Lost in the Wind

There sat Charlie, sitting alone in the candlelight; all around him was the storm. It shook the walls. The glass windows in the lighthouse’s tower rattled.

“It’ll pass quickly,” lied Charlie to himself.

A clap of thunder sounded and the lighthouse shuddered. Then the storm quieted.

Charlie listened intently. He could hear the rain pattering on the roof, the hum from the lantern room, the wind sweeping across the island,

In the next moment came three knocks from the door. Charlie looked up. A muffled voice shouted from outside, then the knock repeated.

Charlie reached to a table beside him and grabbed a revolver. He leveled it at the door. “Come in!” He called.

In came an old man with wild gray eyes dressed in tattered clothes. He stumbled inside. The wind roared.

Charlie slowly lowered the gun. “Who are you?” He asked.

The old man slowly balanced himself, leaning against a wall, then spoke: “Oh, I can’t recall. Long, long ago it held important—It meant something. Captain something-or-another, that’s what they called me. My crew, that is.”

Charlie watched as the old man struggled to a seat. Setting the revolver aside, Charlie sat across the table. The old man looked at him and gave a quick slight smile, his gently pulsing twisting with what seemed like a near-madness.

“You crashed?” Asked Charlie.

The old man laughed. “No, no, not a crash. A mutiny, that was it, but not the crew; It was the sea and the sky who rebelled. And the wind was the ringleader: it swept waves up and over our decks and blew gray clouds towards us and ripped our sails and shook our hulls. It drowned each man on board.”

Charlie nodded wordlessly.

For a moment after they sat in silence. The storm roared. Charlie looked closer at the old man’s clothes. In the flickering candlelight, he could make out a faded and torn dark blue uniform with a gold collar. There was a particular sense of importance, a fleeting bit of authority, that made the old man look distinctly out of place wearing it.

The man’s eyes seemed fixed out the window. There wasn’t much to see past the few yards of windswept and storm-worn stone, barely visible in however much light broke through the fog banks and sheets of rain. Beyond that was all grays and blacks, layered and ever subtly shifting. There was something calming yet stirring about it.

“It’s a real shame,'' said the old man. “My crew, each one, dead, drowned. Only two of us made it to the lifeboats in time. Me and Betty. We rowed four days straight, I reckon, but the storm followed. Oh, I can see it. There was one terrible gust of wind, and Betty was knocked straight into the water. His eyes were the first to die. They dulled the moment he broke the surface. Then he was pulled under.”

“How long have you been at sea?” Asked Charlie.

“Two months and four days. Then the storm struck. It was all over in less than fifteen minutes, then it was me and Betty and the sea. Quite a site. All those men dying at once.”

Charlie leaned back in his chair. He tried to picture it. There was the old man, a captain then, dressed in the blue uniform, rowing away from a sinking ship. There were the people, each faceless, nameless, dying in great swaths as waves shook and rocked the boat side to side and swept across the decks. Finally it sank and disappeared.

The lighthouse light flickered and for a moment all the windows turned pitch black. Charlie stood abruptly. The old man sat unfazed. His eyes simply observed.

“You know, I’ve been at sea my whole life, and all the time I’ve steered clear of troubled waters and passing storms. It’s brought me to where I am–who I am–now. But I think now it’s catching up,” he said.

They both sat in silence for a while.

Later, if only to break the noise of the storm, the old man spoke. “A sailor hears many stories,'' he said, “tales and myths and legends from all across the world. There are fabled gods and mythic monsters who live in the sea. There’s people who say the kraken will drown you and your crew, that Poseidon will strike you with thunder and lightning, that captain nemo will send his great metal beast to kill all those who dare try and tame the ocean. But all these are simple disguises; the ocean and the sky and the waves and the wind are the real culprit. They’ll kill you, and all you know, if you give them the chance.”

“It must be terrible.”

“Oh, it is. You’ll never truly know. You weren’t ever there. You didn’t watch. Oh, I’ll spin a fun tale of words but it's no truer than any of the gods or monsters from fairy tales. It’s never real until you see it, breathe it in, touch it, get stung and hurt by it. You weren’t there when the wind killed those men. You didn’t see Betty when he was pulled under. You didn’t see him die! You’ll never know what it’s like to look eye to eye with a person as he dies!”

And the old man’s eyes became increasingly wild. He stood, looking at Charlie almost accusingly. “It’s impossible to live with it. Oh, I spent my life to find something out there! And then it took everything! My crew, my ship. I killed Betty in front of me! Such a fine man, such a fine life. And now they’re dead. Dead! The wind killed them all! And I, the silent observer, the sailor with no words, could only watch!”

And in one sudden move the old man grabbed the revolver. He pointed it at Charlie. He burned with insanity.

Charlie stepped back.

“I’m not going to kill you. You’ll die here anyway. Oh yes, the wind i'll rip you apart. You’ll die like Betty or any other man on that ship. Dead, just like that!” The old man rushed out the door. Charlie watched.

The rain came down in sheets and thunder lit up the sky. The old man ran. He shot once at the sky. “You’ll die for Betty!” He yelled at the wind. “For my life!” Another shot. Then he looked at Charlie. “You’d understand one day.” Then there was a clap of thunder, and a window shattered. Charlie ducked.

For a moment all was quiet, even the rain and the thunder and the waves in the distance.

Slowly Charlie stood up. The revolver lay where the man had stood a moment before. A final gust blew a piece of faded blue fabric into the sea.