Lighthouses

by Trost, Cameron

  He looks at me, his eyes bright. ‘Drowning has a peacefulness to it that other deaths lack. I did learn a lot from my experiences, but perhaps not quite what they were expecting. Finally, I was allowed to be a lighthouse keeper. I did the job well, for a while. Eventually, I succumbed to the lure of devastation. Because it does have a chaotic beauty, I think you may understand a little of what I am referring to.’

  I feel a coldness creep in. He stands and walks toward me and takes me in his arms. His lips are on my neck as he whispers. ‘It’s like a waltz, isn't it? The doomed ship as it ploughs through the seas, the jagged cliffs waiting for that moment, a break in the rhythm, watching her glide innocently closer before he takes her in his arms, presses her against his stony chest, feels that heartbeat racing with fear, with passion. You know what I’m saying don't you, Marissa, because you’ve experienced it too?’

  He twirls me around and I am in his arms and he has tilted me backwards and he is holding me so my hair is trailing the stones and I am looking up at the lighthouse as it rises up to the sky. He swings me back up so we are face to face. ‘There is that moment, it only lasts for a second or two, amid the chaos, destruction is imminent, there is no more hope, nothing can save them, and there is a pause, a hush before the final blow is struck. You can feel it, just a second and everything stops and there is a silence, and within that silence, an acknowledgement between the doomed and the spirit of the sea, an acceptance of the gift that has been offered and taken. In that moment, there is a beautiful peace, blissfulness, the ultimate surrender. I've felt it from both sides, as the observer and as the one about to die.’

  His lips were on mine, his hands unbuttoning my dress, letting it slip to the stones, my back against the stonework as he lifts me up, my legs around his hips as he pushes his cock into me. The feeling of his skin against my skin, that warm flesh pushed against my breasts and stomach, and against my back there is the warm gritty stone skin that is also him. The waves crashing against the wall send a cold mist that drifts over to us. Almost like my wedding day, I think, but this is an ending, not a beginning, and that jolts me. I almost gasp, but then I feel the inner wave building inside me, and then I can't think. All I can do is feel the sensation, his mouth, his hands, his skin.

  He opens the door that leads to the causeway and there on one of the rocks lie three silver fish. He picks them up and whispers his thanks. I look back along the breakwater and see the coastline. It wavers like a mirage, my car blurry and faded. Beyond lies a town that I know doesn't exist, not in my time. We go back inside and he expertly fillets the fish, and starts up a small fire in the stove. I watch him, of course, he knows where everything is. This is his home. Soon, we are eating the fish and washing it down with a clay cask of cool wine, vintage unknown but probably very old. It's delicious. We sit at the small table with the shutters open. He eats the fish, bare-chested and glowing with a vitality that is almost hyperreal.

  We climb up to the tower. All around is the beginning of a sunset. The sky is turning that deeper shade of blue, tinged with silver and slashes of orange and pink, red and violet. Everywhere I turn, I can see these multiple sunsets. It is disorientating. Even more confusing are the strange houses that cover the distant cliffs and cascade down like a myriad of pale ivory boxes. I know that no city stands there, nor any port. Even the ferocious, black cliffs that rise abruptly from the water are unlike anything I've ever seen before. They remind me of sharpened blades. The causeway is underwater again but I'm not even sure I know which direction it is. There is no compass point that directs me. Yet, it is eerily magnificent, and I know that, like Andre, it has indelibly stamped itself onto my being.

  He is holding my hand and we walk together on the deck. Today, there is no wind. It is utterly still and the sea below us undulates gently as though it is breathing. His arms are around me as we stand together, silently watching this wondrous show that has seemingly been put on just for us. Night falls like the swoop of a gigantic bird, a moment of shadow and then the utter darkness as its wings span the sky.

  I look at the tower behind us. Dark and silent, waiting, it feels like the sea, the island, the sky, everything is waiting. I feel it; the anticipation is tangible, almost living. Andre’s face is against mine.

  ‘Look,’ he whispers.

  At the horizon, a moon is rising; a glowing yellow orb that seems to drip seawater as it slowly ascends. We watch as it rises out of the water like some wonderful amber jewel. It is not truly spherical, I notice, there is a part missing, just a sliver that prevents it being perfectly round. Tomorrow, it will be full. Tomorrow is when it will all happen.

  #

  Our last night and we lie together on the bed. With a terrible clarity, I realise the heart-shattering truth, and I wonder when it surfaced. How could I not have been aware? When did the falling occur? Recently? Or was it in the beginning, out on that lake? When was it? It is pointless even thinking about it. After tomorrow, it will be over, regardless of anything.

  ‘How long have we been travelling?’ I ask, but that is not what I mean.

  He shrugs. His eyes are a piercing blue in the lantern light.

  ‘Time is irrelevant,’ he says. ‘Do we even know what day it is? What month? What year?’ He strokes my body gently.

  ‘Have there been others like me who travelled with you?

  ‘Yes, there have been. A few I even fell in love with.’ He kisses me passionately and we don't talk for a long while. The moonlight is shining into the room from the open window. Long fingers of silver lie across our bodies.

  ‘Will you miss anything from this life?’ I ask.

  ‘I'll miss this,’ he says with a gleam in his eye. ‘Best part of having a physical body. I'll miss this a lot.’ He pulls me closer so I am lying on his chest, and he strokes my hair. This or me? I want to ask the question but I don't think I could deal with it if he responds differently to what I hope to hear. I can feel tears running down my face and falling like dewdrops on his skin. He doesn’t say anything but I feel his lips against my forehead.

  #

  I watch the children run along the sand, their kites flapping gleefully in the frisky wind. Their laughs and calls are caught by the wind and come to me in broken fragments. I put my diary down. The past is there beside me. I can almost smell him. It’s just the sea breeze, I think, just that salty zephyr. I breathe deeply and can almost hear him laugh. I can almost see him there beside me. The memories are so close. They rise up like those ghosts that used to appear nightly.

  #

  I think back to that last day, a kaleidoscope of images and feelings. We swim in the warm water, diving off the causeway into that wonderful blue. I thought it would be cold but it was tepid like a cooling bath. Seals swim alongside us; their liquid brown eyes stare into our faces, their whiskers trembling as they snort out misty breaths. They dive between us. Sometimes, their sleek fur bodies sweep over our bodies, momentarily touching us, skin to skin. I wonder if they are Selkies. There is something flirtatious about the way they glide so close, especially near Andre. One of them seems to kiss him as she glides by.

  Yet all days end and soon it is late afternoon. The sea has become choppier as the day progresses, a rolling swell brings large waves that crash against our island, and there is a rhythm to the beat that feels ominous.

  We eat cheese that we have found wrapped in muslin in one of the cupboards, drink the last of the wine. We make love a final time. Then, we climb the spiral stairs that takes us to the top.

  ‘What will happen?’ I ask.

  Andre smiles at me. ‘I leave this plane. That is what happens.’

  I want to ask more but can't. I stare out at the endless horizon of blue with the lines of rolling swell coming toward us like some watery army.

  ‘It's strange,’ he says. ‘I would have been happy spending years with you. For the first time ever, I barely thought about my atonement ending. Oh, the irony of it.’ He leans over and kisses me. ‘To finally be happy and
then be given that which one has been waiting for ever for.’

  I stare into his eyes. I want to tell him not to leave. Just stay. It's a choice, surely, like the choices he would give to the dead. He can decide.

  He kisses me again. ‘I have to go. There is no choice.’

  I see the truth in his eyes.

  There is no spectacular sunset, just a darkening of the sky with a silver glow in the east. Andre is looking at the twilight sky where small stars are twinkling through velvet indigo. ‘Perhaps, one day, we'll go into space. Interstellar lighthouses, providing safe passage for those ships that glide through the shifting time tides of the universe,’ he says softly. ‘I’d like that. I’d like to be part of that.’

  The moon hangs low in the sky, bright full moon, celestial mirror of the sun. Below, the sea is throwing itself against the wall that circles the lighthouse, crashing over in places. I can see water swirling in the courtyard like whirlpools.

  Did I close those shutters? I ask myself.

  It is as though a storm from far away is making its presence felt here, and by the way the sea is coming over the wall, all of the rooms below are likely to be flooded. Marooned up here. My heart beats faster with anxiety.

  ‘Marissa,’ he says softly, ‘when I go tonight, you need to leave too. Not straight away, but first thing in the morning. I don't know how long this place will be anchored to your reality. Do not stay. There is nothing here for you.’ He brushes some of my hair away from my face. ‘Your future is much brighter than you think it is. Trust me on this.’

  #

  ‘Mummy?’

  I look up into the sea-green eyes of my daughter. The twins are standing in front of me, their tangled kites earthbound, dragging in the sand.

  ‘We’re hungry,’ Marlon says. His blue eyes, flecked with gold, stare into mine.

  ‘Good thing I brought some food,’ I say, placing my notebook to one side and grabbing some drinks and snacks to feed their ever hungry stomachs.

  They chatter away, one picking up the other’s half-finished sentence. When they have demolished everything, they bound over to the rocks to pat the sea lions as they doze in the afternoon sun. One of them rolls onto her back, so they scratch her stomach with a piece of driftwood. These wild creatures have become almost as tame as pets.

  I unravel the kite strings and neatly roll them up, then collect all our flotsam and walk over to the twins. Dillan, black hair falling down her back with the palest of skin, and Marlon, blond with a honey tone to his complexion, come running to me when I call them. Despite their dissimilar colouring, they look almost identical, which confuses people. No, they are paternal twins, I say. Only I know that they have different fathers. They do too, but are too young to understand what that really means. Their fathers are almost mythical in their eyes, like storybook characters. They lead lives out in the ocean, saving sea creatures from the perils of man, or saving men from the perils of the ocean.

  We walk home, up the dusty path with long grass waving in the breeze. Home is a collection of buildings clustered around a tall, red and white striped lighthouse. The buildings were derelict when I bought them, but with the help of a visionary architect, I have built a home, well-lit and spacious, powered by the sun and the wind. In a sheltered courtyard, we have a garden of herbs and flowers, fruit and vegetables, and a menagerie of animals; chickens, goats and one rabbit. It seems right that we live here. The lighthouse is automated and every six months someone pops by to perform any maintenance it may need. In between, I unlock the door and climb the stairs and check on it, occasionally cleaning the salt spray from the windows or polishing the glass lens of the lantern. I’m sure a psychoanalyst could write a whole thesis about the symbolism of what I do and the choices I have made, but what do I care. I’m happy and my children are happy, and isn't that all that matters in the end?

  Andre was right about my future. He always knew so much more than he would say. Here, we are linked. His presence ebbs in and out like the tides.

  I go back to that moment, just before he leaves.

  #

  The moon has climbed much higher and is so huge it seems to take over half the sky. Below, the sea is a maelstrom. I know he is leaving but I don't know what that means.

  He holds me tight and whispers goodbye. He whispers words of love that fall into my heart and sit there like transparent pearls. I can barely hear him with the cacophony of the crashing waves. I can’t even see the buildings below. All is a mass of churning foam-flecked water, heaving and swirling. The waves are huge. They are crashing against the tower now. Then, he is standing on the rim of the railing, balanced there perfectly. His white body is a sculpture, his black hair lost in the night. There is a moment of absolute stillness when he looks back at me and smiles. Even the sea has gone quiet.

  Then, he dives. He dives off the tower and an enormous wave rears up and catches him. I can see him there, held as though by some watery hand. The wave hits the tower, which trembles and vibrates, mist and foam fly around me. I can barely see. The lighthouse shudders and the light comes on. Just like that, pure white light radiates out of the lantern room, and I know he is home. I can barely see. It is so bright. The lantern spins and light beams out in a huge arc, and far below me, the sea is still, as calm as can be.

  I fall to my knees and weep as the light turns and pulses, on and off.

  Eventually, I take a deep breath and stand. I need to leave. I go downstairs and take my bag that has somehow remained dry. I slosh through a foot of water in the courtyard and unlock the door with the antique key which I find in my jeans, though I can't recall ever putting it there.

  The causeway is there, not wholly above the water but enough that I can make my way across it. The light spins around and stops above me, the beam illuminating my path. I walk across it to the cliff and climb the stairs embedded into the rock. I stand beside my car and look back. The causeway is once more underwater. The light spins around in a chaotic dance, flashing so fast I feel giddy, but joyous as well, and then it turns off and back on and settles into a pattern. Three seconds then eight seconds, followed by three and then eight, like a heartbeat.

  ‘It is the light.’ His last words echo back to me, and I see him as he stood against that moonlit sky, his voice carrying over to me past the tumultuous sea that had gone silent. ‘It is what connects us to each other. While it shines, we are never truly alone. Within the light, there is life. Always.’

  THE CRYSTAL LIGHTHOUSE

  Sam Muller

  1.

  Mary would like that, I thought as soon as I saw it in the window. It wasn’t a shop I’d usually go into. I would’ve walked right by it without even glancing. A miniature lighthouse carved out of a large crystal caught my eye. Mary collected lighthouses. It was a little quirk of hers I loved and encouraged. Our house was full of them. Every usable surface had one. They were typically made of porcelain, although we did have a few carved out of wood and a couple made of glass. This would be the first carved out of a crystal.

  A wall of scent made me want to turn back. Mountains of incense boxes sat on a table in front of me emitting such a strong smell that I was beginning to get a headache.

  I was about to move to the counter, but in that moment of hesitation, I caught a proper look at the shop’s contents. I couldn’t tell what the purpose of the place was. It was a rag-tag collection of items suggesting it was a trinket shop, but there were also books, gems, clothes, and the aforementioned table of incense. My curiosity was piqued. I strolled over to the shelves, and glanced at the book titles. Realise your Inner Wiccan, Druidism and You, Astro Prophecies, The Power of Now, Awaken your Purpose, Spiritual Laws to Success. I rolled my eyes. Were people really so disillusioned they’d turn to dead religions for guidance? I chuckled. The counter-culture to the age of reason.

  There were all sorts of religious iconography scattered across the counter, mostly in the form of necklaces and earrings. The major religions were noticeably absent, althoug
h there were a couple of Buddhas among the Celtic crosses and hexagrams. It reminded me of the hippies back in the sixties when they embraced Buddhism as an alternative to mainstream Christianity. Was this the result? Free love, back to the soil, and cohabitation reduced to spiritual catechisms and crystals.

  The woman behind the counter was in her twenties and evidently very much into everything in the shop. Her hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in months, clumping together in great thick strands. It seemed to be the fashion these days. I’ve noticed it more and more especially around this part of town. It drew my attention to her face, which was very cute. It had an innocent wanderlust to it, underlined by a fierce determination to fight for beliefs. In short, she looked like most people in their twenties looked to me — full of idealism and the guts to fight for it. It was admirable. Looking around the shop though, I had to wonder if her idealism had been hijacked by hack writers wanting to make some easy money.

  She gave me a broad grin and greeted me prettily.

  ‘I’ll take the crystal lighthouse.’

  ‘Great choice. It has such power. You can sense it just looking at it.’

  I looked at her sceptically but could tell from her eyes she meant every word of it. ‘Oh yeah?’