the mortis Read Online Free Page A

By the end, Park is feeling pretty good about himself.  She even offers to waive the registration fees for a couples-only Mirasai cooking class tomorrow. 
    Park looks at her.  “You want me to make my own food,” he says.  “In a classroom.  On an island.  During my vacation.”
    Rina smiles.  “Think of it as a broadening activity,” she says.  “Trust me.  It’s fun.”
    He scans the brochure she gave him.  The title at the top reads For Those Who Can Stand the Heat and Who Are Ready to Jump into the Fire. 
    “People do this?” he asks.
    “ Men with wives do,” she says.  “You should think about that.”
    She ’s got him there.  “So I pay you money, and in exchange, I get to cook for myself.”
    “ You don’t pay,” she says.  “I do.”  She waves him away.  “Now shoo.  Go, have fun.”
    “ Do I get to wash my own dishes too?”
    “ Shoo.  Have a good time,” she says.  “And, again, please accept our apologies for what happened.”
     
     
    As Park is about to turn and walk away from the front desk, Rina asks him to hold on.  One more thing.  Would you be willing to write a positive online review, she asks.  Something for one of the major hotel booking websites.  Five stars, if possible.  It would mean a lot, she says. 
    Before Park can respond—yes, of course I will write a review, no problem—he feels a hand come down hard on his shoulder from behind.
    When Park turns around, he finds himself face to face with the man from the line.  Presumably the father of the two boys, the husband of the woman.  Park completely forgot about the family waiting. 
    The man is staring at Park with what looks like an expression of disgust. 
    “You’re not the only one here,” the man says.
    Park nods.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry,” he says.  “It was wrong of me, completely over the line.”
    “ Out of line,” says the man.
    Park pauses, looking at the man.  “Okay.  Out of line.” 
    The man nods.  Still staring.
    At his back, Park can hear Rina talking on the two-way again.  She should really be helping this guy right now, not chatting. 
    “ Look.  I was an asshole.  You’ve made your point,” Park says, and he tries stepping around the man, but the man steps right along with him.  Maintaining an uncomfortable proximity.  Blocking the path.  Park tries a couple more times to walk away, but the result is the same.
    Park stops and stares at the man.  A white man, not too much older than he is.  Maybe fifty-some years old.  Khaki shorts and an Aloha shirt and flip-flops.  The man looks like a beachcomber more than a brawler.
    “Sir, let’s not do this,” Park says.  “This is supposed to be vacation.”  He gestures toward the glass doors leading outside.  “Your family is watching us—that’s your family right?  This isn’t the memory you want them taking back home.”
    “ Don’t speak on them,” says the man.
    “ Come on—are you serious?”
    “ I decide what memories they have.  Not you,” the man says.
    Park shakes his head.  He isn ’t getting anywhere, and his patience is just about used up. 
    “ Do you want them to have a memory of me beating you?” Park asks.  “Is that what you’re deciding for them?  If not, you should move aside and let me walk—that’s all I’m trying to do.”
    The man says something in response, but Park doesn ’t quite catch it—his attention is pulled away from the man, toward the two boys, still waiting in line.  They’ve started shoving each other.  Back and forth, trading off.  Pushing with everything they have.  The mother is busy staring silently at the marble floor.
    Park tries to interrupt the man.  “Sir,” he says.  “Goddammit, sir.  Listen.  Your kids.  Look.”  Park points.  “They’re fighting.”
    The man doesn ’t stop speaking and he doesn’t turn around.  His voice has risen to the level of a yell.  The man starts moving toward Park, advancing,