Lighthouses

by Trost, Cameron

  Then we heard the sound that changed everything. It came quietly at first, then grew in intensity. It was hard to differentiate it from the general noise of the sea and the wind. We stopped dancing and stood holding hands, looking at each other, listening.

  Crash! Exploding timbers colliding with jagged rocks, the death cry of a boat.

  Smash! Faint human sounds of chaos amidst the cacophony.

  Boom! The ballad of a shipwreck.

  We ran to the shore with waves foaming around our feet, dragging at our ankles, and pulling us toward the raging surf. We held hands and looked out at the darkness, only the white foam of the waves discernible. Gradually, within the frame of night, we could make out the two boats, yachts embedded on a shoal of rocks near the point, waves crashing over them as they began to break apart. Four people died that night, four were saved. It was a tragic accident, everyone said; little was mentioned about the flames on the shore that confused the two boats. After all, two teenage girls hadn’t intentionally set out to wreck passing boats, had they?

  #

  He smiles at my stricken face. ‘My sins are much greater, my dear. Your penance will not be anywhere near as long as mine.’

  I stare at the sea; it is very calm out there. ‘Where are our friends tonight?’ I ask.

  ‘No one has drowned here for forty years,’ he answers. ‘We are having a night off. Didn’t I mention that earlier?’ He smiles that enigmatic smile of his. He looks over at the lighthouse. ‘The light is strong and true. It hasn't wavered in all that time. It keeps this stretch of coast safe.’

  He then looks over at Delmar. ‘Shall we wake him? Go for a swim in the knowledge we are all protected.’ His smile turns wicked. ‘Why waste such a beautiful night?’

  #

  Our next stop is an area that is not remotely beautiful. It fills me with an anxiety I have not felt before. It is like a scar that hasn’t healed, and although water laps at what appears to be a man-made barrier, the water is murky and unclean. Andre’s eyes, always a good gauge of what the night will bring, are black.

  ‘You are right to feel this trepidation, this is a cursed place.’

  ‘What happened?’ I ask.

  ‘A tsunami came in and obliterated this entire area.’ He says, ‘If we had that glass-bottom boat, we would glide over a small city that still lies beneath the water. Empty and silting over with mud, pollution seeping out from broken pipes, and trash decaying. This is a place of death. And worse, there is a living death that resides in the slime and ooze, and it poisons everything.’

  It is the first time I have ever seen disgust on his face. ‘We’ll find somewhere to stay and come back.’

  The place is a rundown B&B. Why anyone would choose to stay here is beyond me, only if you were desperate, which is why I suppose it is in its dilapidated state. It stands on a steep hill, part of the promontory that pushes a barbed finger into the sea. There are wide views of the bay but the pervasive miasma of the area has settled over the dark boards of this rustic retreat. The corrosive salt air has eaten into the exterior so it is as though the building is shedding its skin and revealing a putrid interior.

  The woman who runs it looks at us suspiciously. ‘I don’t do meals,’ she says. ‘I can do you a sandwich.’

  Andre shrugs.

  She looks disappointed as though this was usually enough to ensure people left. ‘No gourmet sandwiches either,’ she adds, ‘just real plain.’

  ‘We won’t be needing anything,’ Andre replies and hands her the cash. ‘And we will be leaving early, not long past dawn.’

  She reluctantly leads us to a separate chalet along a dirt track through a forest of twisted pine trees. Surprisingly, the chalet is the least degraded building. It is almost on the point and the breeze that blows is coming from the other direction, so there is freshness to it. We sit down on the bench near the door and have a view of both bays separated by this pointed craggy promontory.

  ‘A lighthouse once stood here,’ Andre remarks. ‘Just a little further along. It was hit by lightning. The lantern room and the inner staircase, both made of wood, caught alight. The fire was so fierce it cracked much of the stonework and it eventually crumbled away. The powers that be decided the cost of rebuilding it wasn’t worth it as this wasn’t an area heavily used by shipping. Didn’t stop boats running aground though.’

  For the first time, he looks tired. I touch his face and let my fingers gently trace over his cheekbones. He takes my hand and kisses it.

  ‘I’ll need your help tonight,’ he says.

  I look into his eyes, they are like black holes, and I feel very scared.

  ‘All you have to do is lean against my back and put your arms around me. That’s it. You can close your eyes and just lean into me,’ he explains. ‘When I release the ones who choose to go, there is an immense drain of energy. Think of it as a wave. As it approaches, it sucks the sand and water back into itself before it surges forward. The energy that is returned to me is greater than what is originally taken. But there will be many, many wraiths tonight, and the initial drain on me may knock me unconsciousness. If you are there, I can use some of your energy to supplement mine. And what you lose will be returned to you plus extra. You will end up feeling quite energised.’

  We arrive at sunset. The sky is a poisonous purple and green. We stand on the sea wall and wait. Turbulence in the calm waters announces their coming.

  They come toward us, climbing the embankment in their hundreds. Their faces are half eaten away, pieces of flesh dangling from their noses and chins. The smell is excruciatingly disgusting, rank and putrid. Previously, our encounters have been relatively benign, the drowned just a ghostly version of the living, nothing like these spectres that stand before us, swaying in a great heaving, decaying, mass.

  I put my arms around Andre, press my face into his neck, and close my eyes. I wait, more terrified than I have ever been. When it comes, I am unprepared for the extreme surge that feels like it is sucking the soul out of my body. I’m behind him, just adding my part to his vanguard, so I can’t imagine how it must be for him. When the returning torrent hits us, it is like a rush of raw electricity, a hundred times more powerful than any drug hit that I have experienced. We do this four times. Or is it five? Or even six? I lose count.

  When it is all over, there is silence. I open my eyes and we are alone. All chose to leave, something that I had not seen before.

  I now understand why he is so hot afterwards. I feel like my body is burning up. I also understand why sex is so high on his agenda; my libido is climbing off the Richter scale.

  He unwraps himself from me. We take off in the car without bothering to go back to the B&B.

  ‘This place is still contaminated. We’ve paid. Let’s just drive as far from here as possible.’

  I happily agree.

  We drive all night, a bottle of scotch sitting between us. We take turns swigging without feeling the effects. The night sky is a blur of stars as his foot floors the accelerator and stays there.

  Finally, as the dawn glows in the east, he pulls the car to a stop and we clamber out. A pale silver expanse of water lies before us, as placid as a lake. This deep cove is encircled by a line of hills. Herons and egrets skim across the surface.

  We get out of the car and Andre strides ahead of me, pulling his clothes off as he wades into the silver dawn-washed water and then dives in, resurfacing further out.

  I follow him.

  The water is crystal clear and fresh. It cleans off the filth from last night. I’m still buzzing and I assume he must be too. He swims further out and I see that a pod of porpoises has surrounded him. I swim languidly in that direction, and soon, three porpoises are gliding around me. Their smiling faces wipe out the nightmare visions that are still lurking in my memories.

  We spend the next few hours like this, letting the sea wash the taint off us, and then lying on the beach.

  As I lie in his arms on the clear sand, I bring up the previo
us night. ‘Why?’ I ask.

  His eyes are a lovely pearly grey, half shaded by the wet black strands of his hair falling over them. Today, he looks even more unearthly and mysterious, like some handsome merman.

  He shakes his head.

  ‘Man-made contamination,’ is all he will say. He leans down and runs his tongue along the curve of my hip. ‘Don’t ask again or I’ll have to stop what I’m doing and throw you back in the sea to remove the filth. To even talk about it poisons the air.’

  On we go as before, but I sense something is about to change. It happens so suddenly I almost go flying through the windscreen. He hits the brakes so unexpectedly my car skids and almost spins a full circle before he gains control and we glide to a standstill.

  I'd been dozing but now look out to see what caused him to react like that. He is already out of the car and walking to stand by the rocky shoreline.

  I follow, and as I get closer, I can hear him mutter, ‘so be it then.’ His face is so drenched in happiness I immediately know this is not going to be just another day. I look out at the sea, follow his gaze across the causeway to the lighthouse perched on its rock. The place looks ancient, and for a moment, I think it is a mirage. It seems to waver out of focus for a second before reforming.

  ‘Andre?’

  It's a full minute before he looks at me.

  ‘Just grab what you need for a couple of nights,’ he says and then begins to climb down the steep steps that lead to the causeway.

  I rummage in the boot and throw a few things into a bag, as well as some bottled water, fruit, and a packet of biscuits. I hurry down the stairs and follow him across the strip of elevated rocks. The path is eroded and crumbly and I need to constantly manoeuvre my way around the potholes.

  I finally catch up with him at the wall that encircles the lighthouse. He is staring upward at the tower that rises into the deep blue sky. I follow his gaze.

  The tower is different, but I can't work out why.

  The base of the lighthouse is like a square, and between the wall and the building, there is a small space. A very old olive tree, stunted with only the barest of leaves, grows in one corner. I wonder how it can be alive. There are shutters on the building and the golden stone is brittle, flakes of mica are spilling off.

  I look at him. Both his hands are touching the stones. There is such a rapt expression on his face I feel like I'm intruding. I can hear the sea splashing against the rocks. Finally, he looks at me and pulls a key from his pocket. It is black with age, large with an ornate bow. There is a small alcove just near where he stands and he walks up the three steps and places the key into the lock of this door streaked with red rust. There is a click and he pushes the driftwood door three times, until it creaks open.

  We enter a space that is sparsely furnished yet comfortable. I deposit my bag on the wooden table. He has already walked through to the next room.

  I trail him to the staircase and we climb the endless stairs.

  At the top of the tower, in the lantern room, the glass windows encircle us and the view is astonishing, 360 degrees of sea with the distant cliffs shadowing such a small portion as to seem almost insignificant.

  Andre strokes the light so intimately I feel like there is another woman here with us. Then, he walks to the outside platform and leans on the iron railing. The wind blows his hair.

  I join him despite feeling nervous at being up so high.

  Vertigo hits me as I look down at the waves crashing against the black rocks. I feel dizzy and grasp the rail. The wind buffets me as though I am an intruder. The salty air swirls around me, and for a moment, I feel as though I’m being suffocated by him. Is it his aroma that pervades the air, or is it the ocean’s perfume? I don't know anymore.

  I move back to the wall and realise why it seems different to the other towers. It is an octagon. I touch the stone and it radiates warmth back to me. It is like touching his skin.

  I look over at Andre. His black hair whips behind him and his eyes are closed, his expression is pure bliss. I sit down in the doorway, a safe haven between the wild outside and the safer inside. I wait.

  Night comes slowly, ebbing in like the tide I can hear as it rises and slowly inundates the causeway, cutting us off from the mainland. Andre is still standing at the railing, so motionless he may have turned into a statue. I expect the light to turn on, but it doesn’t. Stars are flickering in the huge night sky, tiny cold lights like very distant lighthouses beaming out from an immense universe.

  I call his name. Eventually, he turns and walks over to me and sits beside me.

  ‘Why isn't the light working?’ I ask.

  ‘It needs to be activated,’ he replies.

  ‘Is that why we are here?’

  He laughs and leans over and kisses me. ‘Yes. It is.’

  I don't understand why he is so amused. I feel annoyed. ‘Don't we have to do it now?’ I ask.

  ‘Not today,’ he says. ‘This place exists outside of time. I’ll explain everything tomorrow. There is nothing we need to do today. You should go and rest.’

  He stands up and walks over to some shelves. He pulls out a small lantern that he lights before bringing over to me.

  ‘Here, this will help you get down the stairs.’

  I stand and take it from him. I am being dismissed. I’m not used to this, we have become a team and now I am superfluous.

  ‘What is this place?’ I ask.

  ‘This is home.’ He stares into my eyes. His voice is so gentle, yet beneath the surface, I feel his emotions like a riptide flowing dangerously fast. I suddenly ache with an intense longing. ‘Your home.’ I whisper.

  He pulls me into his arms. ‘I need to be here alone,’ he murmurs. ‘Tonight. I need this. Tomorrow, we’ll talk.’

  He kisses me; he tastes like the wind, ephemeral with a hint of ozone. I feel him slipping away like one of the ghosts he has been sending off these past few months. I walk alone down the stairs.

  I wake up alone and know he is still up in the tower. I grab an apple and walk out into the courtyard. The day is very sunny but the swell is up. I can hear waves smacking against the rocks. I look up and see him standing there at the rail and wonder if he has moved since last night.

  The sun is at its zenith when he appears, he is eating one of the apples I bought and passes me the water bottle. I take it and have a sip. I doubt he has slept but he radiates vitality. He sits down beneath the olive tree, and for a moment, I seem to glimpse some crucial moment of his past.

  ‘Where do I begin?’ he asks.

  I feel like a woman whose lover is about to confess to a wife and family.

  ‘I was sent here as a child. So very long ago, a different time, a time of legends and myths, I think. This place was an island and I came in a small galley and became part of what was a segregated priesthood. There was no wall then. There was one building, of two levels. Hewn stone with delicate carvings and large statures of Poseidon and Triton at the four corners. This was a lighthouse, but not how we think of one. On the top level, there was an eight-sided tower, not tall like this, more squat, and above that was an open cupola where the fire that provided the light burned. A large, curved mirror of polished bronze hung from the dome and was used to project the fire's light into a beam. My job was to help keep the fire burning. An arduous task, but not terrible. There were worse ways to live.

  ‘I don't know how long I was here before she came. I didn't know who she was. She would appear at night as I lay by the fire and talk to me. She had long black hair and green eyes, and I was a young, lonely adolescent. She was very beautiful. One night, when I was in her arms, I forgot about the fire and let it go out. It shouldn’t have mattered, it was a rare boat that went out at night, but of course, this night, a galley was returning from a raid further up the coast and it rammed into the island and all on board her drowned. I was severely beaten, but none of that mattered, because I had experienced my first shipwreck and been initiated into one of the great
mysteries. Contrary to what my fellow priests believed, the sea was not a God but a Goddess. It was the beginning of my downfall, but I didn't care, the falling was exquisite.’

  He stared up at the tower. ‘I became very good at finding the right moment to extinguish the light, stormy, rainy nights worked well, and my sea siren would whisper to me whenever a boat was on the seas, looking for calm anchorage. If we timed it right, it would be all over within minutes, and I would plead the inclement weather had obliterated the flame. The final straw was when an earthquake partially destroyed the tower and buildings and the Priesthood began looking for a reason, a scapegoat, and that role was assigned to me. After much ritual and ceremony, I was brutally killed and my body hacked apart, my bones ground up and my flesh and blood mixed into the mortar and the bricks that would build their new tower. My spirit merged with this tower, giving it extra strength and vitality so it rose much higher than anything built previously. It was a marvel; people came from distant places to see this lighthouse. But their problems were only just beginning. It took time; I let them all be lulled into believing that this tower was sacred, which it was, but not to their God. Slowly, I befuddled their minds, haunted their dreams, turned their lamps dark and perverted their priesthood. Their young men would throw themselves onto the rocks, breaking their backs and lying there, slowly drowning as the sea reclaimed them. My beautiful sirens adored me. Eventually, everyone died or left.

  ‘Time wipes away memories and others came and rebuilt the lighthouse. There was now more shipping, more opportunity, and their lighthouse keepers were easy to manipulate and disorientate. This rock developed an evil reputation and no one wanted to come to such a cursed place.

  But people are stubborn, aren’t they? New types of priests came and exorcised the demons and sprinkled holy water everywhere, my sirens left but nothing could dislodge me, I was part of this place. I was the stone itself. Still, something must have worked because a force bigger than this world summoned me out. I call them The Elders. They pulled my soul back into the world and into a new physical body. They turned the incorporeal into corporeal. They gave me life, many lives; all of them lived on or beside the sea. They had decided that my humanity would win out eventually as I experienced what it was like to live and die by the sea. Perhaps I lived and died too many times. Perhaps the lesson may have worked better if I hadn’t always been brought back to life. You know, drowning is not so bad.’