Left on Paradise (14 page)

Ryan’s head was bowed and face drawn tight as he sloshed ahead. Kit had been difficult the previous night and the aftereffects of their spirited discussion hung over like a headache. And though fights were becoming a bad habit, last night was the first time in their marriage Kit had denied him sex from spite. Ryan relived the argument as he moved north and it was several minutes before his thoughts cooled—and he remembered he and Kit weren’t newlyweds and this wasn’t their first quarrel. The bickering would end soon enough, he supposed. It’d just take a little time.

Looking upstream, Ryan saw a woman who sat hidden in the shadows of an old beech tree. She looked slender and Ryan wondered whether it might be Maria, so he moved quietly to surprise her—keeping his feet from sloshing to keep noise down. It didn’t take him long to reach her.

“Maria, is that you? It’s me ...”

It wasn’t Maria and Ryan cut himself short as he looked at Lisa. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”

“Oh ... Ryan,” Lisa said, arching her back and thrusting her chest forward in a long yawn.

Ryan watched as her breasts rolled. They weren’t as full as Kit’s but flatter and firmer. Though he tried to look away, his eyes were drawn back to the woman’s nakedness.

“I-I’m sorry,” Ryan said. “I didn’t know it was you.”

Lisa yawned a second time and stood. Her breasts dangled earthward for an instant as she lost her step and stumbled until Ryan caught her by the wrists and steadied her balance. The young woman remained nonplussed despite having almost fallen chest-first into her neighbor.

“What’s going on?” Lisa asked.

Ryan turned red and Lisa looked at her own freckled chest.

“They’re just breasts,” the young woman said. “I imagine you’ve seen a few before today. Kit has a full set.”

Ryan looked away. “W-what,” he stuttered, “in th-the world are you doing?”

“Don’t worry,” Lisa said with a shrug. “I’ll put in overtime by the end of the day. I don’t shortchange hours.”

“I mean, what are you doing here?”

“Yoga and some sunbathing.”

“Without a shirt?”

“No hang-ups, remember? Besides, Hilary tore two shirts this week. Clothing needs to be conserved.”

Ryan looked to the stream. The water rushed through his legs and the blood through his face. When Lisa scratched one of her breasts, he gasped.

“Sorry,” Lisa said. “Bad manners. The itch instinct got me.”

“I know the feeling,” Ryan blurted.

Now it was Lisa who blushed as she reached to the ground for a towel while Ryan took a step back toward the village.

“Weren’t you headed upstream?” Lisa asked as she draped the towel over her shoulders and chest.

“I need to return to camp. Kit’s probably looking for me.”

“Probably.”

As Ryan turned and hurried back to camp, Lisa slipped deeper into the woods.

Kit finished her chores by midafternoon, so she strolled to the beach, eating green bananas for early supper and resting beneath the shade of a palm tree. Later, she bathed in the sun, her back warmed by the sand and ankles splashed by the tide. She let out a yelp when someone tapped her forehead from behind.

“Ehhhh.”

“Sorry, Kit.”

It was John Smith—carrying a fishing pole, a folded net, and a bucket of chum—who startled her. He asked if Kit was feeling well.

“I’m okay,” Kit answered, glint shining from tears in the corners of her eyes.

“You sure?”

Kit nodded. “What’re you doing here?” she asked.

“Fishing. I didn’t catch much up north so I decided to move.”

“Isn’t Ursula helping you?”

“She was,” John answered, “till the smell of fish made her sick. She went to rest.”

“Weak stomach?”

“A little indigestion.”

“I’ve never fished before.”

“You want to try?”

“Sure,” Kit said, wiping sweat from her face and tears from her eyes with the back of her wrist. “Here?”

“We’ll use this net.”

“I’ve never done this before. I grew up in Manhattan. I wouldn’t even touch the iced trout at the market.”

Kit unbuttoned her blouse and climbed from her shorts, revealing a two-piece bathing suit almost old-fashioned in its modesty, while John threw his shirt into the sand and kicked his sandals aside before unfolding his nets. Soon, he handed a corner to Kit—who walked into the lagoon until the water lapped at her waist.

John distanced himself from her as he pulled a fifty-foot nylon net. “Drop the net,” he called out as he pulled the line tight, “when I say so, run for shore. Angle in as you move and we’ll bag some dinner. Ready, set, go!”

Kit ran for shore. At first, she moved slowly through the water, though she gained speed as the water grew shallow. Twice, she staggered and once she nearly fell. John moved faster and angled in sharper and by the time Kit reached calf-deep water, he stood on dry ground pulling in the net even as Kit groaned and tugged as she tried to pull the net—now heavy with fish—to shore. Though several fish thrashed through the shallows to escape the trap, more were caught in the webbing. When Kit finally reached the sand, she grew excited as she surveyed the catch.

“Those are big fish!” she cried out.

Indeed, a couple large fish were caught along with several smaller ones. John untangled the strands of nylon as he threw fish inland, where Kit picked them up and dropped them into buckets—though one slipped from her hands and flopped all the way to the sea before she could get it. The rest of their catch secured, they made a second try. On her second attempt, Kit slipped in the surf and nearly all of the fish escaped.

Before Kit’s aching arms ended the workday, another half-dozen casts were made—with most attempts catching at least a few fish. Then the day’s catch was set on stringers and taken to the bay for cleaning. After completing the gruesome task of killing and cleaning their catch, John and Kit wiped their tools and washed their hands. The afternoon sun had dropped and only a few gulls circled overhead—the beach quiet and the trails still.

“John, can I ask you something personal?” Kit said as she shook the sand from her shirt.

“It depends, I suppose, on what you ask.”

“Do you ever wish for children?” Kit asked with a somber voice.

“I did,” John said after a pause, “but ... well, there’s no reason to go into details. We just can’t have them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Just one of life’s twists.”

“Did you ever consider surgery or adoption?”

“Surgery and in-vitro were useless. Adoption, yes. Until Deidra decided against it. She wants her own.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You have needs too.”

“She’s suffered worse. And I’m her husband in sickness and health—as they used to say.”

Kit turned her back as she climbed into her shorts and slipped her blouse over her bikini. When she turned around, Kit saw that John had covered himself with a shirt and shorts.

“Why do you ask?” John said. “Does Ryan want them?”

“Neither of us did really,” Kit said. “In the States, we decided to forego children, so I had my tubes tied. It was my choice as much as Ryan’s. Sometimes in Hollywood, I had doubts. Here I have nothing but them. It’s so different.”

“How?”

“The bustle of the world isn’t here. It’s peaceful and perfect and a place made for living. I’m learning that life’s more than a career.”

“The twins have inspired you.”

“Yes,” Kit said, “they have. And the girls. There weren’t many children in Hollywood. Except for a few really obnoxious stars who weren’t exactly Shirley Temples. Unless you mean the drink.”

“Has Ryan changed too?”

“We quarreled about it last night and again this morning. He insists we did the right thing and doesn’t want me to return to the States for a corrective operation. He thinks I’m too old to bear a baby.”

John looked surprised. “You’re ...”

“Thirty-seven in a few months.”

“Thirty-six now?”

Kit nodded.

“I was born when my mother passed forty,” John said. “You’ve got a little time, at least.”

“There’s more risk at my age.”

“Maybe a little more risk,” John said, “but also greater gain. A woman your age has much to offer a child.”

“You’re the first man,” Kit’s eyes lit up as she spoke, “I’ve ever heard say anything like that.”

“To tell the truth, if Deidra would have it, I’d adopt a child today. I’d love to have a son. Or a daughter.”

“Can you speak to Ryan for me?”

“I’d rather grab a shark by the fins,” John said as he nodded toward the sea. “We’ve talked too much already.”

Only after a long pause did Kit mention how beautiful the lagoon looked and John observe they needed to cook the fish as soon as possible. As Kit grabbed a tackle box and a bucket of cleaned fish, John collected the net and poles before walking beside Kit on the trail to the village. Just before they reached the village, Kit tapped John’s shoulder.

“What if he never agrees to it?” Kit whispered.

“He’s your husband.”

Kit said nothing.

“Do you love him?” John said.

“I do.”

“Then you live with disappointment. We can’t have everything we want. That’s something I’ve come to grips with.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

The two villagers entered camp with their catch. Kit found Ryan at their tent (already waiting undressed and anxious for his wife) while John took the cleaned fish to the grill—where he replaced Linh as chef and organized a fish fry with vegetable side dishes and brown rice. Everyone praised the meal and even Linh didn’t disagree since her mouth was filled with fish.

12

Paradise Lost

It took Charles most of Tuesday morning to hike to New Plymouth—where Small Council had been scheduled to meet midafternoon and was to be followed by a state dinner. Because he traveled alone and planned to remain overnight, Charles hiked along the shoreline, thinking it folly to risk twisting an ankle in the uninhabited hills where it’d be a day or two before he was missed. As a result of taking the longer route, he didn’t reach New Plymouth until lunch. There, he collected a few raw vegetables from a food table and headed for a noisy tent. The last to arrive, he took his chair without fanfare as delegates administered oaths of allegiance to open the session.

Only members of the Executive Council attended: these being the four village and one professional staff delegates. Charles represented the west neighborhood and Dr. Graves the professional village. The other neighborhoods sent women as councilors: a soft-faced brunette in her thirties from the east, a twentyish blonde from the north, and a gray-haired matron from the south. The brunette was made moderator by unanimous vote, then entertained proposals for a calendar of future meetings and an agenda for the present one. Proposals and priorities were penciled in and it was decided the first session would discuss supply shortages, native markings, marriage laws, and several lesser concerns. No one objected to the agenda and the meeting began in earnest.

Dr. Graves spoke first, briefing fellow councilors on the loss of feminine supplies and explaining how rationing was being conducted until a resupply vessel could arrive. The doctor also reported that he’d used an emergency satellite connection to arrange an early drop of required goods with a retired green energy investor—a former neighbor and casual acquaintance—who planned to sail the South Pacific during coming weeks. The yachtsman had promised to bring tampons, sanitary napkins, PMS tablets, and birth control pills to replace what had been lost. Everyone applauded the doctor’s initiative and the council sanctioned his efforts ex post facto. Executive Council also authorized overnight docking of the yacht for resupply and mail pick-up and also voted to honor its crew with a luau. At the eastern brunette’s suggestion, it was decided not to request additional supplies beyond the replacement order. Since no one wanted to repeat the unfortunate inability of Jamestown to support itself without outside intervention and capitalist speculation, all additional resupply was limited to the scheduled six-month restocking. Only an emergency as dire as loss of birth control pills and sanitary napkins had justified outside intervention.

Subsequent agenda items concerned the issues of pollution, militarism, and capitalism. When the southern delegate requested guidance regarding the proper disposal of non-biodegradable materials, Charles explained how MRE wrappers were used as sandbags in the west and other councilors shared useful suggestions as the southern delegate—a gray-haired woman wearing faded jeans and a sleeveless tee shirt—recorded the better ideas and promised to implement them upon her return home.

Next, the southern woman asked whether children should be allowed to play with toy weapons, noting that two boys in her neighborhood had smuggled plastic soldiers into Paradise. Though the council considered this an egregious violation of charter rules, it was decided to make a mild rebuke and discreetly dispose of the offensive items without public censure. Charles suggested the soldiers be recycled as melted plastic rather than burned or buried (with the effect of polluting either the atmosphere with the acrid smoke of burnt plastic or the earth with non-biodegradable plastic), but the majority deemed it best to purify themselves from militarism and industrial plastics alike by sacrificing the toys to fire. There would be no beating of plowshares from swords since it was feared this might implicitly encourage making swords (or molding soldiers). Executive Council voted to ban all manufacture or use of toy arms, weapons, games, or simulations. Finally, an issue was discussed dealing with concerns raised by the east village after the soft-faced brunette explained how workload disputes were paralyzing her neighborhood. After a short discussion, it was voted that the staff psychologist, Dr. Erikson, be authorized to arbitrate differences—with her decisions possessing full regulatory power.

After a short recess, Dr. Morales petitioned to launch an archaeological expedition over the horizon. He briefed the council on the cultural significance of Heather’s petroglyphs and requested permission to draw a week of rations and use of a sailboat to search for archaeological remains and artifacts. Though he assessed the discovery of anything larger than rock etchings unlikely, the anthropologist explained it was imperative that he make an attempt to contribute to substantive scholarship and cultural preservation as much as humanly possible. His request was granted, the councilors asking only that any finds be kept intact rather than looted or moved to museums—a request Dr. Morales accepted without reservation. As soon as his petition was granted, the anthropologist excused himself to begin preparations.

The northern representative—a tall blonde wearing a halter top and cutoff shorts—spoke next.

“Our only real issue,” the woman declared, “has been litter. Several people have been careless with their trash. The neighborhood has assigned them cleanup detail and we hope the situation will be self-correcting.”

Everyone applauded the northern success.

“Good effort,” Charles said. “Anything else?”

“I guess we also had a dispute over our work schedule,” the northern blonde said. “We were working a five-day week with flex hours and the early risers resented the late-birds arriving midmorning and then taking a long lunch to escape the sun. It got so bad both groups were threatening to unionize.”

“How’d you address the issue?” Karla, the brunette delegate from the east, asked.

“We rewrote our rules,” the blonde continued, “so breaks can be taken anytime after four hours of work. Now our late risers come in earlier to put in four honest hours before lunch. No one wants to be working at noon.”

Another round of applause went out.

“Anything else?”

“One last issue. A bit more serious,” the northern blonde said, panning the group to draw their attention.

“What’s that?” Charles asked.

“A little jealousy. Apparently, one of our women is polyerotic by nature and two guys are bickering over her. We’re not really sure how to handle arrangements since she left the boyfriend she came with. It’s a little bit ...”

“If you don’t mind, may I say something,” Charles interjected, turning from the northern woman to the moderator, “that bears on this concern?”

The northern blonde yielded the table.

“We have similar issues,” Charles explained. “There are hints of tension between those who choose strict monogamy and those who delight in their freedom more completely. In fact, some of my neighborhood have asked for an explanation of the laws of marriage and love so that ground rules can be set from the start.”

Everyone now gave full attention.

“What is marriage?” Charles asked. “Is it a relationship or a promise, a signature or a decree of state? Who can marry? When? How? What makes a divorce? What are the implications of the right to sexual association? All of these questions require review, not for academic discourse, but for the practical government of this island. I suggest we draft a platform that can be sent to the whole people for deliberation before necessity forces the issue. Since none of us expects our relationships to remain static, we need to get on top of this issue early.”

“Does everyone else,” Karla asked, “believe this discussion necessary?”

Every hand was raised.

“Then let’s divide,” Karla declared, “the issue into components and break for the day. Everyone can reflect on the debate through the evening and provide talking points for discussion. If you can give these to me by, say ... nine in the morning, I’ll prepare a final agenda by noon. Then we’ll meet tomorrow after lunch to continue our discussion. Agreed?”

Karla’s motion carried and delegates soon filed from the tent to study the issue. The stern-faced southerner found an anthology of feminist theory at the library and disappeared into the woods while the northern blonde took a notepad and a single pencil to a shady tree. Dr. Graves worked from his computer. Charles stuffed his knapsack with food, books, and sunscreen, then started walking toward the beach as Karla (the brown-eyed brunette from the east neighborhood) followed at his heels.

“Charles,” she called.

“What’s going on, Karla?”

“Going to the beach?”

“To do my homework,” Charles said, nodding toward the sea.

“You mind if I join you?”

Charles eyed the woman from ankle to breast. “I’d like that. Where’re your things?”

The woman picked up a half-filled knapsack and said she had everything. Then the couple walked side by side to the beach—where they found empty lawn chairs beneath a palm tree and set to work. Charles copied passages from his books while Karla worked from memory. Occasionally, they exchanged ideas or debated texts and soon were condensing notes into outlines. When they finished, they reclined into beach chairs and ate unwrapped MREs (along with flat bread and fruit punch) as they enjoyed the sunset.

After they were done eating, Karla retrieved a dark-colored bottle from her backpack. “I’ll freshen that juice a little,” she said.

Charles held his glass out as Karla unscrewed the cap from a bottle of rum and spiked their drinks.

“This is the best punch,” Charles said, “I’ve drank in a month. We’re down to two bottles of vodka we’re rationing. And I think the village has a case of wine or champagne.”

“Ryan and Kit?”

Charles laughed. “Hollywood in the jungle.”

“I brought whiskey and rum,” Karla said. “A full case. Much bigger bang for the buck.”

“I agree,” Charles said, clinking his glass against Karla’s before throwing his head back and chugging the drink.

“More?” Karla asked and Charles took the bottle from her hand, taking a long swig of rum while Karla sipped her share. Indeed, they talked and drank until both the conversation and the rum ran dry, then rolled out sleeping bags and slept beneath the stars. They woke the next morning in each other’s arms—their clothing draped over a chair and sand clinging to every fold of flesh.

Three women sat side by side at the campfire. Behind them, the dark contour of Mount Zion shadowed the eastern sky and before them the flames had burned down to coals. Two of the women sat hands folded over knees as they whispered and occasionally laughed out loud. The third woman’s face dropped toward her lap, her hands clutched tight. She said nothing.

“Don’t even start about labor,” Linh said. “I spent twelve hours in labor with both girls. No second time discount for me.”

Tiffany nodded. “I had twins. Eight hours of labor followed by a C-section.”

“That hurts,” Linh said, “even to think of it. They never cut me open.”

“It took me six months to recover,” Tiffany said with a groan.

“Six months?”

“I could walk in a few days, but it was six months before I had my strength.”

“That’s horrible.”

“That’s why I had Brent fixed afterwards. No more of that nonsense.”

“Good for him,” Linh said. “More men should have it done.”

Ursula joined the conversation. “I wish Sean had.”

Both women asked Ursula what was troubling her and she explained that her period was late.

“How late?” Tiffany asked.

“A day or two.”

Tiffany smiled. “That’s nothing.”

“Plus a week,” Ursula added.

Tiffany said no more.

“I’m sometimes a week late,” Linh said.

“I’m never,” Ursula said, “more than a day early or late and ...”

Tiffany and Linh waited for her to finish.

“My stomach’s queasy and my breasts hurt.”

“I’m sure it’s just the sun,” Linh said.

“No,” Ursula said, “this is different.”

“Then it has to be nerves,” Linh said, “it’s too early for much else and you’re on the pill, right? I didn’t feel anything at all till the third month.”

“It’s not nerves,” Ursula said. “Today I almost vomited brushing my teeth and I’ve had to pee all day. Besides, I don’t use the pill.”

Linh looked startled. “That’s a surprise.”

“It seemed sensible till now,” Tiffany said. “The pill doesn’t stop diseases and it makes me bloat. Condoms are better protection.”

“You use them properly?” Tiffany asked.

“Yeah, usually,” Ursula paused, “but ... there was one time on the ship I couldn’t remember whether we used one or not. There was so much going on that day and we partied all night. I was hung over all morning.”

“How can you not know whether he was wearing a condom?”

“Occasionally we swap out for spermicide. I just can’t remember using either that first day on the ship.”

“Have you checked? To be sure?”

“No,” Ursula said. “I couldn’t walk to the clinic today. Not in this sun. I’m really not feeling very well.”

“We have a test in the medical supplies.”