Se despertó muy confundido por el alboroto. Estaba seguro de que aún no empezaba su turno de vigilancia. Un vistazo rápido hacia la escalera, le aseguró que el faro estaba bien custodiado. Pensó que quizá se trató de un mal sueño y subió la manta hasta la cara para dormir de nuevo; pero la pelea que ocurría en la punta del faro era innegable. Echó mano del rifle que ocultaba bajo su catre y subió sigilosamente, resuelto a poner fin a esa disputa que llevaba días interrumpiendo su descanso…

Mientras se acercaba a su objetivo, las gélidas ráfagas provenientes del mar, que se filtraban por todas las ventanas de la alta torre, le azotaban la cara y le hacían entrecerrar los ojos y castañetear los dientes. Siendo verano, esa noche había decidido jugarle una broma y ser fría. Se sentía indignado y a su vez furibundo, por tener que tomarse la molestia de ir personalmente a zanjar el asunto. ¿Dónde quedaba el respeto y decoro de los viejos tiempos? ¿Eran, acaso, tan tontos, para pelear por pequeñeces? ¿Y si no era una tontería la razón de su pelea? ¡Bah, estupideces!—se dijo a si mismo—¡En estos tiempos toda discusión es una trivialidad!

Por una extraña razón, se llevó, casi por instinto, la mano al cuello y se percató que no cargaba su silbato. Esto le molestó; pero, supuso, que se debía a la costumbre de siempre traerlo consigo y continuó subiendo las gradas de forma acelerada, mientras maldecía en voz baja.

Aunque el carácter de Ariel, no era reconocido por la Guardia, precisamente, por ser el más sosegado y reflexivo de todos los miembros, esta vez le habían sacado de sus casillas. Sus compañeros más viejos, ya se habían asombrado, que el amargo Ariel hubiera podido aguantar tres días sin soltar gritos, golpes o herir a uno de los alborotadores. Quizás, su actitud tan paciente, especulaban algunos, se debiese a que pronto acabaría su servicio y podría volver a reencontrarse con sus hijas. Había cumplido con su deber ocho años, como lo dictaban las leyes, y era momento que dejase la posta a las nuevas generaciones.

Pero eran precisamente esas nuevas generaciones las que, noche tras noche, tenían discusiones y riñas en la punta del faro. Fuera porque uno miraba mal al otro, o porque a otro no le gustaba las bromas que hacia sobre su madre uno. Por fin, Ariel, alcanzó la habitación de donde provenía tanto ruido y abrió la puerta de un empujón. Una cadena de imágenes y ruidos le alarmaron enseguida. La estancia estaba oscura y los reflectores apagados. Podía ver en la penumbra que había cristales rotos desperdigados por todas partes y alcanzó a distinguir la figura de cuerpos en el piso, que gemían adoloridos, pidiéndole ayuda. Lo que le hizo volver en sí, fue aquellas formas grisáceas que se abalanzaban sobre él.

Apuntó de forma instintiva con su rifle y presionó el gatillo repetidas veces. Cada ráfaga de disparos iluminaba la habitación permitiéndole a Ariel apreciar la macabra escena. Cuando se hubo vaciado el cargador, los intrusos yacían hace rato en el piso. Se acercó raudamente a uno de los jóvenes vigilantes que musitaba una oración, mientras la vida se iba apagando en su interior, y le arrancó el silbato. Lo sopló tan fuerte como sus viejos pulmones se lo permitieron, esperanzado en que los guardias de las plantas inferiores lo oyesen. Pero al ver por la ventana, supo que ya era tarde, y cayó de rodillas en medio de la oscura estancia.

—¡Han vuelto!—vociferó enloquecido.

La claridad propiciada por las estrellas dejaba ver una luna roja en el cielo y los únicos ruidos que se podían apreciar aquella fría noche de verano eran los gritos desgarradores de Ariel en lo alto del faro y el paso uniforme de Ellos, que salían del mar en un numeroso ejército grisáceo.

He woke up very confused by the commotion. He was sure that he had not yet started his watch. A quick glance up the ladder assured him that the lighthouse was well guarded. He thought perhaps it was a bad dream and pulled the blanket up to his face to sleep again; but the fight going on at the head of the lighthouse was undeniable. He reached for the rifle hidden under his cot and crept up, determined to put an end to the quarrel that had been interrupting his rest for days....

As he approached his target, the icy gusts coming from the sea, which filtered through all the windows of the high tower, whipped his face and made him squint and chatter his teeth. Being summer, that night he had decided to play a joke on her and be cold. He felt both indignant and furious at having to go to the trouble of settling the matter personally. Where was the respect and decorum of the old days? Were they such fools to fight over trifles? What if the reason for their quarrel was not trifles? Bah, trifles," he said to himself, "In these times every quarrel is a trifle!

For a strange reason, he put, almost by instinct, his hand to his neck and realized that he was not carrying his whistle. This annoyed him; but, he supposed, it was due to the habit of always bringing it with him and continued climbing the steps in an accelerated manner, while he cursed under his breath.

Although Ariel's character was not recognized by the Guard, precisely, for being the most calm and reflective of all the members, this time they had taken him out of his temper. His older companions had already been amazed that the bitter Ariel had been able to last three days without shouting, hitting or hurting one of the troublemakers. Perhaps his patient attitude, some speculated, was due to the fact that his service would soon be over and he would be able to meet his daughters again. He had done his duty for eight years, as the law dictated, and it was time for him to leave the baton to the new generations.

But it was precisely those new generations who, night after night, had arguments and quarrels at the lighthouse. Either because one of them looked down on the other, or because the other did not like the jokes that one of them made about his mother. Finally, Ariel reached the room where the noise was coming from and pushed open the door. A chain of images and noises immediately alarmed her. The room was dark and the spotlights were off. He could see in the gloom that there was broken glass scattered everywhere and he could make out the figure of bodies on the floor, moaning in pain, crying out for help. What brought him back to his senses were those grayish shapes rushing at him.

He instinctively took aim with his rifle and pulled the trigger repeatedly. Each burst of gunfire illuminated the room allowing Ariel to appreciate the macabre scene. When the magazine had been emptied, the intruders had been lying on the floor for some time. He rushed over to one of the young watchmen, who was muttering a prayer as the life drained out of him, and snatched the whistle from him. He blew it as hard as his old lungs would allow, hoping that the guards on the lower floors would hear him. But as he looked out of the window, he knew he was too late, and fell to his knees in the middle of the darkened room.

"They're back," he cried madly.

The brightness of the stars showed a red moon in the sky, and the only noises that could be heard that cold summer night were the piercing cries of Ariel on top of the lighthouse and the uniform step of Them, who came out of the sea in a numerous grayish army.