The Red Lantern

Polly came up the coast of Portugal in the late afternoon and landed on the strangest lighthouse she had ever seen. It was not a tall white tower at all. It was a squat red lantern, hardly taller than a fishing boat, set on the roof of an old stone fort that has stood on this cliff for more than four hundred years. Polly likes a perch with a view. This one had the best view on the whole Atlantic coast.

The fort sat on a headland that split the sea in two. On one side lay the town of Nazaré, with a warm sheltered beach where small colored boats rested on the sand. On the other side stretched a long, wild, empty beach called Praia do Norte, the north beach, without a single house on it. That evening the water in front of it was so flat it looked polished.

An old albatross climbed to the fort wall with a folded spyglass tucked under one wing. He opened it, studied the flat water for a long while, and then turned to Polly. Do not let this quiet sea fool you, little traveller, he said. Far away, the ocean is already moving. The giants are coming.

Polly looked at the calm water and found that hard to believe. But somewhere beyond the horizon a great storm was leaning on the sea, pushing its energy toward this exact piece of coast. She settled her feet on the warm red metal of the lantern and decided to stay seven days and watch.