Diego shrugged and set off. They crossed the hallway and climbed the stone stairs that led up into the lighthouse. Halfway up, one of the windows was wide open, and the rain had already left a puddle on the step. Roberto stuck his head out and cursed.
It was even higher than he had imagined. Built into the facade was a series of large, rusty iron rungs. No doubt they had once served to house a lightning rod that had disappeared long ago. Diego must have used them to climb up. The kid’s agility was impressive, but Roberto couldn’t say the same of his sense of danger. Climbing up the facade on a calm, sunny day would already have been quite a feat; to do so in the middle of a storm was verging on the suicidal. He looked at the boy with renewed respect.
“I already said you don’t fit but I do,” the boy said.
The window was little wider than an arrow slit. Diego had managed to squeeze himself through with some effort, but Roberto would be bound to get stuck. The very idea of the lighthouse keepers finding him in such a predicament made him shudder.
“Maybe you can climb down and open the front door from the outside,” he said, though he knew it was unlikely.
“But I don’t have the key.”
“Okay ... don’t worry. We’ll find some other way out.”
His eyes stopped on the final flight of stairs that led to the metal structure at the top, and then he remembered the circular walkway near the top of the lighthouse that Ibaibarriaga had told him about.
He rushed up to the control room. There, next to the telescope, was the porthole-like metal door with the levers on either side. Roberto applied all his strength to one of the levers and just managed to make it budge, before doing the same with the other.
A violent gust of wind whipped through the open doorway.
Storm Armand was in full force. As far as the eye could see, the sky was packed with dark rain clouds, and the sea was a fury of seething white foam and roiling black water. The wind whipped the tower mercilessly, and Roberto gripped the handrail for dear life. Trying to make himself heard was out of the question. Peering down at the vertical sequence of iron rungs, he looked at Diego and shook his head. To even attempt the climb was madness in these conditions.
“We can do it!” yelled the boy. “It’s easy! Look!”
Before Roberto could stop him, Diego swung his legs over the rail and grabbed the nearest rung. Then, instinctively compensating for the wind, the boy let himself drop down to the next rung, in a maneuver that took Roberto’s breath away. Repeating the process, like some crazy circus acrobat, he kept going until he was no more than six feet from the ground. With one final drop he landed, rolled on the wet grass, and stood up. He brushed the grass from his clothes and, cupping his hands around his mouth, shouted something. Roberto couldn’t hear a word, but it didn’t matter. The message was clear enough:Get on with it. If I did it, so can you.
Roberto couldn’t remember the last time he’d prayed, but he offered up a silent entreaty before he, too, swung his legs over the rail. Part of his brain screamed at him not to be an idiot and to get back to safety, but he forced himself to ignore it. He grasped the nearest rung and, imitating Diego, let his weight fall until he was hanging.
The wind whipped him pitilessly, and for a second, he was paralyzed, unable to move so much as an inch. He took a deep breath, andas soon as he sensed the wind slacken, he let go of the rung and dropped down onto the one below.
There was barely space for his feet, and for a moment, he was convinced he was going to slip, but he dug his fingers into the gaps between the stones and clung desperately to the facade. He had descended only a few feet, and he was already dancing with death.
Gradually, agonizingly, he repeated the maneuver. He was heavier than Diego and nowhere near as agile, but his greater height gave him an advantage because it meant that he was just about able to touch the next rung with the tips of his toes before he let go of the one above. As he climbed, he gained in confidence.
He was more than halfway down when disaster struck.
Roberto let go of the rung and placed all his weight on the one below. Then he heard a crack, and the rusty iron fixture split, releasing a shower of brown scales that were scattered by the wind.
For one terrifying moment, Roberto was in free fall. He thrust out a desperate hand and grabbed hold of the next rung. His fingers closed around it, halting his fall. Pain shot through his shoulder, but he didn’t let go.
Panting, he closed his eyes and felt with his feet for the next rung. When he found it, he groaned with relief. He’d come close, too close.
“Be careful!” shouted Diego from below. “You’re going to fall!”
You don’t say!
Roberto took almost five minutes to cover the final section of the descent, moving with the speed of an arthritic old man. Whenever he was forced to swing from the rung above, it was as if someone were thrusting a red-hot poker into his shoulder. Finally, when he was only six feet from the ground, he dropped like Diego had. The landing on the rain-sodden ground was gentler than he had feared.
He stood up, legs trembling, and looked up at the lighthouse in astonishment. It was a miracle that they had made it.
His shoulder was throbbing, sending out waves of pain that forced him to clench his teeth.
“Let’s go to your house,” he said, leaning on the boy. “We need to talk to your sister.”
“We can’t go on the road,” replied Diego. “The lighthouse keepers will come that way. But I know another route. A secret path. Follow me!”
He set off, and Roberto limped along after him, worried that time was running out.
Perhaps it already had.
