Although Mali had passed this way a few times before, she barely knew Uncle Somchai. They’d never exchanged more than a nod. And since she was little, people had laughed at her limp and whispered as she walked by. It had made her wary of strangers.
So when Uncle Somchai suddenly appeared behind her in the yard, she rushed to explain why she was there—worried he might think she was snooping or stealing something.
“You’re Boon’s girl, right?”90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuu4p54O9eK
“Yes… my father is Boon. My name’s Mali.”90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaeq1W1Ul0A
She nodded quickly.
Uncle Somchai gave a small nod. “Show me the goods then.”
“Here.” She held out the rusty scrap iron.
He took it, weighed it in his calloused hand and glanced at her.90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8TFpVr8d6n
“Five baht.”90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLFiOP0Ac6K
She nodded again. She didn’t know how he came up with that number but it matched what her father had said, so it must be right.
Once she agreed, he tossed the iron into a pile under the corrugated tin roof, then peeled off one greasy glove, fished into his pocket and pressed five baht coins into her palm.
“Thank you, Uncle Somchai!”90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3hbDzQiVed
Her voice was polite, though her excitement didn’t match what she’d imagined.
“Heh, no need to thank me. Fair trade’s fair trade.” His smile softened his weathered face. He slid the glove back on and returned to his work behind the shade.
His smile made her feel braver. She didn’t leave straight away. Instead, she let her gaze wander to a glossy magazine lying on the ground, then limped after him, curious.
He didn’t shoo her away.
She watched as he worked the tangles out of a dirty bundle of electrical wires, winding them neatly, loop after loop, around a wooden pole. When one length ran out, he clamped another in place with pliers, continuing until the pole was snug in its metal coil.
Then he slid the coil free, tied one end to a post and stretched it across the yard until it was tight and straight—more than ten meters long. She noticed the yard had several poles like this, some strung with wires that crisscrossed like fishing nets.
“What’s that for, Uncle?”90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYCRRPEeFHL
“Antenna.” His voice had a hint of pride.90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZzSY5n9VbD
“Antenna?” She’d never heard the word before but it sounded important.
“Come, Mali. Let me show you something.” He waved her over without waiting for her reply.
Her heart lifted. She’d thought he might be like the other grown-ups but instead he invitedher in.
She followed him into the cool shade of his wooden house. Like most houses in the village, it had a big main hall in the middle with rooms on either side. He led her into one of the side rooms.
It was bigger than she expected, though crowded with things she couldn’t name. By the window sat a heavy table covered in strange tools and gadgets.
Against one wall stood a wooden box dotted with switches and knobs, a square case perched on top holding a round black disc.
He slid the window open, sat down, and flicked a switch.
“What’s that?” she asked.90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2po2foOlIF
“My treasure. A radio station, I built it myself.”90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPR1f5AErnP
Her eyes widened. “Radio… station?”
Static burst from the box above, then a man’s voice came through, warm and clear.90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfbaTDfaMh5
“It’s a radio!” she exclaimed, thinking of the little battery powered one her mother had once given her.
“This isn’t just a radio,” he corrected gently. “It can send, not just receive.”
She didn’t understand all of it but she could see the pride in his eyes.
He leaned closer. “Don’t tell anyone you’ve seen this. Not even your father. Can you promise?”
She hesitated, her father was the one person she never kept secrets from.
“If you keep it, you can come here and see more. Anytime you like.”
She grinned. “Deal! But let’s shake on it like in the comic books.”
His brows rose, then he reached out.90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRcW9Zc78x3
Their palms met with a soft clap.
The static shifted again, and a woman’s voice began speaking in Thai from a station in Bangkok. Then, with a twist of a knob, it changed—a slow, deep voice in English. Another turn brought a burst of quick Japanese. Mali didn’t understand a word, but it felt like magic.
Her attention drifted again, drawn to the large black cloth covering the wall beside the workbench. It hid something big. The open window let in a breeze, and the cloth stirred—lifting just enough for her to glimpse what was behind it.
Her eyes lit up.90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPm4nDGmkD8
and then Add to home screen.