A way away

1. Everlasting

It was a lonely job, being the keeper of the lighthouse.

It wasn't my only job, mind. On a small, remote island in the Nordic Sea, one needed more than one job to get by, which was why most farmers were also part of the sea rescue team, why most shop owners were also part of the serving staff, and so on.

My main job was being a teacher in the small school. There were only two classes; one for children under ten, and one for the rest. I was responsible for the younger class. After I was employed, my older brother Madara had soon followed suit when the previous teacher of the older class quit. Madara wasn't even a teacher to begin with; he was a librarian, but a need for such a someone was sparse here.   

Despite the run-down stone building, the paint on the inner walls coming off, the curtains that were in dire need of an exchange, I loved my job. I would never trade it for something on the mainland, no matter how lonely it got living on a cold, off-shore island.

I hadn't really chosen becoming the he keeper of the lighthouse. When I had moved back here five years ago, just having graduated at twenty-three years old, I was given the teaching job immediately. The job interview was very easy; there was such a demand for a teacher here that I think I could have walked away from the interview with the job even if I had been a murderer. The job as the lighthouse keeper was just added on top of that. 

"We all need to help out here", they told me. "The job as the keeper of the lighthouse is free, you take that."

Then, I hadn't quite understood I could have said no. But I was glad I hadn't known because if I had, I would definitely have refused. A lighthouse keeper? We're they out of their Goddamn minds?! But, turned out, I loved it. The one visit every evening to say goodnight. The occasional change of lightbulb (it was bigger than I was, which wasn't that hard seeing I was very short), the smell of dust and oil and sea salt. Every night, I touched its red-and-white wall, whispering to it.

"Hello."

Then, as I was leaving, I would lean my forehead to it, and whisper again.

"Good night."

On particularly beautiful evenings, especially in the summers when the sun was everlasting, never setting but remaining a glowing half-orb at the horizon, I would stand next to it, my hand on it as if it were a companion. I would look out at sea, seeing the ferry come over from the mainland if I was lucky. It came only once every three days; the mainland was a very, very long way away. So sometimes, we stood there alone, my lighthouse and me, the lighthouse pondering whatever lighthouses pondered about, me pondering about what lighthouses could possibly ponder about.

This evening was one such particularly beautiful evening, and unusually warm. We were usually blessed with rain and wind and hail and sun in the same day, but rarely warmth. I was enjoying it immensely, the breeze making my long, black hair fly over my shoulder, stroking the yarn of my Nordic cardigan gently. I smiled at the arriving ferry, feeling I was part of the island as I made sure the lighthouse welcoming it was working. The sunset was pink, Madara had invited me for strawberry cake and black tea that evening, and tomorrow was Monday, meaning I would see my class again. My life would never be made a film, but it was good.

But here, on a pitch of sand in the tall grass surrounding the lighthouse, in the everlasting sun, life would change. For me, for the lighthouse, for the island...

For him.

Before the seaman had had time to put the loading dock out, he jumped from the ferry to the concrete harbour.

I frowned. I had never seen him done that before.

"Help!" he screamed. "Help us!"

I ran.