Greta, as she pauses at the end of the pool, and she nods cheerily. I grab a towel and pad over the tiled floor to the steam room, and as I enter, I can feel all my muscles unwinding. This is more like it. This is the life.
I close my eyes and let the steam engulf me. My head is spinning with all the weird moments of today, from the salmon dish used by Princess Margaret in 1982 to poor tearful Ronald. After a while I can almost feel myself nodding off. But my chin jerks up as I hear voices again. It’s Greta and the other women. They’re obviously out of the pool, and I can hear some booming male voices, too, which must be the husbands. I should go and say hello.
It’s a good strategic move to be friendly with Greta, I’ve concluded. And indeed her whole group of mates. They seem very nice (far nicer than Elsa), and it’s a great way into the family. But as I emerge from the steam room, the pool area is empty. Where’ve they all gone? I look around—then notice two pairs of flip-flops outside the sauna door.
Of course! Well, even better. What could be more bonding than sharing a sauna together?
I wrap my towel around my body and cautiously open the sauna door, feeling a blast of heat hit me. I take a step inside—then stop in dumb horror.
They’re all in here. All the women, at least. They’re sitting on towels and looking up with friendly smiles—and they’re all naked. Naked. Stark naked. All I can see is breasts and stomachs and…Oh God.
What do I do now? What? Am I supposed to be naked too?
“Shut the door!” says Greta, gesturing at me, and before I can get my thoughts straight, I’m closing it.
“Sit down!” adds Heike, shifting up on the bench, her veiny breasts swaying as she does so.
No. Do not look at her breasts. Or her…
Oh God, stop. Don’t look. I hastily swing my eyes from Heike, to find myself peering at Inge’s pale nipples, which are at eye level. In horror, I whip my head away, to find myself regarding a mound of bushy pubic hair.
No. Noooo.
OK. Keep calm. Basically, no line of sight is safe. So I will stare at the door. Yes. Sweat is already pouring down my face, which is nothing to do with the heat of the sauna. It’s sheer stress.
Should I leave? But what if that looks rude?
“Sit on your towel, Ava,” says Greta encouragingly, and gingerly I place it on the wooden slats. As I sit down, I can see Sigrid peering at me with detached interest.
“Why do you sit in a costume?” she inquires politely. “Are you ashamed of your pubis?”
Am I…?
What?
“No!” I say, my voice shrill. “I mean…I don’t think…Gosh. I’ve never really…It’s quite hot in here….”
My floundering is cut short by the sauna door opening. Three men troop in, all wrapped up in towels and smiling broadly.
“Henrik!” exclaims Greta. “This is a friend of Matt, Ava.”
“Hello, Ava!” says Henrik cheerfully. And I know it’s my cue to reply, but I can’t speak. I’m paralyzed in dread. The men are all busily unwrapping their towels, revealing hairy chests and thighs and…They’re not going to…They’re not…Surely they’re not…
Oh my God. Yes, they are. All three of them.
Look at the door, Ava. Look at the door.
My head is rigidly fixed ahead. My gaze is locked on the wooden slats. I’m trying to blank out that glimpse I just caught of Henrik’s…
I mean, just as a sidebar, no wonder Greta’s so cheery….
I realize I’m clenching my towel so hard that tendons are standing out on my hands—and Greta seems to notice. “Ava, are you feeling quite well?” she says in concerned tones. “Is the heat too much? If you are not used to saunas, it’s better not to overdo it.”
“I’m fine!” I say. “I just…I suppose I’m not used to the…” I trail off and take a deep breath. I might as well come clean. “In England we don’t tend to…We wear bathing suits.”
Greta’s eyes instantly pop with understanding.
“Of course!” she exclaims. “Of course.” She says something in rapid German to the others, and they all start exclaiming, too, including the men.
“We must apologize!” says Greta brightly. “Poor Ava. You must find this very strange! You see, to us it is normal. Imagine, Henrik! She walks into the sauna expecting to see bathing