by Viola Victor
15 - The Lighthouse
I have overloaded and confused memories of the journey to the lighthouse: we travelled as many miles as our means of transportation allowed. At night, to prevent unpleasant encounters, we avoided to camp or sleep in the cold. Typically we sheltered at an inn, posing as a married couple on a journey.
Not my idea, I swear. It was all hers.
"It’s more convincing. Why else should we travel together? No one would believe we are relatives, you're too tall and don’t look like me a little bit. You're not even that smart. In short, we don’t have anything in common. At worst, they will wonder why on Earth I married you. And they'll think you're a rich man or a landowner and leave us alone. After all we always slept together, we can keep doing it, what's the problem?"
So we travelled for over a month as a married couple. Exhausted, of course. In some dense tangled woods or in endless glades, the suspicion of being on the wrong road was always there. Once we even met it. It was disguised as an old, white-bearded man with a hat. It looked like a farmer, it was sitting in the shadow under a shade and chewed an ear of golden wheat.
"You most certainly took the wrong road, young married couple. You have to go back that way. Where do you think this shadowless clear can bring you?"
First of all, what was a farmer doing in a place like that? Furthermore, nobody ever understood that we were – pretending to be, of course – married.
"Let’s go ahead" I had ordered.
"But that man said we must go back."
"No. I say we go ahead. And no whims this time."
The road was the right one after all, and Martina was, strangely, very docile.
I, of course, was afraid. I was a shadow detached from her figure, I couldn’t stand by myself. Imagine that one day a scarecrow decides to leave its place. Do you think it will walk with firm and resolute steps? Not at all.
I had left the tower, and now I was at the mercy of a series of forces that where no doubt hostile towards me. I could tell from how innkeepers and their wives looked at me.
"Poor child!" they must be thinking. Also because Martina, as you know, is really fond of games. So she enjoyed to endear me and walk arm in arm with me so to make regrettable misunderstandings arise.
We had a reproachable look. The proof is that the only thing I remember clearly of the journey is the stare of the innkeepers. So alike that it could have been just a single, huge innkeeper in every place. She shakes her head, staring at me annoyed, then looks at Martina with infinite compassion.
Meanwhile, Martina enjoys it a lot.
"Come, darling, I'm so tired. Let’s go to bed. "
The innkeeper shakes her head. I can only sigh and play along: I let her take my arm and lead me in the room, where she throws herself on the bed laughing. She's so tired that she falls asleep right there, still dressed. I undress her and put her to bed wearing almost nothing, a habit she took. I thought she would notice, I thought she would awake and protest. Instead she undoubtedly woke up, but without resistance, not saying anything. She let me take off her clothes with a smile, while I had time to look at her comfortably. And even to regret it a little.
She has not yet a fully adult form, but she’s no longer the child she was a year ago. A middle ground, that’s what. Nothing more. A middle ground that, as soon as I get into bed next to her, lies down on my body in turmoil, and falls asleep, serene at last, as if I were her destination and she could finally surrender to fatigue and rest.
I do not think it would have been sustainable to go on like that for long. Because of the single omnipresent innkeeper, of course. The one that amused Martina and distressed me. She looked at me like people look at me when I’m not on my tower. And I will never be on my tower again. I had some hope in the lighthouse, to be honest. They can’t be so different, can they? Apart from humidity, saltiness and the sound of the waves.
I didn’t expect that, not at all. When I thought about the sea, I only saw Martina’s drawing, with small wavy lines that I imagined to be blue and her figure in the sky, but I did not think they made a sound.
"Look! A shell! We are close to the sea! There we are! See how beautiful it is. Put it against your ear. My uncle once wrote me that you can hear the sound of the waves, in certain shells. Try!"
I didn’t hear anything, she claimed to hear the rustle of the sea.
"If it’s like that of the sheets, I don’t think I’ll like it."
Can you imagine an irrepressible, eternal rustle of sheets in your ears for all eternity? Goodbye sleep.
"You will get used to it."
I'll get used to it.
The reception, however, was not the best. The lighthouse, from a distance, looked like a mirage. Could we get in, in flesh and bones, without having to dilute as some blurry pictures of boats on the horizon? Up close, then, it didn’t seem more concrete: a circular height of windows and stairs, with a tiny weenie door, open no less. Was her uncle waiting for someone?
I had already learned how not to upset Martina, at least in certain circumstances: I climbed the steep stairs behind her, carrying all the baggage. Of her uncle, at least up to the large terrace near the top of the lighthouse, there was no trace.
Then, suddenly, there he was, amidst a carpet of white flowers, with a watering can in hand. I just didn’t expect this. A red-haired woman next to him, with a thick fringe over her eyes, not at all surprised by our appearance, waved at us too, holding a lit cigarette in one hand (and a watering can in the other too).
First thing, her uncle understood immediately that we were not married, and he was glad about that. It seemed that he didn’t like me at all. How could I blame him? Therefore he gave us separate rooms, stubbornly looking at me with hostility all the time. No, definitely lighthouses don’t have the same effect as a nice, sturdy, solid tower. However, he promised Martina that he would not write home that she was there, but he convinced her to write a letter saying that she was well and asking her parents and sisters not to worry. Therefore, he was quite sympathetic concerning her escape. Much less about me.
One day, he took me aside and told me his concerns: "You see, Viktor, Martina is still very young, it’s not time to make hasty decisions. On this you agree with me, don’t you? And she is also very pretty and not without possessions, she could aspire to a good marriage, later on. Of course, if she didn’t prove to be spoiled... well, apparently you two share a certain intimacy. The same bed, right? In that case..."
What?
Oh, right. No, I never touched her. After all I was a gentleman even before. Although Martina laughs and says that I'm still a savage.
"Very well. But the problem is not just that. How could she find a suitor if people knew that she is living with a man?"
I do not like to be insightful.
Martina's uncle wants me to leave: we cannot live together in the lighthouse. I would spoil her reputation, and since I had had the good sense of not taking advantage of her affection in other ways, her uncle was sure that I would humour his wishes. For the sake of Martina, of course.
And of course Martina went on a rampage. We were walking on a beach and I was trying to make her understand the situation without making her angry. She was gathering shells, and the task was impossible, you understand. Fortunately, this time she wasn’t angry only with me.
"It's crazy. And what did you tell him? No, no, don’t tell me anything. Knowing you, blockhead as you are, you even told him he was right. Of course, mister uncle, I'm leaving, sure!"
"But he says that in this country it’s impossible to live as we do. It's a small place, people would not accept such a thing. And you would not be able to make a good marriage, if I remain in the lighthouse. Do you understand?"
I had never seen her so angry, really. She furiously threw the shells into the water, breaking it apart and trembling with anger because her bullets tore no wounds.
"I understand, you're the one who doesn’t. Did you really leave your tower to bring me here to make a good marriag
e with someone else? You've never been that smart, I know, but this time try to make an effort, blockhead! OK, you never went to school, but the solution of this problem is really simple. Premise: we cannot live together in the Lighthouse if we're not married. What is the conclusion?"
The conclusion was clear: I had to leave.
"You're just impossible! You're thick! Will you make up your mind at once and ask me to marry you? And hurry up, because otherwise I may change my mind!"
Like every time when I felt confused and she got angry, I decided to humour her.
"Will you marry me?"
"Of course I want to marry you."
Problem solved. After all, I’m not such a blockhead.
