation and then pick at least 10 words to change that must enrich the story and make it obvious what they were. I have taken a stab at it and if nothing else, it's good exercise for the old brain cells! Please excuse the grammar, I've forgotten all the rules around quotation marks but would appreciate any tips on editing!
The Radio
I stood hesitantly uncertainly at the door of the old shop. I’d passed it by many times, glancing in the window as I hurried along on some errand, urgent or otherwise but today I had a reason to stop as firmly clutched in my arms was a parcel containing the pieces of my grandfather’s old Bakelite radio. The old boy had left it to me in his will, he had also left me a modest sum of money, his gold railroad watch and other sundry items but a letter to me, which accompanied the will, specifically told me to look after his old radio and mentioned that if I ever got it working, I would be in for quite a surprise.
So curiosity piqued, I found myself entering the old, dusty, musty electronics repair shop that I had walked by so many times before. Peering through the dust motes floating in the still warm air of the room, I could just make out the outline of piles of parts, wires, tubes and bits and pieces of miscellaneous assorted plastic littering the tables and counter tops.
“Hello” I called out tentatively uncertainly “is there anyone here?” I heard a noise from somewhere in the back of the gloom and a bent figure slowly shuffled into the faint light falling from a naked light bulb hanging in the middle of the room. “Yes, can I help you?” a thin voice like paper rustling reached towards me and drew me into the circle of light. The shop keeper, if you could call him that appeared very old, ancient really, well past his sell by date and retirement age as well. His few strands of wispy white hair were carefully combed over a bald, mottled pate and a pair of gold wire rimmed spectacles (one would not call them glasses!) magnified his blue, rheumy eyes which nonetheless sparkled with intelligence. He reminded me of an elderly cricket and he did move with a rather odd hopping gait which he proceeded to do quite suddenly, circling around me and making a small humming sound under his breath while he did so.
I remained transfixed for a few moments and then managed to stammer stutter out my request asking him to take a look at the radio and see if there was any hope of getting it in working order. He stopped his hopping and indicating to a relatively clear spot on his work bench with a gnarled, grubby finger, I set the parcel down there. He dragged a small stool over to the bench and perching on it, untied the string and opened the brown paper wrapping. He continued to make little sounds, tisking and tutting and humming while poking and picking up the various parts. “An old RCA Victor I see, model 66X3, 1940’s. They don’t make em’ like that anymore”. “Leave it with me, come back in two weeks and we’ll see what’s what”.
I was about to leave after jotting down my name and phone number for him, when I noticed he was looking at me rather oddly. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Oh nothing”, he replied, busying himself with his tools, “I was just wondering why you want this old thing fixed; some things are better left unmended”. “Did your grandfather not warn you about meddling interfering with things best left alone? Do you not wonder why this radio’s in so many pieces, almost as if it was deliberately smashed?” I hadn’t really given it much thought about how it came to be in so many bits but now I felt a chill running down my spine, in fact the temperature in the room seemed to have dropped a few degrees since I had first come in. “No, I hadn’t” I replied, “my grandfather left it to me and suggested I try and get it fixed, that’s all”. “Okay” he said “it’s your funeral, see you in two weeks”.
It was only after I rather gratefully left the store and hurried back to my warm apartment that I realized I hadn’t actually told him how I had come by the radio, not until I was leaving that is. How did he know about my grandfather? I laughed at my foolishness silliness, he probably just guessed, judging by the age of the radio. I forgot all about it until nearly a month had passed and I was sitting studying for yet another exam when the phone rang. “Hello” I said, “Mark here”. A thin reedy voice wheezed into my ear, “the radio’s ready, come pick it up…..soon”. Before I could reply I heard the click of the receiver clattering down at the other end. I knew who it was of course and it was with a sense of uneasiness I realized I didn’t really want to collect the thing now anyway. Sighing I returned to my books, I’d call in at the shop tomorrow after class.
I stood once again outside the shop door, noting this time that there was actually no identifying name or number over the lintel or anywhere. Telling myself to ‘get a grip’, I opened the door firmly and went in. This time a bell tinkled, announcing my arrival, I glanced up at it, trembling shaking away as I passed through. I could see the old man waiting by the counter in the gloom, no difference there then, I thought. He waited patiently for me, his hands moving gently, almost lovingly over a small square brown radio gleaming softly in the dim light. It looked as good as new, it was actually a mottled brown and beige colour, with large clear dial numbers, a cloth grill and 3 large tuning buttons on the front, quite handsome really.
“Wow” I exclaimed, “it looks brand new”. He just smiled and turning to the wall, plugged the set in. The dial front lit up and as he tuned the station button, the soothing sounds of Glenn Miller’s “String of Pearls” flowed from the speaker. “That’s great” I said, thinking it must be one of those oldies stations. “Thank you very much, and what do I owe you?” He smiled again, turned off the radio, unplugged it and wrapped it carefully up in the same paper I had brought it in, knotting the string thoughtfully considerately into a carrying handle for me. “That will be twenty pounds” he said. “Are you sure?” I asked, it didn’t seem much for such a restoration job. “Yes” he replied, “quite enough, young man. Maybe even too high a price. Use it carefully” he added enigmatically mysteriously.
I took it home and after some revision and a take-out meal, I settled down to read a magazine and drink a beer, I felt I had earned that small pleasure. As I settled by the electric fire, my eye fell upon the radio, now sitting burnished and gleaming on my sideboard, a relic from my grandmother actually. I switched it on and the first words I heard were, “Who knows, the Shadow knows” and a commentator welcomed us to the Lux playhouse. I twiddled the tuner but kept coming up with nothing but really old plays, comedies, music and commercials selling cigarettes and cars and detergents from by gone days. What the heck is going on, I thought. Next the announcer was exhorting us to buy war bonds. This is nuts, am I going crazy or what. I switched on the TV, it was showing Star Trek reruns, which I found somewhat comforting. I turned it off and tried the radio again. This time it was a play with a young Orson Welles starring in it, a thriller, quite creepy actually. I left it on and returned to my chair, leaning back and letting his mellifluous honeyed tones draw me into the story. He was intoning “I see things in darkness that no one should see by light of day.” when I must have dozed off.
When I awoke, the first thing I noticed was that it was very quiet; I couldn’t hear the usual hubbub din of traffic outside. In fact everything was very dark, my room felt different somehow, all the lights were off except for the glow from the radio which was silent now. I stumbled to my feet, a newspaper spilling off my lap. I made my way to the light switch, even it felt different. The light came on revealing a very different room to the one I fell asleep in. I didn’t recognize anything in it except for the radio and the old sideboard it stood on, though even that looked bright and new. Dazedly numbly I went to my window, I pulled back the heavy dark curtains and tried to see out, the glass was criss-crossed with tape and the street below was in blackness, not a light to be seen, what few passersby there were, walked quickly by holding shielded flashlights pointing to the ground. I suddenly heard a loud whistle and a uniformed man yelled up at me “Turn your light off, don’t you know there’s a war on?”
I staggered back, letting the curtains fall back in place, somehow or another I had been transported back to the 1940’s, how could this be? I grabbed the paper and frantically looked for the date, there it was staring at me; January 21, 1944. Is this what my grandfather meant by my surprise? This is insane, I can’t stay here, I haven’t even been born yet. I ran across the room and grabbed the radio, raising it above my head I threw it to the floor, smashing shattering it to pieces once again. I must have fainted, when I came to, I was lying on the floor amid the wreckage of the radio but to my immense relief, I was staring at the same beer stained rug I had always had and I could hear the roar of the morning traffic outside my window.
I gathered the pieces of the radio together in a bin bag and dropped the lot in a garbage can by the main door on my way out. As I ran for the bus, I glanced across the street to look for the repair shop; there was no sign of it, only the launderette next door and a new doughnut franchise. Somehow, I was not at all surprised.
