(South Beach, Miami, U.S.A.)

atthew Barber is lying on a chaise longue (which is costing him $5.00 for the day) on the beach (which is costing him nothing, if we don't count the price of his hotel room), scanning the sunbathers with his miniature binoculars (which cost him $89.95). He has concealed his scanning by draping a towel over his head and the binoculars. Anyone who notices him, will, he hopes, assume that he is meditating in some new fashion. Actually, he is looking for Raelians.

Earlier this morning he read an article in the Miami Herald about these Raelians. They believe that mankind was created about 25,000 years ago by aliens from a planet, "in our galaxy but not in our solar system." According to the Herald, the Miami chapter (50 strong) is hosting a group of their Canadian cousins, and they are meditating daily on the beach. Matthew is curious about these Raelians. He would like to ask them, or at least one of them, why they believe what the Herald says they believe.

He has already decided that there are no Raelians in his immediate vicinity. Beside him, four people in blue bathing suits have been passing the time smoking and glaring at one another, which he thought might count as meditating, but they aren't Raelians. He asked them. They claimed to be Germans, a family on vacation, not here for the Raelian gathering.

Out on the water, two young men are buzzing back and forth on jet skis. Matthew went to the water's edge to get a better look at them, and from that closer inspection he decided that meditation would be impossible on a jet ski.

Directly in front of him, an enormous woman is lolling on a towel too small to hold her. She arrived in a black one-piece bathing suit but immediately rolled it from the top down, reducing it to a black hoop around her hips and revealing great spheroid masses of herself. Then she tried to find a position that would fit all of her onto the towel and allow her to read Anne Rice's Memnoch the Devil. In the attempt, she twisted, turned, grimaced, and grunted, which did not seem like meditation to Matthew, but he decided to ask her anyway.

He walked over to her towel and said, "Excuse me. Are you a Raelian?" She looked up at him, shading her eyes with her hand, and said, with a little laugh, "No, I'm a realtor. Why do you ask?"

He explained. She looked at him as if she didn't believe him. He went back to his rented chaise longue.

That's when he began using his binoculars. With them, he has spotted, some distance down the beach, a man in his late sixties-a retired man, he guesses-strolling along, looking at the women. The retired man is wearing a knit shirt, green shorts, white socks, a red fanny pack, and black sneakers. Matthew thinks that he might be a Raelian, not because he is meditating, though he does give each of the women a good long look, but because he seems to be proselytizing. In the time that Matthew has been watching him, he has approached several women, and some of them have allowed him, perhaps even invited him, to stay and chat for a while. Matthew cannot tell what he says to them.

A very tall and very beautiful blonde walks across Matthew's field of vision, diverting his attention from the retired man. She is wearing a tan cotton shift and tan espadrilles. Matthew thinks that he may have seen her before, last night, at the Marlin hotel.

She spreads a large towel on the sand, smooths it, and looks it over. She might be meditating on the smoothness of it, or on the concept of smoothness. She smooths it a little more. The retired man has noticed her, too. He watches her untie her espadrilles, take them off, and set them neatly side-by-side on the sand beside the towel. She straightens up and raises her arms and removes the cotton shift, and a sigh escapes from Matthew.

The retired man walks up to the blonde and says something to her. She looks at him. She shakes her head. He speaks again, and the blonde laughs and tosses her hair and shakes her head again. Then she turns her back on him and begins rubbing sunscreen onto her breasts.

The retired man resumes his progress along the beach, meandering from woman to woman, missing none, and after a while he reaches the enormous woman directly in front of Matthew.

"Excuse me," he says. "Are you a Raelian?"

She looks up at him, shading her eyes with her hand, and says, "The other guy already asked me. I told him, I'm a realtor."

The retired man looks at Matthew. Matthew looks at him. The retired man starts in the direction of the Germans.

"They're not, either," says Matthew.

The retired man shrugs, and he shuffles off, still looking for Raelians. Matthew gives up. He goes back to looking at the blonde.

B. W. Beath is a fictional character who appears in Eric Kraft's novel Reservations Recommended. "Looking for Raelians" originally appeared in Exquisite Corpse. It will eventualy be included in B. W. Beath's collection of essays, The Passionate Spectator.

© Eric Kraft