Left on Paradise (18 page)

“Maybe you should cover yourself.”

Maria caught the shirt, but the shorts slipped from her hand.

Ryan eyed the young woman as she bent over before catching himself and turning his eyes toward his wife—who glared at her husband. The couple stared at each other while Maria turned her back and slipped into her clothes before announcing she planned to help Heather pick fruit.

Kit didn’t wait until the girl was beyond earshot before she scolded her husband. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t skinny-dip with that girl.”

“She was dressed.”

“Dressed? She was wearing underwear.”

“She didn’t bring a suit.”

Kit raised her voice. “Then don’t swim.”

“I didn’t think ...”

“Didn’t think. At least we’re in agreement about that.”

“We were just swimming,” Ryan said as his face turned red. “Everything was appropriate. Heather’s right here.” He pointed across the bay where Heather picked breadfruit and bananas.

“Heather’s over there,” Kit said as she too pointed across the bay, “and I heard your so-called swimming half-way back to camp.”

“A ray startled her.”

“She wasn’t the only one startled, was she?”

“Don’t be a housefrau.”

“No married man,” Kit said, her tone both angry and matter-of-fact, “has any business swimming with pretty girls dressed in underwear.”

“And if she were ugly?”

“She isn’t.”

“It meant nothing.”

“So respect for me means less than nothing?”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant it was innocent fun.”

“Would it be innocent fun,” Kit said, “for me to take a swim with Sean in my bra?”

“Suit yourself,” Ryan muttered.

“I’d rather Maria suit herself. Suit herself decently around married men. Someone needs to remind her you have a wife. I’ll tell her myself.”

Kit turned toward the fruit grove until her husband grabbed her arm.

“Your quarrel,” Ryan said, “is with me.”

“Let go of me.”

“Let her be.”

“She needs to let you be my husband.”

Ryan relaxed his grip even as he stepped between his wife and her target and dropped his voice to a whisper.

“You’re acting,” Ryan said, “like a schoolgirl.”

“And she,” Kit said as she pointed to Maria, “has had a schoolgirl crush on you since the interview.”

“Don’t be crazy. She’s half my age. Just another star struck girl. Every guy on the island sees you the same way.”

“That possibility is why I don’t parade myself in my underwear.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Ryan said after several seconds. “I guess I should’ve used better judgment.”

Kit’s shoulders dropped as Ryan took her by the hand.

“It won’t happen again,” Ryan said. “No more swimming in underwear.”

“With anyone?”

“Except you.”

“Promise?”

“I already did. When you became my wife.”

Tension eased and the couple talked several minutes more as they circled the lagoon to help the younger women pick fruit. Within minutes, three canvas bags were filled with breadfruit and bananas—and Heather climbed down a fruit tree now picked clean. Ryan threw full bags over each shoulder and followed the women home while Heather and Maria carried the third by its corners and Kit brought their tools. Both Ryan and Kit retired shortly after supper while Maria lounged near a bonfire and Heather strolled to the beach.

It wasn’t long after dark when Charles and Joan found Heather sitting at the edge of shore, just beyond the tide—which already washed away the shallow imprints of human steps. The moon shined through the dusk’s haze as they approached their daughter, both parents solemn and unsmiling.

Heather stood to greet them.

“You two look serious,” she said. “Something wrong?”

“Neither wrong nor right,” Joan said, “but your father and I do wish to speak with you.”

“What about?”

“Life in this camp,” Charles said.

“Men,” Joan said.

“Which one?” Heather asked.

“Both,” Joan said, “have you seen any men on this island?”

“I’ve noticed a few,” Heather said, “aren’t they the ones with hair on their faces and backs?”

“That proves,” Joan said with a grin, “you’re not altogether blind. Just closing your eyes.”

“Noticing men,” Charles added, “is only the first step.”

Heather looked puzzled. “Is there something I’m missing?”

“I should say,” her father answered.

“Life is so short,” Joan said as she took her daughter by the wrists, “and you’re so serious. You need to date around, to try different men.”

“Urrhh ... or women,” Charles added.

“Yes. We’re not here to judge.”

Heather tried to step back, but her mother grabbed her wrists. The girl’s face went white and her jaw dropped.

“I don’t think we ...”

Joan held her daughter’s wrists fast. “Sit still and listen.”

Now Joan turned to her husband and asked that he fetch drinks before she squared to face the teenaged girl.

“Listen, Heather,” Joan said as she released Heather’s wrists, “you don’t have to be so serious about dating. This island’s a girl’s paradise. There’s no HIV or herpes or syphilis. Everyone was tested before they were cleared. It’s not that we wanted to discriminate against anyone who might be infected with a sexually transmitted disease, but proper experiments require controlled conditions. Only a stupid scientist would use an unsanitized petri dish in his lab. I suppose it’s the same with social experiments.”

Heather stared at her mother without speaking.

“What I mean to say,” Joan continued, “is that I wish I could’ve been in your bed when I was your age. So many men and so little risk—and not one disapproving word from a judgmental mother. You’re still on the pill. Right? That’s good. At least you don’t openly defy us. Now listen, you don’t have to be in love to date a guy. Or a woman. Your father is right. To be truthful, sex is better when you’re not married or in love. It’s more exciting. Almost more sinful.”

“Mother,” Heather covered her face with her hands, “I don’t want to hear this.”

“You need to. People are talking. For God’s sake, you’re still a virgin.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“What’s wrong with Jose? He’s a good-looking boy.”

“Mother, he’s not even asked me out.”

“Ask him.”

“I don’t beg for dates.”

“Who do you want to date? I’ll set it up.”

Heather didn’t answer.

“Listen, Heather,” Joan said, now with a stern edge to her voice, “we’ve provided you a solid progressive upbringing. You have to take some ownership in your life. We hope to be on this island the rest of our lives. If so, you’ll need to fit in and it’s just plain stingy for you to keep such nice legs for yourself. What good can they do you? It’s not like you can wrap them around yourself. And you have rather nice breasts. More than one of your father’s students has said as much. There’s so much pleasure waiting for you once you open yourself to love. That is, if you’ll stop being so soulful and self-absorbed. You do know your selfishness can be mistaken for social conservatism or even religious orthodoxy? I never knew a virgin who wasn’t a faithful Catholic or a pious evangelical. I guess there was a Hindu girl from Mumbai in one of my seminars, but she didn’t really have much choice in the matter. In any event, there are far too many people unwillingly sleeping alone for you to be cloistered in self-chosen chastity.”

Heather started to speak but broke down after a single malformed syllable, so Joan pressed her point, moving beside her daughter and placing an arm around the teenager.

“Heather,” Joan said, “your father says a new law of marriage has been proposed.”

Heather said nothing; her face was pale and eyes misted.

“He’ll tell us about it tomorrow,” Joan continued, “but between the new law and our lifestyle here, it’s become necessary for your father and I to tell you a little more about our marriage. The real facts of our life.”

Heather remained mute as her mother talked.

“What I mean to say,” Joan continued, “is that it’s time you were told your father isn’t the only man I’ve known and I’m not his only woman.”

After Heather turned completely white, Joan paused for her daughter to regain her composure.

“The truth,” Joan eventually said, “is both of us experimented in college—and rather enjoyed doing so. Even now, we’ve made ... er ... arrangements. We kept it quiet while you were growing up, so you wouldn’t be alienated in a socially oppressive society that refuses to accept open marriage. But you need to know now, both because it’s right and because it’s becoming impossible to hide the truth on this little island—and we wanted to be the ones to tell you. Except that your father is so shy he’s made me do it.”

Heather’s knees buckled and she staggered backward before sitting on the sand while Joan kneeled beside her just as Charles returned with two glasses of tea.

“Here we go, ladies,” Charles said, “fresh tea spiked with a squeeze of lemon.”

“Wonderful,” Joan said.

“Did you tell her?” Charles asked.

“Most of it.”

Heather looked at her parents, her chin quivering and her eyes tearing up as she asked how many affairs they’d had.

“Only two affairs,” Joan answered, “and perhaps ten flings.”

“I’ve been a bit more active,” Charles added. “One long term affair and about twenty flings, plus a number of coeds for a night or two. I just spent a couple days with Karla from the east village. A memorable woman.”

“Oh,” Charles said, turning to his wife, “did I tell you that we used the bed in the infirmary Wednesday night? I’d forgotten how much nicer a mattress is than sand.”

“I envy you,” Joan said. “Maybe you can take me there sometime.”

“I promise.”

“Till death do us part,” Joan said with a giggle.

Heather crawled to a nearby bush and vomited. A moment later she blacked out and collapsed face-first into the ground.

15

Self-Government and New Life

Brent and John rose early to start a fire and collect food while Kit and Tiffany prepared breakfast. It wasn’t long before the aroma of eggs permeated the camp and everyone in the village—Lisa excepted—gathered at the mess tent as the cooks served orange juice, cane-flavored oatmeal, waffled breadfruit, pineapple, plantains, kiwi, coffee, tea, and eggs: scrambled or fried to order. The eggs were an enormous hit, being eaten for the first time. Helpings were generous, seconds begged, and plates cleaned. Indeed, a full hour was spent eating. Linh served mint tea and plain toast to Ursula—who remained too nauseous to move, let alone eat. Following breakfast, Kit and Tiffany were applauded and awarded the day off work for their memorable meal while several volunteers tidied the kitchen and washed dishes.

The meeting of the village assembly was scheduled for midmorning, though it was delayed a few minutes because Lisa was late in returning from her inspections. Dishes already were put away and the lingering odor of breakfast dispersed when she finally hurried to her tent. As the neighbors assembled for their meeting, Jose served coffee and Linh poured tea that was sweetened with granulated sugar and sealed packets of creamer brought from the mainland. After everyone was served, Jose and Linh took their places at their chairs and joined the small talk in the canvas tent as they awaited Lisa’s return—who soon came into the tent breathless and called the meeting to order.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Lisa stammered, “but there’s a problem on the beach. One minute while I catch my breath ...”

Everyone stilled as they waited for Lisa to speak.

“But first,” Lisa began after a pause, “the agenda. Today I scheduled four tasks: elect new officers, discuss economic productivity, consider environmental impact, and discuss proposed legislation to be voted on next week by the General Will of the People. There’ll be time for new business at the end. Any questions?”

Every hand remained propped on a chair or folded in a lap.

“To begin with,” Lisa said, “we need to elect new officers. Let’s start with nominations for Chief Neighbor. My position.”

Maria stood. “I’d like to nominate Ryan.”

“Who else?”

“Put Kit’s name on the list,” a man shouted out loud. “Breakfast was fantastic.”

Most villagers applauded Sean’s suggestion.

“One vote for Chef Kit,” Lisa said. “Who else?”

Kit raised her hand to speak. “I’d like to nominate John,” she said. “He’s done a lot of work behind the scenes to make things work. Just don’t vote for me.”

“Hold your campaign speeches,” Lisa said. “We don’t want to start down that trail. We’ll end up with commercials carved into coconuts.”

Kit laughed.

“Any others?” Lisa asked.

No other neighbors were nominated.

“Since we have three nominations,” Lisa said. “Let’s run a parliamentary system. Vote by hand for one of the three. The leading two candidates will conduct a run-off.”

The vote was called and hands were raised. John received five votes while Ryan and Kit each received seven. In the second round, Kit beat her husband by a single vote. Mostly the ballot was split on gender lines, with men voting for Kit and women for Ryan. Hilary was the only woman to vote for Kit and Alan the only man to vote for Ryan. The nominees voted for each other in what was applauded as a gracious show of affection. After the ballot, Ryan called for a recount, having lost by such a narrow margin, but Kit declared there were no absentee votes or hanging chads and told him to park himself—which he did after giving his wife a congratulatory kiss.

“No, no, no,” Lisa laughed, “despite that Oscar winning performance, your work just begins. Now you’re the moderator.”

              Kit walked to the front of the room and took the agenda from Lisa, thanking the younger woman for work well done as she herself took control of the meeting.

“It looks like,” Kit began, “we need to elect a new Councilperson. Any nominations?”

“I’d like to nominate Alan,” Steve said.

“Who else?” Kit asked.

Tiffany nominated Linh.

“Linh and Alan are on the ballot,” Kit said. “Anyone else?”

“I’d like to nominate my wife,” Charles said.

Kit scanned the neighborhood before soliciting one last nomination.

“Well,” Jose said, “I’d suggest Maria.”

“That’s enough,” Kit said, “now we’ll vote for the run-off.

This time Alan collected seven votes and the three women were evenly divided with four apiece. Maria offered to drop from the race, but the villagers instead elected to canvass a vote from Ursula. There was good-natured teasing about whether she could enter the electoral process midstream, but the majority determined that every vote should count—unlike Florida’s contested election—and Heather was sent with a slip of paper on which all four names were written. One was to be circled.

The teenager returned five minutes later with the ballot folded into quarters. She handed it to Kit who unfolded the sheet, looked at it with a frown, and gave her verdict.

“She wrote in Sean.”

Laughter swept the assembly and it was finally decided to hold a run-off between the three runners-up. Maria won the run-off with seven votes (the two others losing by a single ballot each) before winning the final election against Alan, 12-7. Because the elections ran over schedule, Kit adjourned for a light lunch of bread and soup and only after the neighborhood had reassembled did she stand before them gavel in hand.

“To begin with,” Kit declared as her neighbors returned to their seats, “I’d like to propose a beach party for tonight.”

Cheers sounded.

“Now quickly,” Kit continued as she passed around a list of party needs, “let’s assign tasks. We need fish, shellfish, fruit, wood, drinks, and side dishes. Pass this card around and sign up. We’ll eat before dark.”

As neighbors reviewed the signup sheet, Lisa stepped forward to report on current economic conditions.

“To be brief,” Lisa said, “we’re on target. We’ve gathered almost everything we wanted.”

“What remains?” Kit asked.

“We could use a little more salt for drying fish and some more dried fruit. And we need to build a barn this week.”

“Any problems?”

“There are two. First, we need a little more flexibility from some of you. I know for a fact that I worked seventy hours last week and I don’t want to hear groaning from those who did less. Second, we need to cover for the sick so that productivity doesn’t fall behind our goals.”

Kit asked if she was speaking of Ursula.

“Yeah,” Lisa said. “It’s not her fault and I’m sure she’ll be up again in a day or two, but our process failed to get Alan the help he needed.”

“Who,” Kit asked, “was supposed to cover illnesses?”

“Charles and myself—the officers.”

“What happened?”

“I was busy with environmental efforts and Charles was gone three days for Executive Council.”

Charles stood up from the rear of the tent. “You’ll see why,” he announced, “soon enough. It was a tough meeting that kept several of us busy.”

“Fine,” Lisa said, “no one says you spent the time sipping daiquiris on the beach. We just need to cover our bases.”

“I agree,” Charles said, “but plan more time for Small Council meetings. They’re going to be long.”

Tiffany raised her hand. “I have something to announce,” she declared. “Ursula’s not getting better. Not for another nine months.”

“Nice work, Sean,” Viet shouted across the room.

“She can’t prove anything,” Sean yelled back.

Nervous laughter mixed with a few loud gasps echoed through the tent. The faces of several women turned red.

“Bad joke,” Sean said. “Apparently I’ll be the father of the first baby born in Paradise.”

Now a mix of congratulations and sighs sounded.

“Don’t worry,” Lisa said, “she just finished her first month and morning sickness hit her hard. First pregnancies are rough, but she’ll be on her feet soon enough.”

“Cutting trees?” Alan said. “I doubt it. Not without a doctor’s slip.”

“No,” Lisa said with a scowl, “she won’t be cutting trees or she’ll lose her baby.”

“Her fetus,” Alan interrupted.

“A woman’s choice on what to call it. Not yours.”

Alan glared, but said nothing.

“In any case,” Linh continued, her eyes moving across those of fellow villagers, “she’ll be able to work again, but she needs restricted duty. Nothing heavy and no climbing.”

“May I?” Alan asked as he stood.

Linh sat down.

“We need,” Alan said, “to decide how to deal with pregnancy. I agree Ursula will be less productive for a few months and ...”

“You ought to try producing a baby,” Tiffany shouted.

“What I mean to say,” Alan said, “is we need to decide how to pick up the slack. One person can’t do the work of two. It’s simple math.”

“What d’you propose?” Kit asked.

“It’s Sean’s baby. He should cover for her.”

Sean’s jaw dropped. His mouth hung open and his eyes widened—though he said nothing.

Hilary wasn’t so quiet.

“Patriarch!” Hilary shouted as she jumped to her feet. “Bourgeois moralist! Children are held in common. We reject social conservatism with its moral expectations and gender differentiations. Even America enacted liberal parental leave. Can we do less?”

“If you think,” Alan growled, “she’s going to stroll around this island picking flowers for nine months, you’re crazy. Nothing will get done. The whole lot of you will be pregnant within the week.”

The women exploded. Catcalls and shouts rose from angry neighbors. Only Kit and Heather didn’t join the chorus.

“I’m sorry,” Kit said after the crowd stilled, “but this is uncalled for. Alan, I want you to apologize for that remark.”

Alan folded his arms.

“Alan,” Kit said, “you have a legitimate point but it’ll be debated in a civil manner. That goes for all of you and whoever refuses to cooperate will be cleaning sewer trenches as long as I’m in charge.”

“Hilary,” Kit said as she turned to the young woman, “tell Alan you’re sorry. You were too harsh.”

After Hilary apologized, Kit turned to Alan until he choked out what was considered an acceptable apology.

“Now,” Kit said, “I’ll lead this meeting and we’ll behave like reasonable people. And we’ll do so democratically—by the vote. Alan, give me three reasons fathers should bear the burden of parenthood.”

Alan thought for a moment before answering.

“First,” Alan said, “fathers choose—explicitly or implicitly—to make babies while others among us who don’t want that responsibility choose other lifestyles. Second, love requires husbands or boyfriends or whoever to care for the women they get pregnant. It also demands that parents and children maintain a close relationship. Third, it’s dangerous to let the burden of work fall on the community as a whole as some of the communists did. Everything falls apart when duties aren’t specific and personal.”

“Well done, Alan,” Kit said. “Your turn Hilary. Three reasons only.”

“First,” Hilary said, “we’re a community, not divided by household but united in everything. Second, we’re all brothers and sisters and love should flow from each of us as husband to wife and wife to husband. Third, no one person can cover for another, just as Alan apparently found out ...”

“Keep it neutral, Hilary,” Kit interrupted.

“Sorry,” Hilary said. “What I mean is that necessity requires us to pitch in. We all benefit from the children and we all must pitch in to raise them. And this isn’t just for pregnant women. The time will come when depression or disease or death will render some of us less productive. What will we do, send the useless eaters to sea on one-way ice flow cruises like old Eskimos?”

“Ice sounds so good,” Sean said from the back of the room, though no one laughed.

“Very good,” Kit said. “Let’s vote. Who wishes for fathers to bear the burden of pregnancy by themselves?”

Few hands were raised, so Kit asked who wished for the community to be responsible for providing adequate childcare. When the vote was tallied, Hilary’s position won 15-3.

“Now,” Kit said, “we must decide what to do with the workloads of pregnant women. Suggestions?”

“Having given birth to two babies,” Linh said, “I suggest we go case by case. Alan is right that broad rules can be abused. Sometimes a pregnant woman can work; sometimes she can’t. It’s all relative.”

This suggestion brought light applause and even Alan unfolded his arms.

“That seems acceptable,” Kit said. “What about Ursula?”

“I’d suggest,” Linh said, “letting her take a week off to catch her breath. In the worst case, she could take care of my daughters and they can take care of her.”

“I like that idea,” Alan said with a grin. “Babymakers for babysitting.”

“Yes,” Linh said, “and she can cook once the sickness passes. Eventually she may be able to tend all four children and do a little food gathering; but no climbing coconut palms if you please.”