New Toulouse’s very own Eugenie Theriot has discovered something strange about the bayou radio station. While testing her crystal set, Miss Theriot found that the station had changed its broadcast.
“I don’t ever listen to our station anymore,” Miss Theriot said. “It’s just the same old sequence of numbers, repeating endlessly. Always exactly the same, except when it is not. You see, it’s changed.”
The station broadcasts a series of numbers, which Miss Theriot wrote down last year, “after the first fifty-seven times I heard it,” she said. “Because how many times do you really want to hear ‘Forty, fifty, fifty, four … zero, eleven, ninety-one, ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two, zero, eleven, forty, thirty, five … one, sixty-one, twenty, fifty, eleven, ninety, five … zero, eighty, fifty-one, twenty-one, six’? That’s all it ever played, repeated endlessly.”
Hearing the broadcast over the crystal set she built, she had written down the numbers. “I thought the man reciting those numbers might be counting something, or that it had something to do with the weather report, or the strange lights in the bayou, but they never changed. And he always sounded so worried.”
Miss Theriot showed me her notes. She had printed the sequence of numbers in a fine, clear hand. Then she connected the battery terminals to her little radio, and the rich sound of a woman’s voice filled the air: “Zero, eighty, fifty-one, eighty, five.” It was a woman’s voice, very calm, very deliberate.
“See, that’s the long pause, the end of the sequence. Now it will restart!” said Miss Theriot.
Over the radio, the woman’s voice continued: “Zero, twelve, two, zero, fifty-one, thirty-one, sixty-two, zero … one, forty-one, five … one, twenty, eleven, forty, forty, ninety-one, forty, seven … zero, eighty, fifty-one, eighty, five. Zero, twelve, two, zero, fifty-one, thirty-one, sixty-two, zero … one, forty-one, five … one, twenty, eleven, forty, forty, ninety-one, forty, seven … zero, eighty, fifty-one, eighty, five. Zero, twelve, two, zero, fifty-one, thirty-one, sixty-two, zero … one, forty-one, five … one, twenty, eleven, forty, forty, ninety-one, forty, seven … zero, eighty, fifty-one, eighty, five.”
Miss Theriot played it a few times and then turned it off. “Nobody knows what this is all about, or why New Toulouse even has a radio station. And that thing has really high power, too. Why? Who is going to listen to it for more than a couple minutes? Who built that thing? Have you ever even seen anyone in the station?”
She handed me a copy of her notes and pointed to her suitcase. “I’m taking the next boat out,” she said, “I’ll see you next year. If you’re still here.”
Gigi Lapin lives in New Toulouse Bayou with her pet crawfish, Jimbo.