It was cool in the bedroom, refreshing, and comfortably peaceful in the dark atmosphere. One could see the shadows of the palm leaves projected on the far wall and the ceiling.

     Eventually, and all too soon as it seemed, we dressed. I went outside onto the balcony, waiting for her there. I watched the gas-torches on the grounds. A breeze had come up. The giant fans of palm trees were swaying in the wind. The flames flickered. I wondered what we might have to face when we resumed our mission. Would we be able to return? Would we be able to stay together? Would we survive the next day, or would the nuclear fire spread further and destroy everything that is fragile, beautiful, and human?

     When I looked up I noticed Jennie standing beside me. She smiled at me. She said she was ready now.

     "We may not survive this," she said. "But if this is the end, let's end our life as human beings, helping one another."

     I smiled back at her and nodded. Still, in spite of the happiness I felt being with her, I couldn't shed the feeling that this day might be our last one on the islands, if not our last day altogether. I didn't dare voice the thought. However, to judge by her lack of talkativeness, she might have been thinking the same.

     I took great care to close all of the windows, took my coat from the rack, stepped outside and locked the apartment thoroughly, dead bolt and all, as though we wouldn't be back for many days. This time I decided to be true to my feelings. Perhaps Jennie did, too, for she suggested that we select the longest possible route to the parking lot, across the gardens, lawns, along the beach, past both of the swimming pools, the lily pond....

     At the lily pond, we stopped to watch the old toads with great interest. Jennie had to laugh. They obviously believed themselves to be perfectly hidden, while in fact they were right in plain view near the torchlight. We could actually touch them before they would notice us and jump away.

     It was fun chasing the toads, seeing Jennie laugh again like a child, and holding hands with her as though we were children, indeed, holding on to each other. By this playing the heavy mood dissipated. It was as if the New World we had touched upon had won us over. The Old World lay in flames, everything of value in it had been torn apart. But out of this chaos and fear a new spark had sprung that lit a fire in us that was new, a flame-less fire that seemed to be building, a fire that wasn't destructive.

     We walked to the car arm in arm. I felt great. For years I had denied myself the right to be this close to her. I had denied myself what now seemed like one of the most basic rights of any human being to associate intimately with other human beings. We ended up embracing each other in full appreciation of our newfound reality, as two human beings, male and female, bound to one other by nothing more than a commitment to being alive. And this we were. We were intensely alive. In this fashion we arrived at the restaurant.

     "Oh, what a romantic place this is!" she said excitedly as we entered. She was delighted with everything about it, the setting, the decor, and the atmosphere. I shared her feelings. The place was charming, simple, and comfortable. By name it was a steak house. We had smelled the aroma of roasting steak long before we crossed the street. Still, Jennie wanted to have something special, something unique to the islands, rather than steak. Following the waiter's suggestion we ordered the Mahi Mahi, which simply means the 'right' fish, the finest fish of the season. It was well prepared, covered with a delicious dressing, graciously served with a glass of white wine.

     We had been seated in a quiet corner, at a table by the seashore. We could see the surf in the moonlight. The place was dimly lit. Soft music filtered from nearby speakers, mingled with the sound of the surf. This was exactly the contrast that we needed, a contrast to a world that we tried so hard not to think about. It was amazing that the restaurant was still in operation, and that the prices had remained the same as one would have expected in normal times.

Next Page

|| - page index - || - chapter index - || - Exit - ||

Stories about  Healing from novels by Rolf A. F. Witzsche