Naval Captain's Diary.

Baltasar de la Cueva y Mendoza

Cape of Gata Lighthouse – Almería, Kingdom of Spain

It begins on July 17, 1891

At five thirty in the morning, with low tide, I saw him among the black rocks of Punta de la Polacra.

A Spanish boy, skinny, with skin burned by the sun, dark hair soaked.

He was wearing the life jacket of the "Isla de Cuba", sunk three days ago off Carboneras.

I carried him in my arms to the lighthouse.

He weighed less than the box of olive oil.

I undressed him, washed him with water from the cistern, and put him in my bed.

He has a high fever.

I gave him laudanum and cognac from the officers' pantry.

He's sleeping.

I look at him and already know he won't return to the world.

The sea has delivered him to me.

July 19

He opened his eyes.

Light brown, frightened, beautiful.

He tried to speak; only a moan came out.

I put my finger to his lips.

"Silence. I'm in command here."

He looked down and nodded.

I gave him water with honey from Cabo de Gata, using my own fingers.

He swallowed obediently.

Good sign.

July 23

He no longer has a fever.

I bathe him every evening in the tin tub, under the cistern.

At first, he covered himself; now he doesn't.

I cut his hair with my navigation scissors.

It looks better short.

I put one of my old linen shirts on him; it reaches down to his mid-thigh.

He looked at himself in the onboard mirror and blushed.

I told him he looked more handsome like that.

He blushed even more.

August 1

I tie his wrists every night with fine hemp rope.

I tell him it's "so he doesn't fall out of bed in his sleep".

He doesn't dream of falling.

He dreams of me.

On the third night, he already extends his wrists when he sees me enter with the rope.

August 15

I've taken all his clothes away.

Now he only wears a white linen pareo that I tie every morning.

He climbs the 148 steps of the lighthouse barefoot behind me.

And cleans the first-order optics with chamois and burning alcohol.

He lights the lamp at exactly 19:12.

When we finish, he kneels without being ordered to and waits.

I stroke his hair.

I say "good boy".

He gets teary-eyed.

I collect his tears with my thumb and make him lick them.

September 3

Tonight, I sat him on my knees in front of the large window of the lantern.

The lighthouse was rotating.

The beam swept the empty Mediterranean.

I hugged him from behind.

I covered his mouth with my hand.

I entered him very slowly.

He didn't scream.

He only trembled and cried against my palm.

When I finishe...