“So?”
“Probably better if I just show you ...”
He gestured to the glass doors. “This way.”
On the other side of the doors was a spiral staircase built of granite ashlars. Through a small window, he could see that they were already above the rooftops of the lateral wings, although it was still a long way to the very top. They reached a point where the stone staircase opened into a circular room, empty except for a series of modern electrical junction boxes that hummed softly. A metal staircase on one side led still higher.
“This is how you get up to the light,” explained the lighthouse keeper. “Be careful where you put your feet, and hold the handrail. You wouldn’t be the first to fall down these stairs.”
Roberto climbed carefully, Ibaibarriaga behind him. Getting to the top, he found himself on a platform, also circular, but with its center occupied by a colossal, ring-shaped steel structure with heavy supports at the bottom.
“This is the system for turning the light,” said Ibaibarriaga, mopping his brow. “That circular part you see up there is filled with hundreds of liters of mercury. The bearings for the light float on that. It’s a very old system, but it never breaks down.”
“Is that the way up to the light?” Roberto pointed to another flight of stairs.
“Yes, but first I wanted to show you something. Look over here.”
To one side, next to the wall, was a heavy iron door, covered in rust. On a tripod beside it rested an expensive, modern-looking telescope.
“The other day, when you arrived at the island in the fishing boat, we saw you with this.” The man laughed as he tapped on the device. “It’s a Vanguard Endeavor ground telescope. We usually use it to check the buoys in the navigation channel, or sometimes to watch for birds, but it’s also useful for checking when visitors arrive.”
“So there’s an observation post on the other side of that door?”
“A balcony that goes all the way around,” said Ibaibarriaga. “But I wouldn’t go outsidejustnow!”
To make his point, Ibaibarriaga went over to a couple of huge bolts, which looked like the locking mechanisms on a ship’s hatch. They gave a rasping squeak as he turned them, and he pulled on the door. A blast of air hit Roberto, and he took a couple of steps back. The roar of the wind was thunderous, and Ibaibarriaga had to shout to make himself heard.
“The wind’s much stronger up here, and the storm’s already going pretty hard! We’ll soon be at eight or nine on the Beaufort scale!”
Roberto didn’t know exactly what that was, but there was little doubt it meant “huge storm.” It felt like a relief when Ibaibarriaga, pushing with all of his considerable weight, closed the door with a grunt.
“Mystery solved.” Ibaibarriaga gave another smile. “Now you know how we knew about your arrival.”
“Sure, but not how you know my name.”
“Ah!” Ibaibarriaga let out a laugh that echoed around the room. “There’s an explanation for that too.”
He reached into one of his pockets and took out a battered copy ofThe Fleeting Glance, clearly much thumbed and with lots of dog-eared pages. The lighthouse keeper turned it over to the smiling photo of Roberto on the back.
“See, we already know you well,” he said. “Plenty of time to read up here.”
Roberto relaxed. He felt like he could breathe again. The events of the previous day had not reached Ibaibarriaga’s ears. He was just someone with time on his hands—and a powerful telescope.
“If you want, I’ll show you how the light works later.” He pointed toward the last flight of stairs. “But I think our food’s almost ready. Besides, I want to introduce you to my colleagues.”
Taking particular care on the section with the metal steps, they went back down to the entrance hall. The delicious smell of cooking grew stronger as they advanced.
He followed Ibaibarriaga down a hallway on the right. There was a faint electric purring, no more than a light buzz. This reminded him that the lighthouse was the only place on the entire island that had constant power, a luxury he could now fully appreciate after the days he’d spent living by propane lamps and candlelight.
They came eventually to a large, spacious kitchen. A big wooden table stood in the middle, covered with a brightly colored oilcloth. The space was well lit and warmed by a roaring log fire. There was a glimpse of the leaden skies through rain-streaming windows, the panes of which rattled intermittently in the wind. The homey atmosphere enveloped him like an embrace the moment he stepped inside. It was, he thought, the coziest place he’d seen on the island.
A short, squat man stood with his back to them, busily chopping vegetables. His hands moved with astonishing speed as he diced an onion. Hearing them enter, he put the knife down and wiped his hands on a cloth before going over.
“This is Antonio Vázquez,” said Ibaibarriaga as Roberto and the man shook hands. “My second-in-command here.”
“Please, not Antonio,” he said. “My friends call me Varatorta.” His timid smile revealed a large gap between his front teeth. “It’s a long story.”
His black hair was neatly cut and combed across his balding head, and he had a goatee, but his most striking feature was his snub nose. Roberto guessed he was somewhere approaching forty.
