The Keeper
by a. l. Dawson
The Keeper shuffled over to the stove. Her joints ached as she moved,
but she pushed the pain away. She had a job to do. She lifted the
kettle off the stove, poured the tea, and walked slowly back to her
chair. She wrapped her gnarled hands around the steaming mug, enjoying
the warmth radiate up through her arms. It would be a long night. She
would need her strength. When travellers came, it was always that way.
The full moon lit up the sea along the rocky coast. The Keeper thought
it would help the traveller find his way. Some travellers got lost.
That shouldn’t be a problem on this night. The bay glistened in a
nocturnal glow. Inside the lighthouse all was dark except for a candle.
She would keep it lit throughout the night, just enough for the
traveller to find the lighthouse. Shadows danced across her weathered
face as she waited.
*****
Cain made his way through the scrub pine. He paused to look over his
shoulder. He thought for sure he wasn’t being followed. But then again
nothing was certain in this world. He had been told to leave all
electronics back in the city. Any digital footprint would be reckless.
Still, he knew the regime had plenty of contractors who could keep tabs
on anyone, even off the grid.
The pine trees buffered the sea breeze. That was good news. So was the
moonlight. He could more or less see where he was going. But, and it
was a big but, he could also be seen.
Cain stopped again. He turned around and listened. No footsteps coming
his way. No moving shadows. He wanted to take off his backpack and
rest. Not a chance. If he were to cross the channel, he would have to
do it before dawn.
He stood up and drank the last of his water. He hoped there would be
some food and drink at the lighthouse. The only thing he knew for sure
was that the Keeper would be waiting for him. The Keeper would tell him
how to cross the channel. That thought gave him hope, which he needed
more than water.
*****
The Keeper got up from her chair and walked around the lighthouse
cupola until she faced west toward the forest. The traveller was late.
Already 2 am. He should have been here an hour ago. This
sometimes happened with travellers, but she never liked it. She needed
her time with them, if they were to ferry across the channel before
dawn. She needed to get the measure of those who sought her guidance. Otherwise.
She didn’t want to think about otherwise.
The movement of the trees interrupted her thoughts. There he was.
The traveller looked ragged and tired as he emerged from the forest. He
looked up toward the lighthouse cupola. She could tell he saw her
waiting for him. She went back to her chair and sat down. The door of
the lighthouse had been left open for the traveller. The sound of his
footsteps on the staircase echoed throughout the lighthouse.
*****
Cain tried to steady himself. The lighthouse was dark and there was no
bannister to grip. He wondered why there was no beacon bathing
everything in light. It was a goddamn lighthouse after all. He
thought it was probably some security measure instituted by the
Resistance. The regime’s Catchers were unrelenting and he hoped maybe a
lighthouse without a light would throw them off. Who knew? By
the shakiness of the metal stairs he sensed the lighthouse had been out
of commission for a while.
Cain wondered if there were gaps in the staircase. To play it safe he
got down on all fours and began to crawl up through the darkness. The
farther he climbed the cooler it became. The air seemed heavier,
damper. Cain stopped to catch his breath. He looked up to see what kind
of progress he’d made. He thought he saw a light at the very top. Not
much of one. The flickering light created erratic shadows, as if they
were signaling a strange code. The light energized him and he resumed
his crawl. This time faster.
By the time he got to the cupola he was dead-beat. Cold and clammy.
That’s what he was. He took a deep breath and stood up. He noticed
there was no door. A faded inscription above the doorway read, Geraldine
Nyx: Keeper.
He called out before he entered, “Hello. I’m Cain. I was told to come
here.”
No one answered. He travelled too far to wait on ceremony. Cain walked
into the cupola. As soon as he entered the space, he felt a
preternatural chill. Much colder than the late summer air outside. An
old woman was huddled in a rocking chair and wrapped in a blanket. She
gripped a mug with both hands. Her eyes fixed upon him.
Cain halted. “Are you my contact? Are you the Keeper? Geraldine Nyx?”
She didn’t get up to greet him. Cain figured her body must be very
frail the way she hunched over, but her eyes told another story. Cobalt
blue. They stared right through Cain. Her stare made him nervous.
The woman said nothing for several seconds. Then she whispered “The
Keeper will do fine. You must be tired. Sit down.”
Cain didn’t see another chair. The old woman’s head moved to the left
and Cain spotted a cushion. He brought it over and stood in front of
her not sure what to do.
“Before you sit there’s another cup by the stove. Pour yourself some
tea. We have hard work to do.”
Cain walked over and poured the tea. He thought her manner was odd, but
he decided not to ask any questions. At least for now.
*****
Cain sipped the twig tea. The Keeper looked Cain up and down. Neither
spoke.
After several minutes she said, “So, what do you need?”
Cain was startled. Wasn’t it obvious? He snapped, “Well, I was
told you could help me cross over the channel.”
The Keeper put her mug down on the cupola counter and said it in a soft
voice, “Why?”
Cain’s palms became moist. What game is she playing? “I thought
that’s what you did. Helped people cross who needed to get out of the
country”
Unfazed by Cain’s annoyance the Keeper repeated her question, “Why?”
Cain’s left eye began to twitch. He spoke in quick bursts. “The
regime’s Catchers are after me. With the new laws my writing has been
labeled subversive. An arrest warrant has been issued. I don’t want to
go that emergency court on Ellis Island. You know what happens to
people who are taken there.”
The Keeper’s lips curled upward into what could have been a smile. “I
know.”
Cain’s body relaxed. He thought finally they could get down to business.
Then the Keeper stood up and said, “Look with me.”
Cain thought she was going to point east across the bay toward the
island and his freedom. Maybe she’d tell him something about the
journey and how he would cross.
Cain stood up and moved next to the old woman. She surprised him by
taking his arm as if they were going for a stroll, but her grip was
much stronger than he expected. She guided Cain to the other side of
the cupola.
The Keeper said, “There. Look.” She pointed west toward the forest, not
east toward the channel island.
Cain looked. All he saw was the rocky coastline and the pine forest
that covered the hillside. Some of the tree branches swayed in the
breeze. He suddenly thought that maybe it wasn’t the breeze. Maybe the
Catchers were moving among the trees. She must have wanted him to know
that.
The next words out of the Keeper’s mouth unnerved Cain. “You don’t want
to go back?”
“What do you mean? Why would why I want to do that?”
“You didn’t leave something behind? Something you need before you cross
over?”
“I left a lot of things behind, but they don’t matter now. I have
everything I need for the journey.”
“Are you sure?”
Cain felt precious time was slipping away. He needed to get going.
“Yes, yes. I’m sure. Can’t you just tell me what we have to do to make
the crossing? The Catchers might be close by.”
“Is that what you are worried about?
“For God sake what else would I be worried about?” Cain immediately
regretted his words.
The Keeper didn’t seem upset though. She put her hand over Cain’s hand.
Her fingers folded tightly around Cain’s fingers.
Cain, confused, looked into the Keeper’s eyes. Her deep blue irises
held him in a grip even stronger than that of her hand.
She said, “Is that all? Is that why you run?”
Cain felt dizzy. He thought he was going to lose his balance.
The Keeper steadied Cain. She led him back to the cushion.
“Come. You need to be ready.”
Cain sat down and fumbled for his mug of tea. Only a few drops
remained, but he held the mug to his lips without letting go.
The Keeper took her seat in her chair and leaned forward, her eyes
alive with energy.
“Now what do you really want to tell me?”
Cain took the mug from his face but still held it in both hands,
turning it round and round. He felt like he had lost his voice.
The Keeper waited for him to speak, as if she had all the time in the
world. Minutes passed in silence.
Cain stopped fiddling with his mug. He managed to stammer, “You mean
what happened to Abe…” He couldn’t finish his words.
“Yes, what happened with you and him.”
“I don’t know what to say. We were friends. The Catchers caught him.
What does this have to, have to do with why I’m here?”
The Keeper paused and gave Cain a quizzical look before she said,
“Everything.”
Cain’s heart started to race. He wanted to run, but the Keeper’s eyes
kept him glued to the stool. He had no choice but to speak. Words ran
out of his mouth with their own volition.
“The Catchers. They tracked us down through our damn phones. We were
careless. We ran when we saw them. We bolted across the Common, but Abe
tripped and twisted his ankle. He called for me.” Cain stopped talking.
The Keeper said, “Yes. He called for you.”
Cain knew he had to finish what he had begun. He rushed his words. “I
stopped and looked at him on the ground. Then I saw two of the Catchers
no more than 30 yards away. I couldn’t help him. We would both have
been caught. So, I ran and got away, but they took Abe.”
The Keeper nodded as if in agreement. She moved her head forward and
back a few times, like a cat that wanted a nuzzle.
Cain knew what she wanted. He had to finish what he had started.
“So, I heard that they brought him to Ellis Island, and then he was
sent away. He vanished into the prison gulag out in the western states.”
Cain paused. Out of breath, he gulped for air, as if he had been held
under the water. Then in one last burst of effort he said, "Abe’s gone,
but I think about him every day.”
Cain hunched over. Head bowed between his legs.
The Keeper began to speak, but Cain lifted his head up and cut her off.
“Is that what this is? A confession? You needed a confession!”
“I’m not your judge. I’m a Keeper.”
“A Keeper? Of what? This is a lighthouse. There’s no light here. For
God’s sake, what the hell do you keep?”
“I keep stories. Like what you just told me. I keep them lit within
you.” The Keeper turned her head and looked at the candle flickering in
its glass container.
Cain did the same. The flame cast shadows that moved back and forth
across his face.
“It’s important your flame does not go out.”
Cain felt closed in. An invisible weight pressed down upon him. He
willed himself to stand. His face awash in grimace and panic. He
couldn’t think straight. He bolted toward the staircase and rushed
headlong into the darkness.
He took the stairs two at a time. The darkness became pitch black the
further he descended the spiral staircase. His foot missed a step and
he tumbled over in a somersault. Then all was dark.
*****
Cain woke up sitting in the Keeper’s chair. Groggy and lightheaded he
looked around the cupola. He recognized the blurry image of the Keeper
standing over him.
“That was quite a fall. Here, take this. It will help clear your mind.”
The Keeper handed him a mug of freshly brewed tea.
Cain sipped it as the Keeper stood by his side. The drink felt good. He
was awakening. He thought he would have one hell of a headache after
his fall, but he didn’t. Just a little lightheaded. In fact, his whole
body felt lighter. He had thought for sure he would have broken a rib
or something worse, but his body felt pretty much intact.
As his senses returned, Cain looked up at the Keeper and asked, “What
time is it?
The Keeper said, “Dawn is not far away. We don’t have much time.”
Cain noted the Keeper said we, not you have much time. Was
she going to make the crossing with him? He pushed the thought away
as his memory flooded into the forefront of his brain. He had told her
about Abe and his guilt. That was the last thing he remembered. Maybe
the Keeper had more questions; maybe he wouldn’t be able to make the
crossing before dawn.
The Keeper seemed to read his mind. “Are you fit to travel?”
Cain was surprised she was ready to give the go ahead after her
previous grilling. Surprised, but elated. “Sure, I’m ready. Let’s do
this.”
The Keeper bent down and took Cain’s hand in hers and pulled him closer
to her. Cain’s felt her breath penetrate through his skin. She
whispered into his ear, “My son is down below. He will ferry you across
to where you need to be. Your time has arrived.”
“That’s great, really great. Well, thank you. Oh, my backpack? I have
all my documents in it.”
“That’s all taken care of. Now you must leave.”
“Right. Ok”
Cain got out of the chair. His body definitely felt light, as if he
could float across the room.
The Keeper backed away as he stood up to go. She said, “You should have
no problems. Listen to what Caron has to tell you once you board the
ferry. Safe passage.”
Cain was about to offer another thank you, but the Keeper moved over to
the far side of the cupola out of view. The light from the candle did
not reach that far.
*****
Cain made it down the staircase without a problem. It wasn’t so dark
this time. Even though the sun had not risen over the water Cain felt
he could see things a little better now. Once he stepped outside he was
no longer cold. He thought to himself that there was something about
the lighthouse that could chill you to the bone. No wonder the old
woman kept drinking tea. Anyhow, here he was. A new dawn, almost,
and he was going to finally cross. Cain felt the best he had in a long
time.
Before he turned to walk down to the shore he glanced over at the
forest line. No movement in the trees, but he knew the Catchers could
come at any moment. He told himself to look only one way now. Toward
the bay. He wanted to run to the water’s edge but resisted for fear of
tripping on rocks and tree roots in the dim light.
As he neared the shore, Cain saw the outline of a boat. There it was.
The ferry. Five steps more and it came into full view in the fading
moonlight. Not what he expected. It had the shape of a Venetian
gondola, low in the water and curved upward at the prow. He wondered
how it was fit to go in open water. The channel was known to have
tricky currents. He didn’t see an outboard motor or even oars for that
matter.
A deep voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Over here.”
The voice came from the dock where the boat was moored. A tall and
broad chested young man stood on the dock. He held a wooden pole that
reached at least a foot above his head. He wore a knitted woolen cap
and a red scarf covered his face, like a bandana from one of the old
cowboy movies.
Once Cain reached the dock the man said, “I’m Caron. I’ll ferry you
across. It’s your time.”
Like the Keeper, the ferryman had an odd way of putting things. Cain
shrugged a whatever.
Cain replied, “I’m ready.”
Caron nodded and motioned for him to sit in the front of the boat.
Cain scrambled on board. There was only one way to sit and that was
facing toward the rear where Caron stood. Caron pushed the boat away
from the dock. In an arcing motion Caron lifted the pole out of the
water and brought it down against the bottom of the channel.
Cain’s face tightened as he watched Caron navigate the boat into the
channel. He was baffled by how Caron could pole across deep water. The
pole surely couldn’t reach more than ten or fifteen feet below the
water’s surface?
Cain’s face tightened more when he realized his backpack was nowhere to
be seen in the boat. All his documents and an important thumb drive
were in it. He was about to ask Caron what was going on when he saw red
dots zigzag up and down the shoreline. The Catchers had arrived. He had
left in the nick of time.
Caron must have read his thoughts because he said, “Just in time. You
are safe from them.”
Cain could tell Caron was not much of a talker, but the way he said
those words eased his mind. His face relaxed and for a moment he forgot
about the questions he’d wanted to ask Caron. Instead, he managed a
smile as the first rays of dawn reflected off the lighthouse in the
distance. Cain closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.
*****
Cain awoke with a start. The boat wasn’t moving. For a moment he
thought they had arrived at the island. In the dawn light he could see
that was not the case. He looked around and saw only water, no
shoreline on either side of the boat. The only sound was of small waves
lapping the sides of the boat. Caron stood silent as a statue. His pole
tucked in the crook of his arm.
“Where are we? Why have we stopped?” Cain could barely get the words
out of his mouth. Fear took over his body.
“You’ve arrived. This is where you belong.” Caron’s head moved to his
side and bent downward. Toward the water.
Cain’s face was a road map of confusion. “What do you mean this is
where you belong?”
“It’s not for me to know. Go now. They’re waiting.” Once again Caron
nodded his head downward toward the water.
Cain was speechless, engulfed in anger and terror. What the hell?
He leaned over the side to see if anything was in fact in the water.
What he saw was far below the surface. The murky and shape shifting
visage of Abe’s face appeared. His mouth opened and closed. Cain could
hear his soundless words, “Come to me Cain.”
*****
The Keeper heard the splash. Caron had done his job. As she had done
hers. She had guided many travellers. So many now waited in the depths
below the channel, hoping one day they would complete their crossing.
But that was not for her to decide. She had done her part.
The red lights from the Catchers’ night scopes began to invade the
lighthouse cupola. The Keeper sat back in her chair and waited. She
knew they would see nothing of interest when they made it to the top of
the staircase. By that time even the flame of the candle would have
gone out.
THE END
© 2020 a. l. Dawson
Bio: While new to fiction writing,. I honed my fiction writing
skills at Grub Street Writers’ workshops. My short stories, Sacred
Ground appeared in the March issue of Aphelion and my story, The Flows,
will appear in Suspense magazine later this year. I received a BA in
Political Science from Duke University, a Post Graduate Diploma in
African Studies from the University of Edinburgh, and a doctorate in
Education from the University of Massachusetts, Boston.
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