“When it came time to head back to England, he sailed with me.”
“He left his entire life behind? His adopted family?” Vincent was amazed more at what was left unsaid than what was told. “That took courage.”
“Aye,” the captain agreed. “He had more than enough courage for the both of us.”
“Your wife?”
“She weren’t none too pleased, I can tell yeh that.” The captain grinned at Vincent; that unfettered grin that made Vincent’s heart lighten at the sight. “Thought I was just being spiteful, falling in love with another man, yeh ken? Another woman she could understand. It would have made her life easier, given her help around the house.”
There was a brief pause before he continued. “Maybe she was right. She was scared of him, didn’t like his moko, didn’t want him around the children.”
“You took Caleb home with you?” Vincent laughed incredulously, shaking his head at the man’s insensitivity. And he’d been told he was clueless!
“What else was I to do with him?” The captain scowled before grumbling, “Yeh sound just like her. Anyway, it made Caleb uncomfortable as well, so I needed to find us a place. As luck would have it, this opportunity came up, so we came here.”
The captain was silent again, lips turned upward in a faint smile as he remembered happier times past.
“What did you say earlier? A moko?” The word felt strange on Vincent’s lips and he knew his pronunciation was off.
“That’s the mark yeh were asking about, on his face. She thought it were the mark of the devil; or so she told me.”
“Oh, it’s a tattoo?”
“Of a sort.” The captain extended his pipe to tap it against the footboard before Vincent caught his eye and gestured towards the wastebasket beside the bed. With another scowl, the ghost just put it back into his pocket.
“They did it different there. It’s not just marks on the skin, that’s what they call kirituhi. Moko is actually grooves cut in the skin with small chisels they called ‘uhi’. First they cut the grooves into the skin, and then the uhi are dipped into a type of pigment and tapped into the skin with small mallets. There’s different types of uhi to make different types of grooves and designs.”
Vincent was impressed. “You know a lot about it,” he enthused, his interest pushing the pain aside.
“Aye, well. It was a very important part of Caleb’s life.” The captain looked out the bedroom window. “It was important for me to understand it.”
There was such contrast to be found here, Vincent thought. Here was a man who had thought nothing of bringing his male lover into his wife’s house, yet the same man spent time learning obscure, native customs to please the one he cared about.
“So what did his moko mean?” Vincent felt the area of his wrist where his son’s initial, a small initial J, was one with his skin. He had never forgotten the rush of emotion when he’d had it done and could only be in awe of the significance behind the involved process the captain was describing.
“A facial moko is generally divided into eight sections. It’s kind of an identity card. There’s a lot behind it, more than I know. Rank and family and status all determine the placement and design. Yeh could piss a bugger right off if yeh didn’t recognize his importance from his moko.” The captain could only grin at some far off memory. “Caleb’s, on his cheek, represented Taiohou, his work.”
Despite his fascination with it all, and his interest in just what Caleb’s work had been, Vincent could feel his body sliding into sleep as the pain finally released its grip on him.
“Did you ever think of staying there, with him?”
“Aye, we discussed it. But my children weren’t there, and to Caleb that was important.” The captain looked down with a sigh. “By the time we discovered my wife wouldn’t let us be a part of my children’s lives, well, going back just didn’t seem to be an option. I always wondered if he had regrets, but he never said.”
Vincent’s eyes were drifting closed. “He sounds special.”
“That he was,” was the quiet, unheard reply. “That he was.”
Chapter Nine
IT WAS a beautiful morning. A simply spectacular morning. As he looked out the kitchen window, Vincent could only stare with amazement at the smoothness of the lake’s surface. He’d never seen it like that, and the day’s possibilities suddenly seemed endless.
Feeling both hunger and a level of energy that had escaped him for the last few weeks, Vincent was unable to keep from happily humming as he poured some cereal into a bowl. Something about the morning made him want a little breakfast to go with his tea. He raised the spoon to his lips, milk and flakes spilling as his attention was caught by the color of the sky.
There was a beautiful haze that seemed to tint everything it touched. A wondrous pink hue, tinged with a hint of green. Vincent didn’t think he’d ever seen that color sky before and he wanted to remember it, to capture it and put it on canvas to share with everyone he knew.
But it was too amazing a day to stay inside, even to paint. Vincent decided to pack a small lunch and walk down to the beach. It could only do him some good. It had been a few weeks since he’d felt well enough to risk the distance, and the thought of fresh air sweeping in off the lake and clearing the stale clutter of his mind was enough to override any misgivings he might have.
He was still humming as he bent down to rummage through the small fridge, and made a mental note to call Brian and give him a list of groceries and other sundries he needed. There were also some letters, sealed and ready to go on the kitchen table. They could be taken care of at the same time.
Vincent looked around but couldn’t remember where he’d last left his cell phone. He poked about the clutter on the kitchen counters, finally opening up the empty flour container and grinning in triumph when he found the small electronic device trapped inside.
To his surprise, there still appeared to be a charge, and, ignoring the number of missed calls and voice mails that it tried to flash at him, Vincent decided to dial his son’s number. He wanted to share the amazing optimism of the day, only to be disappointed when he went straight into voice mail.
The sound of his son’s voice on the greeting was enough to lift his momentarily dampened spirits, and he smiled manically as he rhymed and laughed and sang his hello’s to his son.
“It’s a beautiful day, today. It’s a good day, a great day and I’m heading down to the beach to experience it. I love you and I hope you seize the opportunities the day will bring.”
Almost twirling, he pressed the disconnect, filled with joy at hearing his son’s voice and the energy that seemed to surge through him. Forgetting his intention to call Brian, he picked up the small pack and thrust his food into it before practically bounding out the door of the station into the sunlight. His bare toes wriggled in the sand, diving through the heat of the surface to the coolness hidden below.
Vincent felt he would be able to touch the sky if he only reached his arms up over his head. It was truly an amazing day. He settled back on a small grouping of rocks, close enough to the shoreline to be misted by incoming spray, but not enough to worry about getting soaked.
The small stretch of beach was deserted. Just the old overturned lifesaving boat, paint flaking from the hull that faced the sky as it had for unused years. He lay there, dozing in the sun, dreaming about the images he could see in the clouds overhead and feeling happy and free of the self-doubts that usually plagued him.
“What are yeh doing?” The gruff voice was a welcome distraction and Vincent smiled sweetly upwards without opening his eyes.
“I’m enjoying a beautiful day. And now I have the pleasure of your company.”
“Some pleasure. It’s going to storm, yeh daftee. Best be heading back up to the house.”
Vincent sat up and threw his arms wide. “How can you say that? Look at how beautiful everything is. There’s no storm in sight.”
“Doesn’t have to be in sight. It ca
n be in smell. And I’m smelling a storm. A bad one, by the look of that sky.”
Squinting upward, Vincent tried to see what the captain saw. “Are we looking at the same sky?” he finally enquired before chuckling at his own humor.
“No use trying to talk sense into yeh, I see.” The captain settled down on the rocks beside Vincent with a sigh. “Take too many of yer little rainbows today, did yeh?”
“No, I just woke with the most amazing feeling. Everything’s going to be okay. You know?” Vincent squinted a bit into the sun, noticing the small boat sitting motionless on the still lake and admiring the colorful sails.
“How can everything be okay?” the captain countered with his usual streak of ghostly realism. “Here yeh be, out in the middle of nowhere, sicker than a goat, yeh can’t even take care of yerself half the time.”
“Do goats get sick easily?” Vincent interrupted, intrigued by the comment and amused by the worry.
“Don’t change the subject. Why aren’t yeh with those that care about yeh? Why don’t yeh have someone special in yer life to watch out for yeh?” There was urgency and concern evident in the captain’s voice, and Vincent wasn’t able to ignore it like he usually did.
“Someone special?” Vincent smiled sadly. “I’ve tried, you know? First with my wife and then later, when I understood myself better, with men. There’ve been times when I’ve thought I found that person, but he always turned out to be looking for someone else.”
Vincent picked up a small stone broken off from the larger piles and tossed it out into the lake as he shrugged. “I just got tired of trying.”
He turned on his side and faced the captain. “And now, it’s not such a big deal. I’ve had my son and my work. Those are the high points in my life. Besides, now that I’ve heard about you and Caleb, from what you’ve described, well, nothing I’ve ever experienced has come close to that.”
“It doesn’t seem right.” It was the captain’s turn to sigh even as he frowned at the sky.
“Well, what’s right about anything in this life? You’re dead and I’m dying. None of that strikes me as particularly right.” Vincent sat back down. “Does this mood you’re in mean you are finally going to tell me the rest of your story?”
“What are yeh on about?” the captain blustered.
Vincent folded his arms and gave the captain back one of the very same looks Vincent had been on the receiving end of lately. “What happened with Caleb? I want to know the rest of the story.”
“The story, aye. It shouldn’t have happened.” The captain looked past Vincent and, as always, his gaze went out to the lake and looked beyond, searching. “Just one of those things.”
“One of those things?” Vincent repeated slowly, hearing but not understanding the emphasis the captain gave the word “story”.
“’Twas the damn lens. A Fourth Order Fresnel shouldn’t give any trouble. But it appeared there were problems with the light signature and it was decided to order new frames and flash panels to change the character.”
“What?” Vincent interrupted. “I don’t think I understood half of that.”
“Hmmm,” the captain sniffed. “They don’t teach yeh anything at them fancy schools yeh went to?”
“Art schools… and no, nineteenth-century lighthouses weren’t on the curriculum.”
“Well now, Augustine Fresnel, he were a Frenchy, a physicist, invented a lens in 1822 that revolutionized the lamps used. Did yeh know that before then an open flame used in a tower lamp lost nearly ninety-seven percent of its light, and even a flame with reflectors behind it still lost eighty-three percent? But a Fresnel was different. That beauty would capture all but seventeen percent of the light. Positioned correctly, it could throw its light twenty or more miles to the horizon. And, just so yeh know, the type or “order” of the lens is determined by the distance of the flame to the lens.”
“Impressive,” Vincent admitted, respecting the passion and knowledge so evident in the captain’s voice. “But how about a signature, was that it?”
The captain grunted. “A lighthouse has to do more than just shine a light. For it to be truly effective, it not only has to been seen so its warning can be read, but it also has to identify its location. That way, a ship’s captain could identify his own position and avoid potential hazards.”
“That makes sense.”
“So a signature or a characteristic could be the color of the signal, or it could be the timing of the flashes. Each one up along the coast needed to be different. They decided to change the one here, were putting in red panels to make the signal a different color. Had to come all the way from France. Anyway, the blasted things finally came in and Caleb went to pick them up, and, well, the ship he was on got caught in a storm on his way back.” The captain’s voice was calm—too calm.
“I’m sorry.” Vincent was stunned; he hadn’t expected this. The captain ignored him, still searching the nothingness before him.
“It were a bad one; she blew in without any real warning. The ship he was on, the Titan, was ill prepared. Half the crew was sick and the other half plain lazy. They foundered and that was that.”
Vincent sucked in his breath, his good mood dampened by the bitterness in the captain’s voice. He shivered, so caught up in the captain’s recital that he didn’t notice the clouds that were rolling in off the lake, the darkening of the sky overhead, or the cooling of the air.
“None of the men on the rescue crew here could make it in, the storm were that bad. I had to try, yeh ken? He was out there, waiting for me. I took the lifeboat out alone, but it was hard going.” The captain looked down at his palms, seemingly amazed that they weren’t blistered and bleeding as they had that night.
“That storm, it was one of the worst I’d seen. Waves as high as anything. The lake, she fought me the entire way, her roar so loud I couldn’t hear my own voice, but I had to try.” He repeated the words as his opened hands clenched into sudden, painful fists.
“I couldn’t save a one.” His voice had lowered to a whisper. “Not a single soul off that ship. Not even Caleb. We’d argued about him going, yeh see. I never felt right when he was away. Never felt myself.”
Vincent’s chest tightened with emotion as he listened, all the captain’s stories he’d found so fascinating suddenly becoming real to him. This was real life, and real death.
It always had been.
“I found him the next morning, floating near shore and caught under some debris. He looked so peaceful, so beautiful.” Vincent could hear the break in the captain’s voice as the ghost closed his eyes, whether to block the images out or to remember them better, Vincent didn’t know.
“But I was so angry. He’d left me and I was alone. I cursed God and I cursed him for leaving me.” The green eyes opened again, holding Vincent captive with the raw pain in their depths.
“How did you die?” Vincent finally gathered the courage to ask; finally beginning to understand.
“I couldn’t let him go.”
Vincent thought his heart would break at the childlike tone to the captain’s voice.
“I couldn’t get him free, but I just couldn’t let him go either. I held him and I kissed him and I stroked his hair and I just couldn’t bear to let the lake have him. So I stayed with him, and in the end she had us both.”
They sat there on the rocks, both men looking out over the lake, quiet and lost in their own thoughts.
Chapter Ten
HOW long they sat, Vincent didn’t know. He could feel the captain’s pain as if it were his own, picturing again and again the captain’s final moments as the grieving man knelt in the rising water, refusing to leave the cold body of his lover even as the frigid water covered them and he drowned. Did he gasp for air or had he simply kept his lips pressed to Caleb’s, sharing his last breath? Vincent embellished the details with imagination until he didn’t think he could bear the horrible image any longer.
How long they would have continued to sit,
lost in thought, it’s hard to tell. What finally caught Vincent’s attention was the low rumble of thunder, and the sudden flash of light in the sky. His entire body jerked, startled, and he looked up into a different sky than the one he’d woken to.
This sky was colored dark blue and green, filled with clouds as dark as the sorrow that now resided in Vincent’s heart. The lake surface was no longer smooth and glass-like, but wild and unruly. The waves were agitated and unable to reflect the streaks of lightning. Wind whipped around him, blowing sand and small debris to abrade him.
Vincent tried to push his hair out of his face with his hands as he looked over at the captain, who stared out at the storm with a vengeful face, remembering.
“You were right.” Vincent had to yell to be heard. He could see when the captain came back from his memories, conscious once again of the storm.
“Best be heading back up to the station house, before it really lets go.”
Vincent could feel the first drops start to fall slowly from the sky, fat and cold against his skin, and he shivered from the bite of the wind. He couldn’t help looking one last time out towards the water, finding a surreal beauty in the destructive power of the storm, and his attention was caught by the small sailboat he’d noticed earlier.
No longer motionless, the small craft was tossed from one high wave to the other. Vincent strained his eyes and yes, he was sure he saw a person lying in the bottom of the boat, clutching the sides to keep from being tossed out.
“Oh my God,” he exclaimed. “Look at that.” Vincent pointed excitedly and the captain followed his gaze.
“Poor soul. He’ll never make it.”
“We have to help him.” Vincent yelled to be heard over the oncoming storm.
“Nothing to be done,” the captain intoned solemnly. “The lake will have ’im, she always does.”
For a moment, Vincent stood stunned and silent at the captain’s words, then a towering rage swept through him. This was because of what had happened so long ago; this was because of Caleb.
After the Storm Page 4
