Left on Paradise (3 page)

“What else can you add to our enterprise?”

“Here are our strengths,” Alan said. “We’re liberal and committed. We avoid every sort of stereotype and we’ve both voted Democrat since Dukakis. We have technical expertise with botany and we’re both in great physical shape. We jog five miles every day and work out at the gym three days a week.”

“Anything else?” Ryan asked.

“We don’t have kids,” Alan said. “Nothing against children, but you’re going to need a few extra adults in this enterprise.”

Ryan nodded and Kit motioned to speak.

“Are you ...” Kit asked, “I want to say this just right—are you ... I guess the best word is proselytizers.”

Alan removed his arm from Steven’s shoulder and leaned forward, his hands clasped together beneath his chin as he stared at Kit.

“I believe,” Alan said, “we were born homosexual just as you apparently were born heterosexual. I chose Steve but I didn’t choose the desire to marry a man. We can no more make other men homosexual than you can engineer the color of your hair. It’s all genetics. You can’t escape who or what you are. Even dye shows through after a few weeks.”

              “I’m a natural blonde,” Kit said, now red-faced, “and I didn’t mean to offend you. I ask the same question of everyone. We don’t need zealots of any lifestyle choice. Tolerance is our strength.”

“We’re fine,” Alan said, relaxing a little and falling back into the sofa. “All we want is to be left alone. We’ll respect everyone else’s choices, whatever they are. Freedom is what we’re about.”

“And public monogamy,” Steve added. “We want to live as a couple just like everyone else: without prejudice or condemnation. ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ isn’t enough for us.”

Ryan laughed. “Clever.”

“And appropriate,” Alan said, “since Steve was discharged from the army under Dubya’s dad.”

Ryan’s voice dropped. “You enlisted?”

“I needed college money and my parents couldn’t help,” Steve said. “I served three years before I went to school.”

“That would be a decade ago,” Ryan said. “Are you a Gulf War veteran?”

“I ran supplies,” Steve replied with a nod, “to the front till my truck hit a mine. I sat the rest of the war out alongside the road, waiting for a lift. A year later, I came out of the closet and was drummed out of my country’s army.”

“Then you’ve shown courage twice over,” Ryan said as he stood up. “Not bad at all. We won’t need too many soldiers where we’re going, but you can always help us beat swords into plowshares.”

“Self-discipline,” Steve said, “and a bit of courage are always useful.”

Ryan looked at Kit and caught her eye before standing to extend his hand to the two men who likewise stood to receive Ryan’s approach.

“Mostly,” Ryan said, “I make my decision from the essays and application. This interview is used primarily to weed out imposters, crazies, and fanatics.”

“Which are we?” Alan asked.

“You,” Ryan replied, “are citizens of the new world. If you wish to be.”

“Great,” Alan said.

Steve said nothing.

Ryan shook the hand of both men and Kit extended the same courtesy before they told Alan and Steve to prepare for any contingency, not withstanding previous announcements that a Brazilian site was being considered.

Ten minutes later the two men found themselves in the adjacent office of a staff attorney—where they received legal advice regarding steps needed to protect their financial interests and order their legal affairs. Only after they had signed waivers and non-disclosure agreements were the applicants directed to a staff nurse to schedule physical examinations. The two men were sent from the office with a set of instructions, a pile of legal documents, and a full calendar.

A white male in his late twenties sat on the blue couch. Short brown hair stood straight from his head and he wore a sweatshirt printed with the word
Berkeley.

“I’ll answer your question,” the young man said with a grin, “after your answer mine. Why do you, of all people, want to leave this world?”

“Fair enough, ” Ryan replied, setting a folder on the desk and leaning back in his swivel chair. “There’s no doubt I’ve had a good career in Hollywood. And Kit, too, as far as that goes. But we’re tired of the pretense. Not the movies and shows, mind you, but the politics. We bit our lips and pretended to love Tipper and Lieberman to support Al Gore and we pretended for eight years Clinton wasn’t Arkansas trailer trash and his wife the Ice Queen. I’d personally nominate James Carville for an Academy Award for his public performance as the dogged defender of persecuted innocence. Every day, we sent emissaries and delegates across America to preach our message to the American people. And we gave. We gave mountains of money. I donated a million or two myself. And where did it end: with the Republicans stealing the Florida election and the Presidency. Now they’ll control the White House, Congress, and the Supreme Court, as well as most governorships and state legislatures. It’s getting hard for a liberal to be elected dogcatcher. He’d be accused of being soft on rabies if he decided to cage strays rather than hang ‘em from the nearest tree. I want to live in a community where progressives speak freely, where they make a true democracy, and where they really live liberal values. And to be frank—I want to help create such a world. A city on the hill was how the Puritans saw themselves. We can do better than burning witches, swindling land, and fighting natives.”

“I can live with that,” the young man said.

“I’m glad,” Ryan said, “my opinions please you, Mr. Kelly. Now what can you say to convince us of your value?”

Sean didn’t flinch.

“Only that my father,” Sean said, “was an anti-war protester during the sixties and my mother one of the first flower children. She knew Janis Joplin in ‘66. They lived in a commune for a while, but left after I came along. Afterwards, they remained active in the Sierra Club, which explains my love for nature. I suppose their lifestyle and my infancy in the commune explain my interest in reforming society. But America is beyond redemption. Mom and Dad knew it when they tuned in and dropped out and it’s worse now. The idealists have sold out and the silent majority has become the moral majority. I want to go to a new land free from all prejudices to begin a new life. I suppose it’s undeniable the drugs and orgies hurt the communes. Mom and Dad left their comrades because they didn’t want to end like Charles Manson and his clan of renegade hippies shacked up down the street. Still, the deeper problem is America itself: militarist, sexist, racist. All of us on the left know society shapes the individual. Every one of our policies is predicated on that notion. The inverse of that truth, however, is even the blameless man or woman can be corrupted by a bad society. And all of us are and I no longer want to be.”

“Bravo, bravo,” Kit clapped her hands lightly. “You’ve given the best speech yet.”

Sean shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Kit said with a smile. “It was very moving.”

“We’ve already talked of your practical qualifications,” Ryan said, “which are strong. You’ve worked construction and fishing. And you studied civil engineering as an undergrad. What about your love life? Are you leaving anyone behind?”

“I live with Ursula Gottlieb-Tate.”

Ryan nodded. “She’s the gypsy girl? I’m sorry. I meant to say the Roma woman.”

“Afro-German,” Sean answered as he shook his head. “Her father was an American soldier who got himself stationed in Berlin after Vietnam. He brought Ursula and her mom to Georgia when he returned, but Ms. Gottlieb used both names both for her feminism and because it wasn’t politically correct for a white woman to marry a black man in those days. There weren’t too many legs still broken over such sins when Ursula was born, but prejudice was real enough. Eventually, they made their way to Chicago, but Ursula kept both names.”

“That’s what she said,” Kit said.

“We interviewed her yesterday,” Ryan explained.

“We made,” Sean said, “a joint application but for some reason they’re being processed separately.”

“I apologize,” Kit said. “It certainly wasn’t intentional.”

“No problem. We guessed a glitch in the paperwork.”

The interview lasted another half hour, centering on plans for the community, the tools necessary for proper construction, and Sean’s relationship with Ursula. At the end of the interview, Ryan and Kit shared notes and whispers while Sean sat on the sofa. Then they congratulated him on his acceptance and told him to schedule his appointments for the following day.

A few minutes later, Kit telephoned Ursula at her hotel and told her she too was chosen and her appointments were scheduled with Sean’s.

“Why do you want to leave the United States at your age? Second year of grad school, is it?”

A petite woman with golden skin and dark hair pulled in a tight bun sat on the blue couch, her legs crossed at the knees and dress pulled over them. The woman’s eyes flickered in the sunlight which streamed through half-drawn curtains and her hands moved in graceful cadence with her words, her fingers flowing from swaying wrists and brightly polished nails glimmering from reflected light. Kit watched her husband—her smile tight and eyes hard—as the young woman answered.

“Well, Mr. Godson ...”

“Call me Ryan, please,” Ryan interrupted.

Kit bit her lip.

“Ryan,” the woman said, “I study the humanities at UCLA. School’s going well enough, but it’s so bookish. I want to experience the world, to live in it, to love in it.”

The young woman batted her eyes and smiled as Ryan locked his eyes on hers for an instant before fumbling through his notes.

“Wh-what’s your major, Maria?”

“I’m studying Political Science.”

“And what can you add to our enterprise?”

“Beyond my formal education,” the young woman replied, “I suppose I can make a difference from my own experience. I’ve been a cross-cultural counselor and a day-care provider in the past. I’ve also helped to raise my three young sisters and tutored Spanish.”

Ryan smiled and nodded.

“Also,” Maria added after a pause, “I don’t know if it’s relevant, but I’ve been an aerobics instructor.”

Ryan glanced at the young woman’s toned arms, his eyes crossing her breasts and waist as Maria turned away—her cheeks flush.

“Good shape, as I tell Kit every day,” Ryan said as he looked at his wife, “can never do a body any harm. Right dear?”

“Right,” Kit said, her voice flat.

“I try to stay fit,” Maria said, “and this new life will help—with plenty of physical exercise and few fattening foods.”

“Only what you carry in yourself,” Ryan said, “and I don’t imagine too many people bringing cupcakes to the jungle.”

“Or ice cream,” Maria said, leaning forward as she laughed.

Ryan looked at Kit. “Any questions for her?”

Kit reviewed her notes.

“My question,” Kit finally said, her voice still flat, “pertains to the rigors of camp life. Ryan and I have lived on remote sets for weeks on end and it can be difficult enough doing without the conveniences of life when someone’s there to set your hair and groom your nails. This will be more spartan. How does that sit with you?”

“Don’t let the aerobics and nails fool you,” Maria answered. “One of my grandfathers was a migrant to the San Joaquin Valley and I’ve seen what it’s like to do without. I dress as fashionably as I can afford, but I also go without food to watch my weight and work hard at every job I take. It was because I studied harder than my friends that I was admitted to grad school and it was because I looked under every rock for a scholarship that I found money to attend. I’m not giving it up for a vacation. This looks fun and I’ll enjoy it as much as anyone, but I’ll do my share of work. You needn’t doubt that. I’m one of the most determined women you’ll ever meet.”

“You’re also feisty,” Kit said as she arched her eyebrows.

“Meekness isn’t the virtue often supposed. The study of politics makes that clear.”

“There’s a chance,” Kit said, “we could move to a coastal area. Would that suit you as well as the rainforest?”

“I’ve taken trips,” Maria now perked up, “to the rainforests of Honduras and I’ve taken vacations to the beaches of Puerto Rico. I love both. But it’s the community I’m interested in as much as the environment. My master’s thesis was titled
Darwinism and the Politics of Conflict in Reproduction
and covered social ethics rather than more strictly biological and ecological forces.”

Kit cleared her throat. “Do you,” she asked, “have a problem with environmentalists?”

“Nothing like that,” Maria said. “I only mean to say I’m interested in this enterprise whether it goes to the Arctic or Aruba. It’s humanity that matter to me more than its habitat.”

Maria glanced at Ryan while Kit jotted notes. After final questions regarding diet, she was dismissed to a waiting room where she waited until Ryan stepped out alone to congratulate her on her acceptance and send the young woman—like the others—to schedule medical examinations and legal consultations.

Ryan and Kit celebrated with steak and lobster after having manifested one hundred handpicked pilgrims and twenty standby passengers (to replace last minute cancellations or be shipped to the colony after several months). When Ryan and Kit themselves were counted, the group equaled the one hundred and two pilgrims who landed at Plymouth Rock and also achieved an almost statistically perfect profile of race and gender for the new community—at least according to American demographics. Though Ryan originally hoped to reflect earth’s population patterns, the purely practical difficulty of finding progressive Afrikaners, liberal Arabs, and multicultural Asians proved insurmountable, so it was decided to emulate American ethnic composition only. The Hollywood couple also was pleased that no more than one in three interviews culminated in rejection. The political, vocational, and personal questions on the applications were well considered and applicants proved both articulate and honest.