joinest earth and sky, O Lighthouse, who warnest of the danger of the sea, impart Thy cool temperature to Thy little servant Frannie, who hast served Thee well in the past. Be our Friend now. And guard over her and keep her safe from death.â
I recalled the small religious objects from around the world I had seen in the shop window in Boston. I imaged and prayed to them allâBuddha, Bastet, Shiva, the wooden maskâto preserve the life of Frannie. To the sunlight bathing the interior of Kingâs Chapel.
When I returned to our bedroom, I pressed my forehead against Frannieâs, as though to transfer coolness. Then I sat down and held her vacant hands, while Uncle grasped her arms. Aunt brushed her lips with a wet rag, bathed her forehead, pulled up her nightgown to bathe her blistered ankles and shins.
Frannie lived, though the skin of her face was left forever pockmarked. After her illness, her body elongated and lost its delightfully sturdy and churnlike appearance. I couldnât help noticing that some of the pits on her skin were just like those in the stone of the tower, and, thus, through her illness, she had come to look a bit more kin to our Friend.
Before the government sent out the Fresnel lens and the dozen men to install itâhow strange it was to see our Island population so inflated, to see foreign ropes and pulleys dangling from the tower, to hear shouts more shrill than gulls, and to regard the jackets and cast-off gloves of the installation crew lying on our rocks and grass, to glance shyly attheir mouths chewing above the extended board of our tableâbefore all that, the government sent two young men to survey the scene. They arrived in a small dark boat named the Petrel: Giles Bonebright and Kit Sparrow.
CHAPTER 14 : The Petrel
T HE SKY being white that day, their sail was not the first I saw of Kit and Giles, but the dark wooden curve of the Petrel . I called to Uncle and Aunt, who were weeding and cultivating the garden, and Uncle, leaning against the long hoe handle and shading his eyes to see better into the morning sun, said it must be the advance guard of the Fresnel.
It had been a month since our Boston trip and Frannieâs contracting of pox, and I had almost come to believe that our light would not be changed after all. Now I glanced up anxiously at the tower. I wondered if my inanimate friend shuddered at the thought of having his eye changed. I was sure that I would.
Whenever the world of the Island seemed too small for me, his steps provided the route that lifted me up to the freedom of the air. Up there, the gulls flew below me, the sea crawled at my feet, and only the vastness of the sky was above me. I relished it. If I stepped outside, on the high platform, the wind blew around my body till I was cold, and I would retreat into the lantern room or around to the lee. Many times it was the sun shining on me with unfiltered force that moved me to the curve of shadow. But I loved the sunlight, and, at that height, my blood seemed to fizz and evanesce, and I opened my arms to it many times.
Since the high platform of openwork iron ringed the lantern, sometimes I challenged myself to skip around and around till I was dizzy. Then I lay down on the grill in a rapture. With the clouds spinning around my head, I was the center of a benign and exhilarating universe.
T HERE THEY CAME , while we stood in the vegetable garden, and the dark form of the Petrel and the straight way they came put me in mind of how the shark had approached Uncle and me in the fishing boat, before the beast began to circle. I projected an imaginary line drawn from their boat to us. In a linear, unhesitant way, they would come forward till the prow bumped our dock.
âIâm going up in the Lighthouse,â I announced. I knew that these visitors would not yet be changing the lens, but I needed to say good-bye to the old order. I left my relatives standing among the planted rows to
I recalled the small religious objects from around the world I had seen in the shop window in Boston. I imaged and prayed to them allâBuddha, Bastet, Shiva, the wooden maskâto preserve the life of Frannie. To the sunlight bathing the interior of Kingâs Chapel.
When I returned to our bedroom, I pressed my forehead against Frannieâs, as though to transfer coolness. Then I sat down and held her vacant hands, while Uncle grasped her arms. Aunt brushed her lips with a wet rag, bathed her forehead, pulled up her nightgown to bathe her blistered ankles and shins.
Frannie lived, though the skin of her face was left forever pockmarked. After her illness, her body elongated and lost its delightfully sturdy and churnlike appearance. I couldnât help noticing that some of the pits on her skin were just like those in the stone of the tower, and, thus, through her illness, she had come to look a bit more kin to our Friend.
Before the government sent out the Fresnel lens and the dozen men to install itâhow strange it was to see our Island population so inflated, to see foreign ropes and pulleys dangling from the tower, to hear shouts more shrill than gulls, and to regard the jackets and cast-off gloves of the installation crew lying on our rocks and grass, to glance shyly attheir mouths chewing above the extended board of our tableâbefore all that, the government sent two young men to survey the scene. They arrived in a small dark boat named the Petrel: Giles Bonebright and Kit Sparrow.
CHAPTER 14 : The Petrel
T HE SKY being white that day, their sail was not the first I saw of Kit and Giles, but the dark wooden curve of the Petrel . I called to Uncle and Aunt, who were weeding and cultivating the garden, and Uncle, leaning against the long hoe handle and shading his eyes to see better into the morning sun, said it must be the advance guard of the Fresnel.
It had been a month since our Boston trip and Frannieâs contracting of pox, and I had almost come to believe that our light would not be changed after all. Now I glanced up anxiously at the tower. I wondered if my inanimate friend shuddered at the thought of having his eye changed. I was sure that I would.
Whenever the world of the Island seemed too small for me, his steps provided the route that lifted me up to the freedom of the air. Up there, the gulls flew below me, the sea crawled at my feet, and only the vastness of the sky was above me. I relished it. If I stepped outside, on the high platform, the wind blew around my body till I was cold, and I would retreat into the lantern room or around to the lee. Many times it was the sun shining on me with unfiltered force that moved me to the curve of shadow. But I loved the sunlight, and, at that height, my blood seemed to fizz and evanesce, and I opened my arms to it many times.
Since the high platform of openwork iron ringed the lantern, sometimes I challenged myself to skip around and around till I was dizzy. Then I lay down on the grill in a rapture. With the clouds spinning around my head, I was the center of a benign and exhilarating universe.
T HERE THEY CAME , while we stood in the vegetable garden, and the dark form of the Petrel and the straight way they came put me in mind of how the shark had approached Uncle and me in the fishing boat, before the beast began to circle. I projected an imaginary line drawn from their boat to us. In a linear, unhesitant way, they would come forward till the prow bumped our dock.
âIâm going up in the Lighthouse,â I announced. I knew that these visitors would not yet be changing the lens, but I needed to say good-bye to the old order. I left my relatives standing among the planted rows to
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