Free Last Resort by Richard Dubois Page B

inform us what occurred. In the meantime, my staff and I will endeavor to make this situation as tolerable as possible.”
    “But the toilets aren’t working,” Don insists. “Where are we supposed to go to the bathroom?”
    Jonas—previously so sophisticated and courteous—wavers with distress by the fact that he must discuss provisions for the waste elimination of his guests. “I realize this is incredibly challenging for all of you. We will provide buckets for those purposes.”
    A plump British man at the back of the crowd bellows, “Buckets! What kind of nonsense is this? We are not living in the Dark Ages.”
    “We will close the restaurant shortly,” Jonas announces, a total reversal from his earlier advice for us to remain drinking at the bar. “Your safety is my first concern, followed, of course, by your comfort. So that you are not wandering in the dark trying to find your rooms, the staff will escort you. We will provide candles…and any other items you may require. Hopefully this issue will be resolved by morning.”
    Several in the crowd continue to grumble and gather in small groups to vent their displeasure, but the staff begins closing the restaurant, dispersing the irate crowds before they turn into a rowdy mob. A waiter holding a tiki torch guides a batch of us down the winding path to our rooms. It is so dark and the bungalows so identical that several times we try to enter the wrong one. Gwen and I reach our bungalow. The waiter hands us a small citronella candle and a bucket. Alone with Gwen, the room is as cheerful as a tomb. The gloom swallows the candle light. Without air conditioning, the air in the room is heavy and warm. Fumbling with my hands, I open the sliding glass door at the back of the room and throw the heavy curtains back to let fresh air into the room.
    I find a comfortable chair and sit on it. In the darkness, the creaking of the mattress is the only indication that Gwen rests on the bed.
    “Now I understand why the cavemen were so terrified of the night,” I muse. “With the setting of the sun it must have seemed to them that the world was coming to an end. No wonder they believed in so many myths and superstitions to explain things.”
    No response.
    “I expect we’ll have power tomorrow after an emergency generator is brought in from outside the island,” I continue. “Though I doubt we’ll have full power for some time.”
    “I’m leaving on the first plane out of here.”
    Her words echo off the walls like a gunshot.
    “There probably won’t be normal flights to and from the island for a few days,” I reply.
    Pause. “Then whenever the first plane leaves—tomorrow, the next day—I’ll be on it.”
    “You could always stay the rest of the week. We’ve paid for the time.”
    “There’s nothing to stay for. This marriage is over. You do not love me; I don’t blame you. What we had is dead and I killed it. It will always be the biggest regret of my life. Staying here any longer would just drag it out.”
    “But we’ve paid so much to come here.”
    “Then at least one of us should enjoy it. The money doesn’t matter to me. You should stay.”
    “If you leave I am leaving, too.”
    “No. Stay. It was more your idea to come here than mine, anyway. Also, I want to fly back alone.”
    So this is how a marriage dissolves. No screaming. No throwing things. Just this quiet discussion involving travel arrangements. I suppose I should feel a deep sadness, but I am numb. In a day or two, I’ll have this island to myself. Maybe I will do a lot of snorkeling. Sleep late in bed. Take meals in my room to avoid the curious glances of the other guests wondering why I am alone.
    I wait for Gwen to say something more, but there is nothing more to say. I fall asleep in my chair.

Chapter Six
    The air hangs on me like a warm, wet sheet. I open my eyes. A shaft of morning light falls into the room. I check my wristwatch. It is almost 9 a.m. The sheets on the bed are