The Lighthouse The Sea Left Behind
For a while, the influx had been great. Tourists flocked to the phenomenon. Elsewhere in the world, islands were losing ground to an advancing ocean, in some cases being submerged altogether. But from Huldu the sea had retreated, leaving the lighthouse there conspicuously alone, so conspicuous as to be internationally remarkable. At least for a while.
On this occasion, when Guðdlaug arrived at the top of the stairs, she found the door locked. Again.
"Vermundur, my dear, you must not lock the door," she called out.
"Why don't you try knocking?" her husband rather irritably called back.
"Really," replied Guðdlaug, "must we waste time in meaningless conversation? We have visitors who want to hear the talk."
"You give it then!" Vermundur cried. "I'm busy polishing the lens!"
"You will wear that lens out with your incessant polishing. And for why? We never turn the light on anymore."
"Woman, as a keeper I am tasked with more than simply turning on the light. I must protect and guide. That means I must be ready always should the light be needed once again."
"Needed by who? Passing space ships? And are you going to warn them to avoid Earth altogether, to miss coming to grief on a hard-hearted old curmudgeon like yourself? No, you must come out and give the talk. You are the talker. I am the wife."
"All right! All right!" Vermundur threw open the door and raised his chin at her as if he meant to spear her with his pointy beard. "And how many are there today? Ten? Six? Four?"
"Well, to be quite frank, just one," said Guðdlaug patiently. "There were two, but the boyfriend got bored and went back to the fence."
"To do what? To contemplate the void, where so much of nothing is so entertaining?"
That was enough for Guðdlaug. She had him out, and so she led him down the stairs. Whether he gave the girl the scientific truth or told her it was elfish magic, it was all the same to her. For she had done her duty. Empty as it was, as empty as their purpose might have come to be, duty was duty, and when it was done one could rest. Future generations, they could say what they would say. She did not think that there were many future generations left, but she would not give in to giving up. That was not what divinities did, dismissed or not.
20 November 2022
Texas Jim
Vík í Mýrdal, Iceland
www.granitecoast.ca