Skywave Propagation, by Daniel Addercouth

Zona Bela Vista, photo etching by Jules Sprake (England) contemporary

Skywave Propagation
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It’s the middle of the night and I can’t sleep. The apartment reeks of garlic from last night’s rice and beans. The air-conditioning unit rattles like a broken Fusca engine, useless against the heat. I always said it was unlucky to take a flat on the 13th floor, but we didn’t have much choice. The windows of the other tower blocks are binary numbers: on on off on off. Without thinking, I scratch my arm: another mosquito bite. Who’s the patron saint of insomniacs? I haven’t been to Mass in years, but I’d pray to anyone at this hour. You’re not here -- you haven’t been here in days -- so I switch on my short-wave radio. It’s my only contact to the outside world, now that I’m not allowed to travel. I scan the dial. The ionosphere is cooperating tonight, and reception is good. I come across a station I’ve never heard before. It’s broadcasting in German -- my grandfather’s language. A woman’s voice reads random numbers in a monotonous tone; I have no idea why, but it’s oddly comforting. Sechs und siebzig. Ein und zwanzig. Vier und vierzig. I never understood why they say the digits in the wrong order: four and forty, not forty and four, like in Portuguese. Opa tried to teach me German when I visited him on the farm during the summer breaks. We’d sit at the kitchen table in the evening. He let me have the best spot, directly under the ceiling fan. My bare feet, blood-red from the Paraná soil, dangled above the tiled floor. He’d take raw coffee beans from one bowl and drop them into another, counting them as they hit the wood. Eins, zwei, drei. On the farm, I always slept well.

Daniel Addercouth

Daniel Addercouth (Bluesky/Instagram: @ruralunease) grew up on a remote farm in the north of Scotland but now lives in Berlin, Germany. His work has appeared in New Flash Fiction Review, Trampset and Vestal Review, among other places. His story "The Good Prizes" is featured in Best Small Fictions 2024.

Below, the artist reading Daniel's story: