haiku

grass green,long and soft

white skin and dark hair uncoiled

the berries of her lips.

The next day, he limped down to the thin, pebble beach by the lighthouse dock where he kept the small boat tied to a post. He wore an old, muddy blanket draped over his shoulders. He was still naked and spattered with blood, both his own and of the men he had killed. The side of his face was raw and hurt terribly. He looked and saw that his boat had been taken, the rope cut in haste. He let out a groan of despair and began gingerly washing himself in the cold waves. He finally steeled himself to shamble out into the surf and plunge his matted hair into the sea. When he came up for air, he noticed the half-sunk boat bobbing in the waves just inside the breakers. He swam out to it and grabbed the small stub of the rope, laboriously pulling it to shore.

As soon as he got it close enough to walk it in, he sat down exhausted and began sliding his poor cold butt in the shallows. Finally, he tipped it over and water came pouring out. The scrapes on the inside of the little boat and the bloody waterlogged shirtsleeve stuck to the oar lock gave mute testimony to the events that took place that night. It was most undeniably the squid that had claimed the pirate and dragged him down in the dark ocean. The frigid sea took on an even more chilling aspect for the battered lighthouse keeper.

He repaired the boat and fashioned new oars for it and the days took on their grinding march once again. He fished and scraped the hard,rocky soil for his sustenance. Every night, he tended the great light, heedless of hardship and difficulty. Weeks passed before he spotted the cleverly hidden navy longboat among the rocky coves of the island while he was looking for clams. It was a large and heavy thing, so he left it where it was and spread the thick canvas of its sail over it as a cover.

He occasionally had nightmares as he lay down in his rough bed at dawn. He dreamt of that terrible night. He dreamt that it was he who was dragged down by the giant squid as he stabbed at the horrid tentacles with a broken chisel.

The ship finally came with his replacement, a young poet with fine clothes and a chest of books. The young man looked at him and tried to pry from him, some sign of good spirits or any deep insight. Although he was only a year or two older, the lighthouse keeper just looked at him like he was a babbling child.

He told the captain about the missing longboat and told them how to find it. It was, after all, the King's property. The sailors had heard about how the boat was taken by the fierce pirate/convicts from other crews who had been combing the seas for these murderous thugs who managed to kill the marines and officers who were on guard when they escaped.

The sailors also began to notice how sullen and rough their formerly bubbly charge had become. He submitted his closed report to the Captain, who scarcely read it at first, simply noting the missing provisions with little interest. It was when the events of that terrible,stormy night were recounted that the Captain stopped drinking his glass of port. It was a remarkable story made all the more singular by the clipped, matter-of-fact way in which it was written.

Silence followed the man on his voyage home. The sailors kept their distance, making note of the long knife in his belt. When he returned, he scarcely spoke, and when he did it was always direct and with a purpose. He saw the world and the people in it as ugly and possibly dangerous.

By all accounts in the village, he was much improved.

As they always say in these things, it was a dark and stormy night. The man worked diligently trying to keep the beam of the lighthouse as bright as possible. As he was heading downstairs after making adjustments to the lens, he heard a banging sound coming from one of the shutters. He simply assumed that it had come open from the wind, a thing which happened from time to time.

He ambled toward the noise, thinking of tools he might employ to keep this from happening again. He stopped by the little niche in the stairway where he kept his tools and put a hammer , some nails, and a chisel in a small canvas bag. As he reached the ground floor near the shutter, he noticed a rank, fetid odor and heard a half stifled bellow as one of the pirates hit him with a club right on the side of his head near his right eye. He fell with a sickening thud.

Much later in the night, in the dark , dark hours when all was still, he awoke. More precisely the cold drops of sluggish rain water coming through the open window brought him to his senses. He was in terrible pain. His right eye was shut with blood and the thin bones on the side of his face were crushed. He was naked, having been stripped by the convicts the canvas bag with the hammer had rolled into a corner when it fell from his stunned grip.

He could hear them cursing and arguing in the kitchen down the hall. They were angry at the sad condition of the provisions. Finally, the leader said "We'll have that dead bugger by the stairs". There awoke in the man a primal force, an anger so profound and strong that all the sunday school lessonss and nursery rhymes about forgiveness and kindness could not hold it back. He burst into the room, with his hammer in one hand and his chisel in the other. He let out a horrible scream as he crushed in the skull of the nearest intruder with his hammer. He stabbed the second one as the pirate tried to lift himself out of a chair. Blood spattered in huge stripes and the chisel broke off its handle lodging itself in the mans chest. One pirate had managed to pull a knife out of his belt, but it did him no good. He was felled by the thrown hammer. The last pirate fled into the night where he clawed his way into the small lighthouse boat and blindly rowed out into the dark sea as far away from the light as he could.

The man heard a shuffling noise as the wounded pirate was getting up with his knife. He turned and jumped on him. The pirate's will to live was strong and his feet drummed hard on the floor as he was held down and strangled. The pirates knife hand was firmly pressed against the floor with one grimy knee. Blood from the lighthouse keeper's red, raw eye socket spattered on the pirates face as was slowly choked to death.