Well Wishes

“Fin, I need you up on the balcony, lad. Another storm’s coming and the damn collector is stuck again!” 

Pari’s raspy voice rattled through the brass pipes that tangled their way through the lighthouse down into the kitchen. Fin stuffed the rest of his bagel into his mouth. Breakfast was always on the move these days with how often the storms came. He hopped up on the counter and climbed through the little scuttle hole above the fridge. ‘It’s not a door, It’s a scuttle hole! Just look at the hinge!’ The old man’s voice echoed in Fin’s head; Always so particular with names. 

Above the kitchen was their daily workout routine: 222 spiraling stairs without a single landing for rest. ‘Landings? Didn't bother with ‘em when we built it. Why waste time stopping where you’re not going?’  Fin sighed and made his ascent. It was a miracle Pari made it up here every day at his age. 

Morning fog still clung to the edges of the balcony when Fin slumped out the door. Pari turned from his telescope and looked down at his watch with a smile. “11 minutes. You’re getting faster, lad. Now hurry up and get the collector online. I can't get the activator to budge; it must be stuck again.” He jabbed his quivering finger towards the weather-worn crate of gears and wires. It seemed to get ‘stuck’ every other day recently. 

Fin took his time fidgeting with the system before giving the lever an exaggerated tug — all to save the old man’s pride. The box began to hum in a reluctant yawn, drawing in power from the lantern’s glow. The air whined as a beam of light bloomed from the top of the lighthouse punching a hole through the darkened clouds. The collector now shook in full force, curling the stormy air into a vortex around the island. 

“All fixed I think!”, Fin shouted over the winds. 

Pari smiled without turning his face from the storm. 

“This one looks about as big as the last, so processing should take the better part of the day. I’m thinking that means we deserve a drink of the good stuff tonight, eh lad?”

“Yes sir!” Pari’s homemade mead was a little far from ‘good stuff’, but the warmth of his passion made up for the taste. 

The two hurried up to the lantern room to guard from the storm. Fin leaned against the framing between the windows to see the dancing winds. ‘The glass’ll hold up just fine without you propping it up, lad. Or do you not trust my handiwork?’  He wondered how many times he would have to watch before the storms became ordinary; to gain those tired eyes. The room’s warm light now glittered off of the dark violet swirls that whipped around them. It was nearly time. 

Pari pushed a warm cup of coffee into Fin’s hand as the vortex grew darker and arcs of lightning sparked from the outer walls. He thanked the old man with a nod; his eyes trapped in the scene. 

Pari patted Fin’s back. 

“You enjoy the view, I’ll get things set up.” 

The darkness spun, faster and faster, carrying the storm’s wailing to a crescendo. The glass of the lantern room rattled as if the storm were desperate to find its way in. A loud crack of thunder shook the lighthouse, calming the winds — then a flash. From the now-silent breeze fell a brilliant shimmer of rain that trickled down the lighthouse and washed the darkness from the air.

The rain slowed. Drips that had beaded on the glass peeled away, merging together with the curtain of water that hung in stasis. The larger droplets then reformed into coins — Some gold and some silver, some old and others new — each one having been cast as a wish into a well from the mainland. 

Another flash came and the curtain fell. The coins clattered together as they gathered in the island’s shallow moat. 

Once the last coin had settled and the sky had fully cleared, Fin went back out to the balcony to turn off the collector. Inside, Pari had already finished setting up his instruments; a precarious collection of pumps and beakers brought to life by the smallest little flame. He flipped his logbook to a fresh page and began to scribble.

“Show’s over lad, bring them on up!”

Fin returned inside and pulled up a worn slat from the floor that uncovered another machine: ‘The Extractor’.

At least, that’s what it’s currently called. Names like ‘Crank ‘n’ Pump’, and ‘Coin Puller’ had their glory days, but after decades of use Pari still had a hard time giving it a name he deemed 'proper'. The device was a kind of makeshift crank. Fin turned the gears hand over hand making the edge of the room recede and uncovered a metal trough nestled into the perimeter of the room. 

The extractor’s handles locked with a loud THUNK  once the flooring had fully retracted. Fin then pulled them back into a crude lever and began to pump. The lighthouse groaned as it pulled the storm’s bounty up from the moat. Coins splashed out from the walls, filling the trough bit by bit with every hefty push. 

Pari came up behind Fin with a cart of wooden buckets. “Need any help, lad? I could take over if your arms get tired.” The suggestion was really only a courtesy. It’s been years since Pari could work the pump. 

“How am I supposed to beat your record if I let you take over? I’m nearly done with the first pull so go sit down. I’ll have the first bucket over to you soon.”

Just a few minutes later, Fin had finished filling the trough. He grabbed a ladle and a bucket from the cart. He scooped up the coins and ran the bucket to Pari. 

The overall process was slow. At even a slack pace, the buckets could be filled and the trough topped off before Pari could process a handful of the coins. During this time, Fin took out his notebook and studied, writing out every bit of the process he saw. 

In his notes, the process seemed simple: 

1. Read the wish. 
2. Record the wish. 
3. Melt the coin
4. Collect the dust. 

As simple as it seemed, though, Pari always took his tender time.

Fin watched as Pari removed another coin from the bucket, handling it as if the coin would shatter at the slightest awkward touch. He then pressed it against his forehead and began to breathe deeply in a trance. 

The reading was the part that took Fin the longest to get the hang of. He grabbed a coin from one of the extra buckets and mimicked Pari. The image of a young woman filled his mind. She sat on a stone wall as the rain soaked her hair. Mud caked the trim of her pearl-white dress. The once-pure veil she clenched in her hand was now stained by the same blue tint that ran down her cheeks. She gave a small silver coin a kiss and flicked it into the well. “Please… Please grant me the courage to go back. I want to go through with this but..” 

As the image faded, Fin heard her name whisper through his mind “Melody”

He wiped a tear from his eye and returned the coin. The wishes were nearly all just the same. A happy one would sneak through now and again, but most buckets were filled with sadness and pain. How was it that the old man could make it through so many, never taking a break, and not crumble? 

Pari finished the notes in his logbook and placed the coin into a beaker to begin the melting process. The exact science still eluded Fin, but he felt he had the gist of it. Melted coins went through tubes and mixed with strange-colored solutions with a dramatic poof of smoke as they finished leaving only a glowing powder behind. Every step was carefully choreographed and monitored, requiring Pari’s full attention. 

If only Pari would let him help…

‘I want to go through with this..’ 

The reading was still stuck in Fin’s head. 

‘Please..’ 

But even if these wishes weren’t his… 

‘Grant me courage’

Maybe today was finally the day. 

Fin took a deep breath and walked over to Pari’s desk. 

“Hey Pari, I think I’m ready”

Pari glanced at the bucket to his side. “Well, it’s going to be a while still before it’s empty. If the others are already filled just wait around for a bit” 

“No, what I mean is.. “

‘Go through with this…’  the wish kept calling. 

“I’m ready to help with the coins. With the processing. I’ve been getting better at doing the readings.”

Pari plucked another coin from the bucket and began rolling it through his fingers. 

“Well then… first you should tell me lad: why have you stayed here all these years?”

“Well, I didn’t have much choice in where that storm crashed me, and you’ve always kept me fed so…”

Pari laughed. “I suppose that’s fair. But I could have arranged for your return to the mainland ages ago. Why haven’t you gone back? It’s not like you’re amassing a fortune here despite all the coins” 

“I guess it just seems… Important'' Fin looks down at the scars on Pari’s hands “And I don't think anyone should have to do all of this alone”

Pari turned around with an approving smile and waved Fin over to sit at his desk. 

“So tell me, what do you suppose the readings are?”

“They’re like wishes. Every one that I’ve done that I can remember ends in the coin being thrown into a well”

“Good. And what of the people?”

“The people?”

“What would you say they have in common?”

“I guess they all wanted something? ”

“Everyone wants something. Why the well? Why the wish?”

“They wanted something they didn't have… no — something they couldn’t have.”

“And when the coins end up raining down on our lighthouse do we grant these wishes like a couple of genies from a lamp?”

“No... I guess we just melt them down.”

“So, if we just take their coins and we don't grant these wishes of things people can’t get on their own, why does everyone keep wishing?”

“I guess it’s something like hope.” Pari smiled and looked over to his beakers picking up a pinch of the glowing coin powder

“Every wish is distilled down to a few tiny bits of hope.” Pari sprinkled the dust into the fuel pot and the lighthouse lamp flashed happily. “But hope is a costly thing. The power it lends out is often drowned out by the burden that it gathers. Hope always charges interest, and few can ever hope to pay that down. So what is it we do? ”

Pari paused and held the coin to Fin’s face

“We place our hope in wells and coins. We try to store the burden in something else. Something that can hold it far away from us. It works, but what happens when somebody else steals the object?”

Pari pulled the coin back away and placed it into his pocket. 

“When we place our hope in other things, we give other people control over us.”

Fin stared at the buckets of coins thinking about all of the wishes. 

“Wait... Is that what we’re doing?” Fin plucked the coin from Pari’s jacket. “I don’t want to control anyone. We should give these back.”

A smile flashed across Pari’s face as he began to stroke his chin. 

“And how might we return all of this hope, without also giving them back the burden?”

Pari placed his hands over Fin’s hand and pressed the coin into his palm. 

“Our lighthouse is built on a promise to be a beacon of hope to those most desperate. To hold the burden and weather the storm so that we can guide others through those places they cannot navigate on their own. In your words ‘I don’t think anyone should ever have to go at it alone’. ” 

Pari took back the coin from Fin and placed it back into the bucket. 

“I have something for you, lad.”

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a dusty box. Inside was a pair of dented gold bands and a small leather pouch. He gently retrieved a dull gold coin from the pouch and ran his fingers over the smoothed-out edges. 

“If you truly think you’re ready to take on their burden, then please allow this coin to be your first.”

Fin accepted the coin and was surprised at its heft and it warmed in his hands as he inspected it. 

“Go ahead, lad.” 

He brought the coin to his head and saw what looked like a young man. The vision was hard to focus, likely from the age, but he swore the man looked familiar. He was dressed in all-black with a candle tightly gripped in one hand and the coin in the other. A bouquet of lilies was pinched under his arm. 

“Please... Please don’t make me continue on by myself.” The voice was unmistakable. It was Pari — a younger Pari about Fin’s age. 

“I don’t know how to do this without her…” 

Young Pari flicked the coin into the well. His voice began to tremble. 

“I don’t want to be alone.”

The vision faded, and Fin woke up to a bleary-eyed Pari with a firm grip on Fin’s shoulder. 

Fin wiped his face and scribbled into the log-book. 

Name: Pari

Wish: 

He turned to Pari and pointed to the next line in the book. “What would you say goes here?”

Pari waved Fin over for a hug. A broken voice whispered over his shoulder. “You, lad. I’d say it’s you.”