The evening wind gathered pace as I got out of the car. I have, for a long time now, thought about taking a break from work. It seemed to be the only plausible way to destress my already burdened heart. Things have all gone awry. The emptiness filled the very marrow of my bones.
The single most decisive thing I had ever done since she left me was to book this weekend in this remote lighthouse by the sea. I didn’t know why, but I wanted to go to that lighthouse.
It seemed like the right place to go to heal or just to be depressed without my nagging coworkers who annoy me with their giggles. But I know they might laugh and frolic, but in the middle of the night, they too want to go to a lighthouse and cry it out.
They warned me about the wind, but I really didn’t know how strong it would be. I had a hard time keeping the car door open; it was like the wind closing the doors for me. It did not seem to be happy with my arrival. The guardian who stays in a small shack a mile away came peddling in his rickety bicycle and stopped beside my luggage.
“You alone?” He blinked, chewing taboo.
“Yes,” I said, staring at him blankly.
“Lovers come here often; nice lonely place; make love as the wind howls,” he said with a naughty laugh.
I did not laugh. I couldn’t tell him my real intentions.
“Or they come to get away from something…” he trailed off, seeing my uninterested look.
“Let me take the luggage for you then,” he stumbled and struggled. The lighthouse was neat, and as we climbed the stairs, I noticed the plaster on the walls.
“The wind here is a nasty fellow,” he heaved as he let my luggage sit by the cupboard. “ He breaks windows, topples the boats, and carries away my hat now and then.”
After a few minutes, he left me by myself. I lay on the bed, listening to the wind blowing hard. I got up after about a minute and looked out of the window. The clouds were gathered high over the horizon. I wished for summer again, but now it was too late.
I cleared the desk, which had a small portrait of a sailor, and I threw my bag and took out all the things I had packed. Not much packing was done; except for a pair of trousers and sweaters, nothing was worth bothering to care about at the lighthouse.
But I brought to the Lighthouse a lot of poetry anthologies.
I knew I would not be able to read here, but at least when they come and find me. I will be found with some decent books beside me.
The calm, briny beach waves echoed in the distance. I waited until the sun set, I made a hot cup of tea, and made my way to the beach. The waves started to come forward as night drew near, and the moon was pulling the sea by her hair. He wanted the sea so bad, I guess, like I wanted her.
I stood there looking at the waves, and within 10 minutes, the salty waves came to touch my feet. I started to find stones, big ones, and I shoved them inside my pockets. I did this for another half an hour until the weight in my pocket made my walk difficult. Only when the waves started to splash on my face did the realisation occur. I was walking into the deep sea. I was going to die. Things were going into the dark abyss of life. Then comes the nightmare, the scream. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.
I thought of her face, her eyes, and the way she leaned on my shoulder, and now some man held her tight as these thoughts bombarded me. Then I knew what was going to happen; I heard a scream from the distance. The wind howled and carried waves to new heights. Things all went hazy, and there was no overcoming it. Then I realised what had happened. A small boy was struggling in the water.
I had to save him, and then I could die. I plunged forward, and I knew his hands were flaying in desperation. I pulled him back to the shore. The wind blows harder now. I looked at him; he must be around 6 years old. A small fellow was looking at the sand in a dazed condition. What is happening here ? The boy seemed to be looking like someone I know. I knew a lot before.
What was he doing here, and how did he come here?
What is your name?
He didn’t answer.
I don’t have a name. He suddenly said it after 10 minutes.
The annoying feeling of not being able to accomplish a task came over me. Even I was procrastinating to die. I took the shivering boy back to the lighthouse. I threw the stones that I had gathered in my pocket. My plan of dying must be put to halt at present, I thought.
I made him sit and asked if he lied about hot tea. I made some tea, and I looked at him closely.
“I have a funny feeling about you, I blurted, looking at him closely. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. I was sleeping, and all of a sudden, I came here.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes”
“Am I in a dream?” I asked the boy.
“I don’t know; am I in a dream?”
“Where are your parents?”
“They had gone on a business trip, but I was at my grandma’s house,” he said, sipping the tea now. “I was bitten by a dog this afternoon on my knees; look,” he said, pointing at the scar.
I knew what happened that day. I raised my trousers to show my scar. “Hey, you are me?” I stared at him.
“So this is how I looked when I was little,” I blurted.
The little boy couldn’t comprehend what had happened. It was midnight now, and I sat beside the boy, not talking much. Now, how did this happen? I kept asking the question again and again. Then I heard someone knocking on the door. The boy looked at me, frightened.
I stood up, looked at him assuringly, and made my way to the door. The wind blew through the key hole. I opened the door slightly, just in case.
A completely wet man stood, and it was me, maybe a year ago.
“What?”
I pulled him in.
“How did you come here?”
He did not speak. He must be in shock, without doubt.
“You look like me,” he said finally.
“Yes, I noticed. It is because I am you. Now meet our younger selves.”
He jumped back. “How is this possible?”
“I don’t know; I hope I am dreaming. But what were you doing before you came here?”
“She just told me about her marriage; I was shocked. I sat in the train station, and then I was swept here, and I almost drowned.”
I made some hot tea for him as well. I knew what he was going through. He didn’t want to talk any more.
It was three by this time. I was feeling sleepy, and just then another knock was heard. I didn’t know who was coming this time.
I hesitated to open the door. This time it was an old man with whiskers, but it was undoubtedly my old self. I let him in, and he did not speak to me. He walked up the stairs like he had known the place for a long time. He sat beside the boy and looked at me and the other girl.
The wind howled more.
He looked at the clock.
“I wish you lived your fragment of life well,” he said. He took a gun out of his pocket and held it to the boy. “If he died, all of this nonsense would not have happened.”
“What do you mean?”
This lighthouse does not show the way to lost ships; it attracts lost souls. Those souls that are lost at sea are given another chance to live. The boy died in an accident, then he came here. The lighthouse gave it another chance. And then you died, and you came here, and it gave you another chance. Now I have come.”
“What, when did I die? I asked the other me.
“The train station; you jumped after the breakup.”
“But I never died,” I asked, bewildered. “And now you are here?” I asked, not understanding anything.
“I died peacefully at home tonight,” he sighed, “and you will die now.”
The old man took out the gun and shot me. The pain seared through my chest. I thought about her eyes one last time and fell in front of myself.
*
An old college professor walked into the doctor’s chamber. “How did it go?”
“The patient is recovering well. Our AIVBT is doing well,” said the doctor.
“The movie inside his head would have done the trick. He confronted his past, present, and future like an old scrooge. This will change him to lead a better life.”
Note: AIVBT is arithmetical intelligence visual brain therapy.
copyright Ronald Hadrian.