UNCOMMON GROUND

UNCOMMON GROUND

The old man sat alone, unkempt, unshaved, on the promontory, looking out to sea. It was an uncommonly fine day and the sun shone brightly as he stared off into the distance watching the launch as it slowly approached. His turn for a fortnight on the mainland.

At first, despite the differences in age, they’d been friends. Though they shared no common ground, apart from their jobs, they had both gone out of their way to be polite, make conversation, not antagonise each other in any way and he, Jonah, had found that cohabiting on this rock, several miles off the mainland, could, contrary to his beliefs, actually be a pleasant experience.

So used to being the sole lighthouse keeper in his previous positions, he had had his doubts that he could, in fact, adapt to living with another human being in isolation from the rest of the world for two months at a time. For such was their tour of duty: eight weeks on Roughloch, the rocky outcrop on which the Strathairn Lighthouse had been built-then two weeks leave, taken in turn, back on the mainland of North East Scotland.

He’d been surprised to learn that Angus, his new partner, was a married man, with a bairn on the way, no less. What kind of man could leave an expectant wife alone to cope with everything while he sojourned on an island in the Atlantic for two months at a time? Being a lighthouse keeper was no job for an attached man, which was why he, Jonah, had never formed a serious relationship, ever.

Over time, as the two men shared their evening meal and conversed, the only time in a working day that allowed for proper conversation, apart from the odd passing word, Angus had explained, one night, that he did not intend to stay in this job but, by working on this rock for twelve months, he could actually save enough money for a down payment on a wee cottage for him and his family. It had made sense though it was the first time that Jonah had felt that first twinge of something cloud his thoughts. Was it jealousy?

Or was it, merely, dismay that this young man could look upon lighthouse keeping as a means to an end, a temporary occupation? Whereas, for Jonah, it was a career, a profession; a craft that took a lifetime to hone.

Whatever it was, from that moment on, Jonah’s opinion of his young comrade began to change and a glacial division arose between the two. Little things, minor episodes, took on a whole new aspect and, more than once, the two had almost come to blows but Jonah, being much the larger of the two, had graciously held back and let his smaller companion off the hook.

For Angus, this change in their relationship had been a shock. He had read about men, confined in one restricted space, turning on each other so he understood that it was beholden on him, as the novice, to go above and beyond in his efforts to form a bond with his experienced colleague and he believed that he had gone out of his way to accomodate this ridiculous man he now lived with. For a start, Jonah’s affectation in dressing as if he was the skipper of a boat, wearing a captain’s cap, thick turtleneck sweater and peacoat, an unlit pipe jutting from his mouth, had made Angus think of Popeye and he had been forced to cover his mouth with his hand to stop from laughing that first time he had sighted him. His constant use of the word “aye”, doubled up as in “aye, aye”, as if they were serving aboard a ship rather than on a remote rock, also amused him; initially. Of late though, it annoyed him, grated upon his nerves.

Of course, there had been no denying that Jonah knew his stuff and, at first, Angus had set to with a passion, only too willing to listen and absorb, to learn from this experienced mentor but, gradually, as the same instructions became repetitious, day after day, he found it almost impossible to hide his boredom. How many times did somebody have to be told to polish this, watch out for that?

As far as Angus was concerned, the pivot, upon which their relationship had turned for the worse, had been their conversation over their evening meal when he had foolishly disclosed that he was on the same wage as Jonah. The older man had been unable to disguise his anger, disgust, bafflement at this injustice and had stormed from the small room that served as their living quarters at the base of the lighthouse. For two days, they had not spoken. That had been at the completion of the first eight week tour when he, Angus, was due to board the launch that would take him back to the mainland for a fortnight, leaving Jonah alone on the rock. He had searched for Jonah before his departure, anxious to put things right between them, to explain that he wasn’t responsible for peoples’ pay-but the older man had been nowhere to be found.

To Jonah’s mind, the equality in pay was merely the final straw; the ultimate insult. Though he actually revelled in being alone, the sole master, once again, he seethed at the situation he found himself in. Where was the respect for his years of service, his command of his craft? He knew that this young upstart secretly mocked him, his dress, his mannerisms; the fact that, outside of this job on an isolated rock, he had no other life or interests. How many times had Angus tried to engage him in subjects he had no knowledge of: music, football, books. The only thing that Jonah read, cover to cover, over and over, was Old Moore’s Almanac. By God, he wanted to teach this young cur a lesson, administer a good thumping. As he lay on his cot at night, he drifted off to sleep envisaging the blows he would strike the very next time that Angus upset him.

Back on the mainland, Angus’s pretty and sensible wife, having listened to his grievances about life with Jonah, was busy counselling him that it was his responsibility to go out of his way to appease the older man. No matter what, he had to bite his tongue and make a huge effort for, there was no denying that Angus, new to this job, truly had no right to be on the same salary as his more experienced co-worker. Angus, who adored his wife and respected her wisdom, listened as she advised that Jonah should, in fact, be pitied for having no other life outside of his job and she insisted that, on their first shared leave-after six months -Angus would bring Jonah home for dinner, so that she could meet him. She urged her husband to think of something suitable that he could take back to the lighthouse as a peace offering. So it was that Angus boarded the small motor launch that would return him to Roughloch in a completely different frame of mind to that with which he had left, two weeks previously.

Jonah had been carefully counting down the days. Though he dreaded the return, at the same time, he longed for the first opportunity to lay a beating on the younger man; one that would establish the hierarchy of their relationship once and for all. It was a blustery day, drizzle falling constantly and, though not heavy, it was the type of rain that seeped into one’s clothing and dispensed a thorough soaking. Jonah stood in his peacoat, spurning his sou’wester and waterproof coat, watching as the launch approached the small jetty, the only place on the rocky isle where the waters were calm enough to allow a boat to heave to. He glared at the figure of the young man, sensibly dressed in yellow waterproof and sou’wester, as he jumped onto the small promontory, waved goodbye to the launch crew and made his way up the steep path to where Jonah was stood.

Angus had spotted Jonah while still two hundred yards from the isle. He could see that Jonah was not wearing waterproofs, preferring his vain look of sea captain and getting a real soaking because of it. It was difficult for Angus to hide his contempt for he could imagine the awful, musty smell of those wet clothes, hanging to dry, in their living quarters. Dear God, eight more weeks of this to face up to but, for his wife and his soon to be born bairn, he would endure. As he leapt from the boat and waved farewell to the launch, he turned and began to climb the chiselled stone steps up to the lighthouse. It was just as he neared the top that a gust of wind took Jonah’s captain’s cap and swept it out to sea, exposing his thinning hair, a look of incredulity upon his face. Angus could not contain himself and let out a roar of laughter.

At the sight of those flashing white teeth, mocking him, the sound of laughter rising above the noise of the wind, Jonah threw himself at Angus and, because of the slight advantage of being above the younger man added to his greater size, at first, he had the upper hand but the slipperiness of the oilskin that Angus wore meant that Jonah could not get a firm grip on him. The two fell to the side of the stone steps, among the brambles and gorse, oblivious to the scratches imposed on their exposed skin. Jonah was surprised at the smaller man’s strength as they wrestled and, also, at how quickly he, himself, was out of breath.

Somehow, they both staggered to their feet and Angus, overwhelmed by this sudden attack, climbed the steps to get away from Jonah. He held out his hands in a placatory gesture to ward Jonah off but there was no stopping him. As they both faced each other at the top of the steps, on level ground, Jonah threw a mighty right hook that would have knocked any man unconscious but, with the speed of youth, Angus blocked the punch expertly with his left hand, at the same time, ducking low and driving his own right hand into Jonah’s solar plexus. As Jonah collapsed, gasping for breath, Angus turned his back on the older man and retreated to the lighthouse, not seeing Jonah pick up a heavy rock and come staggering after him, a look of madness in his eye.

Later that night, as Jonah returned to the lighthouse after disposing of Angus’s dead body, weighted with rocks, over the side of the promontory, he caught sight of himself in the mirror of their living quarters. Bedraggled and windswept, his comb over blown askew, his peacoat saturated, he realised that he did look ridiculous and he understood why Angus would have laughed at the sight of him.

Going through Angus’s kitbag, he was stunned by some of the dead man’s belongings: The photograph of his lovely wife, the medal for bravery in the Great War, the certificate awarded for winning his regiment’s lightweight boxing championship, the envelope addressed to him, Jonah, containing an invitation to dine with Angus and his wife in four month’s time and, finally, a copy of the new Old Moore's Almanac!

The old man sat on his cot shivering, still in his soaked clothing and cried himself to sleep.