Literature

The Lighthouse Keeper

SCENE 2

The stage setting is exactly the same as in the beginning of the play; it is apparently the following night. Again, the lighthouse keeper enters the room, sits down at the table and starts writing.

KEEPER: "The storm threw high waves at the small ship; he had been long since soaking wet. But it made no sense to go below deck and wait for certain death."

As in the previous night he pauses, looks up, and listens.

KEEPER: Again it is quiet – no wind whatsoever, the sea cannot be heard. The light is burning steadily, certainly it is visible far and wide; and where it cannot be seen, people will follow the stars.

He continues writing.

KEEPER: "His eyes scanned the sky, desperately hoping to find a few single stars between all the clouds, so he could find his bearings once again. But only a small patch of clear pitch-black sky here and there, a single star, they were not enough to provide orientation."

He pauses, stares blankly towards the audience.

KEEPER: If he had had a light, he would have had a chance; this much is certain. The light – I must look after the light. Even in quiet nights – especially in quiet nights. One must never rest assured that nothing will happen.

He stands up and leaves the room for a few moments. Then he returns, sits down again; puts the paper he just wrote on on top of the second stack and takes a new one from the first.

KEEPER: "They said, in the center of the storm, all would be calm. But he was in the middle of it, and the sea was raging around him, the small ship but a plaything of the elements."

He puts the paper away and takes a new one, starts folding a boat. When he has finished it, he holds it up and looks at it for a while.

KEEPER: [without writing:] The small ship could not offer resistance to the raging waters for long. The masts snapped, the boards broke, as if the boat was made of paper.

He places the boat onto the table.

KEEPER: I must look after the light. The night is quiet, but it cannot he helped.

He stands up and leaves the room. When he returns after some time, he seems restless. He sits down and takes the boat into his hand again, turns it around and around.

KEEPER: Nobody longer than three months, Jason said.

He puts the boat aside and takes a new sheet; he draws a small sail ship, with just a few lines. He holds the paper up and looks at the drawing for a while, before he puts it down onto the stack. Then he anxiously looks towards the door.

KEEPER: It is so quiet outside, but how often is the silence treacherous? It was not really rough out there in that one night; sure, the storm was raging, but not more than usually. He had been sailing often enough in the storms. He knew the sea.

He looks towards the audience, startled, as if he had heard something. For a moment he pauses, then he shakes his head and looks again towards the door.

KEEPER: Nobody longer than three months.

For quite some time the lighthouse keeper is silent; he stares at the table. Finally he takes another sheet of paper and folds another boat, takes another sheet and divides it in two halves, folds a smaller boat, halves the other half again and folds an even smaller boat. The rest of the paper he crumbles up and throws it over his shoulder. Then he looks towards the door again.

KEEPER: The light. Perhaps it is the light, perhaps it is not burning. I -– I should check.

He nods slowly, stands up slowly and leaves the room. Soon he returns to his table, his eyes cast down. Slowly he takes his seat and remains silent for a while, then suddenly stares into the direction of the audience.

KEEPER: [hastily, without any pause:] Of course the light is still burning. And it is all calm outside. And Jason knows the sea. It is getting late. He has never been late. But he knows the sea. Even when it was storming, he has always come. For three months now, every single night. And the light has always been burning.

He lines up the paper boats. Finally he takes a new sheet of paper and continues writing.

KEEPER: "He did not stand a chance – not a single chance. Black as night the sea broke down on him, dark waves washed over the ship and broke the masts. He did not even try to save himself. He wanted to stay with his ship, and he would not have had a chance anyway."

He takes the first paper boat and crumples it up, then shoves it off the table, follows it with a thoughtful gaze.

KEEPER: It is getting late. Nobody longer than three months, Jason said. He has never been late.

He looks towards the door, again; stands up half the way but pauses and sits down again.

KEEPER: No; the light is burning, I know that the light is burning. He will not come.

One after the other he takes the paper boats, bends or crumbles them and shoves them off the table.

KEEPER: He will not come, he will not come, he will not come.

He pauses once more and looks towards the door, but then shakes his head.

KEEPER: [loud:] What do I care whether the light is burning? He is not going to come back anyway!

With an angry gesture he puts out the candle. Curtain.


----- to Scene 3

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