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The Naked Truth

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Barely had I finished my meal, drawn the curtains and taken a piss in the nettles out in the back when I heard Douglas’ voice. There was no mistaking that American accent of his: “What! Has someone taken your shoes?” Immediately after I heard a woman’s voice I did not recognize: “Yeah, yeah! And you know what! I’d borrowed them from Morten.”
     Still buttoning my fly, I hurried to see what sort of a woman it could be who had borrowed shoes from a guy named Morten only to have them stolen. The sight that met my eyes was unusual even by Christiania standards. Sitting next to Douglas’ lean figure on the wide doorstep was a woman I had never seen before. She was completely naked. Since her back was turned to me, and her attention drawn to something or other on the ground, she didn’t notice that Douglas raised his head and rolled his eyeballs at me.
     It was this rolling of the eyes that made me stop. What the hell is going on? I thought. Is it because he wants me to join them, or is it some secret affair he is having out in the open? I could not make up my mind. Douglas was hardly the kind of guy who had extra marital affairs, but should he ever have one, the integrity of his intellectual character would probably dictate that it be conducted right on his own doorstep where everybody could see it. It didn’t make sense though. If it was an affair he was having, why was he dressed and the mistress naked as a nymph? Unsure of what to do, I too started to roll my eyes in a questioning manner. The woman was busy writing something in the dirt with her big toe. She didn’t notice anything. Douglas leaned against the door post behind him, tilted his head slightly back and sent me a long and (so it seemed) pleading look.
     That look decided the matter for me. Convinced that Douglas needed me to join them, I started in their direction. But I had only taken a couple of steps when, reacting to the sound of my feet on the gravel, the woman turned so abruptly on the doorstep that she got a splinter in her ass. “Ouch,” she said and gave her own buttock a sound slap. “And who do you think you are?” she yelled at the splinter. “Are you crazy? Who gave you the right to get in my ass?”
      She said a few other things I can’t remember. And then, when she was done bawling at the splinter, she lifted up her fleshy buttock again. But instead of slapping herself, she twisted around and began to inspect it in an attempt to apprehend the culprit. She was so concentrated she paid no attention to her surroundings. With his fingers, Douglas made signs for me to come around to his side of the doorstep. When I got there, he put his mouth to my ear. His voice sounded like a storm, when he whispered: “She’s wacko, this one.” Then he pulled away, looked me in the eyes and pressed his index finger to his temple. It was at that moment I realized that Douglas had never met the woman before. He knew no more than I did what was going on and why she had no clothes on.