Foam and Ashes

he old Mercedes bounced up and down on the bumpy road as it drove deeper into the tropical heat. Outside the window, the jungle rushed by — thick, wild green that looked like it was trying to swallow the road. Inside the car, the air conditioner was working at full power, but it was losing the fight against the sticky equatorial humidity.

Emmy sat with her back perfectly straight. Her small, thin body in a buttoned-up blouse looked out of place against all that wild green. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight, painful-looking bun.

Her fingers flew quickly over the laptop keyboard. The laptop was getting hot from all the work, but Emmy’s hands stayed cold — that’s how focused she was. On the screen, the title of a new file glowed: “The Anatomy of Falling: How Modern People Trade Their Dignity for Dopamine.”

“We haven’t even reached the gate yet, and you’ve already written the summary for the first chapter,” Chris said quietly.

He was sitting next to her, taking up almost the entire back seat. He was broad-shouldered, with thick messy hair, and he already looked like he was starting to get used to the heat. His linen shirt was a little wrinkled, and the top buttons were undone. Chris looked out the window at the palm trees flying past.

“We only have ten days, Chris. Ten days to gather enough material for a bestseller,” Emmy said without turning her head. Her voice was calm and even. “The publisher isn’t waiting for travel notes. They want a deep study. I can’t waste time on ‘getting used to the climate.’”

Chris sighed. He reached over and gently covered her fingers with his hand, making her stop typing for a second.

“I know we came here for the book,” he said softly. “I agreed to this crazy trip myself. But ... maybe we can also leave a little space for us? So it doesn’t turn into twenty-four-hour research?”

Emmy slowly turned her face toward him. She carefully pulled her hand away. But not to hold his hand — she lifted her fingers to her nose and adjusted her glasses, making them perfectly straight.

“Chris,” she said in a slightly teacher-like tone, “the book will only be honest if we are inside the process. This whole resort is one big social experiment. And we are part of it. You said yourself you wanted to understand where ‘civilization’ ends and real human nature begins.”

“I wanted to understand it with you,” Chris said with a small smile, “not under your microscope.” He moved his hand away.

The taxi suddenly stopped in front of big wooden gates. A heavy, sweet smell of exotic flowers immediately filled the car, stronger than the cold air from the conditioner.

Above the gates hung a dark wooden sign:

“Leave your clothes and your prejudices here. Your true self is waiting inside.”

Emmy opened the voice recorder app on her phone and spoke clearly while looking at the sign:

“Recording number one. Approach to the object. First marker: aggressive marketing of ‘liberation.’ We haven’t even gotten out of the car, and they’re already asking us to give up our protection. Chris is looking at the gates with clear curiosity. This is the perfect starting point to observe the transformation of a ‘normal’ man in conditions of total permission.”

Chris stayed silent. But Emmy noticed how he unconsciously leaned forward, staring into the thick green behind the gates. That “curiosity” was exactly the material she needed ... and at the same time, it scared her more than anything else.