Left on Paradise (33 page)

“Just two glasses,” Kit said, “and one for the road. I’m not driving ...”

Now Kit took Ryan’s arm to steady herself.

“My head’s spinning,” Kit said. “I need to sit. It’s all this walking.”

“And,” Ryan said, “the fact you haven’t drank this much for months. It always hits you hard.”

Kit giggled as Ryan led her to the large rock where he was sitting. As Maria edged to one side, Kit took a place on the other while looking at Ryan and patting the rock.

“Sit between us,” Kit said.

As Ryan did so, Kit draped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. “This was a nice day. The best in weeks.”

“It’s been something else recently”—Ryan glanced at Maria—“not exactly what I’d planned.”

“No,” Kit said, “not exactly.”

“But,” Maria said, “it’s also been exciting, wouldn’t you say?”

Ryan nodded.

“We’ve learned a lot about each other,” Maria continued, “and freedom and love.”

Ryan looked to the sea as Kit touched his cheek.

“It won’t be long,” Kit said, “till we’re married again.”

“I guess so,” Ryan whispered, taking another glance at Maria—who turned away.

A moment later, Kit stretched and stood, saying that tomorrow was a scheduled workday and they needed to leave. However, when Ryan and Maria stood to join her, Kit sat back down.

“I’m too dizzy,” Kit said, “I’d like to rest here. This is beautiful. It’s so quiet. You go home with Maria and Jose.”

Ryan looked at his ex-wife. “We can’t,” he said, “leave you here.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Have you forgotten Jason?”

“He’s not even on the island.”

“I’m not so sure he’s the only bad seed.”

When Kit said she’d take her chances, Ryan looked at Maria and shrugged, telling her that he’d catch up later.

Maria abruptly rose and started for the west village, quickly followed by Jose. After several seconds of walking, the young woman called for Ryan—who jogged toward her and exchanged a few quiet words. Thereafter, Maria and Jose disappeared into the dark while Ryan returned to Kit.

“What’d she want?” Kit asked.

“Just a timetable. To know when we were expected home.”

Kit wrinkled her nose.

“In case,” Ryan explained, “I need help getting you to bed.”

“You’ve always managed before.”

Ryan laughed a little.

“I’m not sure it’s me,” Kit said, “she wants to tuck into bed.”

Ryan fell silent.

Kit looked at him a long minute before talking.

“She’s very pretty,” Kit observed.

“She has nothing on you,” Ryan said.

“I have fifteen years on her.”

“Only thirteen.”

“Is that my unlucky number?”

“What’s her age matter?” Ryan replied. “You’re not that old. There’s certainly no lack of men looking at you.”

“Then why,” Kit asked with a hollow voice, “did your Hollywood friends leave wives my age for girls no older than her?”

“Perhaps,” Ryan said as he looked away, “they were fools.”

“Are you a fool?” Kit asked. “Am I a middle-age woman whose time to go has come?”

“Maria,” Ryan said as he dropped his eyes, “doesn’t do married men.”

“You’re no married man.”

“I’m tired of bickering with you.”

Kit took Ryan’s hand. “You know what I miss?” she asked after a time.

“What’s that?”

“Holding you on nights like this. Why don’t you want to love me?”

“We’re not married,” Ryan said, “and I’ve wanted to respect your promise.”

“I never promised,” Kit said, “grandmother to be a nun with my own husband. Maybe we need more love. Maybe that’s why we’re not so close these days.”

Kit drew near to Ryan and he didn’t resist. Desire stirred when Kit threw her arms around Ryan’s neck and a few minutes later, they moved to the sands beneath the sway of palms and spray of surf. Only once did Ryan look toward the trail on which Maria had disappeared into darkness. When they were finished, both slept an hour before bathing in the surf and starting for home.

It was past midnight when Ryan and Kit stumbled into camp. After they said goodnight, Ryan walked toward the mess hall and Kit returned to her tent. As Ryan ate a few morsels of unspoiled food and took a drink of fruit juice, Maria soon approached—wearing a long tee shirt that only half-covered her thighs.

“Is she okay?”

“A little tipsy,” Ryan said. “She needs a rest.”

Maria stepped toward Ryan. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”

“There was nothing I could do.”

“I suppose not,” Maria said as she moved close to Ryan. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close. When their faces fell apart after a long kiss, Maria looked into Ryan’s eyes.

“I miss you when you’re gone,” Maria whispered.

“Me too.”

Maria took his hand.

“Where’re we going?” Ryan asked.

“You can stay with me tonight.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Kit.”

“You’re a free man.”

“Not right in front of her. It’d kill her.”

“And it kills me to see you treat her like a wife. When she’s not.”

“Give me one more week.”

“No,” Maria said, “resolve it now. You’ve told me you’re not going to marry her again. So tell her. It’s only common decency.”

“I will. Just give me some time.”

“No,” Maria snapped. “I’m not going to be strung along as if you’re a married man. That’s why I’ve avoided affairs.”

“I understand, but this is a sticky situation.”

“Till the end of the week,” Maria said with a flat tone, “or I’ll tell her myself. I swear it.”

“I guess the end of the week it is,” Ryan said.

Maria nestled herself against Ryan, her hips pressed to his. “Come to bed,” she cooed. “My engine’s been revved for hours.”

“No,” Ryan protested. “I can’t. Not tonight.”

“I’ve given you time to tell her, but I’m not playing the saint while I wait”—Maria now pulled the tee shirt over her head and threw it into the hot coals where the shirt burst into flames and burned to ashes—“either you come to my tent or every strip of my clothes will burn in this fire and I’ll stand here naked till dawn. She may be yours in public, but in private you belong to me and I’ll not be denied what you promised.”

Ryan dropped his head and followed Maria to her tent, returning to his own bed after they were done.

26

Used Supplies and New Demands

The early morning sun remained eclipsed by treetops as a trim, bare-chested Euro-Islander with red hair and dark freckles sat on the bridge: her legs stretched into the flowing stream and a razor in hand. She wore nothing but jogging shorts and a matching headband. A dark-haired woman wrapped in a towel sat beside her, rinsing shampoo from her hair as suds streamed down her olive-skinned back. Both women upheld an invisible partition of privacy and only when the fair-skinned woman jumped a little did they talk.

“Ouch,” Lisa cried out when the worn edge of a dull razor caught soft flesh beneath her arm. “I’ve gouged myself again. This razor’s too dull and my hair’s too thick. You have a spare razor?”

“I pluck hairs out, with tweezers,” Deidra said. “It was the custom of my people long before we traded the Ohio Valley for a few straight razors. Before all you white women came along.”

“I’ve never been to Ohio.”

“Maybe your grandparents robbed a different tribe. Ever been to Oklahoma? Or Montana?”

“I don’t consider myself,” Lisa said with a smile, “to be Custer’s long-lost granddaughter.”

“The way your legs are looking,” Deidra quipped, “you might consider yourself his long-lost grandson.”

Lisa looked at her thighs. “I suppose,” she said, “I am sporting a more European flair. As fashionable as the French, or maybe the Italians and Greeks.”

“All of them white women. Hairy white women.”

“Better that than plucking five thousand hairs.”

“I thought you gave up shaving.”

“I tried,” Lisa said, “but they’re starting to itch. And feel fuzzy. You sure you don’t have a spare?”

“I heard,” Deidra replied with a grin, “the south camp has spares. There’s a guy with an old-fashioned straight razor, so they’ve pooled their disposables for trade.”

“What’s the price?”

“Mostly, booze and drugs. I hear it’s a bag of pot for one razor. Or a bottle of booze.”

“I’m down to one bottle of rum,” Lisa said, “and the village dope burned with Jason’s tent. Whatever else is true about him, he was generous with the weed. I smoked my stash a week after we arrived.”

Deidra looked at Lisa before speaking.

“Rumor also has it,” Deidra said with a low voice, “there are guys there who give shaves ... to friendly women.”

“For sex?”

“It’s not said up front,” Deidra said, “but it’s understood. Like prom or taking a vacation with a guy.”

“I’ve never given myself either way. I choose for myself when I want a man.”

“That’s good,” Deidra replied, “because I’m not so sure many men will be choosing those legs of yours.”

“I have nice legs from my running.”

“Too bad no one can see them.”

Lisa pointed to a particularly dense patch above one knee. “They don’t look so bad,” she said. “Call it an eco-friendly look.”

Deidra laughed.

After she finished shaving, Lisa slipped out of her shorts and waded upstream where she slowly sat down (the cool of water almost too cold to endure), then washed her hair and splashed her back. She watched Deidra drop her towel and wade downstream—where the bronze-skinned woman rinsed with her back turned toward the younger woman, picked up her towel and clothing, and walked behind trees. Lisa herself climbed from the pond with far less circumspection and pulled her shorts over her hips from the middle of the main path. Looking carefully at her dirty underwear and ragged bra, she rolled them up for cleaning and pulled a torn shirt over her shoulders—laughing when a breast protruded through a frayed hole.

“I need to find a needle and thread after supper,” Lisa said. “This is my best work shirt.”

Deidra didn’t reply. She had started down the path for the village and was beyond earshot as Lisa secured her toiletries into a canvas bag after tightening every lid and snapping every cap. Afterwards, Lisa splashed the stubble and soap from the bridge and erased every sign of human habitation before returning to camp for a breakfast of bread and fruit.

The rest of the week went well. Balmy skies and fresh breezes provided ideal weather for the work of Paradise. Ursula and Ilyana watched children and tended livestock while Ryan and Kit fished: netting several dozen fish, twenty crabs, and two lobsters. Charles dug large pits near the storehouse, then sealed them with rocks and banana leaves according to Polynesian techniques and plastic tarps according to Western technology—the pits serving as breadfruit storage bins, each one able to hold dozens of breadfruit (the island’s best source of starch) until the fruit could be milled into flour. Lisa gathered the much-needed fruit while Joan boiled jelly from pineapple and mango, preserving it in half-gallon jars sealed with paraffin and lowered into underground pantries (where temperatures were cooler). Viet and Brent scoured the western district for food and spices, bringing home canvas bags filled with fruits and flowers from the furthest outreaches of western territory. They even found some pistachio trees that they picked clean. Lisa gathered fruit for the day’s eating from nearby orchards while Hilary cut down trees subsequently stripped and stacked by Linh. Sean spent the week working with Maria to blaze trails toward Mount Zion and Jose ran the kitchen by himself, turning out to be a fair hand with food preparations.

The pace was such that almost every neighbor put in overtime every day through the end of the week. Saturday was declared a day of rest: with most villagers spending the morning relaxing and recovering. Several men washed clothes in the stream and a few women swept the week’s dirt from their tents. Parents played with their children and children chased each other. Later, Heather took the children to the beach while Ryan called the village to an informal meeting to review construction plans. Only Olivia (who remained in detention) and John (who disappeared for the day) were absent. In particular, Ryan relayed plans that he and John had drafted to build private houses for their families—using carpentry skills that John had honed while working boathouse construction and renovation jobs near the outskirts of Phoenix.

When Ryan finished speaking, Charles—who initially remained stone-faced at the back of the mess hall—went to the front of the tent to address the village.

“To begin with,” Charles said, “you don’t have the right to build a private residence. If we need houses, why not use cooperative housing? Why allow the beginning of private property? If Rousseau and Marx are to be believed, the roots of inequality and exploitation are found in private property. The very thought of a permanent home smacks of bourgeois capitalism. Imagine the beginning of land speculation. And resale values. Next, we’ll have suburbs and slums. Maybe we should plant private gardens and set up a new economic policy with cash crops while we’re at it.”

Ryan didn’t reply until Charles sat down.

“I’m as progressive,” Ryan said, “as a man can be without joining the Comintern, but we haven’t much time to prepare for the rainy season. There’s no way we can build an apartment complex. Nor is there any need to cut down so many trees—a point Lisa will appreciate. Whoever wishes to stay in the communal building can do so. I’m just asking a few houses be allowed.”

“Apart from the matter of private property,” Lisa said as she stood, “is the question of common lands. The trees of the forest belong to the whole village. By whose authority can you cut down even a single one for private use?”

“Do we need permission to use what’s already ours?”

“Yes, you do,” Lisa said. “We’re not ecological entrepreneurs.”

“Do we seek permission to crack coconuts?” Ryan pressed his point. “Do we seek permission to pick every banana?”

“A seed is not a tree. We’re not prolife fanatics.”

“We’re not deer either, so we can’t eat bark. At harvest, every wasted coconut will mean a lot more than a few chopped trees.”

“I don’t want to debate,” Lisa said. “Let’s just vote.”

“Fine,” Ryan said, “but first tell me this: if the village permits only communal housing, who determines where people live?”

“To each according to his need,” Charles said.

“Which needs?” Ryan asked.

“Human needs,” Charles said.

“Will the neighborhood,” Ryan said, “give John his own place because he doesn’t want to watch his ex-wife sleep with Sean? Will we favor Ursula because she has a newborn baby?”

“I don’t know,” Lisa said, “what’ll happen.”

“I do,” Ryan replied. “It’ll be musical beds.”

“Private property,” Lisa said with a shake of her head, “breeds inequality. You’ll end up with chateaux and slums.”

“Won’t even the poorest among us own a house rather than a tent?”

“Very clever. A rising tide raises all houses.”

“Besides,” Ryan said, “I’ve filmed in Bucharest and I’ve seen what state-run housing amounts to: cement and cinder block.”

“That’s one socialist vision. Take a look at San Francisco for another.”

“Overpriced housing and homelessness?”

Lisa scowled.

“You also have to admit,” Ryan continued, “that communal control requires everyone to work longer hours. We’ll need to work sixty hours a week for the rest of the summer to build an apartment. Maybe more. Private control of housing, on the other hand, means more work only for those who freely choose to build a place for themselves.”

When Charles asked that the matter be put to a vote, Ryan turned to his compatriots.

“How many think,” Ryan asked, “that John and I are free to build houses for ourselves?”

No one raised a hand.

“Seriously,” Ryan said, “those in favor of drafting housing codes remain seated. Those who wish for laissez-faire housing, stand up.”

Brent and Tiffany stood up—as did Ryan and Kit. Heather and Ursula also voted for economic liberalism. That left Charles, Joan, Hilary, Maria, Deidra, Sean, and Jose to vote with Lisa to establish a zoning ordinance (with Viet and Linh abstaining). Ryan conceded the loss before debating Lisa regarding the advantages and disadvantages of public versus private housing.

Lisa argued the establishment of private property would lead to the rape of the environment, the creation of material inequities, and even the first step into urban sprawl. She also insisted the charter itself forbade laissez-faire capitalism as well as the unnecessary destruction of environmental resources. It was her opinion that a second communal house should be constructed, allowing individuals to choose the residence where they preferred to live. Regulations could be drafted regarding clothing, lovemaking, and cleanliness—and residents not suited for close residency could be separated. Lisa also thought it prudent to construct a permanent medical hut (with indoor heating) in which young children and sick adults could find shelter from the cold and damp. When pressed, she admitted she preferred not to sleep near Ursula’s expected baby and couldn’t name anyone who wished otherwise.

Ryan argued to the contrary. He claimed that Lisa’s proposal required more lumber than four or five private cottages might—which conceivably could shelter most of the village. He also noted the construction of private housing could be done on private time, keeping public stores intact and permitting more rapid completion of work quotas. As for the charter, Ryan pointed out that the homes of the east village were all privately built and that the charter itself granted freedom of association. He argued private homes allowed greater privacy and were little more than the regularization of their present establishment of private tents. Both freedom of association and human relationships, he noted, flourish better in private places than public ones. His arguments won over both Maria and Jose and the building of private housing was authorized when the final vote was tallied. Lisa and Charles conceded gracefully—asking only that houses be single-story structures measuring no more than 225-square-feet of floor space to conserve resources and preserve equality and that land plots remain public property. Their proposal was ratified and codified as law.

When the village delegated to Lisa the right to organize planning for urban development, she promised to submit at least tentative plans for expansion within two days. The meeting ended with hugs and handshakes and everyone pleased with its conciliatory tone. When a few neighbors pointed out that the creation of houses might also work to reduce consumption of trees in the bonfire since wood walls would mitigate night chills, Lisa seemed mollified regarding the building proposals. Previously, she hadn’t considered private housing as a way both to save trees and prevent smoke pollution.

Later in the day, those interested in building private homes met with Ryan. Among them was John—who had skipped the earlier meeting to search for suitable timber (not really expecting such a close vote). Linh and Tiffany decided to share a duplex and instructed their husbands to make proper plans while Sean considered building a home for Deidra until his new wife pointed out that the building would likely be expropriated by Ursula’s baby and that she preferred a tepee or a wigwam. Even Maria decided to build a house and asked whether Ryan might help her to raise one and he agreed to do so. Everyone else chose to remain in communal housing, though arrangements hadn’t yet been finalized when a commotion from the beach interrupted the meeting as Viet’s and Linh’s daughters emerged from the woods shouting for their parents.