Marconi's Dream

Introduction

In 2001, I wrote a short story for a CBC Radio contest. It received an honourable mention. I was early in my career in IT at the time. Video conferencing was just beginning to emerge as something that promised to change how we live and work. The world felt on the edge of something new.

I found myself thinking about the first wireless signal sent across the Atlantic. I thought about television and the story of an elderly woman in Labrador who dressed carefully before watching the evening news because she believed the man on the screen could see her as she saw him. We smile at that now. But maybe she sensed, in her own way, that something fundamental had changed.

Marconi could not have imagined what would follow that December day on Signal Hill in 1901. Within a century, the world had changed beyond recognition. In the twenty-five years since I first wrote this story, it has changed again. Faster. Closer. Louder.

When I wrote this piece, I was already wondering what we unleash when we innovate. What responsibility rests on the one who pulls the lever first? What follows once the first signal is heard?

I have revisited and rewritten the story below. The premise remains. The question has only grown sharper.

Marconi set something in motion. Arguably, he helped lay the groundwork for the connected world we now inhabit.

Where are we going? 

Marconi's Dream (revisited)

December 1901

Holy Mary, it is cold in this godforsaken land.

I have been climbing the Hill these thirty minutes and seem no nearer the top. The wind comes hard from the north and cuts through wool and bone alike. The sea below lies a dull sheet of iron. Each step is hard won against the cold.

Why is this taking so long?

As the cold presses in, the dream returns. It came two nights ago and has not loosened its grip. I woke from it in a sweat, though frost clung to the edges of the glass. By morning I sought out the parish priest, thinking he might quiet what I could not.

“Good mornin’, Father. Might I trouble you for a word?”

“Ah now, come in out of that wind, me son,” he said, drawing me toward the hearth. “Sit by the fire. ’Tis a bitter mornin’, and there’s more in it yet.”

“A seat would be welcome,” I said, holding my hands to the flame. “I would not disturb you without reason. I have had a troubling dream.”

“Dreams are queer things,” he replied. “Some are from the Almighty. Some are the Devil’s mischief. Tell it plain.”

I did.

“I found myself in a crowded room, packed tight with every manner of person. They stood shoulder to shoulder, restless but silent. Then something like an electric ripple passed through them. The entire room reacted at once. Some cried out in fear. Some laughed in delight. Others stared ahead, emptied of expression.

“It came again. And again.

“I searched for the cause and saw, in the corner, a man bent over a device. Each time he pressed a lever, the ripple surged through the crowd. Once, and they trembled. Again, and they shouted. Faster still, and the room dissolved into chaos.

“I called to him to stop. He would not. I forced my way toward him. ‘It is too much,’ I cried. ‘You will destroy them.’

“I seized him by the shoulders and turned him round.

“It was my own face.”

The priest was silent for a long moment. The fire cracked between us.

“Well now,” he said at last, “that sounds to me like a man uneasy with his own power. Perhaps you are about to set something in motion, and your soul knows the reach of it before you do.”

I said nothing.

Now I near my destination. In a matter of moments, I will take part in what may be the greatest event of our age. A signal drawn from across the ocean. Three faint clicks in the ether. The letter S.

A small thing.

And yet I cannot help but wonder what follows once the first message is heard.

The old hospital stands against the winter sky, its windows dark and vacant. The wind presses at my back.

I reach the door and pause, my hand resting on the worn wood.

For a moment, I listen to the wind.

Then I step inside.