Darkness - Book One of the Dark Series of Novels

Chapter Seven

Arnold Canari planned to construct a rock garden in the sandbox next to the playground he'd built for his son. He wanted to use rocks smoothed by the ocean, found near the dock. The meditative process began by simply collecting the rocks – the instructions he downloaded suggested carrying one rock at a time, no matter how light or heavy, no matter how tempted he may be to rush the job. The purpose of the rock garden was not to be complete. If done correctly, Arnold would never finish; he would simply refine it over the period of many, many attempts.

The landscape he intended to recreate in his rock garden was that of his home, Discovery Island, British Columbia. Lush, deep green along the entire centre of the island. Wide, alternately rocky and sandy beaches on the shore. He knew every peak, from Pandora Hill, the highest, where the lighthouse was, to the dock where later that same day Rodney would arrive from the mainland with his monthly delivery of supplies. The only man-made structures were the dock, the lighthouse and the keeper's home. Nothing had ever been so beautiful to Arnold; nothing so captivating; nothing so pure and unspoiled. When offered retirement, encouraged to automate the lighthouse, Arnold had politely refused.

He needed thirty-eight rocks to assemble his garden: eight large stones, twenty medium stones and ten small stones. He placed them one next to the other, descending in size from left to right. He had raked the sand and prepared everything for assembly, and was about to begin when the bell at the dock rang. Checking his watch, Arnold smirked. Rodney was rarely early.

Arnold went down to the dock to find Rodney already offloading the month's worth of supplies. Rodney waved as Arnold approached. "G'morning, Arnie."

"Good morning, Rodney. How's the water today?"

"Oh, fine, just fine," Rodney said. "Tell Marie I wasn't able to get the whisky she wanted. I did get the ties, though; they're in the box with the macaroni and cheese."

Arnold took the boxes of supplies back to the house. He put everything in its place and stood staring at the ties. Three pure silk ties. Gifts for Arnold for their upcoming anniversary. The whisky, no doubt, would have rounded out the list of gifts; though, knowing Marie, he would not be surprised if there was something more.

Finished, Arnold returned to constructing his rock garden. He placed the largest rock in the sand, steadying it on its side so that its point faced skywards. This would be Pandora Hill. He spent the next three hours painstakingly placing and replacing the other rocks. Partway through his progress he changed his intention, making a network of running stones and chasing stones, of leaning stones and supporting stones. When finished, he raked the sand smooth into a pattern recalling waves and rippling water, running around the rocks representing his island. He looked back up to the house and then at his watch, realizing there was still daylight left. He hadn't wasted the entire day after all.

He wished the whisky had arrived with the supplies. He wished Marie had not left and had not taken the children. He went to the lighthouse to fulfill his duty and wait out the day.

***

His wife had left, taking his children. She'd dashed her marriage vows against the very rocks of the island Arnold promised to illuminate. When they were first married, Marie was excited by the challenge of operating a lighthouse; enthusiastic about living alone on an island with no other families, no other people around for miles. After ten years, the loneliness was unbearable. Automation had made Arnold's vocation almost obsolete. Everything Marie hated, Arnold loved.

She begged him to move back to the mainland with her and Freddie and Alma, their son and daughter. He did not listen. He preferred his life, preferred the routine. He wanted to wake up every morning and know exactly what he was supposed to do, and to do it in the most beautiful place imaginable.