“Yes, that would be fine. I’ll let Old Tom know,” said Sina in a distracted tone, and then she got our mail. There was a letter to Zebediah there and when Sina put the mail down on the truck floor by my feet, my hand slid toward it but her hand automatically shot out and moved the mail to her side of the truck without her even losing her distracted expression. Sina’s reflexes were stellar.

We drove silently down the road toward home, Sina’s head obviously buzzing with yet another UFO sighting and the credence it lent to her experience and Gladys’s prediction. Suddenly she did a U-turn right there on Sooke Road, which was not the safest thing, the road being full of blind curves and logging trucks usually. We survived it, however, even as the truck skidded about and Winifred and I hung on to each other for dear life. As the milk can beneath us, hardly big enough for the two of us, rolled and pitched, I said, “Where, may I ask, are we going?”

“To Victoria,” Sina said in clipped, determined tones.

“Why?” I asked.

“To buy a radio,” she said.

“What about the radio waves?” I sputtered through little yips of terror as the tires spun on gravel when Sina whipped around the curves.

“To heck with them,” she said, gripping the wheel more tightly and stepping harder on the gas.

Once we got to Victoria we went immediately to Eaton’s, where she asked for the radio department and we were directed upstairs. There a salesman pounced on us.

“Madam, can I help you?” he asked, swishing over in his shiny blue suit and patent leather shoes.

“That remains to be seen,” said Sina. “I want a radio. A battery-powered radio.”

“Of course,” said the salesman.

“There’s no of course about it,” said Sina. “I’ve never wanted one before, and I doubt I shall ever again, but that is what I want at present.”

“What were you looking for in a radio, madam, if I may be so bold?” asked the salesman. I guess he was used to dealing with all types, because Sina’s whole demeanor implied a radio emergency of the most dire sort.

“Well, uh, something not too large,” said Sina.

“Naturally,” said the salesman.

“And, uh, something colorful would be nice.”

“We have a stunning pink battery-powered model,” said the salesman. “Bakelite.”

“And, uh, something that picks up radio waves from far away.”

“They all pick up radio waves from far away,” chuckled the salesman. “If I may say so, that is the particular virtue of the radio. And, of course, all our radios are so blessed. Or perhaps ‘talented’ is a better word.”

Sina ignored what would usually have been for us a heyday of ridiculous language to correct and the joys of edifying another clueless person about his native tongue. She had bigger fish to fry.

“No, I mean way far away,” said Sina. “Really far away.”

“I assure you, madam, our radios are equipped to be top of the line, best of the bunch, updated to the nth degree. You’ll find no flaw with them. They pick up waves from so far, you’d be amazed.”