A few weeks ago, while caught in a sudden downpour, I happened to seek shelter in the nearest shop -- which turned out to be one of those increasingly rare book stores that sell second-hand books, often from all over the world, and even more often including titles that have been out of print for years. I love books, and I love these book shops, and since the rain was coming down harder than ever and since I had an hour or so to spare, I spent the time browsing.
I probably should explain that I never only browse in a book shop; I never come away without at least one or two purchases, especially if the shop handles second-hand books. This is why my shelves are loaded with partly-read books, which accumulate faster than I can read them. This time I had fairly good luck, and came away with several books, including a biography of Chingis Khan and a tome on the Loch Ness Monster. Of course, while buying the books, I checked them for damage and read a few pages from the beginning -- I didn't go through the whole thing. One never has the time for that.
Yesterday, having some time to spare, I opened up one of these books, and began to read. The book, as it happens, was an account of the fire-bombing of Dresden in February 1945, not that it matters. This isn't about the book.
In between the pages about halfway through the book I found several sheets of thin notepaper, folded tight, and covered with very small but neat writing. It seemed to be part of a letter, but both the beginning and the end were missing. I have no idea who the writer was, and who the intended recipient, or which of these people (or a third person entirely) had kept these sheets in between the pages of the book. For that matter, I don't know whether it describes something that actually happened or is fiction. I'm just putting down here what it said, for reasons that will become apparent...
**************************
...and so in May I'd gone down to the island on vacation after all. You know what I'd always thought about that man, and I also picked the island because I knew well enough that he wouldn't be there. I'm sure, knowing him as well as you do, you know all about that.
Anyway, I'd known about the island, and naturally I knew about the nude beach as well. It's famous. And after the last year and all I'd gone through, you know I needed a bit of freedom and fun, and of course I couldn't miss out on that beach.
The hotel was good but not fancy. I don't need fancy accommodation, never did, so long as it was clean and cheap. I got there quite late in the afternoon, and all I wanted to do was sleep. You know that jetlagged feeling. All I did was strip, bathe, and drop into bed and i was out like a light.
The next morning I brought out that blue bikini I'd showed you and put it on. It's been so long since I wore a bikini that I felt strange wearing one, and almost guilty. He never would have allowed me to wear one, and all the time I was with him I'd kept it hidden. It had almost become second nature with me to keep myself in a sort of personal hiding space. Whatever I was, I'd kept to myself so long that even thinking of exposing myself a little bit was strange and heady -- and yes, guilty. Obscurely I felt I should be ashamed.
To get rid of that feeling I went straight to the beach, which is within easy walking distance of the hotel. May isn't the optimum holiday month on the island, as you know, so the beach wasn't quite as crowded as it would be later in the season, but there were maybe a hundred people there already. Most of them had swimsuits of some kind on, even one-piece affairs, but even as I slipped off my sandals, skirt and shirt and put them in my bag, I could see the first tops coming off. Then a few of the men took off their briefs as well. I'd read about nude beach etiquette, so I didn't want to stare, but after all those months with him, you can understand that it wasn't easy, especially since most of the people around me were as good-looking as models. I walked past a truly gorgeous woman lying naked on her stomach on the sand and reading a book, her legs wide apart, and past a man with a muscular body and a really good-looking circumcised penis, and it wasn't easy not to stare. It wasn't sexual, not really. I had just been away from the rest of humanity too long.
I walked down to the edge of the water, until the sand under my bare feet was hard and smooth and wet, and the foam was breaking around my toes. Before me lay the wide stretch of the sea, blue as blue, and a sky so clear that I felt the blue of it would mix with the blue of the sea and there would be no horizon. The sun glittered on the water, though, and after a time I was forced to turn away because the glitter hurt my eyes.
The beach there is long and curved, and at the far end there is a big jumble of rock. I decided to walk as far as that jumble of rock and sit there for a while, because I wouldn't have to look at all those good-looking naked people and I could have a little time alone. Somehow the idea of some time alone had become very important to me.
As I walked along the water's edge, I began to feel uncomfortable with the whole situation, and almost to force myself into the right mood I took my top off. That made me feel a bit more liberated, and right there I stopped and pulled my bikini panties off too. I put the bikini inside my bag and took out and put on my sunglasses. With them on I felt more natural about my nakedness. I don't know how to explain it. It was as if having my eyes covered made me feel anonymous and secure. Also, I felt I didn't have to worry about how my body looked -- it was my body, and mine alone. It was nobody's business but mine.
