Lighthouse

Chapter One Across the street, nestled within the bustling cafeteria, Jared sat, his gaze snagged by a woman of arresting beauty. Her face, a study in gentle contours, held eyes that were pure magnetism. The mere anticipation of her presence ignited a light within him, brilliant as the first cracked of dawn, yet simultaneously cast a shadow of sorrow, like a twilight sunset descending in the midday. Her name, he knew, was Elaine. And he loved her. Her sudden arrival in his life was a profound mystery, a missing piece, that finally filled a long- hailed void. She was like a day that has slipped by too swiftly, vanished before the first hint of dusk. From his table, he ordered meal forgotten, Jared rose. He exited the cafeteria with an abruptness that startled no one but himself, compelled to follow the woman, he’d glimpsed below, drawn towards the distance lighthouse He was halfway up the lighthouse steps, each stride taking him closer, when a voice from behind shattered his focus. “Where are you going?” Jared turned to find his cousin, Alfred, standing a short distance away. “There’s no way up there” Alfred’s brow furrowed in surprise. “There’s a woman,” Jared insisted, pointing towards the lighthouse summit, his singular desire to pursue the captivating figure. But the first wave of tourists had begun to arrive, their chatter rising, and Alfred offered no reply. “c’mon, follow me,” Alfred urged, “I’ll show far more beautiful views.” With that, he turned, and Jared, a reluctant shadow, fell into step behind him. As they descended, Alfred leading the way, Jared’s eyes strayed repeatedly to the winding staircase above. Alfred’s pace quickened towards the flat ground, but Jared halted abruptly. Halfway up the stairs, the girl reappeared. “Jared!” Alfred’s voice, a soft shout, reached him. His cousin halted abruptly, poised at the foot of the stairs as if an invisible tether tugged him back towards the ascent Alfred’s arm draped over Jared’s shoulder. “The gate’s closed up there; the entrance is on the other side.” Concern etched itself on to Jared’s face. “What about the girl who went up?” “Girl?” Alfred’s frown deepened as Jared spun around to scan the now empty stairs, there was no sign of her. Had she descended another way, or vanished without his noticed? Jared’s questioning gaze met Alfred’s “ If you truly want to go up, the entrance is indeed on the other side.” Jared remained silent, merely following his cousin’s steps. As they made their way back towards cafeteria, their path intersected with the weathered, yet surprisingly spry, old man who served as the solitary caretaker of the place. “Anselmo’ Alfred patting the old man’s shoulder, “How’s the neighbourhood? Everything in order?” “It’s a good thing the job was finished on time” the sixty-six year old man replied, handling Alfred the flyers. ‘Good job, Anselmo, before the tourists flock, the lighthouse needs to be cleaned” “Is that him?” The old man gaze settled on Jared, a smile playing on his lips as he asked “Oh yes, This is Jared, who grew up in the City.:” “How are you?” the young man asked shaking Anselmo’s hand. “I’m good,” The old man replied, his eyes, lingering.”You look like your mother” A gimmer of hope ignited in a forgotten corner of Jared’s heart. It was a long-desired book, kept closed for years because no one wished to read it, had finally been offered. But before he could speak, Anselmo cut him off. “I have a lot to do. I’ll leave you for now” The old man turned and walked towards the lighthouse, Jared’s gaze following his retreating figure. “He sleeps up there,” Alfred explained. Jared look at his cousin, “At the lighthouse?” “He grew up there with his father,” Alfred confirmed, already walking away, Jared falling into step behind him, “He started working here when his father got sick.” They re-entered the cafeteria, the scent of a stale coffee and forgotten meals hanging in the air. Jared’s ordered food sat on the table, a cold, unappetizing monument to his earlier distraction. “Coffee?,” Jared offered, gesturing to the pot. His voice still tinged with the earlier bewilderment. “You are the guest, not me,” “Anselmo is an orphan?” They began to eat, the clinging of cutlery against ceramic the only sound for a moment, Then, in between sips of his steaming coffee. Alfred resume his narrative. He began to unravel a story, each chapter intricately woven, binding the lives of three individuals. Anselmo, Jared and Elaine. It was a tale that promised to connect the threads of past and present, a revelation waiting to unfold. The afternoon bled into twilight, the sun sinking below the horizon, taking with it the last lingering tourists. Now, only a solitary beacon pierced the gathering loom: the rhythmic pulse of the lighthouse. Within its small, circular room, Anselmo lay, seeking refuge in sleep. Yet, the fatigue that clung to him, the weight that settled upon his chest even in slumber, was not merely the exhaustion of a days labor. It was the heavy cloak of memories, roused from their dormancy when tasks ceased and the world fell silent, sadness, a constant companion since his father’s passing had deepened into an abyss with the inexplicable disappearance of his beloved fiancée. The one fragile hope that might have ceased the ache of his father’s loss, that might have filled the gaping void in his life, had blossomed months after his mourning. But when, exactly, had that been? With an arm flung across his forehead’ his gaze lost to the dim ceiling, Anselmo surrendered to the relentless tide of the past. 1980… He was twenty then, a young man whose world was about to be irrevocably altered by a pen pal. Through the faded pages of a magazine column, a photograph had captured him, the striking image of a woman, her beauty radiating even from the grainy print. She hailed from the vibrant city of Manila; he, from a distant, quiet province in the north. Without hesitation, he’d copied her address, penned a letter, and enclosed his own photograph before entrusting it to the slow, hopeful journey of the mail. The days that followed crawled by, each indistinguishable from the last, steeped in a monotonous boredom. Every tick of the clock was a silent torment, every passing hour an agonizing wait for a letter that might never arrive- the hopeful reply from the young woman whose image, however distant, had ignited a fragile spark within him. Menwhile, in a quiet corner of the lighthouse, where its sturdy base met the earth, a side entrance lay. This path, once impassable, choked with debris and uneven ground, had been Anselmo’s recent project. He’d painstakingly paved it with smooth cement, erasing every imperfection. Along its newly defined edges, he’d cultivated a rascent garden, panting small, flowers and resilient greenery, a silent testament to his enduring hope, perhaps, or merely a way to the channel the restless energy of his waiting