The Island (Fiction)
"Even if we did used to be married, it just feels weird undressing in front of you. Why don't you go ahead. I'll be out later." She watched James toss his clothes onto his bed and throw open the cabin door. He stood there a moment she could see he was hesitating. He turned back to her: "Well, have fun. It's not a big island. We'll catch up with one another soon enough." And he was gone into the dazzling light, descending the stairs to the sand.
Liz sat on her bed. A week in middle-of-nowhere, naked. There were people who spent their own good money for this kind of experience, she thought. James' boss was paying her pretty well to do this, for pretending to be James' wife, to help make sure they'd take him as a guest. Even by herself in the room, she undressed only hesitantly. She resisted the temptation to check herself in the mirror. She walked to the door, contemplated the doorknob for a moment, and eased open the door. It was cooler outside than in the cabin, but the sun felt warm, and drew her out. She closed the door behind her. She was relieved to see that she was completely alone.
She walked back the way they had come, toward the airstrip and the little reception office. A gentle wash from the lagoon was sweeping over the runway - no one could fly in or out at high tide, she realized. The door to the office was open. Liz climbed the steps onto the porch and peeked inside, but Malia and Afitu, who had welcomed them, were not there. No one was there. The porch offered a place out of the sun, and there were a few folding lawn chairs. She'd forgotten she was supposed to bring a towel, but found a stack of them inside. She helped herself, and stretched out to watch the ocean sparkling in and out over brilliant white coral sand.
James. He'd been a friend since their first year at Pennsylvania, before they were lovers, and was a friend now. Cool British accent, goofy sense of humor. Well, goofy for a business major. After their marriage it didn't take long to realize they weren't going to make a life together. Once he had his degree and his immigration papers, they let it go. She was glad he'd thought of her for this.
The jet lag washed over her in rhythm with the waves.
story continues: https://www.truenudists.com/group/the-island-fiction
The catamaran appeared. Two hulls, supporting a broad plywood platform, a motor on each hull, the pilot, standing, a woman in long pants and a t-shirt. It headed to the more open side of the lagoon. It stopped at a point there, and the boat approached it, ready to be led in.
As the boat entered the lagoon, a double-hulled canoe rowed out to meet it. A platform extended from the deck level. Four people stepped onto it, and a mechanism slowly lowered it to just above water level. The canoe with four rowers pulled alongside. The boat was some distance from shore and the people were difficult to see, but James, fascinated and with professional curiosity, concentrated on the process. The canoe pulled broadside up to the platform, and a person was helped into one of the hulls. The canoe then turned to bring the other hull alongside, and two people climbed in. No luggage was loaded. The canoe rowed toward the reception office, the catamaran came into position, and the fourth person on the platform stepped onto it. He and the pilot pulled up a rope attached to a buoy, which produced what looked like a heavy fuel or water hose, which they screwed into a coupling on the side of the boat. The platform was raised again. Another group of passengers, these laden with luggage, descended and stepped onto the catamaran, which then powered off elsewhere across the lagoon,
The canoe skimmed quickly over to reception office. Malia came out to join Afitu at the shore where two of the paddlers jumped out, the four of them firmly beaching the canoe. Liz stood on the porch watching for a moment, then walked outside to stand with James and be out of the way.
Far across the lagoon, a cloud now towered, darkening the ground below it, and suddenly poured rain down so heavily that the noise caught Liz's attention.
"Look at that." She pointed James' attention to the downpour.
"Wow. They're really getting hammered."
But there was no change in the activity of unloading the boat, and the sky was clear where they stood. James wondered how all this would be done in genuinely bad weather. He noticed oil drums being manhandled onto the deck.
Conspicuous in the approaching canoe was a broad, flowery hat, worn by a woman of a certain age, who also wore a similarly flowery pareu wrapped cleverly around her waist with a pleat that allowed her to take the wide step necessary to get out of the canoe. With a paddler on each arm, a heavy, muscular older man and an athletic woman of about twenty, naked as all four of the paddlers were, she allowed herself to be steadied firmly up the slight slope of the beach, where she put both hands into Malia's to further steady herself as the paddlers let go.
"Malia! So good to see you! Oh, I love being back here! It's been so long!" She pulled Malia into a tight hug.
Malia took a half step back to keep her balance, leaned into the hug, then with her hands on the visitor's shoulders pushed away to arms' length, and with a broad smile answered "Miss Miller, welcome. Did you have a good trip?"
"Oh, horrid. LA to Honolulu we sat on the tarmack forever. We just ran for our connection in Hawaii, no time to even pee, and the catering cart... Afitu! You're looking good!" Miss Miller pulled away to administer another firm hug, going on tiptoes to bring the brim of her hat over Afitu's head, bracing them together with a firm hold on his butt. She gave a squeeze. "Handsome as ever! Malia's one lucky woman!"
Over her shoulder, Afitu saw two naked men, each about thirty, stepping out of the canoe. These were not the distinguished British couple he'd imagined might be arriving today. "You've brought us company?"
"Oh, yes, yes. They didn't tell you? Wonderful boys. Conceptual artists. You'll love them."
"Hello!" she said, spotting James and extending her hand. "Helen, Helen Miller."
James took her hand with some hesitation, but he was not pulled into a hug; Helen took his hand into both of hers and looked him up and down. "James. James Edgerton. This is Liz." He nodded his head in Liz's direction.
"Jimmy! Have you been here long?"
"James. I go by James. No, we flew in this morning."
Helen let go James' hand, pulled off her hat and gave her head a shake. She went to Malia, handed her the hat, undid her pareu and handed her that. "Darling, I just can't wait!" And ran naked into the sea.
The paddlers pulled away back to the boat, and would soon enough return with luggage.
The two unexpected visitors stood alone for a moment, while Malia climbed onto the porch to set down Helen Miller's things. Afitu went to them to offer a handshake and welcome, and lead them up to the reception office.
Liz and James remained on the sand. James noticed the catamaran now loaded heavily with crates and oil drums, pulling away across the lagoon, barely above water, while the boat sat a bit high. "Quite the process, doing all this without a dock. I suppose there's no water deep enough."
"She's quite the character, Helen. Wanna go up and meet the new guys?"
"The chairs on the porch?"
Liz led the way, ducked into the office quickly to get a towel for James, set the chair for sitting upright. James took the one next to her. The canoe was headed back with luggage, James noted, and the boat had continued to rise in the water, now precariously high. They must be pumping out the bilge. But why into a hose? Afitu came onto the porch to answer the question. "Are they pumping fresh water out of the boat?"
"Yes," Afitu said, "they bring us water every time. Then fill up with seawater to go back." He went to the canoe as it arrived, and he and the paddlers hefted luggage up onto the porch. They conferred in words James did not understand, apart from "Mr. and Mrs. Bradford" and "Pago Pago."
"The British couple coming in later?" James asked.
"They delay. Fly in tomorrow."
Helen came happily out of the lagoon, shaking off water like a dog, and Malia swept down the stairs to meet her with a couple of towels. The two young men followed her as far as the porch. James stood in greeting. "Hello. Welcome. We just got in this morning. I'm James."
"Mark." He extended his hand. He was rail-thin, not very tall, with a noticeable dusting of blond hair over his whole body and thick shock of it falling into his face. "This is Wolf." Wolf was brown-haired, heavy muscles gone a bit slack. He avoided eye contact until he made the effort to offer his hand. Wolf said a heavily accented hello.
"Wie war deine Reise?" James ventured.
"Gut genug", Wolf replied, then, translating himself, "Good enough trip."
"This is Liz." Which Liz took as her cue to stand and shake hands around.
Each man identified his pack and picked it up. One of the paddlers asked if there were more, but that was all, and he offered to walk them to their cabin whenever they were ready. Helen sufficiently dry and wrapped in a towel, Malia came to say which cabin, and to apologize that someone would be along shortly to make up the bed and bring linens. She then went back to tend to Helen, with two more of the paddlers acting as porters. They headed off. Afitu and the remaining paddler pushed the canoe back into the water and headed off across the lagoon.
Mark and Wolf lingered. "Have you been here before?" Mark asked.
"No, this is the first time Liz and I have been here.
"
"Same for us. Helen loves this place. And we love being naked. It's how we got famous."
"You're famous?"
"A project we did in Berlin. Got a walk-up apartment we could outfit with bars to allow views into all the rooms. Then, for a year, we made ourselves an exhibit, like a zoo. Anybody could come, any time, bring us anything. They'd feed us, give us things to play with. Totally, absolutely, no privacy, which was kind of the point. Give us money, a lot of money as it turned out. The toothpaste and toilet paper were nice, too some people are genuinely kind."
"And some are assholes," Wolf interjected.
"Yea. We wondered how dangerous it would be. But Berlin is a safe city."
"And you were naked through all this?"
"Mostly. If somebody brought clothes we'd play with them, maybe put them on, maybe not. We're usually naked at home, anyway, so we just did our thing. Not naked for show, just being ourselves for show. We got great writeups. Helen manages us in LA."
James looked at Liz for silent permission to speak for her. "We're headed back to the cabins. May we walk with you?"
The sun angled under the coconuts as James and Liz, Mark and Wolf, and their paddler guide, walked into the area of the cabins. Liz and James followed along as the group made its way to the new arrivals' cabin. Liz caught sight of a net strung between two trees some distance away, now lit sunset-orange. "Is that for tennis?"
Their guide reported "Can be. Ground not so good for tennis. Badminton, volleyball things at dinner house for the games.
"Dinner ready when you ready. Maybe hour? Bar open. Someone come show you way."
James thought to object that he knew the way. Then, knowing how abruptly night falls in the tropics, allowed the offer to stand; it would be pitch dark in an hour. The group said their goodnights; the guide stayed with the new arrivals to check that their space was ready. As soon as James and Liz got back to their own cabin, James went to the toilet, lifted the lid of the tank, and dipped in a finger. "Seawater. They're flushing with seawater to conserve, the way they do in Hong Kong."
Liz couldn't help laughing. "You're really doing your homework. Peter had better appreciate that you tasted toilet water for the greater glory of Haverford Resource Management."
James sat on his bed, Liz sat on hers. They were naked together in a room for the first time since college days a decade ago. A silence fell. Out on the grounds they had lost consciousness of their nudity, but it weighed on them now. Liz realized there could be no rule requiring her to be naked in the cabin; she'd brought a beach wrap and outfits to travel in. Before that thought turned to action, James broke the silence. "Want to go on over to the bar?"
"That or fall sound asleep. It's been a long day. I guess we should show up for dinner. Give me a bit to get ready."
"OK. I'll be back in a minute. I left my flip-flops outside somewhere."
Get ready. It was such an automatic thought, a ritual, before going out. The ritual was mostly conducted by fussing with clothes, but it was indispensable. Well, she could brush her hair and splash water on her face, use the toilet in this brief moment of privacy.
James leading the way in dim light, they easily found the pavilion, lit by torches under its eaves all around, providing light and a little extra warmth.
There was no one in the dining area, but a bit of bustle in the kitchen, and as they came in, the bartender appeared. Liz was surprised to hear James address him by name. "Anjelo how's business?"
"Excellent, with such a distinguished gentleman and such a lovely lady" - with this, a slight bow - "as customers. What can I do for you?"
It was James' turn to be surprised. This was the shy, quiet kid he'd met this afternoon? He was not a kid now, he was the handsome young bartender, and playing the part well. Certainly physically qualified, tall had he been tall this afternoon? - slender with the muscles of a swimmer and paddler, a line of tattoos running around one arm and onto his chest, tawny skin just a touch lighter where a swimsuit sometimes sat. "Let us think a bit. Looks like you have everything back there?"
"We try. Just ask. Do have a seat would you like a table or will you sit at the bar before dinner?"
They chose the bar. Was there a charge for liquor? They didn't know. But it would not do to ask, and this was a thoroughly expense-accounted trip. Before they could order, an approaching group caught their ear. Helen. And Mark and Wolf. Being led through the dark by Afitu. Afitu took a table for one in a corner at one end of the bar, and the others headed for barstools.
"Looking good, Madame. Welcome back. One Adonis on each arm, I see you're in good form. Mark and Wolf beamed, and Helen charged up to the bar, reached over, and touseled Anjelo's hair.
"You gorgeous child! How about getting your sweetheart a glass of white wine?"
Liz had been wondering where Anjelo was getting all this flirtatious patter. Now it was plain if Helen had been coming here for years, she'd been touseling Anjelo's hair since childhood. Bartending, he was cribbing from her act. "You got it. Gentlemen?"
"Beer" Wolf replied.
"Local?"
"Why not."
"Hinano," Anjelo produced the bottle with a quick flourish. "Pour for you?"
"In the bottle, thanks."
Anjelo held the bottle for Wolf's inspection in a sommelier's gesture, caught Wolf with a one-eyed blink, "We want the gentleman to be satisfied." Then he popped the cap. "And our blond Adonis?"
"Same, thanks."
To James: "Sir?"
"Martini."
"Classic?"
"Certainly. Your girlfriend come in today?"
Anjelo's posture softened, and James was answered by the shy kid with the sweet smile and a touch of his father's pidgin accent. "Yes, she come. I see her tonight."
James had intended his question as a sally in the bawdy conversation, but changed course just in time. "You miss her when she's gone?"
"I miss her a lot." A pause, And then, raising the energy a couple of notches, "Classic martini, coming up, Mr. Bond." Anejelo crisply assembled the ingredients in the shaker and, judging the clientele perfectly, stood in front of Wolf to shake it, over one shoulder and then the other, much longer than it really needed to be shaken.
Liz thought this was cute, and funny, and pretty to watch. Out of the corner of one eye she noted, due to the particular expressiveness of the male anatomy, that Wolf was well entertained.
Martini in hand, James stood, and stretched, nodded a goodbye to all, and sought the comfort of a table and chair, taking a seat at a two-top in the pavilion. A moment later, Mark approached with his beer. "May I join you?"
"Please. Have a seat."
"You're from England by your accent?"
"Originally. North of England. I came to America for school, and been based there ever since. I work for a company that does industrial commodity brokerage, mining, heavy stuff, all over the world, so I travel a lot. Never seem to get back to England, though. I mostly do hand-holding with clients while the high-priced commission guys come and go to make the deals. Just spent three months in Poland. They're really opening up their economy now that the Soviet Union's gone."
"Wow. Wolf's from Vienna; I've spent time there, and Germany. Never been anywhere else but US, mostly LA."
"You grow up there?"
"Close. Lancaster, edge of the desert."
"So how did you end up locked in a cage in Berlin?"
"The conceptual art scene. I was part of that in LA that and waiting tables and there was so much going on in Vienna that I just had to go. Fun, but way too hardcore. Wolf's ex this was after we left for Berlin died in a project. He set himself up as an exhibit in a museum, lying on the floor circled by live electrical wire, and that circled by buckets of water the idea to make himself vulnerable to any attendee who cared to kick over a bucket. Somebody did. The courts decided it might have been an accident. And another guy did one too many body modifications, basically cut himself to death. And the Nazis. A lot of them were Nazis, sort of. Which they would not put up with in Germany, but in Vienna it got kinda fashionable. Among people, of course, that the real Nazis would have had no patience with. But close enough. Sending the occasional enthusiast to North Africa to keep Yasir Arafat warm at night, that sort of thing. Anyway, too much. So, Berlin. The cage thing was an inspiration, no accounting for that, but it got Wolf out of Vienna. It kind of creeps me out that Mr. Nakamura was in and out of that scene."
"Mr. Nakamura?"
"Yea, the guy that owns this place. Old guy, famous for being rich, some kind of industrialist in Japan, big arts guy. He and Helen go way back. I think he's going to be here."
"What's the connection with Helen?"
"Nakamura knows lots of artists, Helen's an art dealer. I don't really know, exactly."
The party at the bar quieted, and in the visible part of the kitchen, two women appeared. One, very large, strong, regal bearing, of indeterminate age; the other, younger. The bartender invited the three at the bar Liz, Wolf, and Helen to take a table, which they did as a body, leaving Mark and James to themselves. In their wake came the younger of the two women from the kitchen, with napkins and silverware with only five people expected, they had not pre-set tables.
As the server arrived at James' table, he felt acute embarrassment. She was stunningly beautiful tall, a thick braid of black hair down her back, broad-shouldered, statuesque, her nudity offset by an anklet woven of leaves and the attached dry fruits. She moved with a dancer's grace, and, setting the table, was necessarily very close. The embarrassment was that James did not know what to do with his eyes. Did she know she was beautiful? Would she welcome his gaze? She seemed in this regard the opposite of the young man at the bar. He followed her hands. She went to the bar for water, set that before them. "Will you want wine?"
"Mind if I join you?" Mark asked, bringing his morning coffee out from the pavilion to a chair beside the volleyball court. James glanced at Liz for a signal whether she felt they were through with their conversation. Liz answered with her reply to Mark: "Please. Beautiful morning, isn't it?"
James excused himself to go back to the pavilion, coffee cup in hand. "Back in a minute can I bring you anything?" "No, thanks," Liz answered. "I'll go later."
James found Malia at work in the kitchen and took a seat at the bar to watch her prepare a plate of fish and rice. "Anything you need?" "Just coffee, thanks, I'll help myself, Wonderful breakfast. A question, though. I'll want to make a phone call later, and we were told there's a phone we can use?" "Yes, radio. Someone take you to radio when you ready. When you want call?" "A couple of hours OK?" "OK. Find you then." Malia decorated the plate with a piece of fruit, gathered tableware, and headed out to the volleyball net to give Mark his breakfast. James was refreshing his coffee when Anjelo rushed in. "Good morning, Mr. Edgerton. Is mama here?" "She's out by the volleyball." James followed him there, coffee in hand.
"Mama, they say the plane will be coming in early. The Bradfords, and an American named Heather Green. I asked Sarah and Kahoa to come meet it."
"Who fly the plane?"
"They didn't say."
"Take a thermos coffee for pilot, whoever. I come later maybe."
"OK." Malia and Anjelo went back to the pavilion and in a few moments Anjelo re-emerged, naked now, with the coffee, and headed off.
Malia, watching her customers with a waitress's patient invisibility, came out to the net at just the right time to take away the breakfast dishes. Mark stood to offer a hand and walked away with her, returning in a few minutes with rackets and a ball. "Tennis, anyone?"
"On sand?" Liz wondered. "Sure. Beach tennis rules. You don't bounce the ball, just volleys. I'll show you." Liz stood and accepted a racket. James was content to sit and digest his breakfast.
Liz and Mark took up positions on the court and began gently batting the ball back and forth while Mark laid out the rules. They exchanged a competitive volley or two, then relaxed into a leisurely rhythm. After a coffee break, Mark asked "Ready to keep score?" "You're on." And the pace picked up sharply.
Neither player spoke, except as Mark called the score. They were both good athletes, James thought. Even scuffling in sand their volleys were a ballet controlled, exact. Only the softest parts of their naked bodies swung and jiggled without purpose. One of the Russian czars, he remembered reading, had a private ballet corps who, on command, would perform naked. And a ballet master complained that this spoiled the ballet, Not for reasons of modesty, but because the breasts and male genitalia aren't controlled by muscles. For the movement and music to match, the music would have to be written with a final, extra off-beat or two.
Liz won the first game, and after only a moment to catch their breath, they started the second. Even naked, Mark was starting to sweat, as the sun rose higher in the sky.
Ballet dancers bind those parts so tightly, James thought, to produce an appearance of absolute control, as the ballerinas tightly bind their hair. Maybe people in everyday life cover them for the same reason. It feels risky and vulnerable to expose a part of the body whose presentation you can't fully determine. Maybe that's why people spend so much time on their hair. Or cover it, too. Or cut it. Of course, in some cultures...
"James?" It was Afitu, whose approach James hadn't noticed, transfixed as he was by the game. "When you want to make radio call? I take you."
"Thank you. Any time. Let me go back to the cabin to get my notes."
"I walk with you."
Liz proved that at least once she could beat Mark at his own game, and satisfied with that, they both lay down their rackets and sat exhaustedly at courtside in the shade of a big umbrella. From one direction came Helen and Wolf Helen armored against the sun with another large hat, Wolf armored against the sand with conspicuously heavy sandals, both otherwise naked. From another direction came James and Afitu. Mark rose to join his travelmates as they scrounged brunch, and Afitu went to assist them; Malia had gone off.
Liz, now alone courtside, called out to James. "How did that go?"
"Brief, and frustrating. Peter didn't want to hear much about the place. He's focused on Nakamura, and I don't know why; he never so much as mentioned the man when we set up this trip. He told me to make conversation about art, and to call him at home again tomorrow."
"Well, it's a living, and he's the boss. I'm going to shower and lie down for a while." A few yards on, Liz crossed paths with a woman around thirty years old, slender, with a big mop of auburn hair. "Beautiful day. Are you just getting in? I'm Liz." Liz turned to backtrack with the new visitor.
"Yes, just flew in this morning. I'm Heather."
"Welcome. Have you been to the kitchen pavilion? It's just up ahead. This is..." Liz thought to say husband, and decided not to, thought to say friend, and decided not to, and after a hesitation she hoped would not be noticed: "...James. I'm headed back to the cabins for a while. I'm sure I'll see you later. Have a great visit."
"James, Hi. I'm Heather. Can I join you?" James gestured his assent. "I'm a creature of the darkness, and your umbrella calls to me."
"It'll probably cloud up soon; it certainly did yesterday." "James, have you been here long?" "No, we flew in yesterday morning." "You and Liz?" James quickly calculated an evasion on the question of their relationship. "Yes, she's fun to travel with." Heather continued her questions. "Is this your first time here?" "Yes." "What brings you here?" "Curiosity about the place. It's been a good experience so far."
Afitu walked up to them. "Miss Green, Mr. Edgerton. Mr. Nakamura invite guests to dinner today at his house. No dinner here at kitchen. You can come?"
"Certainly. Thank you," Heather answered. "Of course," James answered. "You tell Mrs. Edgerton?" James said he would. The "Mrs. Edgerton" caught him short; he was trying not to continue the pretense that they were married, but this had gone wrong. He expected a sharp look from Heather, and he got it. "Someone come find you to walk to Mr. Nakamura house later."
Seizing the initiative, James posed the standard query to Heather: "How do you know Kenji Nakamura?"
"I don't know him personally. I know he's run into legal trouble in Japan. I know he's been active in the European art market for a long time and is a major collector."
James volunteered "I hear that he's engaged with the modern arts scene in Vienna Wolf, one of the guests, is from there, and his partner Mark had some stories to tell. He's not fond of the guy. Have you met these people? Let me introduce you."
With that, James rose, and Heather followed him toward the pavilion, where the guests shared a table, tennis rackets leaning against a nearby chair, occupied otherwise by Helen's hat. "Heather, this is Mark, Wolf, and Helen. Heather's just gotten in this morning." Mark immediately stood. "Welcome, how was your trip? You hungry?" "Oh, no, not right now." "Up for beach tennis?" "I'll give a try, sure." Mark picked up a racket and handed it to her. James walked back toward the court with them.
Wasting no time, Heather asked Mark "I hear you've run across Kenji Nakamura in Vienna?"
"We ran in the same circles for a while, yes."
"James tells me you've got stories to tell."
"Yea. It's a pretty hardcore scene."
"Is he still buying and selling paintings?"
"I don't think so, maybe with older people. Our scene wasn't really about graphic arts."
They reached the court, and James yielded the umbrella to the pair, who set the rackets aside and sat together in conversation. James went to find Liz and relay the dinner invitation.
Liz dried in the sun after her shower, then went into the cabin to rest. She lay naked on her bed and closed her eyes, but found herself craving the comfort of a covering, even though the cabin was warm; she roused, and curled up in a sheet,
James climbed the stairs to the cabin, found the door ajar, and pushed in, to see Liz cocooned and asleep. As quietly as he could, he stepped back outside. At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped to feel the warm coral sand under his bare feet, to feel the nearly still air tickling every hair on his body. He widened his stance, opened his arms wide, and arched his back until he was looking up at the sky, now dotted with clouds. As he stretched he felt the warmth of his own blood, pulsing out of his tight, fatigued muscles. He relaxed, took a few steps away from the cabin, and stood again, feeling taller, more comfortable and at peace than he had been so far on the trip.
Feeling no obligation to observe and report the details of the place, he walked aimlessly for a while, relaxing into the experience of simply moving in the warm air, his nakedness helping him to feel present, fully a part of the gentle surroundings. He chose a path well away from the resort buildings, and found himself approaching the ocean side of the island, hearing the surf. The open ocean was forbidding, powerful, and the shore was steep. He clambered toward the water, moving carefully with full attention to each movement of his bare feet, each touch of his hand onto the rock, enjoying the exploration for its own sake, until he found himself dampened with spray. Climbing along the shore, he came to a pool of water pushed up into a depression by the waves, and waded in. He watched the ocean. Felt the alternation of spray and warm sun on his skin. Sensed the rhythm of the waves. And when it felt right, he threw himself onto the surface of the pool with a splash, shuddered, turned face up, and let his body go soft. Only a moment he was too conscious of the ocean to put himself at its mercy for long and then he stood, waded out, climbed away from the water a bit, and sat looking out across the water as the shadows of clouds moved across it.
Gathering clouds signaled the advancing day. It was time to rejoin civilization. He stood, nearly dry, brushed off a bit of sand, and headed back toward the resort.
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