The Lighted House

Pristine.  That's how I would describe the day.  We had lived in the lighthouse for over fifty years.  Weathered many a storm together.  My wife would batten down the windows, put on an extra jumper, and put on some soup. 

Copyright © 2012 English Russia

But today, all is quiet.  The weather calm and the sky nearly clear.  This was the kind of day she would put on a jumper and go sit on the rocks and read.  But, alas, now it’s just me and the cat.  Who would have thought that such a hard working woman could be taken so easily?

So, today I'm going out in my little boat to bask in the light of the sort of day she liked.  I'm taking flowers and they're occupying the honorary spot in the middle of the boat where she used to sit.  The boat is small and propelled by the oars in my hands.  It is slow work because I am so old and my joints creak almost as much as the house does.  

The salty sea air is doing wonders for my spirit.  Inside the house it can get dark and cold despite the temperature in the outside air.  Pictures are all I have left of the woman who could deter me from stealing a biscuit with nothing but a wooden soup spoon.  Pictures of our children, and their children.  Pictures of our parents.  Images and memories are all I have and both are fading.

But the sea is the same, in the way that it is always there and always changing.  She loved the sea and that is why she loved me.  I am a man of the sea and I will always be; it’s in my blood.  But lately, the sea has been calling.  So, I'm in my little boat to see what it wants.  After an hour of laboring with the oars, I'm only halfway around the cove.  The work feels good in my muscles, but my joints are not responding like they used to.  I'm alive, the sea is calm, and the birds are talking.  It's a beautiful day.

Last night, I remember as I paddle, I had a dream.  A neutral dream.  A dream with my wife and the sea and a shiny lantern glowing in the distance.  I still can't decide if I like the dream or not.  But the sea is light now, vibrant blue with hues of green.  It is day, not night like in the dream so it falls back into my memory.  I am calm like the ocean, breathing gently and feeling the breeze on my old, wrinkled face.

I remember to give wide berth to the rock jutting out of the water as I cut back in to a little bay.  It runs deep and below the surface the rock is wide and jagged.  How many little boats it took to discover all this rock's secrets is hard to say.  At least five.  Many fishing trips were taken to this bay.  She used to love coming along to fish.  She wasn't ever particularly good at fishing, but she was always good company.

In the days of our children, she never wandered far from the house.  She would play with the children and cook and read them stories in the sunshine.  Leaving them for a second could doom them to death by desire.  The water is so inviting and so dangerous for someone so little as our children were.  We had to teach them to swim and never swim alone.  "The water is beautiful, but the water is dangerous," we told them.  We were good parents.  

When our children moved away, the ocean helped us stay busy.  We tended the light in the tower, we fished, we went out boating.  We became dancing partners again and we played the old records without mercy.  We enjoyed our own company and never turned away any who visited us.  She put up the pictures she took and the pictures our children brought us.  

She kept the shutters open.  Light flooded into the kitchen which curved around toward the base of the house.  The kitchen was where she loved to be.  She baked and cooked until she was tired of it.  But, she was never really tired of it.  Just like I am never tired of the sea.  It beats in my heart, the wave's rhythm.  Never ceasing, except in the dream when the lantern came on.

But, the day I was paddling in was glorious.  An old man's day.  The ways of the world off in the distance connected to the mainland and the rush of activity that followed it there.  Today was my day.  My own rowing delegating my direction.  The gentle breeze in my thin hair.  My sweater was enough to keep me warm in the sunlight and I'm old enough that I won't get too hot in the same light.  Everything was just perfect for the day.

I was paddling around the calm side when I had an urge to nap.  I pulled the boat onto a rocky little shore and lay back basking in the light that warmed my closed eyelids.  I don't know how long I slept but I was on no schedule and I had nowhere to be.  

I woke to the sounds of the early evening.  I shivered a little and backed the boat off the beach.  I was still tired, but I needed to be getting home to the light.  It was getting dark and I was very hungry.  The cat was probably angry with me for not letting it out in so long.  The water was very still, occasionally wobbling in the breeze that grazed its surface.  My little boat cut into the calm and left ripples out behind.  

I could hear my wife commenting on this kind of day.  "It's a weird one, George.  The water is never as calm as now except before a storm."  Perhaps she was right.  I thought I could sense a change in the air and something was on its way.  I thought perhaps I should be getting back.  But, my muscles weren't really responding now.  The cold and the fatigue of rowing all day were wearing me down and I couldn't help but want to fall back to sleep again.  Foggy words in my brain told me to keep rowing back to the lighthouse, but my body didn't want to do anything.  

I turned the final bend and the house came into view.  A spectacular sunset was sinking back behind the house and the light was falling through the tower.  It was quite possibly the most beautiful sunset I'd seen in my entire life.  I felt a peace and calm fall into me and I couldn't help but shed a small tear.  

"It is beautiful," I whispered.

"George, it is beautiful."

My wife was sitting right in front of me in the boat holding the flowers I'd brought for her.  She was glowing in the setting sun and looked as pretty as I ever saw her.  


 The Lighted House © 2012 Katherine Kovanda