Left on Paradise (30 page)

“That would be priority,” Heather said and everyone laughed, “but express and dry ice work better for soft-serve ice cream.”

“Tell me why,” Kit asked as she raised her hands in mock disgust, “we didn’t bring cattle.”

“Ask your husband,” Jose said. “He’s the genius in charge of this enterprise.”

Kit looked around. “Where,” she asked, “is the genius? I haven’t seen him all morning.”

“He helped extinguish the fire,” John said. “I’d guess he went to clean up afterwards.”

Kit turned toward Heather. “Have you seen him?”

“Not since the fire,” the young woman said, looking to the ground.

“You’re acting,” Sean said, “like a wife.”

“I am ...” Kit stopped herself. “Well, an actress acts and we’re not exactly divorced.”

Now there was a lull in the conversation as Kit looked away and Sean said nothing more.

“Anyway,” Jose said after a moment, “even I’d wage war for a glass of milk.”

“I’d sell myself into slavery for a bite of cheese,” Ursula said and Charles added he’d vote with the bourgeoisie for a bagel. The jokes opened a floodgate and a dozen different acts of self-abnegation were tied to a dozen different meals. Linh and Viet agreed to trade future children for Chinese takeout, though Tiffany and Brent disagreed between themselves which boy to trade for filet mignon—and their boys seemed eager to exchange both parents for sodas and fries. John offered a toe for a leg of lamb and Hilary said she’d trade her next boyfriend for a cola. Ursula offered to serve Sean for dinner.

“He’s gamey,” Ursula declared, “but if we spit roast him with plenty of sauce and stuff a pineapple up his ... into his mouth, we’d all get our fill.”

Everyone laughed except Sean and Deidra whose groans brought an end to the laughter. Indeed, there was a long pause until wild shrieks of laughter punctured the silence. Olivia had returned to the public square and now threw uprooted plants into the fire, dancing and shouting as she fed the flames. When Linh asked what she was doing, Olivia laughed out loud. Other arrived only after the last plant was aflame.

“That’s the end of it,” Olivia announced.

Kit asked if she was okay.

“I’m better now that this village is drug free. That is his last dope plant. Correction. Was his last dope plant.”

Everyone looked as a plant—perhaps a foot high with roots—burning as its smoke spiraled toward the sky and Deidra grabbed Olivia by the arm and asked if she’d set the tent on fire. Olivia said it was the first time she had ever lit dope and thought her effort good for a beginner. When Sean observed that someone might have been hurt, Olivia retorted someone already had been.

“We could’ve,” Sean said, “lost everything if the winds were stronger.”

“They weren’t,” Olivia said, “and you didn’t. Ilyana lost more than a few possessions.”

“What you did was dangerous.”

“Tolerating his bad habits was dangerous.”

“It’s his life.”

“And Ilyana’s too.” Olivia turned deep red and stared at Sean—who continued to dispute with her.

“No one knew he was capable of such things.”

“Really?” Olivia said as she scanned the village’s women. “How many of you would kiss him? Or a man like him before you married?”

None of the women stirred.

“I didn’t think so. One look is enough to tell.”

“You’re her mother and we ...”

Deidra began to speak, but Olivia turned her back and walked away just as Lisa emerged from the woods and hurried to the mess hall. After filling her face with handfuls of food, she staggered back into the forest announcing she needed a nap. Jose and Hilary followed on her heels and also took naps after eating. Neither Ryan nor Maria returned for lunch.

24

The Way of All Flesh

Nearly an hour after lunch, Heather returned the tent repair kit to the supply shed and was proceeding to the mess hall to prepare food for dry storage in the barn when a petite blonde in her mid-thirties, dripping wet from the waist down and carrying an armful of clothes, headed straight to her—though the visitor didn’t speak a word until she stood only a few feet from Heather.

“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” the woman whispered. Her face was flush and voice somber. She didn’t smile.

“We had a fire.”

“These,” the woman said as she thrust the pile of clothes toward Heather’s face, “aren’t burned—and I’d advise you to save them for the lunatics running naked through the woods.”

Heather looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“First,” the woman said, “I ran across a woman hugging a tree. Mind you, embracing the thing, her legs wrapped tight around it. And not wearing a shirt as far as I could see from the back. Then I encountered a couple making love on a bridge. They were so hot and heavy they didn’t even notice me and I had to wade through the creek to pass around them.”

“Who was it?” Heather asked as she looked toward the woods.

“I tried hard not to look, but these are probably their clothes. You know the owners?”

“Those’re Ryan’s shorts,” Heather said, “and Maria’s shirt.”

“Ryan our founding father?”

Heather nodded.

“Who’s this Maria?” the woman asked.

“A village girl.”

“Well, store these in your tent and I’ll talk to Ryan later. He’s still married to Kit, isn’t he?”

“They missed the deadline.”

The woman thought about Heather’s words for a moment, then extended her hand. “Dr. Janine Erikson,” she said. “I’m not sure we’ve met.”

“Heather Marks-Ingalls.”

“Nice to meet you, Heather.”

Heather started to speak, but the woman’s face grew concerned and she turned around.

“That smell in your camp,” the psychologist said, “is that marijuana?”

“We had a fire, but only one tent burned—with pounds of dope, which they tell me is a lot. Several neighbors got stoned putting it out. Those were the lunatics you referred to.”

“Very dangerous. Very dangerous.”

“It could’ve been.”

“How’d it start?”

“Arson. Olivia burned Jason’s tent to the ground.”

“Jason the rapist? I mean, the alleged rapist.”

“Yeah.”

“Curious,” Dr. Erikson said with a frown. “But he’s not my first problem. I need to find the girl. Where’s her tent?”

“Ilyana’s in the blue one,” Heather said as she pointed down the row of tents.

Dr. Erikson thanked Heather for her assistance and started for the blue tent as Heather tucked Ryan and Maria’s clothing inside Maria’s tent before walking to the mess tent to finish the day’s work. Only when she’d set fifty peeled lemons out to dry and sealed another fifty in glass jars did she retrieve a canvas bag filled with dirty laundry and walk toward the stream.

Their love spent, Maria and Ryan embraced one last time before falling apart. The rush of the dope and sex exhausted their bodies and they soon slept, waking only when the afternoon sun warmed their unclothed flesh. Ryan woke sweating, then touched Maria on the cheek.

“That was good,” Maria said as she opened her eyes. “Even better than before.”

“It was good dope too,” Ryan said with a nod. “We should remember to thank Jason.”

When Ryan asked where his clothes were, Maria giggled and pointed toward the bridge. Ryan stood and yawned—and so did Maria. Ryan watched as the young woman stretched her arms and arched her back, then desire stirred and he fell on her again. This time they didn’t sleep afterwards, but immediately rose to find their clothes. When they found none on the bridge, they walked east and looked on the trail, but found nothing on the trail either. Only when they neared the glade of trees close to the village did they stop.

“They’re gone,” Ryan said.

Maria laughed. “Let’s go get more.”

Ryan didn’t laugh.

“Stand back,” he said, “here comes Heather.”

Maria and Ryan retreated across the bridge and sprinted barefoot and bareback along the stream until they reached a ford. There, they crossed through the water into an old growth forest and slipped through the woods until they came to several citrus trees along the north edge of the village—within twenty treeless yards of Maria’s tent—where Ryan crawled through bushes as Maria followed. They were especially careful to avoid thorns and nettles.

“Damn,” Ryan whispered. “Look.”

Maria looked and saw that Kit sat between the trees and the village, threading vine through half-dried fruit. Near her stood two poles with twine strung between them: from which hung several sliced mangos. Beside one of the poles sat a two-foot heap of mangos, limes, and kiwi. Kit evidently planned to be at the spot for a long while. Maria backed up as Ryan followed, though she waited until she was beyond earshot before laughing.

“We could tell her,” Maria said, “our clothes washed to sea while we were skinny-dipping.”

Ryan forced a smile before noting he had an idea and circled west toward the privacy tent—which stood empty. Ryan and Maria ignored the stench of stale dope and hurried inside, where Maria draped herself with a grass skirt and its matching top while Ryan put on a pair of Jason’s dirty shorts. After dressing, Ryan stepped away to eye the grass skirt.

“Dance a little,” Ryan said.

Maria rotated her hips and the grass swung from thigh to thigh.

“That’s paradise,” Ryan said. “That’s what I dreamed of when I came here. Not a lot of talk about babies.”

“Maybe I’ll make you beg for my baby,” Maria said as she stepped forward.

Ryan kept her at arm’s reach. “Not here,” he said. “We’ve been lucky twice today. I doubt the third time would be so charmed.”

“You promised me love whenever I want it.”

“And you promised me a private relationship.”

“For a time,” Maria said with a laugh, “but you’ll be publicly exposed before I’m done with you.”

“Just not today,” Ryan said. “It’s getting late.”

They left the tent together but separated on the trail. Ryan reached his tent unnoticed and came out a few minutes later in clean clothes, having hidden Jason’s shorts in his dirty laundry.

For her part, Maria wasn’t so lucky; she almost had reached the privacy of her own tent when Kit saw her.

“That skirt looks like mine,” Kit said.

Maria fingered the grass sheaves. “I found it in the tent out of camp. Is it yours?”

“I made it for my honeymoon,” Kit said without a smile.

“I’m sorry,” Maria said, “I didn’t know. I stepped into the tent to take a rest when I saw it. It looked so authentic I just had to try it on. I hope I didn’t ruin any surprises.”

“Not if Ryan didn’t see.”

“I was alone.”

“May I have it back?”

Kit waited for Maria to change and took the skirt back to her own tent, hiding it behind her clothes. A little while later, Kit found Ryan eating a midafternoon snack at the mess hall—where he explained how he’d staggered into the woods after being sickened and stoned by the burning marijuana and spent the day sleeping off the drug’s effects. Kit thought the story funny and repeated it to Heather, though the teenager just forced a smile.

Hilary stared at Sean, her face taut and eyes fixed, the late afternoon sun burning behind her like a torch. The woman didn’t smile and her voice growled as she clenched breadfruit in her hands and glared at Sean—who reached to the lower branches of a fruit-filled tree to twist breadfruit free before handing each one to his coworker.

“You’re a pig, Sean.”

“All I said was that it’s not real rape. I agree he needs to be punished for not respecting her. But you can’t tell me he wasn’t as stoned as she was—maybe more as much as he smokes. If the pot excuses her, why not him?”

“She’s a girl.”

“What if she were twenty?”

“She’d be old enough to know better.”

“So,” Sean said, stretching to reach a large breadfruit that he twisted from its stem and tossed to Hilary, “you wouldn’t prosecute if she were twenty?”

“It depends on the circumstances.”

“You mean,” Sean replied, “it depends upon the girl’s mood the next morning. If she calls it rape, it is.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, but you meant it. If the sex is good and the man sends flowers, all is well. Otherwise, regret becomes rape.”

“Nonsense,” Hilary said. “It’s a matter of consent.”

“Fine. Give me the rules. I’ll play by whatever set you choose. But they can’t be changed after the fact.”

“Respect.”

“I thought you considered respectability bourgeois.”

“Respect isn’t respectability.”

Sean just smirked.

“When respect is shown,” Hilary continued with a frown, “rules aren’t necessary.”

“That’s where you’re naive,” Sean said. “The people on this island are no different than the ones across the ocean. The point is to get the rules straightened out properly.”

“No,” Hilary said, “rules are for lawyers. Character endures.”

“You sound more like Bill Bennett than brother Bob. More Republican than progressive. Are you certain you voted Democrat?”

“As a point of fact,” Hilary answered, “I voted for Nader.”

Sean cursed and asked which state.

“Florida.”

“Thanks.”

“Jeb,” Hilary said, “was going to steal that election in any case. I’d have been just another voter to disqualify. Another chad to hang.”

Sean pulled another breadfruit from the tree and then several more while Hilary carefully stowed each fruit in a storage bag.

After a time, Hilary renewed the debate. “Would you do it?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Take a fifteen-year old girl stoned out of her mind?”

“Who’s to say I haven’t?”

When Hilary didn’t laugh, Sean grimaced.

“Sorry,” Sean said. “That was tasteless. And no, I wouldn’t do a girl like that. Not even when I was fifteen myself. I guess I’ve chosen an existentialist morality; there may be no essential difference between right and wrong, but there is a difference between taking responsibility and avoiding it. You can’t sleep with a girl who can’t understand the consequences. It’s like seducing the simple and slow—it’d be very poor sportsmanship. No matter how nice her hips might be.”

“And which morality does Ursula preach?”

“The old-time religion,” Sean said, “the way she hounded me for marriage.”

“Marriage? She’d rather see you sent into the open seas on a burning boat.”

“And to think,” Sean smirked, “I fathered her only child. She’s not a particularly grateful person.”

“Back to our point,” Hilary said with a scowl. “How is Jason wronged?”

“I didn’t say he is. But there’s a mob mentality at work and he won’t stand a chance at trial.”

“And rightly so.”

“What if,” Sean chose his words carefully, “Deidra and I chose to down a fifth of whiskey figuring the night would end with sex? Should I be punished because she willingly surrendered control of herself and only decided the next morning she wished she hadn’t taken me?”

“No one would punish that.”

“Why not?”

“Your relationship is already known.”

“What if it were our first date?”

“It would depend on circumstances.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then you tell me,” Sean pressed his point, “when I’m not allowed to take a woman.”

Hilary didn’t hesitate to answer. “When she’s drunk or stoned. Or if she just says no.”

“How drunk?”

“Too drunk.”

“Are we going,” Sean again smirked, “to set up breathalyzers and blood tests for sex? Maybe prosecute SUI: Sex Under the Influence?”

“Don’t be a jackass.”

Sean climbed from the tree, still talking as he reached the ground. “Give me a standard.”

“It’s relative to the situation.”

“And the girl,” Sean said, “and that’s not fair to men. I’m as progressive as the next guy—more than most—but I can’t live my life by the moods of women whose expectations don’t line up with mine. We need a shared standard. Good sportsmanship requires known rules. Even hockey has referees and boxing has regulations.”

“Then I’d say,” Hilary observed after a moment’s consideration, “that any woman too drunk or too high to prepare for sex should be left alone. So should girls too young to understand the full consequences of their actions.”

“What do you mean by full?”

“I don’t expect her to be either omniscient or as celibate as a nun, if that’s what you’re getting at. She just needs to have enough maturity and sobriety to weigh risks.”