He wanted to take one last look at the small room that had been his home for 25 years. Here, he had spent countless lonely yet beautiful nights. He loved this place, the vast night sky, the majestic and deep sea. He loved the white-capped waves that relentlessly crashed against the rocks every night. He loved his job as a lighthouse keeper, keeping the light burning, guiding ships safely across these waters every night.
All that joy would end the moment he stepped out of the lighthouse tonight. “From 00:00 on April 20th, the Sao Bien Lighthouse will officially cease manual operation and switch to a remote automated monitoring and control system (VTS). Comrade Tran Van Vinh is requested to hand over the equipment and complete the procedures for early retirement.” These lines of text were light, yet carried the weight of a closing door. Mr. Vinh was not surprised. He knew this day would come, as he knew the tide would rise and fall. The new system was faster, integrating GPS and AIS (Automatic Identification System) with centimeter-level accuracy. A lighthouse that required human effort to climb hundreds of steps each night to clean the lenses, check the backup batteries… had become a thing of the past.
An, the young engineer representing the "digital" generation who had just been assigned to take over, walked in with a bundle of cables and sensors in his hands. Looking at Mr. Vinh's expression, he softly said:
- You can rest assured and enjoy time with your family. This VTS system will make fishermen much safer, even during storms and fog, they won't lose track of their fishing gear. I will do my best to fulfill this task in your place.
"I know, I have faith in you. It's not really sadness, just a feeling of nostalgia for the place where I've been so attached, where I dedicated all my youth. For twenty-five years, countless ships have avoided maritime disasters and found safe harbors thanks to this lighthouse. I contributed to that, and I'm very proud... Well, I'm going now. I've handed over everything to you. Tonight, there's a forecast of a small storm far offshore, nothing too serious, but you should still be careful."
With a relieved heart, Mr. Vinh packed his belongings, said goodbye to An, and set off for home. But it seemed fate wouldn't let him part ways with the lighthouse so easily. A sudden downpour began. The rain grew heavier, the wind stronger, and lightning started tearing through the night sky. A bad premonition arose in the heart of the experienced lighthouse keeper. He went back inside and called out:
An, check immediately, the storm may have unexpectedly changed direction.
Before An could reply, a terrible explosion rang out. A lightning bolt struck the outer antenna tower, short-circuiting the newly installed automatic control circuit board. An shouted:
Uncle Vinh, the control system has lost its signal!
Mr. Vinh rushed to the control panel. But instead of looking at the screen, he gazed intently out the window, his eyes fixed on the sea amidst the raging storm. The sea was roaring.
"Put the computer away," Mr. Vinh said decisively. "The lightning strike damaged the inverter. Go upstairs to the lights immediately!"
The two men rushed up the spiral staircase. At the top of the tower, a strong gust of wind seemed to shake the very rock. The motor rotating the lens had stopped. If the lens remained stationary, the lighthouse would become a static point of light, which ships would mistake for a shore light and crash into the reef below.
"An, lift the locking pin, we have to turn the lamp stand by hand!" Mr. Vinh shouted.
"But the power's out! The halogen bulbs aren't working, Uncle!" An exclaimed in panic.
- Use the backup oil-powered lamp! An, check the pressure tank and prime the lamp assembly with oil immediately! I'll keep the lens rotating.
Amidst the storm and the incident, Mr. Vinh's voice remained steady, showing no sign of panic, as if he had done this job thousands of times before. Under the moonlight illuminating the sea, Mr. Vinh gazed out into the distance. In the blinding white rain, a fishing boat was disoriented, the light from its lamps flickering and swaying amidst the raging waves. Mr. Vinh knew that fishermen could no longer see satellite navigation in the midst of the electromagnetic storm; they were desperately searching for the familiar light characteristic of the Starfish: a single flash, with a 5-second cycle.
Mr. Vinh clung tightly to the rim of the giant rotating lens. He used his body weight to push the hundred-kilogram block of glass to rotate steadily.
- An! Look at the stopwatch! It has to be exactly 5 seconds per flash. A little too fast and the ships will mistake it for the river gate lights, a little too slow and they'll think it's another ship anchored. Keep the rhythm of the lights precise!
An was pumping oil while gazing at Mr. Vinh in amazement. The old lighthouse keeper seemed to be one with the rotating shaft. Suddenly, a warm, golden beam of light from the backup oil lamp, refracted through the layers of lenses, began to sweep across the sea.
Mr. Vinh kept the rhythm while speaking:
- An, when you do this job, you must remember never to rely entirely on technology. Technological failures can happen, but the eyes and hands of the lighthouse keeper must never make mistakes. This light is the last hope of seafarers; you must never let it go out.
Looking towards the ship, An realized that, thanks to that "manual" beam of light, the fishing vessel had identified its coordinates, allowing it to steer clear of the reef and maneuver into the bay to avoid the storm.
At that very moment, just as quickly as it had arrived, the storm suddenly showed signs of subsiding. The wind ceased howling over the rocks, the lightning no longer ripped through the sky, and the rain began to stop. The two of them, uncle and nephew, continued their work without rest. That night, the lighthouse light at Sao Bien continued to flash every five seconds, as if nothing had happened.
Then the sun began to rise, and the sea became calm as if no "rebellion" had ever occurred. An sat down on the tower floor, looking at her hands, which were blistered from turning the lamp stand.
- An, I'm handing over the "eye of the sea" to you - Mr. Vinh gently placed the key in An's hand.
"Uncle... I will light the lamp with all my heart, just like you did last night. Rest in peace," An said, her eyes welling up with tears.
He understood that the old brass key his grandfather was about to give him was not just for locking the tower door, but was also entrusting him with a sacred responsibility.
Mr. Vinh descended the stone steps. When the power was restored and the manual lamp switched off to automatic mode, the old lighthouse keeper stepped out of the tower, boarded a speedboat, and headed back to the mainland.
As soon as he landed, his phone rang in his pocket. Mr. Vinh looked at it; there were dozens of missed calls. A busy night had made him forget to keep in touch with his family. Mr. Vinh answered the phone, and his son's voice boomed:
- Dad, there was a big storm last night, you didn't answer the phone and the whole family was so worried. How are you?
"I'm fine," Mr. Vinh said with a smile. "I've completed my mission, and now I'm preparing to take on a new one."
- Honestly - Dad, you scared the whole family - Now that you're there, I'll come pick you up right away. Go home, take a shower and rest. This afternoon, Tiến's group is coming from Saigon, and we'll all go to Làng Biển together; there are a few things we need your opinion on.
After hanging up the phone, Mr. Vinh sat on a large rock waiting for his son to arrive. He suddenly remembered that he hadn't had time to tell his young son, An, that although he had retired, he didn't have time to rest. For the past few months, his son and his passionate friends in Saigon had been working on a project called "Seaside Village." The project aimed to transform the small, beautiful fishing village near the lighthouse into a "community tourism village." There, visitors would not only relax but also experience the beauty of the local culture: the lifestyles of the fishermen, local delicacies, and ancient relics. And in that project, he played a very important role: a "storyteller of the sea." He would tell visitors stories about the sea, legends of the ocean. He would take them out to sea on ocean exploration tours, including a visit to the ancient lighthouse where he had spent almost half his life.
Mr. Vinh stood silently by the water's edge, where the footprints in the sand were gradually being erased by the tide. He thought about the more than 3,260km long coastline of this S-shaped land, from the northernmost point of Mong Cai to the distant tip of Ha Tien. Along that silken stretch of sea, there are more than 90 lighthouses of all sizes, twinkling day and night, each light a "sea eye" guarding the safety of ships.
His Starfish Lighthouse is just a tiny speck of light in that vast network. But for over 20 years, while he has guarded the lighthouse, that speck of light has never failed to shine. It has shone with unwavering determination, fulfilling its mission of guiding the way in the most complete and virtuous way. Like a chapter reaching a beautiful conclusion, the light is not extinguished; it is merely fading into the dawn to make way for new, more modern lights, but the spirit of "guarding the sea" will forever flow in the veins of those who remain.
The tower's doors had closed behind him, but the sea beyond was vast. From today, his view was no longer confined by the lighthouse's glass window, but opened wide and boundless.
Source: https://baophapluat.vn/dem-cuoi-cua-nguoi-gac-den-bien.html
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