The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,60
the earth. Up by the light tower, he usually sat on the wooden bench chair—a memorial to a young guy who’d been swept off the rock pillars to the south while he was researching seabirds. On clear days, when Leon could see the rock stacks, he somehow felt close to that young man. He must have been really dedicated—even crazy—to put himself out there on a bunch of rocks like that. The sea could be demonic, Leon knew. The young guy had been well enough prepared, his camp anchored to the rocks. But when a ferocious wave came up, it simply swept him away. Leon often imagined that rogue wave flooding the rocks. He saw it surging, ripping out the young man’s protection. And then he saw the rock, empty. A life gone. It must have been awful for the people who went to collect him after his stint out there finding the rock pillars teeming with their usual plethora of seabirds but nothing else. No smiling face or waving hand.
For Leon, there was a soothing rawness in sitting up by the tower, especially in bad weather. He liked to look out over the heaving sea where it merged into grey mist. If he walked along from the tower, he could look down over Courts Island and watch the waves dashing themselves to death against the cliffs and the rocks.
Sometimes when he was walking up from the carpark, he’d run into Tony, the caretaker, or his wife, Diane. Both of them were kind enough to him. They considered him part of the local infrastructure, like themselves. They’d been keepers at Cape Bruny before the old light was shut down. But they openly admitted they didn’t much care for the tourists. The light station was now a historic site, preserved for the public, but somehow it seemed an invasion of privacy, with people wandering all over the hill.
Leon thought Tony and Diane blended with the landscape, in a way. Their faces were craggy and lined like the cliffs, and even though they always said hello to him, they kept their distance. He’d never been asked in for a cup of tea. But he didn’t mind. This was something he understood. People had a right to their personal space.
It was his ranger training in Hobart that had kindled his interest in local history. Most of the other students considered history as something to learn for exams and then forget, but for Leon it had become a passion. History helped him understand his origins. It linked him with that sleepy place his parents called home. And the more he delved into Bruny Island and the history of the lighthouse, the more he wanted to know. Not just the facts, but also the feelings—what it had been like to exist there in another time.
Mrs Mason had suggested he should rent the keeper’s cottage for a few days, but Leon reckoned he had a fair feel for the place in modern times from his regular visits—and he’d been there in all sorts of weather. No. What he was interested in was how it felt to live there when it was more isolated, like in Mrs Mason’s time, and even before that. He’d read the archives in the history room at Alonnah, and he’d found out all sorts of stuff. They had folders full of newspaper clippings and writings going back years—about agriculture, the timber industry, and of course, the lighthouse.
Reading and learning about the history of the island had roused his interest further. And given Tony and Diane’s preference for privacy, Leon figured Mrs Mason was his best bet to find out more about the light station. He thought maybe this scout talk might draw extra stories out of her. Perhaps it might open a few cracks and give him some openings to enter further into her life with well-placed questions. In retrospect, the trip up the mountain road had been worth it, even if she had spotted the bruises. But he’d be more careful next time. He’d button his sleeves so it was difficult to pull them up.
His thoughts turned to home and he checked the time once more—making a studious effort to use the clock on the dash rather than his watch. There should still be time to make the run through to Alonnah to check the mail at the post office and then go on to the campground at the Neck before he headed home. He’d heard from some locals that there