Left on Paradise (37 page)

“Who’s going to need that much dope?” Deidra asked. “We’re too busy clearing land out west to party. And it’s not likely that we’ll be exporting the stuff anytime soon.”

The woman nodded as she refilled cups of coffee.

“How many of you live here?” Karla asked.

“The Murphy’s and their baby. My little girl and I. And a single guy named Roberto.”

“So you live as a separate neighborhood?” Deidra said.

“Almost. Roberto heads back now and then. He takes food with him and brings smiles back. I’m guessing a trade is made.”

Deidra looked puzzled. “Pot?”

“Not that kind of a smile. The kind that comes from a woman.”

“Oh,” Deidra said, “does that concern you?”

“Well,” the woman said, “it’s not ideal, but he works like a fiend. We wouldn’t have made it this far without him. How he spends his share of the profits is between him and God.”

Deidra and Karla nodded as the woman walked to a tent, then returned with a small crate that she placed before the two visitors.

“It’s not much,” Sally explained, “only a couple dozen lemons. But the tree is really fruitful and we’ll lose some of the lemons before we can use them. They might be good for those islanders. In case they have the rickets.”

Karla and Deidra thanked Sally for the donation and said they’d ask the Executive Council to investigate the northern village. On the return to the beach, they passed the tent of unclothed northerners. The ponytailed delegate sat naked, pinching a joint in one hand and stroking a middle-aged woman’s thighs with the other. When he motioned for Karla and Deidra to take a break, the visitors just picked up their pace back to the boat. Once they cleared the woods, Karla observed that some people couldn’t comprehend the difference between civilized sex and animal instincts. Deidra agreed.

After loading up the box of lemons and requisitioning several bundles of wood stacked near the beach, the women planned the rest of their day. They hoped to gather provisions from the other villages before supper—as well as to spend a few hours at New Plymouth preparing the goods for shipment to the natives. Some supplies would be bagged and others boxed, but the entire load needed to be tarped and tied before they retired for the night (since the trip was planned for the morning). Work plans drawn, Karla and Deidra set out to accomplish their purposes.

Linh sat on a stump in front of the medical tent at New Plymouth where she watched a middle-aged male African-Islander stroll into the dispensary and quickly depart with a bottle of pills in hand before heading north. A moment later, a skinny and hairy-legged white woman emerged from a south-leading trail while carrying a bawling boy of two. Snot crusted across the boy’s lip and his nose was swollen. The woman’s hair was flat, her lips pale, and her eyes circled with dark rings. She looked straight at the medical tent and told the child to enter. When the boy balked, she dragged him in.

Linh listened to the subsequent commotion as the doctor shouted for the boy to sit still and winced when she remembered the trouble of taking young children to the doctor—especially for shots. Even as the boy’s screaming grew louder, Ursula stepped from the tent, rolling her eyes.

“Am I pregnant,” Ursula asked Linh, “with one of those?”

“They all have their moments.”

“No one told me.”

“How’d it go?”

“I listened to the heartbeat. I’ve put on three pounds.”

“Really?”

“Do I look like I’ve gained more?”

“You look as thin as before, but maybe starting to show a bit.”

“Only in the belly,” Ursula said. “When is my chest supposed to swell?”

“Mine never did. It just hurt for nine months.”

“I know the pain.”

“How far along are you?”

“Beginning my third month.”

“It passes so fast.”

“It felt like an eternity vomiting in that tent.”

“I remember.”

Now Ursula tapped her abdomen. “I need to pee.”

“Is this,” Linh said with a smile, “just an excuse to use the good toilet?”

“I really have to go.”

“So do I.”

Both women walked behind the hospital tent where an eight-foot-tall plastic outhouse stood. The portable toilet was anchored with steel chains attached to concrete blocks buried deep in the ground and it didn’t shake when Ursula pulled the door shut and snapped the handle. A few minutes later, she emerged from the portable toilet sporting a big smile.

“No flies,” the pregnant woman announced, “and no stink and no urine on the seat. I sat down the whole time. There’re even wet wipes and disinfectant spray. Heaven on earth.”

“I can’t wait,” Linh said.

When Linh too emerged with a wide smile on her face, Ursula laughed out loud. “I told you,” she said, “it was heaven on earth.”

“Cleanliness, if I remember, is next to godliness.”

“We need to get one of these for our village.”

“Lisa calls them the crappings of capitalism.”

“Then we should steal toilet paper as a good proletariat.”

“The lords would hang us for poaching.”

“We,” Ursula said, “could argue it damages the environment to tear palm leaves off the trees to wipe ourselves.”

“It’s not me you need to convince,” Linh said. “Talk to Lisa.”

“Right. She thinks squatting in the woods is the best invention since ... well, since bran flakes.”

“Circle of life and all that.”

“And all that.”

The women found a bit of fresh fruit at the base camp and sat to eat before starting west. As they left New Plymouth, Ursula picked up a bag of vitamins and an assortment of pain relievers from the dispensary. They walked fast and arrived home midafternoon—just in time to sort scraps saved from boxed lunches and prepare a late supper. Linh insisted on making a pot of fish and rice soup and Ursula didn’t have the heart to object, so the latter baked flatbread to supplement what promised to be another uneaten dinner—and was careful to double the number of loaves.

An hour later, buckets of fish and rice still steamed in the pot while every crumb of bread was gone, along with two buckets of fresh fruit and three-dozen roasted breadfruit. Only Viet, sitting before the watchful eyes of s wife, scooped a second helping of soup into his bowl—though even he was careful not to let the ladle scrape the bottom of the pot.

28

Coming of Age in Paradise

An alarm rang from Kit’s tent shortly before dawn. After dressing, the former actress hurried to a nearby tent—where she called out until Tiffany emerged from the dwelling and accompanied her to the mess hall. Kit prepared a pot of creamed breadfruit and Tiffany mixed muffins while they talked.

“Did I tell you,” Kit asked, “Ryan started work on our house?”

“I saw the poles,” Tiffany said.

“He said it’d be done in a few days. At least the frame.”

“Brent said ours will take a month or so. I told him I’d find a better contractor if he keeps delaying.”

“I’m looking forward to the move,” Kit said. “Ryan and I were accustomed to a seven-bedroom mansion. We’re not made for a one-room tent. It’s just too confined.”

“Is Ryan back home?” Tiffany asked.

“Not yet,” Kit said. “I mean when he returns.”

“Tell me about it. Brent snores and the kids kick.”

“I guess I shouldn’t complain.”

Now Tiffany took a turn stirring the creamed breadfruit for a couple minutes. Only after a long pause did she speak.

“I don’t want to be too intrusive,” Tiffany said, “but ... is everything okay with you and Ryan?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You seemed so in love at our interview. And even a few weeks ago.”

“We were.”

“Do you spend any time together now?”

“I guess,” Kit said, “it’s hard to date after you’ve been married. We grew so accustomed to seeing each other we hardly needed to make an effort. Now we’re so busy and so far apart, it seems.”

“Do you still love him?”

“I’ve never stopped,” Kit said as she dropped her eyes, “but it’s different ... I guess I’m just tired.”

“I’m glad to hear that’s all it is.”

“The question is whether he still loves me.”

Tiffany took a drink from her coffee and Kit looked away.

“Even though we can remarry a week from Sunday,” Kit continued after a long pause, “he hasn’t said a word.”

“Like you said, we’re busy.”

“Would you take that from Brent?”

Tiffany admitted she wouldn’t take it very well at all.

“I won’t make him marry me,” Kit continued. “Can you imagine a shotgun wedding where the bride can’t get pregnant?”

“I made Brent marry me and I’m not pregnant.”

“You were at one time.”

“Even so,” Tiffany said, “I made him marry me the first time too.”

“Maybe,” Kit said with a shrug, “I should’ve made Ryan marry me right away. It’s changed us so much to be single. It’s easier to be married than to marry.”

“You’re slender, blond, and a philosopher,” Tiffany faked a scowl. “Now I’m really jealous.”

“I’m the jealous one,” Kit said without a smile. “You have a great husband and two wonderful boys. Your life is what I really long for.”

The cream of breadfruit came to a boil just as a mechanical timer rang for the muffins (which baked in a Dutch oven). Both women worked the next several minutes without talking. Only after chopped bits of sugar cane were added to the creamed breadfruit and a second pan of biscuits set in the oven did they rekindle their discussion.

“There’s no privacy here,” Kit said, “and no leisure. Ryan and I don’t have the chance to talk like we used to.”

“Brent and I go without sleep to talk.”

“That’s where that decree hurt us. It’s hard not living with your own husband. Or whatever Ryan has become.”

Tiffany dropped more cane into the pot. “Like you said,” she observed, “you’ll have privacy in another week or so.”

When Kit dropped her voice and said the wedding needed to come soon, Tiffany asked what was wrong.

“It’s just that,” Kit whispered, “I’ve kept apart from him and he’s not making much effort either. I went to him once and felt cheap afterwards.”

“With your husband?”

“That’s the point,” Kit said, “he’s not my husband and he’s not a boyfriend or a fiancée or anything at all.”

“In a way,” Tiffany said, “I guess he isn’t.”

“It’s odd not being married to your own husband,” Kit said. “Especially when he’s in no hurry to remarry.”

“Kit,” Tiffany said, “you’ve overlooked something important. He’s building a house for you. Maybe he plans to elope.”

“A new house and a second marriage,” Kit said as she raised her eyebrows and forced a smile. “What more could I want?”

“You’re on your first of both as far as most of us are concerned.”

“Not according to the law.”

“Marriage isn’t a law; it’s a relationship.”

“I thought so once,” Kit said as she folded her arms against her breasts, “but I’ve come to see Ryan changed the moment our marriage was annulled. It’s as if the formality made him faithful. As if he stopped being a husband when we were no longer considered married.”

“You made him faithful,” Tiffany said.

“Not faithful enough.”

“Has he ever cheated?”

“His eyes wander.”

“They’ll wander,” Tiffany said, “back to you if he doesn’t go blind first. The dissolution caught both of you at a low point. I suppose we all have a bit of wanderlust.”

“I won’t make him marry me.”

“It worked well with Brent.”

“Ryan is a different sort.”

“They’re all the same.”

“Ryan is childless,” Kit said, “and Brent’s a father. Brent made choices; Ryan still feels for his freedom.”

As the smell of hot muffins began to fill the hall, Kit pulled the pan of rolls from the oven and set them on the table while other villagers hurried toward the aroma of fresh pastry. Linh was the first to enter the room and to heap her plate high with muffins for her whole family. After she served her family (and ate three herself), she helped with cleanup so Kit could take a break.

It was Dr. Morales and Steve Lovejoy who woke to make final preparations for the overseas voyage. Karla and Deidra soon joined them—only to find the boat already fueled and loaded. The two men pushed it into the surf as Deidra started its motor and Karla manned the wheel. After climbing aboard, Dr. Morales opened a nautical chart and plotted vectors while Karla held the course. Steve and Deidra just enjoyed the dawn of a new day. No one talked, with each of the four islanders enjoying the rush of the breeze and the spray of the salt. Indeed, no one had moved faster than a downhill run for months and they now enjoyed the thrill of speed: of automobiles and airplanes and subways and ships. Even the smell of fuel drifting from a reserve container caused reminiscing. In any case, the boat covered the open sea in good time—the calm waters accommodating the day’s travel. None of the voyagers fell ill.

Visibility was good and it didn’t take long to find the atoll. Deidra spotted it with binoculars where it was marked on the chart and Dr. Morales navigated a safe course through a gap in the reef. Soon they motored in the still waters of the lagoon, the boat’s wake pushing to a V-shaped wedge of sea water. Anxious natives who emerged from grass huts were noticeably agitated by their first encounter with an internal combustion engine and the unusual waves following the boat, so Karla cut the engine and coasted to the shallows.

After weighing anchor, Steve guarded the boat while the others waded ashore and moved toward several children pushed forward as human shields by older brothers and sisters. No native spoke or moved for several minutes, excepting some whispering from the older children. It was only after Dr. Morales pulled slices of sugar cane from a canvas bag and dangled them at arm’s length that the youngest natives inched forward. When he showed them how to eat the slivers of sweet, they followed his example and ate from the cane strips that he tossed to them.

Almost immediately, squeals of laughter rang across the beach as children tasted sugar for the first time. Indeed, their shouts drew mothers and fathers from the cover of the forest and soon even old women wrestled bits of cane from children and sucked stalks without sharing. Everyone buzzed with excitement and sugar: shouting and dancing at the godsend. Only after stalks of cane were chewed to tasteless splinters did the natives congregate around their benefactors.

Now the anthropologist used a few words, several gestures, and a couple nods to explain his mission to the wary natives—who posted stout men with long-shanked spears as a guard between the foreigners and the trail leading inland. After bits of food and trinkets were exchanged, the islanders reached into their boat for larger tools. Though native guards initially were startled by the shovels and axes and posed their weapons for self-defense, Dr. Morales settled their nerves by swearing peace in the name of the goddess and demonstrating how the tools were useful for digging holes and chopping wood.

Following the demonstration, a weathered patriarch with a thin beard and wiry arms eyed the women of Paradise—approaching Karla to sniff her arm after some hesitation and several false starts. He squeezed her bicep and then a thigh. Even as Morales tried to distract the old man by digging a hole even deeper, the native lifted Karla’s shirt to weigh one of her breasts—which were fuller and rounder than the spindly teats of the indigenous women (though not nearly as long)—in the palm of a hand. After failing to divert the old patriarch, the anthropologist advised Karla to accept the ritual greeting. The chief (as the patriarch turned out to be) clearly was pleased with the shape and size of the strange woman and jabbered something to his clan that Morales was unable to translate. Though Karla quickly pulled away and let her shirt fall over her chest, the native wasn’t to be ignored, but spun the fair-skinned woman by the shoulders and squeezed both buttocks. The other islanders hopped and jumped in excitement, even the women. The young guards struck their spears into the sand in loud approval. Some licked their lips.

Dr. Morales drew attention away from a red-faced Karla by pulling a string of salted fish from the boat and throwing it to the villagers. The natives mobbed the prize as thirty salted perch were reduced to bits of bone before the anthropologist could explain that the fish were best broiled before eating.

Meanwhile, Steve unloaded crates of food and bundles of wood and Deidra started a fire. As the fire began to blaze, Steve and Deidra pried open a crate and showed the aboriginal women how to roast breadfruit while the anthropologist tutored aboriginal men (including the old patriarch) in the use of shovel and ax. Both the chief and the anthropologist soon expanded on the rudimentary vocabulary they’d passed during the previous visit of Dr. Morales.

The chief kept the shovel and ax for himself, but divided the food crates among his people, each man allotted an equal share. The natives tucked their food into leather pouches tied around their waists—cut from the dried skin of some small mammal. The food was well received and Morales was nearly mobbed when he tried to drag unopened crates back to the boat for transport to families watching from across the atoll. Only with considerable difficulty did he convince the natives that he wanted to deliver the food by boat and had no intention of Indian giving. Even then, the natives stepped back only on orders from their chief.

The packages were delivered as Steve delivered fresh fruits and salted fishes to the beaches of the various motu while Karla handed bits of chocolate to the children (over Deidra’s strident objections). Their gift-giving completed, the visitors returned to the main island and feasted with locals on raw panandu and half-broiled gull. The fowl was undercooked, so the islanders didn’t eat much—though their native hosts didn’t hesitate to devour every scrap left by their finicky guests. When the natives had finished, only a few of the larger bones remained.

After dinner, Dr. Morales and Steve were offered women as expressions of gratitude. The anthropologist tried to convince the chief they preferred to take a carved tortoise shell sitting near a tall palm tree, but the old man wouldn’t allow this breach of custom, so Morales slipped into a hut with a fair-faced girl whose breasts were unstretched and teeth mostly in place. Meanwhile, when a wrinkled woman missing her front teeth tried to pull Steve into the woods, the latter objected that he was a married man and sprinted back to the boat—which Karla and Deidra had anchored further offshore from fear of the old chief.

It didn’t take Morales long to demonstrate his cultural awareness and subsequently seek out the chief for further negotiations. When he returned to the boat, he carried a magnificent tortoise shell on which was carved an elaborate series of images and petroglyphs.

“The chief didn’t want to give it up,” Dr. Morales explained as he loaded the native handiwork in the back of the boat, “but I swore on faith with the gods to return it before the next full moon. In return for its use, I promised to bring more food. And wood, too. The natives cook their food only on special occasions since they have only a few trees for firewood since no one is allowed to harvest trees growing in the sacred groves of the goddess.”

“What about their cultural integrity?” Deidra said as she looked at the anthropologist. “I thought we weren’t going to make them wards of the state.”

“It’s odd,” Dr. Morales said, “but they expected us to come someday. They tell stories of great men who bring food from across the waters and fill their bellies with meat and their fires with wood.”