Lighthouses

by Trost, Cameron

  I looked at Janice and Mary in the silence that followed. Neither would say anything. Janice just looked at me, waiting.

  ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have challenged him,’ I said, ‘I guess it’s good to get it out in the open though. Janice you’re studying medicine, what can we do for him?’ She bit her lip while jiggling Josh up and down on her knee. He’d calmed down since his dad’s outburst and was even giggling happily at every bounce.

  ‘We can’t challenge his reality. We just have to accept it and be curious about it.’

  ‘What? You mean I have to pretend Mary is dead when I’m around him?’

  ‘You know from his perspective he has to pretend that Mary is alive when he’s around you.’

  ‘Christ,’ I said, running my hand through my hair, trying to get my head around it. ‘It certainly explains a lot.’

  ‘You’d better go talk to him, love,’ said Mary. ‘I don’t mind you pretending I’m dead if it helps our boy. Perhaps I’d better go up to my room to make it easier.’

  I shook my head, ‘I just don’t get how this could have happened.’

  ‘No one really knows why it happens,’ said Janice, ‘Some people just end up with a divergent version of reality.’

  ‘Should we get him on medication or something?’

  ‘I think we just need to talk through it, dad,’ replied Janice.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Janice nodded.

  I took a deep breath, looking over at the direction Andy had gone. ‘Better start now.’ I sighed.

  Andy was sitting outside on the wooden steps smoking a cigarette. ‘Thought you’d quit.’ I said to him.

  ‘Go away, dad.’

  I motioned to Jessy and she went inside. Andy looked like he was about to stop her but let her go.

  ‘Looks like we’ve got a lot to talk about,’ I said lamely.

  ‘Don’t even think about giving me a lecture. Mum’s dead. She’s been dead for a while now. I know it, everyone in there does too. The only person who doesn’t is you.’

  I nodded my head, swallowing. Don’t deny his reality. Be understanding. I told myself.

  ‘How did she die?’

  He looked up at me in surprise. Several emotions flickered across his face so fast that I wondered if I should just hug him instead. Much to my surprise, the last emotion I saw settle on his features was hope.

  ‘She died just over two years ago. They’d tried everything, you know. She just kept on getting worse though.’

  ‘They had that new treatment though,’ I said, remembering well the regular hospital visits.

  ‘It didn’t work.’

  It was a hard thing to hear. I had put all my hopes on that treatment and was so relieved when they said it had been a success.

  ‘Tell me what you remember.’

  ‘You think I’m the crazy one,’ he said.

  ‘No one is saying anything of the sort. Tell me what happened. I want to know.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘I remember trying to look everywhere but at mum. I think I spent most of the time at the hospital looking at the walls, the doors, or out the window. In her final hour, I was staring at the wall, looking at the new wood finish along the bottom half and the dark inoffensive pink of the top half, and wondering why they had chosen wood and pink. What was wrong with the old white, blues, and greens? I asked mum. She just laughed until she was overcome by a coughing fit.’

  I wondered why he was talking about the walls. Perhaps he was still avoiding the topic. Maybe that’s how the problem started.

  ‘I finally looked at her, looked at her properly. Mum lay on the bed in front of me. Her hair was gone, skin swollen and spongey to touch. I couldn’t recognise her. The woman on that bed repulsed me. I looked away from her, ashamed of what I’d been thinking, and focused on the lighthouse sitting on her side table. Mum’s lucky lighthouse. The one she said would always protect her and her family.’

  I smiled and repeated in Mary’s voice, ‘It’ll keep us from hitting the rocks and guide us when there’s a storm.’ I was glad to see Andy smile at that.

  ‘There had been a storm,’ Andy said. ‘It had thrown us against the rocks and mum was going to die, and you were catatonic in the waiting room. Although, I preferred that to your delusion.’

  He took a drag on his cigarette. I could see his hand shaking as he raised it to his lips.

  ‘I was so angry. Janice was inspired by all the work they did for mum, me. I hated them for how useless they’d been. I looked at that lighthouse and felt angry at what it represented. There were no lucky charms in life. I picked it up and threw it against the wall. Janice jumped out of the chair she had been sleeping in. She’d stayed up all night keeping watch over mum and you. You still hadn’t come in. You were just staring at the wall.’

  He said the last bit with so much venom I recoiled a little. It hurt to know that in Andy’s version of events, I had been useless. I hadn’t been there for her death. Did he think so little of me that I wouldn’t be at my wife’s side? I stopped myself from saying anything though. He needed to get it all out. I could see now just how much pain there was there.

  ‘Janice had yelled at me for being a dick and pressed the buzzer for the nurse. I immediately regretted my action. I dropped to mum’s side, holding her hand, telling her how sorry I was I had broken her lighthouse.’ Andy paused.

  ‘So, that’s how it broke. Janice just told me you’d accidentally knocked it off the table,’ I said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. ‘I fixed it. It hadn’t broken apart too badly you know.’

  Andy nodded. ‘A nurse came in to sweep up the pieces. Before she left, I stopped her and asked for the bag she’d swept it into. A few moments later, Janice came in, leading you by the hand. You were still so vacant. Just standing there over mum, completely uncomprehending. You didn’t even say anything. Just stared at her. I remember shouting out to you. When you finally moved, you looked at me. I recoiled a little from what I saw. You were totally lost. You turned to Janice too. She was still holding your hand. I could tell she saw what I saw. To her credit, instead of recoiling, she hugged you. I couldn’t believe it. After everything that had gone on between you two. When you finally spoke to mum, you said; you’ll be OK; that lighthouse worked its magic. We’re in calm waters again. You had sounded cheerful like you really believed what you’d said. You then sat down beside her, held her hand and retold the story of the lighthouse and how you’d met. We must’ve heard that story a thousand times but that day I listened to it as if it was the first time.’

  I smiled. Andy was right. I’d told it to anyone who’d listen. Mary had bought the lighthouse at some market stall on the same day we met. We were at a concert; she positively shone through the crowd. I was drawn to her as if guided through rough waters. There were crowds of people all around me, but I didn’t bump into anyone. It has been that way ever since. There have been reefs and rocks, but we’ve always been able to steer through.

  ‘I’m really sorry I smashed that lighthouse,’ Andy said.

  ‘No harm,’ I said and gave him a side hug on the steps.

  ‘Dad,’ said Andy. ‘What do you remember about that moment?’

  I stared at him blankly, wondering if I was meant to pretend Mary was dead. ‘I wasn’t in the waiting room, staring at a wall as you remember,’ I said, deciding perhaps that he wanted to know. ‘When the doctors told us the new treatment had worked, I went off to get some flowers from the hospital store. When I came back, I passed the flowers to your mum and said what you’d said I did. She took the flowers and we hugged. We had to wait another hour, but we were then able to take your mum home. We went back for a few checks after that. They eventually gave us the all clear.’

  ‘What’s mum been doing the past two years?’ he asked, a strained note to his voice.

  ‘Well, we took it easy the first month, but her body was pretty weak, so we started doing exercises again. We jog every morning now, just before I have to go
to work. I know it’s hard to believe, but the morning air works wonders, and it gives us a chance to talk about our plans or just chat in general.’

  ‘What do you chat about?’

  ‘Usual stuff. Household errands that need running. What we’re going to eat that night. Friends we’d like to catch up with. Future events we’d like to see. Of course, lately we’ve been chatting a lot about going on our holiday.’

  He was silent for a long time.

  ‘Dad,’ he said, hesitating. ‘Why is the place full of lighthouses?’

  The change in topic was completely out of left field. ‘It’s your mum’s collection, of course.’

  To my surprise, my son gave me a puzzled look, then shook his head.

  ‘Mum only ever had that one lighthouse.’

  He said it with such calm conviction that I swallowed my initial reaction. She had always collected lighthouses. Oh sure, we’ve bought more these past years than at any other time, but that’s because her lucky lighthouse brought us through such a difficult period.

  ‘There’s like, fifty in there,’ he added, perhaps trying to fill the silence. ‘Where did you get them all?’

  ‘You shouldn’t use like in that way,’ I said automatically. I decided to focus on the last question. ‘Around. You’d be surprised how many shops have lighthouses for sale. Also bought a few on eBay.’

  ‘So, you’ve been purposely shopping for them then?’

  ‘Well yeah, your mum loves lighthouses.’

  ‘I don’t know if having one lighthouse counts.’

  ‘She collected them,’ I said, again feeling my anger rise. The conversation was ridiculous. Here I was trying to talk him through his delusion while he tried to convince me I was the deluded one. I took a deep breath.

  We sat there silently for some time. Andy snuffed out his cigarette, carefully placing the butt in a container, and lit another.

  ‘Pass me one too, would you?’

  ‘You don’t smoke,’ he replied.

  ‘You’re right. Perhaps I should get a beer.’

  He shook his head, passed me his cigarette, and lit another one for himself.

  ‘You know what I don’t get?’ he said, taking a drag. ‘It’s been two years. You’ve got a job and friends. How come they haven’t challenged you about it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked him.

  ‘You talk to your colleagues about your wife, right?’

  I nodded.

  ‘How do they react?’

  ‘The usual way, inquire about her and so on.’

  ‘They know though, right? I saw a few of them at the funeral. George and Sheryl were there. Do you still talk to them?’

  ‘Now that you mention it, I haven’t spoken to those two in a while, they got moved to a different division and we just stopped talking to each other.’

  I thought I’d better give them a call sometime. We used to have both of them over regularly for dinner parties. Surely, it was just a coincidence that I hadn’t seen them in a while.

  ‘Finish your cigarette. Let’s go back inside.’

  I was feeling uncomfortable about the whole topic.

  Andy snuffed the cigarette and put it in his little case for cigarette butts.

  ‘We’ve got bins inside, you know?’ I said, watching him do this with fascination.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, putting the case back in his pocket and starting for the door.

  I followed him inside, but stopped at the crystal lighthouse and reached out for it. It was cold to the touch but the image of Mary’s happiness filled me with warmth.

  We returned to the dinner table as if nothing had happened. Mary had obviously retired to another room as she said she would. Poor woman. I mentioned something about going to the toilet to Andy and ducked down the hallway to check in on her. She was in bed already, wrapped up under the doona. ‘You all right?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, just tired,’ she responded, although I could tell she’d been crying. ‘You’d better get back to the party.’

  I grabbed Janice and went to the kitchen to serve dessert. I’d cut up some fruit earlier that day so all we had to do was serve it on ice cream. While I was heaping the ice cream into one of the bowls, I asked Janice, ‘Your mum’s always collected lighthouses, right?’

  ‘Sure, dad,’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Your brother said she only had the one.’

  ‘Yeah, for a long time she only had one.’

  That sounded about right. That’s probably what Andy was remembering. I thought about taking Mary some dessert, but didn’t want to trigger another outburst from Andy.

  They left after dessert. I told them they could just put the little tyke to sleep in the spare room, but they insisted they wanted to take him home to sleep. Janice helped me clean up and went home shortly after that. I went in with some dessert for Mary. I put the ice cream down on the side table, sat down on the bed beside her and started patting her.

  ‘It’s a strange thing,’ I said, and gave her a little hug, ‘but he wants to keep in touch now. I reckon we’re on the road to recovery.’

  She sniffed and looked up at me.

  ‘I hope so,’ she said, and gave me a hug.

  I went off to the ensuite and brushed my teeth. One thing was bothering me though. I looked at the undisturbed ice cream bowl next to the porcelain lighthouse. I turned to look at her.

  She looked at me expectantly, as she always did when I was deep in thought.

  ‘It’s just that of the two of us, I’m the more likely to be the insane one. I’m older and have had a far stronger connection.’

  I shook my head. It was a ridiculous thing to think.

  ‘But you’re right here, aren’t you?’ I said, taking her hands.

  She rested her head on my shoulder.

  TO KEEP THE LAMP ALIGHT

  Steve Cameron

  I was just on my way out for my morning walk when the police car crunched to a halt on the gravel road in front of my house. Mick Bowen, the local sergeant, got out. He had close-set eyes and shaggy dark hair that always seemed to need a trim. He’d put on weight recently and could do with some exercise.

  ‘Morning, Frank,’ he said. ‘Pull up all right?’

  I nodded. ‘Only had a couple of pints. How about you?’

  ‘Yeah, me too. It was a good evening though,’ he said. ‘Had your walk yet?’

  ‘On my way out now.’ I glanced up and down the road. It was foggy out, fog thick enough to spoon into bowls and serve as soup. I couldn’t see anyone else around. ‘Are you looking for me?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Just a routine enquiry. I have a couple of questions.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘I guess you haven’t been up past Jamieson’s Point this morning.’

  ‘Nope,’ I said. ‘About to head up there now.’

  ‘You didn’t happen to see anyone go past either last night or this morning, did you?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, I didn’t see anyone. Mind you, it only takes two pints and I don’t see or hear much of anything.’

  We both chuckled. ‘Got back here and went straight to sleep. Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘You know that fella, the bloke from the Maritime Authority?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Talbot. Comes up to stay at the lighthouse once every few months to make sure it’s running OK.’

  ‘Talbot. Yeah, that’s the guy,’ he said, nodding. ‘He’s disappeared.’

  ‘Disappeared? What do you mean?’

  ‘Seems like he came up last night, stayed overnight, and now he’s not there. His car’s still there though, all locked up.’

  ‘Maybe he’s just gone for a walk. Take in the sea air.’

  ‘Nah, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Foul play?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Mick said. ‘Maybe, maybe not. Don’t know anything for sure, yet.’

  ‘He’s not popular around here.’

  ‘Which makes everyone in Sculthorpe a
suspect.’ He laughed. ‘Want to come up for a look?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Why not?’

  #

  The police car smelled of the cheap lemon air freshener that swayed steadily from the rear vision mirror. As Mick drove the short distance up to the lighthouse, we made small talk. He’s probably the best friend I have in town. We’ve known each other since I came to Sculthorpe thirty years ago to work for the local newspaper. I retired when it shut down five years ago. Just before Ellen died.

  We arrived a minute or so later in the small gravel car park, just past the sign erected by the campaign committee. Save Our Lighthouse, it proclaimed in large red letters. The white brick lighthouse loomed tall in the fog, its bright red cupola barely visible. There was nothing else out on the point. There used to be a keeper’s house out here, but it was vacated when the lighthouse was fully automated in the late eighties. Despite a campaign by the town, the Maritime Authority demolished it. The lighthouse, however, was heritage listed.

  Mick parked alongside Talbot’s car, and we both got out.

  From somewhere in the fog, I heard a seagull’s cry, mournful and distant. Below the cliffs, the unseen waves crashed against the rocks.

  I checked the handle; the car was locked. A can of black spray paint, with its cap missing, lay on the gravel near the lighthouse door, which was wide open.

  We entered. Inside was dim, and smelled cold and musty. The lighthouse had, after all, been locked up for the past six months.

  The control boards that ran the lighthouse were mounted on the curved wall, with a rack of backup batteries alongside them. Talbot’s camp bed had obviously been slept in. A portable gas stove rested on a small table. There was a stack of dirty dishes from the previous night’s meal. His folding chair lay on its side.

  I was about to grab it, put it to rights, when Mick grabbed my arm.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ he said. ‘This could be a crime scene.’

  I nodded and he let go of me. ‘Sorry. I never even thought of that.’

  ‘Don’t touch anything,’ said Mick. ‘Just in case.’

  ‘Have you checked up there?’ I asked, indicating the winding stairs that rose inside the tower.