The woman carefully peeled back the top of the thick leather suitcase after unzipping it.  She glanced at her clothes lying within.  She had carefully packed so as not to cramp the clothes and make them incorrigibly wrinkled.  She gently lifted her baby blue dress from the top of the suitcase.  As she brought it out from the suitcase it unfolded and the heavy fabric dropped towards the ground with a quick wafting motion.  There was a noticeable wrinkle down the folding point but with a few controlled shakes it almost disappeared.  The woman walked over to the closet and opened the folding doors.  She obtained a thick brown wire hanger and returned to the bed upon which the baby blue dress lay next to the suitcase.  Again she lifted up her dress and carefully shook it.  She then inserted the hanger into the top of the dress and straightened it out.  The door knocked as she was beginning to approach the closet.  Her head attentively swung towards the door and a look of uncertainty spread across her face.  She hung the dress on the left side of the closet and quickly went to get the door.  She assumed someone from the hotel staff had come up and opened the heavy oak door without reservation.  There in front of her, clad in a simple orange robe, stood a very short Oriental man with a shaved head .  He looked up at her expressionless and taciturn.  He began to walk into the room and she moved aside out of sheer confusion.  The ostensible monk walked directly to her suitcase.  She, completely offended, but remaining at the door, asked him, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Seemingly with complete motive the monk lifted up her suitcase and held it by his side.  Half of the carefully packed clothes spilled out in a jumbled mess onto the floor.  The woman was angered by this intrusion and, leaving the heavy oak door open, quickly began to walk towards the monk yelling at him for his rudeness.  The monk turned towards her, looked into her eyes, and raised a single finger up in front of her face.  The woman seemed to be mesmerized by this action and stopped dead in her tracks.  The monk resumed his course of action and began to walk towards the balcony of the hotel.  He opened the sliding glass door with one hand.  The humid ocean air quickly filled the air conditioned room and the roaring sounds of the ocean replaced the silence of the room.  The woman's head subtly moved back from the cross ventilation that ensued and her hair streamed towards the hotel door from which the monk had entered the room.  Her eyes, still glued to the monk, watched as he lifted the suitcase up and with two hands thrust it into the ocean that lie eight stories down .  A few pieces of stray clothing flew back towards the building and landed on the sidewalk that hugged the hotel but the suitcase with the remaining clothes dashed onto the waves below and quickly sunk into the dark, bubbling sea.  The woman watched  as the monk casually glanced at her with no emotion and then walked out of her hotel room. 

The woman, still entranced, walked out onto the balcony.  She looked down into the dark waves and wondered what would become of her bag.  She thought about it hidden beneath the opaque veneer of the ocean surface.  Right now it was probably lying on the shallow beach floor.  It would, undoubtedly, be carried towards the beach.  But it would probably never reach the land.  It would come to shallower and shallower water and then, upon the tow of a strong wave returning to its nautical origin, would be carried out to sea to be forever lost. 

Looking into the maelstrom below like a witch peering into animal entrails for prophecies, she thought back to the time, as a  little girl, that she visited her uncle in Maine.  He was the keeper of a lighthouse on a remote, and dangerous point.  He, her mother's brother, was many years older than her mother.  He was a strange man who had never gotten married.  He lived a simple existence on the desolate point and rarely went into the nearest town, and then only for supplies.  Her uncle used to tell her stories about ghost ships and horrible wrecks.  The point that he lived on was prone to receive a great deal of fog and, in spite of the lighthouse, ships wrecked on the jagged rocks time and time again.  Her uncle would do his best to save sailors but many drowned in the cold water and, like her suitcase, were eternally condemned to roam the deep ocean floors and disintegrate slowly in Neptune's abode. 

What she really remembered about her visits to her uncle's place was the encrusted relic that hung above the stately stone fireplace.  Her uncle would go beach combing every time there had been a storm; he explained to her that that was when the ocean coughed up its unsettled meals.  It so happened that one time when he went beach combing he saw a long stick-like object near the wave front.  He picked up the object and noticed its heavy weight.  It was covered with barnacles and shells.  He knew immediately what it was—an ancient Spanish musket.  He chipped away most of the barnacles and hung it above his fireplace.  The little girl used to spend hours looking up at it while being warmed by the fire.  It was fascinating to imagine the history of the implement.  It was probably used by soldiers and then by murderous pirates.  It killed men and blasted their corpses into the furious sea.  And then, one unsuspecting day, it probably sunk with a ship in Florida, or Haiti, and followed the whims of the tide forevermore.

The woman just couldn't help imagining the same thing happening to her thick leather suitcase.  It would probably become a home for hideous creatures.  Crab and shrimp would scurry in and out of it with their leprous little legs.  They would crawl up into its recesses and, squatting, emit little, slimy, bulbous objects.  Then other animals would snap them into their mouths.  A few of the little slime warts would cling inside a crevice or remain behind a torn lining.  Then, after some time, hundreds of microscopic little animals would come alive and scurry around inside the lining until they were big enough to claw their way out and search for food. 

The suitcase would travel around on the ocean floors, be dropped into cavernous openings, ripped back out during storms, and eventually after many years the bag would disintegrate, like the sailors. 

The woman was abruptly brought out of her Saturnine ruminations by a battery of three methodical knocks on her opened door.  She turned around quickly to see a bellboy of medium stature standing, in full uniform, just inside the threshold.  He, looking directly forward and standing perfectly erect, said, "The security officer wanted me to convey the management's sincerest apologies for any intrusions caused by a tall man dressed in Egyptian garb.  We have apprehended him and he will disturb you no longer.  We received complaints from many people on this floor concerning the man." 

The woman, again completely confused, retorted, "No, no one of that description bothered me but a short man who was apparently some kind of monk came in and hurled my suitcase off the balcony."

The bellboy, showing no signs of confusion, approached the balcony and quickly looked down into the waves below.  He then rigidly escorted the lady back into the room and closed the door behind him.  The cross ventilation stopped and the room was quickly engulfed in a profound stillness.  He turned and marched off to assume his previous position in the exact place that he had left; one could hear his feet connect with the floor.  He then chimed in, "We are terribly sorry if you have been disturbed.  We will search for the short man right away.  Come down to the front desk in one hour and the manager will reimburse you for any damages."

The woman, in response said, "Thank you very much.  Tell the manager I will come down shortly." 

The bellboy, a bit vexed, stated, "One hour please!" 

"Fine, fine, I will come down in one hour."

"Thank you madam.  I will inform the manager of your difficulties."  The bellboy slowly backed out of the room, his eyes still directed straight in front of him.  As his heels and hindquarters edged across the threshold there were some quick shouts that sounded like they were just down the hallway.

"There he is, get him!"  The bellboy, his eyes wide open, became quite animated.  His terse movements became fluid and he bolted out of the room.  The woman was completely shocked by this and rushed towards the door.  She watched as four members of the hotel staff, two shouting messages into walkie-talkies, rushed past her door.  Shortly behind them followed a man, dressed solely in boxer shorts, whose mouth was taped and whose wrists and ankles were bound tightly with rope.  He was doing his best to keep up by hopping violently and breathing heavily through his nose.  As the whole entourage passed, the woman looked down the hall after them.  The pseudo-bellboy was quite aways ahead of them and had just made it into the stairwell.  The bound man, apparently the real bell boy, was still hopping after the group and then fell suddenly on his face making a single loud grunt.  The woman, confused but not really frightened, slammed her door like Pontius Pilate as if to absolve her self of the whole mess.