The Prize (117 page)

The lights—not the overhead lights, but the banked sunlamps across the floor—blinded him, and he shaded his eyes. Before he could adjust himself to the vast hall, or to who or what was in it, he saw Lilly. She was advancing towards him, carrying a pad and pencil in one hand, and she was smiling. He had not seen her completely naked in the light before, and now there was nothing to conjure up in passion’s mind. It was all there before him, revealed, obvious, matter-of-fact, and natural. The two young-blown fleshy breasts bobbed as she walked, and the nipples were not points, as he had remembered them, but circular crimson stains, flat and soft and the texture of velvet. Below the navel fold, the body rose and fell and swelled in perfect lines of classical Hellenic female maturity.

Craig was moved that this was his, and yet, to his relief, he was not moved with desire. It was as if, with many others, he was sharing enjoyment of a wonder of nature. There was detached, objective pleasure, but there was no sexual involvement.

‘Now, do you not feel better?’ Lilly was asking.

‘I’m still a little drunk.’

‘I know. But it is good to have your clothes off and be like God made you and be healthy, is it not?’

‘I suppose so. . . . You’re incredibly lovely, Lilly.’

‘We do not speak or think of such things here,’ she said, but enjoyed the compliment. ‘All nudists are lovely in one way or another.’

‘What’s going on here?’ he asked, looking off. His eyes had become accustomed to the glare, and now, for the first time, he could make out the nudists in the gymnasium.

There were bodies everywhere, and of every description, at least two hundred men and women, young and old, some lying on mats beneath the sun-lamps, some sitting on the rows of wooden benches communing with one another, some standing about in conversational groups, and a dozen or more playing volleyball. There were lanky men and chunky men and skinny men and fat men. There were middle-aged women and young women, and small immature breasts and mountainous breasts and some as perfect as Lilly’s own. There was no self-consciousness, no inquisitiveness, no atmosphere of sexuality. Almost no one looked at Craig, as he moved towards the front of the row of benches with Lilly, and soon he found that there was no need to study or stare at anyone else.

Lilly indicated the third bench, and they seated themselves, and she crossed her bare legs to support her pad.

‘Well, what do you think, Mr. Craig?’

‘I’d never have believed it possible,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘To see so many females in a state of undress and not be a bit aroused.’

‘I told you it would be so,’ she said. ‘It is clothing that arouses. If a woman wears a dress, there is always a man who thinks of what is beneath it. And little pieces of clothes are the worst, like the low-cut gown or bathing-suit or bikini, because they put your eyes and attention on certain places of the body. But if you are nude and see those places of the body revealed on everyone else, there is no mystery or stimulation, and you take it for granted, and you are healthy. Mr. Tapper—he is our director you saw in the entrance—he has said it is suggestion that makes all the trouble. He has said millions of dollars are made through suggestion of sex, because people are curious about the mystery. The burlesque in the night-club, the fadeout in the cinema, the asterisks in the book—they are to tease you about the anatomy. But if you are a nudist, you are not teased, and it is open and better.’

‘I never knew you were a student of morals, Lilly,’ said Craig with a smile. ‘But yes, Mr. Tapper is right, and you are right. All I’ve got against public nudism is that it would do away with sex.’

‘Oh, Mr. Craig, you are joking.’

‘Yes, I am joking,’ he said.

Mr. Tapper, divested of his polka-dotted bathrobe, proved to be all ribs and knobbly knees, and looked oddly incongruous behind a public address microphone. He was calling the meeting to order in Swedish. Men and women lifted their bodies from the mats, and the conversational groups broke up, and the volleyball game ceased. Everyone was being seated, row upon row of shoulder blades, spines, and buttocks against wood.

‘He will speak in Swedish,’ Lilly told Craig. ‘I will translate for you.’

In a dry monotone, Mr. Tapper began his address. While she was making her jottings, Lilly interpreted the address for Craig. Mr. Tapper was tracing the history of the nudist movement. It had begun, in theory, in Germany during 1903, with the publication of a book entitled
Die Nacktheit
by Richard Ungewitter, the son of a watchmaker. The author had advocated a nude society, to relieve men and women of constricting attire, to give them freedom of movement and enjoyment of air and sun, and to make all parts of their anatomies commonplace so that seduction and adultery and perversion would be reduced. Shortly afterwards, perhaps inspired by Ungewitter’s proposal, another young German, Paul Zimmerman—a schoolteacher turned farmer, who had raised his four daughters to disdain clothes—opened the world’s first nudist camp, called Freilichtpark, in Klingberg am See. To enter the park, one had to give up alcohol, tobacco, meat-eating—and all garments. The nudist park was a success, and within twenty years, there were 50,000 nudists in Germany alone. The idea spread quickly, to Switzerland, to Scandinavia, to England, and finally, by 1929, to the United States. The same year that nudism reached America, it had its mightiest triumph in Germany. For, that year, in Berlin’s Volksbühne Theatre, a nudist troupe staged a vaudeville show. This show, composed of dances and acrobatics, was open to the public, although every performer was naked. Today, said Mr. Tapper, nudism had spread to nearly every nation on earth, and was universally accepted.

‘Now, before anticipating the questions that new members have in mind, I should like to say a few words about nudity in general,’ said Mr. Tapper. ‘Modesty is unnatural, and it takes on various forms throughout the world. If you came upon a naked Swedish or French or American woman by accident, she would first cover, with her hands, her pubic area. But, as one Langdon-Davies has remarked, if you came upon a naked Arab woman, she would first cover her face before all else, and a Laos woman would first cover her breasts, and a Celebes woman would try to hide her knees, and a Chinese woman her feet, and a Samoan woman would try to conceal her navel. As you see, this reduces modesty to the ridiculous, and shows you how unhealthy it can be. Under international nudism, the naked woman’s face, breasts, navel, pubic area, knees, feet, could all be revealed, and she would have to cover nothing, for there would be nothing to fear.’

Mr. Tapper droned on in Swedish, and for a while Lilly was too busy recording in her notebook to interpret his remarks. Once Mr. Tapper paused to accept a drink of water, and then Lilly whispered to Craig, ‘Now he will give questions and answers to the new members.’

Mr. Tapper scratched his abdomen, cleared his throat, and resumed, and Lilly interpreted his words as best she could.

‘Our new members may wish answers to certain questions. I will give them. What is our goal? To provide, through nudism, better health, more relaxation, cleaner minds and higher morals. Do we permit cohabitation and sexual activity in our outdoor park? No. Such misconduct means immediate dismissal. Can members wear shorts? No. Concealing garments of any kind only provoke and excite. The only exception made is that women may wear shorts during their periods of menstruation. Will members, primarily the male members, ever have to worry about becoming sexually aroused and embarrassed at our meetings? No. This has never once occurred in our history. The mind, from which sexual passion originates, is apparently not stimulated by large groups of nude people. I am reminded of the experience of Jan Gay, who wrote a book about her first visit to Zimmerman’s nudist park. The new members among you may find Miss Gay’s first reactions similar to your own. “To be sure,” wrote Miss Gay, “the first time one enters such a class, one is aware of other people’s bodies to a considerable degree; but when one mingles all day, day after day, with naked men and women, a penis comes to be not much more unique than an elbow or a knee and little more remarked; and the contours of one woman seem very much like those of another, save that some are more shapely.” New members will soon understand this reaction.

‘But let us resume our answers to questions. Will membership in a nudist society ever cause you trouble if it is publicized in the less tolerant outside world? No. In America, nudists know each other by their first names only, and membership lists are never made public. In Sweden, we do not have such a problem. As you know, our Stockholm newspapers, as well as the newspapers in Copenhagen and Oslo, annually publish photographs of our summer festival King and Queen, and these photographs are entirely nude, and the winners are much admired and respected.’

Listening, and somewhat sobered, Craig realized how absorbed and diverted he had been. And the interesting part of it was that his absorption had not been in the shapes of the nude young girls all around, but in the director’s talk.

Although he was a writer, in these last years his roots had not spread, had not found new areas of interest and experience, had almost withered and died. Tonight, he had been entertained by an absolutely new adventure on earth. The subject of nudism, as such, was nothing that personally attracted him. But the fact that there was here a whole new level of living and devotion, non-conformist and even bizarre, yet attracting so many fellow humans, and he had known nothing about it, was what interested him. His thirst for knowledge, for hearing facts, for observing people and incidents, was once more alive and a part of his being. In his absorption, he had been able to forget, for a time, the bitter encounter with Gottling and the hollowness of his Nobel victory. He had almost been able to forget his earlier sexual desire for Lilly, now unclothed beside him. He had not even given thought to Leah or Emily. He was once more, as he had not been for three long years, a writer-sponge, soaking in fresh sensation. It was strength to know the writer-sponge was not completely atrophied.

Presently, Mr. Tapper was finished, and the formal part of the meeting was ended. Most of the members rose, some to return to their mats beneath the bank of sun-lamps, some to resume their volleyball game, and the rest to enter the locker room and dress for the outer world.

‘It is over now,’ said Lilly. ‘We can put on our clothes and leave.’

She stood up, while he still sat, and her naked body—from the full pink breasts thrust forward as she straightened, to the dipping lines of flesh curving down to her groin—loomed above him in female beauty. This was what he had imagined, in the earlier evening when he had hunted her. Yet now it moved him not at all. It was one more naked body, out of so many, without mystery or provocation. He sighed, and came to his feet. Perhaps this was not their night. Perhaps it would be best to drop her off at her apartment and go back to the hotel and sleep.

They followed the others to the crowded locker room, a mass of men and women dressing amid a babble of Swedish talk. Her locker was across from his, and they separated briefly. Hurriedly, he pulled on his shorts and trousers, and got into his shirt, stuffing the tails carelessly inside the trousers, and then he took his socks and shoes and sat down on the bench to put them on. As he sat, he could see Lilly directly across the way. She was still naked, and had just finished talking to a plump young woman who was securing her dress.

Tying his shoes, he watched Lilly arrange her clothes on the bench and automatically begin to dress. It fascinated him. It was like a filmed striptease run backwards. She held her brief nylon panties before her, and stepped into one leg opening and then the other, and pulled them up tightly so that the elastic band came to her navel. Then she sat on the bench, rolled her sheer nylons, inserting one foot, then the other, and unwinding the nylons up her slender calves and up her thighs, and fastening the stockings at her thighs with garter bands.

Now, when she stood, her nudity partially clothed, her bare breasts seemed to expand and grow. A trick of the imagination, Craig knew, because the panties and stockings had focused attention on what was still revealed. She slipped into a white cotton blouse, and began to button it, and Craig remembered that she had disdain for brassières. The indigo jersey skirt was on, a single tug of her hands circled it into place, and she was pulling the zipper. Her sandals were on her feet, and her thick woollen sweater was over her arm.