The storm changes the sky to a mix of blues and blacks, grey clouds that clash, furious rain that seems to announce that something bad is coming. My bones ache, and my back becomes a single shiver. It’s so humid that I can’t light my pipe, even under a roof. They are coming, I know. I can still see that mocking smile, full of a mix of shiny teeth and empty spaces, the sun on his back. Then lightning. Then, a storm, and the ship, destroyed, in the rocks, the faint luminosity of the lighthouse, the infernal ascent through the rocks. They should be dead, but they come. They know I betrayed them. This storm is the same. I know I’ll see his smile shortly before I meet my grave.