Away on the beach, where boulders that were slick with seawater and salted with sand bordered waves as tall as mountains, William could recognize the silhouette of another human watching the stormy scene. The once peaceful night had been disrupted by winds that howled like the souls of the damned and waves that towered hundreds of feet over one another, crashing down with such might that the sound emitted from them was well nigh thunder. These waves obscured the horizon and only made visible the midnight sky, though it made no use to look towards it, as the moon could not be seen and neither could the stars. In place of nature’s light was the lamp of the lighthouse William was standing in, illuminating the blue-gray waves and the form of the still silhouette for a brief moment before moving on and shrouding the beach in darkness again.
From the seconds he was given, William could discern that the silhouette was a washed-up sailor, his clothes torn by the sea and his blond hair laden with saltwater. The lost sailor moved as if he could not hold up his own weight, staggering towards the waves in an act of confusion, then staggering back as the wind pushed him away from the sea. He did not fight the wind, only stumbled with it, once even falling back when it was too much to bear.
William opened the door to the lighthouse and stepped out. He made his way down the porch and waved to the sailor, calling to him over the roaring waves.
“Ahoy there, traveler!”
The sailor stood and spun around unsteadily to look at the source of the voice. As the light from the lighthouse illuminated him once more, William saw that he was a young man, though his weather-worn face belied the fact. His youth was instead portrayed in the daze of his eyes.
The sailor wiped saltwater from his face and pushed his hair out of his line of vision, studying the lighthouse, then stumbling towards William. He waved weakly, refusing to speak until he was inches from the lighthouse keeper’s face.
“Hello,” The sailor said after a moment of staring, his voice hoarse.
William studied him in silence. As the lighthouse’s lamp circled back once more, he could see the wounds that decorated the man’s face. Large, bloodied scrapes adorned his cheeks and jaw, tiny cuts dotted his chin, nose, forehead and neck, and a few purple bruises here and there to go alongside, accenting the crimson. His white shirt was stained with the same shade of red, and William could only imagine what kind of wounds hid beneath it. The sailor
held no acknowledgment for the blood or the pain. He only kept his anticipating gaze on William, politely awaiting a response.
The silence lingered between them.
“I’m sorry, sir, could you tell me where I am?” The young man asked.
William gave him a friendly, knowing smile, turning to head back inside. He waved for the sailor to follow.
“You will determine that in time.”
“Pardon?”
William kept his silence and opened the door to the lighthouse, letting him step inside first. The young man was quickly drawn to the lit candles around the foyer, but soon forgot about the little warmth they gave off and drifted back to the lighthouse keeper.
“Sir, I have been sailing for long days and long nights. At this time, sleep is foreign to me and so is land. I have not seen a woman in four years, I have not set foot on shore, until now, for eleven months, and I have not had a single fulfilling meal for the same amount of time. My ship,” his voice hitched on a breath and there was a split-second hesitation. “I don’t know what happened, all I know is that I am lost and I am too tired for riddles. Please, tell me where I am.”
“What’s your name, friend?” William asked, dismissing him.
The sailor narrowed his eyes briefly, but respected the question. William noted that this stranger was more polite than most he crossed paths with, having his temper, of course, but keeping a pleasant air about him. He assumed it had something to do with the fact that he was a greenhorn. Keep your head down, they had told William in his early years of sailing, and you’ll survive. He guessed the young man went by the same philosophy.
“Jack. My name’s Jack. What’s yours?”
“Most people just call me the Admiral. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” William led him across the foyer to one of the wings of the lighthouse, opening a door that whined on its hinges to an unassuming kitchen area. The white paint was peeling off the walls, the kitchenware was rusting, and the few, lonely maritime paintings that were hung up had faded with time. But the candlelight managed to give the faded colors a warm, sandy hue, and the smell of burning wood from the stove gave one a feeling of peaceful homeliness; any tired sailor would forget about where he was and simply be glad he was out of what he had been in.
“Where do you come from, Jack?” William asked as he opened the stove and fed more wood into the fire.
“Maine. Deer Isle.” Jack answered absentmindedly, wandering over to view one of the paintings on the wall. “Artwork by Aelbert Cuyp,” he nodded along with his words as if someone else was telling him the facts, “I haven’t seen an old painting like this in a while.”
“You’re a fan of art, hm?”
“I would say so. I read about it in my free time. Sometimes I paint, too. The sea is good for things like that, it’s why I sail.” Said he, his tone softer now.
“Certainly. How long have you been sailing for?”
“All my life. I’m seventeen, so I suppose it’s not that long. Say,” Jack looked around the room, glancing out the window that was embedded into the door. “You work alone? I haven’t seen anyone else around here.”
“In this particular department I do. But my bosses visit often enough to keep me company.”
“I see.” Jack sat down at the two person table, tracing the lines of his palm with his pointer finger. After a moment of reflective silence, he spoke. “How far are we from Maine?”
“Too far to know.”
Jack furrowed his brows, then shook his head and looked down at the table. “My family’s there, waiting for me to come back. It’s been four years since they’ve seen me. They’ll be expecting me to be home before summer, my mom and my sisters. Suppose Dad’ll be glad to see me as well.”
“You got a girl waiting for you, too?”
Jack smiled at the thought. “Yes sir, my Charlotte Boudreaux. Promised I’d marry her right when I get home.” He touched the wounds on his face, frowning. “I sure hope these scars heal up by then.”
William turned away and poured a cup of hot coffee from a kettle on the stove.
“You a coffee drinker, kid?”
“Right now I am.”
William handed the coffee to Jack and made another cup for himself, then sat down in the chair across from him.
“What about you, Mr. Admiral? Have you sailed?” Jack inquired.
“For sixty years with the British Navy. It was long ago, back when the ships were made of wood and—”
“And the men made of iron. Now, it’s wooden men and iron ships.” Jack smiled again, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ve heard the saying. At least once every month.”
“Ah,” William couldn’t help but smile as well. He scratched at his beard thoughtfully, stealing a quick glance at the painting behind Jack, briefly recalling his sailing days. “It was hard to leave the navy. Or to admit I had to leave. But I was growing old and my body wouldn’t last long on the waters we sailed, so I took up the job of keeping this lighthouse. It’s good for retirement. Keeps me close to what I love.”
“Then maybe I’ll do the same when I get old and retire. Doesn’t sound like a bad plan.” Jack said pleasantly. William could only look at him, his eyes iced over with thought, the ghost of a faraway smile plastered on his face. He swirled his coffee around in its cup and brought it to his lips.
“You’d better change out of those clothes.” He said after a spell, standing and opening one of the cabinets closest to the floor, pulling out a neatly folded blue-and-white striped shirt and a pair of cotton pants to match. He turned back to Jack, who was watching curiously.
“These oughta fit you.” William handed the clothes to him. Jack took them in his hands, stood, and glanced around the room.
“Well— thank you, sir. Where can I change?”
William cocked his head towards the door. “Outside to the right, there’s a bathroom.”
Jack thanked him once more before making his way to the bathroom. William watched the kitchen door shut, stood in silence for a moment, then lifted his gaze and watched one of the windows in the foyer. The storm was still raging, the rain and winds pounding against the glass with such force that it was nothing short of a miracle that the windows held fast, keeping the inside of the lighthouse warm, peaceful, and frozen in time. For a moment, he almost wished he were back out on those tempests, the seawater stinging at his face and the wind ripping his breath from his mouth, leaving him afterward with a wonderfully sore feeling in his bones— the sure sign of a life being well spent.
With a sigh, William stepped over to the table, but remained standing. He took a sip of coffee, keeping his eyes trained on the kitchen door.
A quiet minute passed before it swung open haphazardly and Jack came staggering in, pale as paper. He had managed to clean up the scars on his face and he’d put the new pair of pants on, but he lacked a shirt. William could now see the wounds that had been hidden beneath the tattered shirt he wore before, and his stomach turned.
The young man looked defeated. His mouth hung agape and he stammered along, then nodded to his mauled torso in disbelief.
“I should be dead,” he whispered weakly.
William drew his tongue across his teeth in a thoughtful manner. A heavy feeling settled in his chest as the most dreaded part of his job neared.
“My friend,” he started carefully.
A pause.
“I fear you already are.”
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Great story! Love the setting and the twist at the end.
My favorite so far