nawl

I've only seen the house at night. An unassuming street, latched gate, then you punch in a keycode and go through a second gate. At night all you see of the backyard are thin pines against a sky lit up by light pollution. Naked people pad around slowly and silently, steam rising from their skin when they're beneath the light.

The hot tub is round and wooden. Water gushes in continuously from a plastic pipe. It's much hotter than is comfortable, so that it prickles against your skin when you enter tentatively, and once you're submerged it becomes a slow crescendo of pain until your skin is nothing but burning. The best tactic is to sit very, very still so that the still water touching your skin is at an almost tolerable temperature. But the other people in the tub who are avoiding your gaze move and disturb the water.

So you emerge, and the night is refreshing, but not nearly as cold as before. There's a hammock to the right, one of those fabulous string ones without supporting bars that you could wrap yourself in if you wished. The breeze cools a bit too quickly, so again the best tactic is to sit very, very still so that you feel only the still warm air that touches your skin. Other visitors seem to be meditating.

The changing room has rules. Men must be escorted by a woman. No talking. The hot tub is dimly lit from above, and light filters out from the open door of the changing room. There is a statue of a mermaid on the edge of the garden. All is quiet, except for the sound of water.