Barely There

“What optional?” Samson Spinner asked.

“Clothing, it says. Clothing optional. You can wear something, or not.”

“On his beach?”

“He calls it au natural,” young Jillian Clements replied. “He has it on a sign. With drawings. He says it’s very common in Sweden.”

“Says they are very open-minded there,” her brother Alun added.

“Get in the pickup,” Samson said.

Indeed, Erik Karlsson, the new Swede and great-great-nephew of the late Svensen, had posted a sign on his property line in front of the shack he had inherited from the Swede: “THIS BEACH IS CLOTHING OPTIONAL, AS OF THIS WEEKEND” In the bottom corner—“$5 PER PERSON.” He had drawn two cartoon figures, one a man in an approximation of a Speedo, back to the viewer, the other a woman in her birthday gear, face on.

“Christ,” Samson said.

Erik emerged from his cabin, grinning.

“What y’think, Samson, eh? You gonna take a dip, without … y’know?” and he mimed getting undressed. “Just like you came into the world, so should you swim.”

Samson asked if Erik thought maybe he was in Vancouver, where “that stuff might be all right.” And after a second added, “It’s against the bylaws.”

“Show me those,” Karlsson said.

By the time Samson returned, after a fruitless search for anything resembling bylaws at the mayor’s house, a couple fresh off the ferry was parading, sans cover, along the strip of sand and pebbles. They looked to be maybe in their fifties and with shapes that suggested their occupations away from the beach were of a sedentary nature.

“Flopping around like that, can’t they see themselves?” remarked Rachel Spinner, who had followed Samson to the site. “Isn’t there a law or something?”

Beside her, RCMP Constable Ravina Sidhu said, “Hmmm, well …”

Ravina had been alerted by both Samson—who had suggested an offence against public decency was underway—and by Erik Karlsson who had claimed that his constitutional rights to have whomever he wanted to do whatever they wanted to on his beach, were under threat from Samson and “a gang,” which now included the Clements kids, keen on having a second look, councillors Finbar O’Toole, Randolph Champion, and Annabelle Bell-Atkinson, and the geeks.

Behind this lot, on the track down to Karlsson’s beach, trundled a growing trail of Inlet citizens who had somehow been alerted to the goings-on. Among these were Cameron Girard, with his digital camera gear, much of the population of the seniors centre, and the curious Aila and Ali Hanif.

“I think we would not have this kind of thing in Kabul,” Ali explained to the reporter.

“You think?” his wife asked.

The nude pair seemed to be unaware of their audience. They were involved in a number of what seemed to be dance movements, their gazes focused first on the far horizon and then to the heavens, as their bodies came gradually closer together.

“Oh, oh,” one of the geeks observed.

“Oh, boy,” Randolph chuckled.

“Would you look at that, now!” Finbar said.

“Some people!” Rachel declared, and Finbar grunted, “Right you are,” and kept staring.

“Close your eyes,” Annabelle to the geeks. “And turn away.”

The geeks obeyed, collided, and denounced one another’s clumsiness.

Annabelle turned to Ravina. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“What are you going to do? They’re guilty of indecent exposure on a public beach.”

“Private beach.” Erik Karlsson, beside her.

Ravina was busy on her tablet. “Just a sec.”

“And they’re not exposed anymore.” Erik pointed.

The couple was almost submerged, just their heads now visible. They were very close together as they bobbed along in a rhythm either of their own devising or to blend with that of the gently incoming tide.

“I think he just kissed her,” Jillian Clements said.

“Or something,” her brother suggested.

“If this catches on …” Samson warned, but to deaf ears.

Two of the seniors, Hyacinth Jakes and Willard Starling, who had recently formed an attachment, began edging toward the sand. Hyacinth pointed to Karlsson’s board and asked if there was a seniors rate.

Rachel told them to grow up and go home.

By this time Julie Clements had arrived. She pointed at the children. “Home. Now.” Then she glared at Samson and said, “Some example you are,” and departed.

Samson called after her, “What did I do?” Then, “Christ.”

Ravina looked up. “Here’s something.”

She beckoned to Erik, and when he reached her she indicated her tablet. “It’s about property boundaries and briefly it says that your property extends to the high-tide mark. The land below that belongs to the provincial government, that is, the Crown.”

She indicated the two nature lovers who were emerging from the waves.

“They are on Crown land. Your cabin is about five feet away from the high-tide mark. Nobody is going to want to go starkers in front of your place with you ogling them …”

Erik raised a hand to object. Ravina said, “Be quiet,” then, “I hope that wasn’t your intent, Mr. Karlsson, to charge people for taking their clothes off in front of your windows. There may be no law against it, but it seems a bit weird to me.”

She looked around for confirmation and received nods. She glared at Cameron Girard, who suddenly found he had no use for his fancy camera.

Rachel picked up the pile of clothes and held them out to the approaching nudists. “You’ll need these on the ferry,” she said. She showed them her wristwatch. “And hurry or you’re going to be late.”

Samson took a small pry bar from his belt. “Help you with the sign, Erik.”