The Knots on the Roof Line

Pavel is twenty-two, and tonight is his first show alone. He sits in a small studio on the top floor. The building is old and quiet. The microphone hangs in front of his face like a question.

Olive sits on the other side of the glass. She volunteers at the radio station, and she answers the request phone. She gives him a thumbs-up. He gives her a weak smile.

"Good evening," he says. His voice is too high. He clears his throat and tries again. "Good evening, night people. This is Night Harbor Radio, and I'm Pavel."

The first hour goes well. He plays music. He reads the news from his notes. He says one wrong word, and nobody notices.

At midnight, the sound changes. A soft crackle runs under the music. It grows louder. Soon the songs sound like eggs in a hot pan.

The phone rings. Olive listens and writes on a card. She holds the card against the glass. It says: "THE SOUND IS BAD. FIX IT?"

Pavel's stomach drops. He knows what to do. The manager left a note on the wall. It says: "If it crackles, check the antenna rope."

He starts a long song, so he has time. Then he takes a flashlight and runs up the back stairs.

The roof is dark and quiet. The city lights spread out below. In the middle stands a tall metal pole. The antenna wire hangs from a small wheel at the top. A rope runs through the wheel and holds the wire. When the rope is loose, the wire hangs low. Then the sound gets bad. Pavel must pull the rope to lift the wire tight.

Then he sees the rope. It has knots in it. Not three or four. He counts fourteen, from the wheel down to his feet. Some are small and some are as big as apples.

"Who did this?" he says to the night.

He takes the rope in both hands and pulls. It moves a little. Then the first knot hits the wheel and stops. He pulls harder. The rope bites his hands. The knot does not move. The wire stays low.

He tries to untie the knot now. His fingers slip. The rope is old and hard as stone. After five minutes, one knot is loose and thirteen are left.

He holds his phone to his ear and listens to the station. The crackle is worse now. Then the long song ends, and there is only silence.

Pavel sits down on the cold roof. His hands hurt. He thinks of the manager, the listeners and the empty microphone. He thinks about going home.

"I can't do this," he says. "I'm not ready."

Behind him, the door of the stairs bangs. Olive comes out in a thick sweater. A big blue book is under her arm.

"Who is on the air?" Pavel asks.

"Nobody talks. I put on a long song, and then another one. We have forty minutes of music." She sits down next to him. "Why didn't you ask me for help?"

"I thought I had to fix it alone."

"It's a roof with fourteen knots," says Olive. "Nobody fixes that alone."

She opens the blue book on her knees. It is the old book of the station. The pages are soft and full of small, messy writing. She finds a page near the end. She holds the light over it.

"Read this," she says.

Pavel reads: "The knots are steps. Pull, lift, pass. Do not fight them. Stop where the sound is clean. Nine is good for cold nights."

He looks at the rope again. He looks at the wheel. Then he laughs, a short, surprised laugh.

"The old engineer made them on purpose," he says.

"Each knot is a height for the wire," says Olive. "He tied one for every kind of night. He just never told the new people."

"I tried to untie them!"

"I know. Now we try it his way."

Olive holds the flashlight. Pavel stands close to the wheel and takes the rope. He pulls it up until the first knot touches the edge. He lifts the rope a little, over the edge of the wheel. The knot slips through and the rope slides on.

"One," says Olive.

He pulls again. The next knot comes. He lifts and passes it.

"Two."

It is slow work, but it does not hurt this time. The knots do not stop him anymore. They are a ladder. He climbs it one step at a time.

At the fifth knot his arms shake. Olive gives him the light and takes the rope. She is small, but she pulls well. She passes three knots, and then Pavel takes the rope back again. They work in turns, and the wire slowly rises into the dark.

Pavel holds his phone to his ear again. The crackle gets softer at the seventh knot. It gets softer at the eighth. At the ninth knot, it is almost gone.

"Stop," says Olive. "The book says nine."

They tie the rope around a metal hook on the pole. Pavel steps back and listens. Through the phone he hears a clean guitar. There are no eggs in the pan.

He lets out a long breath. "It works," he says. "It really works."

"Of course it works," says Olive. "He was an engineer."

Back in the studio, Pavel sits down at the microphone. His hands are rough and black with dust. Olive stands behind the glass and points at the clock. Thirty seconds are left in the song.

He thinks of the people in kitchens, in cars and in rooms. They are still listening. He takes a deep breath.

"Good evening again, night people," he says. "Sorry about the noise. We had some knots to deal with."