I wake from my afternoon nap in my office, rise from my fold-out chair and push the button to trip the electric switch that will lift the roll-down blinds that cover the sliding glass doors that face the sea. Nothing. I turn on the lights. Nothing. I can see a crack of sunlight where the blinds don’t quite meet the wooden patio deck.
I open the door to my office, traverse the couple of feet to our bedroom door, open it, and see my wife lounging like a Greek goddess in her silk pajamas on the bed, her luxurious hair spread out in rivulets on the pillow, reading Circe. Her medical mask lies on the floor. Our bedroom blinds are open and she is bathed in sunlight.
“No electricity,” she says. “Ha! They are erecting the electric pole I knocked down last month. He, he, he.”
She looks at me with her alluring green eyes. I am frozen in place. I want to go to her, kiss her, make love to her. I want to return to my office and take a shower and put on clean pajamas, but I know the water pump isn’t working without electricity. I try to answer her but I just stand there looking into her eyes.