Hotel Finis Vitae

First published - August 03, 2019

In a far off time in a nearby place, on a beach with their bare feet being lapped by the sea and hands clasped together, stand a man and a woman.  They are not old but neither are they young and, though their faces show the lines of life's tribulations, their eyes are still bright.  

As I sit on the rock close by, I watch as they talk to each other in hushed tones, as they embrace and as he wipes away a stray tear which rolls down her cheek.  He gently cups her face between his two still strong hands and kisses her tenderly. As she turns her head, I can now see lines of pain etched on her face and, for the briefest moment, the brightness fades from her eyes. He sees it too and takes a sharp intake of breath as his heart seems to stop momentarily.  Still holding hands they turn and begin to walk slowly across the sand. She stumbles and he quickly adjusts his arms to take the weight of her failing body and he whispers words of comfort to her.  It is his pain I now see as he steers her towards their hotel.  

The hotel is a majestic building in the style of a French chateau. It's grey slate roof, pale shutters and gleaming white walls seem to shimmer against the blue sky and gives the building a supernatural aura. I rise to my feet and follow - it is my job after all. As I walk through the white sand, my feet make no sound and the couple remain unaware of my presence.  They enter the hotel through the gothic front door and walk to the reception desk. Then the man turns to his wife and says "It's time?"  I feel, rather than see her signal her agreement and her husband turns to the concierge and says "We will be checking out shortly." The concierge replies "Certainly sir" and nods silently to me as he opens the door to let them through.

I watch as he puts the key card into the slot and, as the red light changes to green, they push the door open and enter.  The room is not large, is stylishly furnished but not ostentatious. The walls are painted in a soft white and decorated sparingly with pictures of the night sky and a nostalgic scene of life in a fishing village long since disappeared. The high ceiling is adorned only by a chandelier whose individual droplets make star shapes on the walls as rays from the sun pour in through a large window.  In the centre of the room is a large bed.  It is old.  It's four posts are made of the finest mahogany now worn and faded with the passage of time and the thick curtains which once adorned them no longer hang there. 

"Are you ready?"  

She nods.

The couple make their way to the bed and he makes his wife comfortable and lies down next to her.  She puts her head on his chest, he holds her to him,. She feels a gentle kiss on the top of her head as she reaches out and presses a button on the wall.  There is a prolonged hiss and the sweet smell of summer flowers and I watch as quietly, as they gently fall into an unending sleep.  

After a while, the concierge enters the room and makes his way to the bed.  Glancing down he whispers the words "finis vitae sed non amoris" and the couple awaken.  Seeing me for the first time they smile and, together, we step out into the long corridor and walk into the sunlight. 

Outside on the beach a boy and a girl are laughing together as they build sandcastles close to the waters edge.  One of the sandcastles looks like a French chateau with sea shells for tiles and walls of white sand which seem to shimmer in the sunlight.

"Finish vitae sed non amoris"

The end of life but not of love.