The Dilemma

Noise, noise, noise constantly surrounded by noise. This was all Bakko’s fault. Had the incompetent fool done his job, intrusive neighbors wouldn’t have gone knocking on doors begging for dry wood to supply the lighthouse. Hadn’t Desta given one log out of her meager supply? Wasn’t that enough? No, Keyon, her closest neighbor, had seen her low fire, and even with the dim lighting, his shrewd eyes had seen the leaks in her front room.

He had returned later, kindly inviting her to stay with his horde of monsters for the duration of the storm season. After receiving a firm refusal, he had grown more insistent. She reminded him that it was his responsibility to parent his ill-behaved six children, not her. But he had said if she would not move in, he would alert the community to the condition in which she lived.  

“Come,” Keyon kindly said, “we need each other.”

Only the widow’s pride could force her to bend to such extortion. She knew she was not welcome or wanted. All the children of the town thought she was a witch- and all the adults thought she was certainly as ill-tempered as one.

Desta resigned to her fate. She was no free loader- she attempted to help cook but Nala, Keyon’s wife, was such a maniac in the kitchen trying to feed the greedy monsters. It was impossible to assist at all. Desta missed her quiet, cold, dark little house.

Nia, six years old, crept into the living room one day whimpering pitifully. “What is the matter, girl?” Desta snapped, annoyed.

Nia startled, she hadn’t known Desta was there. “I cannot brush my hair. Mama says she has no time. She will cut it if she sees this.” Nia proffered the worst tangle that Desta had ever seen.

“Come here, child.” Desta commanded. She grabbed the brush, intending to mercilessly brush the tangle out as she had seen Nala do. But as the little girl stood before her chair, Desta’s old hands remembered carefully brushing the hair of her daughter. Gently she worked at the knot; memories flooding her of a different little six-year-old.

Nia turned with a smile. “Thank you.” She said timidly, “I don’t think you’re a witch.”

Desta placed her hand on Nia’s head, “And I don’t think you’re a monster.”

In that moment, the atmosphere changed. Nia, as ambassador, drew all the children to Desta. All her stagnate skills from long ago resurfaced. The children found her fascinating. With the children taken care of, Nala experienced a break from her endless stream of work. She was able to rest. Gratefully, she sat and talk with Desta.

Long ago, on the day Desta had buried her last family member, she had thought the days of smiles and laughter were behind her; she was wrong. Though she would never admit it, Keyon was right- we need each other. This loud and large family that had forcibly adopted her, returned to Desta her smile.

Lighthouse

Flint is a town of Giants. There it is universally acknowledged that the most boring job is keeper of the lighthouse. This was not always so. There were many seasons when the lighthouse profession was full of excitement and suspense- namely when the great storms attacked both land and sea. But, for years now, the storms have avoided the area. Some think, never to return.

Young Bakko had become an apprentice to the lighthouse during the last season of storms. Everything was well until the original keeper, Tabor, retired, thus propelling Bakko into sole responsibility of this house. He began to realize the full measure of solitude being the keeper required.

The consistently fine weather made lighthouse keeping dull work. Though he tried to fight it, grumbling overpowered his good nature and tainted his outlook with gloom. He felt he spent so much time tending the beacon’s fire for a perpetually empty sea. Discouraged, he did progressively less work each day.

His lackadaisical approach to his work climaxed when he accepted an invitation to a celebration that was unwise to attend given the unfavorable location and time. Bakko was enjoying himself until something happened that hadn’t occurred in years, an ominous easterly wind began to blow. He rushed back to the lighthouse with a sense of foreboding dogging each step.

There was old, faithful Tabor doing his best to chop wood. Out at sea, a wall of thick black clouds was speeding towards them. Ashamed, he knew the fire in the brazier was weak and trembling, and there was no wood ready to restore it.

Tabor was yelling instructions to him over the roar of the wind. Together they worked as quickly as they could to restore the beacon. Finally, there was a strong blaze and the two looked out at the dark storm. Tabor’s experienced eyes saw the wreckage before Bakko’s had. He ran to call for aid.

The Giants in town rushed to the shore to fish the sailors out of the freezing water. Bakko stood frozen as the weight of his failure fully settled upon him. Tabor was soaked and angry when he returned.

Tabor pointed out at the wreckage, “That is the result of carelessness.” Then he took a deep breath to calm himself. “The sea is never empty. You can’t abandon your post. Remember this night and remain diligent, even on the sunny days.”

All through that night the lighthouse led many ships to safety. Bakko would always remember; he rededicated himself to the lifesaving importance of always keeping the light burning.

The quiet days are over. Wake up from your numb nap. The great storms are upon us. - Tabor