Turn Out The Lights

We were walking along a rugged outcrop of land when she told me the
news. A fresh offshore wind was blowing in our faces. Sarah had wrapped
up in an oversized woollen sweater before we started out from the
house. I think it was one of mine. To be honest I couldn't be sure, but
she looked nice wearing it.
The cliff top was awash with colours as the sun descended into the
Channel. The sound of rigging snapping against aluminium masts
travelled up from the fishing port below and the smell of the sea
drifted through the air. Sarah and I stood for a moment looking out
across the water. As usual, I couldn't think of the right thing to say.
I couldn't think of anybody who could.
That evening, we had been invited to dinner by a couple of friends who
lived a little further down the coast-road. When we moved here two
years ago from the city, we didn't imagine we'd find another couple
just down the road who had wanted out like us. I admit I didn't want to
go, not now, but Sarah said we should.
We took a last look at the sunset and then turned to walk along the
path toward the house. The path was starting to overgrow with the onset
of summer, the grass creeping over its rocky edges.
As we climbed over the final brow, nearing home Sarah told me I had
left the lights on again in the house. I said it was a conditioned
response from my childhood. I couldn't imagine how many burglaries I
must have prevented by leaving the lights on. She had such a pretty
smile.
We went inside and got ready for dinner. While Sarah took a bath I put
on some music and looked through the wine rack. Our hosts for the
evening, Jack and Joanne were wine buffs so it took a little time to
locate the right bottle. We had met them soon after we moved in. Joanne
had invited herself in one Sunday afternoon. We sat in the garden and
opened the bottle of wine she'd brought. It was a 1984 Burgundy. I only
remember because Joanne made a point of letting us know this several
times, as we were enjoying its plummy aroma. Joanne used to be an
insurance agent in the city. Jack now worked freelance as a stock
analyst and he had taken the time to sort out my pension so I was now
earning an extra percent annually. Sarah was as impressed as I was. She
had a nice laugh too.
Sarah came in through the double doors into the lounge and curled up
on the sofa. I asked if everything was okay, if she was up to going.
She had a distant look in her eyes, a hard glare that wasn't for me but
for a thing. Not even a thing, a word. She looked up and smiled and all
the pain seemed to go away. She told me not to be stupid, that we were
expected, and to change the bottle of wine I had taken ten minutes to
select. I walked over to Sarah, leant over and kissed the side of her
face. She turned a little and kissed me back. We remained close for a
moment, then I took her hand and we left the house with the upstairs
lights on.
When we arrived at Jack and Joanne's cottage the sound of a string
quartet was soaking through the stone walls. I looked at Sarah and
asked whether we were under dressed for the occasion. She said that she
wasn't and rang the doorbell. The door swung open to reveal Joanne with
a glass of wine in her hand waving us in. Jack had cooked a beef stew
of some kind, which was delicious and we enjoyed several bottles of
wine. I can't recall the vintages, but I'm sure they were good. We
retired to the garden after dinner. The moon was almost full and as
bright as I had ever seen it. I asked the other's whether there was
some celestial reason for this but received little informed
comment.
"Maybe it's the reflection from all the houses and streetlights. I
think I read something somewhere that that causes, er?glare, over
cities which is why those giant telescopes are all on the top of
mountains and those astronomers' get to jet around to places like
Hawaii and Costa Rica. And good for them!" said Joanne holding up her
wineglass as if making a toast.
"But we're on the coast dear," said Jack.
"Ah yes, but light travels in straight lines?right up the M5." Joanne
said and then burst out laughing.
"I'm guessing it's something to do with the sun," said Jack with a
grin on his face lying back on a sun-lounger.
"Gee, you think?" I said smiling back.
"As I said, it's only a guess. I offer no responsibility for the
ridicule you may receive if you voice that opinion outside these garden
hedges."
"Perhaps God has left the lights on?" Sarah said with a giggle. We all
laughed and drank a toast to God, jet-setting astrophysicists and the
loudest motorway in Britain. The evening faded away into early morning
and the air began to chill. We moved inside briefly before Sarah said
we should be getting back. Jack and Joanne stood in the doorway saying
farewells and to watch our step on the path. Sarah and I walked home
hand in hand with two giant dancing beams of torchlight guiding our
way.
The next day I had to go out and see a client. It was the part of my
job I never liked. It wasn't the people; it was their inescapable
desire to make everything bigger. I used to work as a graphic designer
in the city, working for a big name design agency. Becoming a
freelance, I had attained the best of both worlds. I kept some of the
clients I had worked with at the agency, but finally found some free
time.
When I got back, Sarah had the television on and was sitting down
cross-legged at the coffee table. There were piles of photographs
scattered across the glass surface. Sarah said she was just tidying up
in a drawer and found them. I think she'd been crying. We always had a
joke about her going misty eyed. I don't know where it came from but it
always made her look at me and smile.
"I thought we could go away for a few days, over the weekend. I've got
a quick job to finish, but I'll get it done by Thursday."
"Okay." Sarah said "Where?"
"Mexico."
"What! You don't go to Mexico for a long weekend."
"Well, we'll set a trend. Make it a bit longer maybe. You've always
wanted to go. Now seems a good a time as any."
"You always like the idea of being spontaneous don't you?"
"Well, I'll do anything to impress the ladies." I said with a wink. I
walked over to the coffee table and looked down at all the photographs
of Sarah and me. There were a couple of her parents scattered amongst
the prints, a few of mine but mostly the montage before me was of us. I
knelt down and then folded my legs across each other and tried my best
to get comfortable. I leaned forward and picked up a glossy print of my
family and Sarah, a snapshot of Christmas past.
"You remember this?" I asked turning the print toward her.
"Was that ninety six?"
"Yeah, I think so. You can't always tell 'cause dad always wears the
same red check shirt. And my brother brings home a different girlfriend
each year."
"Yeah and Kate always goes through the routine. What d'you used to
call it?"
"Mum's 'twenty questions'. She'd usually get to the second question
before receiving abuse from us. She learnt to stagger the interview
over the years. Slip in a few questions while you were off guard." We
both laughed and I tossed the photograph back onto the tabletop.
A few days later we were sitting on a sun drenched stretch of beach,
south of the American border on the Baja Californian coast. The drive
into San Ignacio was glorious. The highway leading to the town was
lined with palm trees. The surrounding desert, rich with colours
offered a contrast to the lagoons, which bubbled up from an underground
river. The sun had nearly set as we arrived but there was still a trace
of red and orange on the horizon. The ocean looked calm and warm,
except where it met the rocks at the tip of the bay where it crashed
and sent white tendrils of water into the air. The road flowed into a
small plaza in the centre of the town encased in leafy Indian trees and
a stone church emerged in dappled light as if lost in time.
On the beach, we watched the local surfers glide effortlessly through
the curling waves, sometimes turning back into the wave to prolong the
ride. I said to Sarah that I'd like to try it. She said I couldn't even
swim, least not very well. I pointed out to her that it was called
surfing and not swimming but knowing me too well, she was already
thinking of other things. Of all the days we had been together, I would
remember this one day forever. I forced myself to remember every
detail, to soak up the scenery, the sounds, and the smells. When you're
told your wife is going to die you think you'll spend every last waking
moment thinking of her, as if it would be a crime to think about
anything else; to waste what time there is left. You try but you can't
keep it up for long.
In the early evening, we walked along the shoreline back toward the
town. We reached the plaza at dusk. The courtyards and adjoining
streets were strewn with white fairy lights and glowing lanterns of
amber. Music filled the air and a great procession of people gathered
and danced. Although I realise we somewhat bought their friendship I
believe the people of San Ignacio welcomed us warmly and genuinely.
After the music softened and the children dispersed to their homes we
sat outside at a table of a caf? drinking beer and tequila until the
early hours. The owner of the caf?, Francisco Gomes found great delight
in us, insisting that we stay and drink with him.
"You two, you are beautiful couple." Francisco said. He added his
English was good no. We nodded respectfully and asked him if he had
lived here, in San Ignacio all his life.
"Of course!" he boomed with pride. "This town is my home. I was named
after Father Francisco Maria Piccolo who discovered this place many
years ago, in seventeen hundred and sixteen."
"Really?" I said. It was all I could think of saying.
"When was the church built?" added Sarah.
Francisco smiled and turned in his chair to look at the church only
yards away. He held out his arms as if beckoning a lost child, holding
a bottle of tequila in his right hand and an empty glass in the other.
"They completed work in seventeen eighty six. It took fifty years to
build. It was worth the wait no?"
"Oh definitely," I said feeling the alcohol overhaul my blood.
"You have trouble in your life, you say a prayer at the Great Altar
inside. God will protect you. Goodnight my friends." With that he left
us there with a half empty bottle of tequila and thoughts that neither
one of us spoke about.
We finished the bottle of tequila and walked across the deserted plaza
to the entrance of the church. It loomed above us, the great carved
stone fa?ade inviting us inside. To our surprise the door opened and
suddenly our every move echoed throughout the inner chamber. Candles
illuminated all sides of the church casting dancing shadows across the
cold stone floor. We were not the only ones present. Half a dozen or so
people scattered among the aisles stood motionless facing the Great
Altar. We approached slowly hand in hand. Sarah leant on my side and
placed her head on my shoulder. We stood for a minute or two, like the
others, motionless. So what does God have to say I thought to myself,
momentarily angry. He didn't say anything to any of the people there
that night as far as I'm aware. If Sarah's cancer was a test of faith I
failed her. We left the church and went back to the hotel. We lay in
bed tired and heavy headed. Sarah curled herself around my body and
fell asleep almost immediately. I stared up at the ceiling trying not
to think.
A week later we arrived home feeling healthy but fatigued from the
flight. The weather had closed in on the way back from the airport.
Clouds of fog clung to the hillsides leaving behind a film of water.
The house was still in one piece. Jack and Joanne had pushed a note
under the door saying they had watered the plants and that they hoped
we had had a great time. Joanne had scribbled a little bottle of wine
next to the words 'see you soon.'
"How you feeling?" I asked Sarah as we sat, slumped together on the
sofa in the living room.
"Tired," she said yawning at the same time.
"So where shall we go next week?"
She laughed and said, "Alaska. Always fancied Alaska."
"It'll be cold this time of year."
"Well, I'll take that big woollen sweater of yours."
"I'll get one of those furry trapper hats, so I'll fit in with the
natives."
"You could become a honorary Eskimo with a hat like that."
"We'll fit right in. Me with my trapper hat and you with a woollen
sweater."
"We do talk some rubbish."
"You're right," I said, pausing before adding, "Where shall we go after
Alaska?"
Sarah giggled and then made a list of all the places we would go after
Australia until she finally fell asleep in my arms. I carried her
upstairs to bed and switched off the lights.