The man in the lighthouse leads a monastic existence but does not believe. He does not appear to age as others do. Few have heard him speak.
His presence in Marumaru cannot be easily explained, and no one wishes it to be.
He rarely looks back towards the town, prefers to weigh the fortunes of the dappled sea and shifting clouds, imagine the Chathams and soon enough the wastes of Patagonia. Every thought is a kind of remembering.
There are fewer shipwrecks these days, other ways to light the world and find one's way. But eventually we are all lost.