The Keeper

         Every day, for 86 years, he did exactly the same thing. He walked the same halls, sat in the same chair, did the same jobs. Every day, for 86 years, he tended the lighthouse diligently and with pride, just as his father and grandfather had done before him. Except for one day a year.

         One day a year, he would loose his small boat and row to the mainland. Not for supplies, as he had those shipped in, but for himself. Today, the 18th day of September, as a chill began to test the final staying power of summer, he had not made this year's trip. He was, after all, nearly ninety, and the row across had not been easy when he was a young man. But, on this September day, he decided it was time to go.

         As the 18th began to close, the lighthouse keeper eased himself out of his chair and took his daily place by the window. There, with a Bible resting open to his left and his pipe in his right hand, he watched the sun begin to set. The Bible, which had been his wife's, was a large and beautiful, and had a family tree in the cover. Just two names were filled in.

         It was with the sunset's beginning that he decided to go to shore. Watching it sink below the waves, he thought of the things he might do there: It would be a Sunday, September 19th, but he could not make it to shore early enough to go to a service. Still while most men might take their one day ashore to drink or gamble, he was interested in nothing of that sort. He would certainly visit the nearby art museum, as had been his custom for many years.

         Thoughts of other things he might do with his hours ashore filling his mind, the keeper made his way up the clangy, echoy steel staircase to the light. As he climbed, he also thought about the tough row, and could almost feel the hot sun on the back of his neck. He worried, for a brief moment, that he might not make it, but pushed the thought aside.

         He lit the light, then stood for a moment gazing out again, watching the light sweep the warm waters, then descended again. After a few minutes, he was comfortable in his bed. Thoughts of his trip still whirled through his mind, but it only took a few minutes for sleep to find him, and he dreamed of the shore.

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         A few days later, a group of men from the mainland rowed out to the lighthouse. The light had not been turned off for three days, and they were concerned. They found the old keeper lying in his bed. He had died in his sleep, a smile on his face.

         He had not been to shore for a year and a day.

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