The Lighthouse

                                                                                              ***

Clouds covered the sky, and it began to drizzle. It was cold, and the fierce wind was burning the open parts of the skin with its rough, icy touches, leaving bright red spots on them that looked like markings. The sea was becoming increasingly restless, the high, foaming dark green waves were crashing viciously against the rusty sides of the old boat, spraying a myriad of tiny silver droplets.

Jose Williams licked his weathered lips and put on a hood to cover his dry hair from the unpleasant drizzle. He turned around, exposed the back of his head to the icy wind, and slowly puffed on a short, dark brown cigarette. The gale immediately began to whip the thin black fabric of his raincoat, haphazardly sweeping away many tiny drops that indifferently continued to cover the synthetic surface with a damp blanket.

Jose exhaled tiredly, and a cloud of gray smoke instantly enveloped his flushed face. For a moment the warmth that touched his skin caused a pleasant sensation in his mind. He closed his eyes, put the cigarette to his lips, and took another puff.

"Damn it, Señor Williams, if you don't stop it, one day that crap will drive you to your grave for sure!"

Jose glanced at the heavy-looking man who approached him. His black-and-white cap sat tightly on his bald head, fiercely resisting the strong gusts of wind that seemed eager to rip it off and carry it out into the choppy sea. Beneath the poison-green cloak was a black suit that had long since faded in the bright sun. And in the dim orange light of the lamp attached to the top of the steering cabin, the small drops on the surface of his well-worn black shoes made of old cracked leather soaked in water-repellent cream, shimmered brightly, like a scattering of pearls.

Jose turned away and let out a cigarette smoke.

"I can't afford that luxury, Captain Thiago. I have very few pleasures in my life, so I cherish the little things that make me a bit happier."

The captain raised a thick eyebrow in surprise and looked at him.

"Even if these little things take a piece of your precious life every time you indulge in doing them, Señor?"

Jose took one last puff, shook the smoldering ash into the sea, and clutched the cigarette in his hand.

"Everyone values life in their own way, Captain," he looked blankly at the captain's bulging belly that looked like a big balloon filled with air. "But very often life itself makes adjustments to our values. And sometimes quite significant ones."

"What do you mean by that?"

Jose squinted his eyes and stared into the distance. On the horizon there was a ghostly silhouette of a small rocky island, towering as a lonely dark prison in the middle of the endless watery desert.

"One man works out all his life, has no bad habits, but still one day wakes up in the middle of the night with an unpleasant nagging pain in his chest. In the morning, the poor man goes to the doctor, who discovers that he has cancer. The tumor cannot be removed. Two months later, he leaves this world forever. His loving wife becomes a widow, and his ten-year-old son becomes a fatherless boy. Two weeks later, behind the school, he tries his first cigarette and feels like for a moment his grief-stricken heart is free from the unbearable pain of the loss, and that his mind finally has much-needed peace," Jose looked sadly at his stout companion. "Now tell me, Captain Thiago, is this boy a reckless fool who does not value his life? Or is he just an innocent victim who managed to find a way to numb the pain unjustly inflicted on him by a ruthless and indifferent fate, so that he can return to a normal life?"