Left on Paradise (29 page)

“It’s worth another visit since Giuliani cleaned it up.”

“Since he turned it into a prison ward.”

“I don’t know about that. Even my mother felt safer the last few years.”

“Thousands of convicts and jaywalkers might disagree.”

“I suppose so,” Heather said, “but they chose which streets to walk and which corners to cut.”

“Chose?”—Jose grew somewhat agitated—“Between poverty and prison? That’s a dilemma or a tragedy, not a choice.”

Heather didn’t reply and several minutes passed without conversation.

“Are you staying long?” Jose finally asked. “On the island, I mean.”

“I haven’t decided,” Heather answered. “My parents claim they’re here for good, but I’d like to go to college.”

“Where?”

“Dad says I should consider Columbia, but I prefer Fordham if they make me stay in New York. To tell the truth, I’ve always dreamed of a Big Ten school. But I don’t know if we have the money any longer. They gave away everything when they came here—except for their retirement.”

“Public schools are cheap. At least in-state tuition is.”

“Except I’m not sure if I’m even a U.S. citizen or a resident of New York since my parents surrendered their citizenship when we moved.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I have,” Heather said. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll stay here a while.”

“No one would mind.”

“You see,” Heather said with a smile, “the irony, don’t you?”

Jose shook his head not.

“The twist,” the young woman explained, “is the egalitarian ideals my parents preached in the university were cosmopolitan and urbane; but it’s here that we have real equality, though not always a progressive lifestyle. If I’d announced in New York I wanted to be a housewife, my mother would’ve sent me to a boarding school. Now I wonder if I even have another choice. I’m certainly not going to take up the family business of teaching college.”

“You have quite the wit,” Jose said with a laugh. “Perhaps you can develop your writing skills. I hear the east village will be doing plays this winter.”

“Maybe,” Heather said, “if we make it through the first winter like the pilgrims did at Plymouth. Of course, I’m still too young for them to take me all that seriously.”

“You look old enough to me.”

Heather dropped her eyes to her lap as Jose moved nearer and pulled her close. When she didn’t respond, he scooted closer yet and leaned forward, his face nearing hers until Heather gently stopped him—her fingertips pushing back his chest.

“I’d rather not.”

“It’s not wrong,” Jose said after a moment. “Especially on this island. You’re legal.”

“There’s more than the law.”

“It’s okay with your parents.”

“What isn’t?”

“Why not? What are you saving yourself for?”

“Love.”

“You can share a little companionship while you wait.”

“I’d rather wait alone.”

“You’re not,” Jose said, “going to find romance in a convent. You have to make love to find love.”

“Love,” Heather said in an almost inaudible voice, “isn’t what Ursula found in Sean’s bed.”

Now Jose drew back. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Heather answered. “It’s only our first date.”

Jose’s eyes brightened. “Do you want to go out again?”

“I don’t know. Let’s not be in a hurry.”

After a long pause, Jose said it was getting late and perhaps they needed to leave and Heather agreed. It didn’t take the unpaired couple long to reach the beach (where a log still smoldered in the main campfire) and then the trail to their own village. They moved quietly in the night, a flashlight in Jose’s hand to direct their feet past marijuana fields, cornfields, and an empty honeymoon tent. At Heather’s tent, they parted without a kiss.

Ilyana escorted the two northern boys within sight of their own village before shouting through the dark for their parents. When a woman’s voice said she didn’t know the boys ever had left, Ilyana turned around and hurried south. Just a minute later she heard the sound of fast moving feet and looked back to see the shadow of a man jogging toward her. She asked who it was and breathed easy when she heard Jason’s voice. After Jason caught his breath, he pulled a thick joint and a thin lighter from his pocket, offering Ilyana the first toke.

The two walked slow as they smoked the joint and stopped altogether for a second one. When they finally started home, their steps were unsteady and it took the better part of a laughter-filled hour before they reached the beach (after being lost twice). The fire pit was reduced to embers and already the tide neared it. Jason rummaged through scraps of food, but found only a single brown banana—which they split. When he cursed a bite of cold crab leg as inedible, Ilyana burst into laughter, thinking even her own ravenous hunger quite hilarious.

Jason pointed to the moon. “What I wouldn’t give,” he declared, “for a block of good cheese. Even half a block. Or a quarter.”

“We can’t reach it. It’s too high.”

“We need to get even higher.”

Ilyana smiled, her eyes bloodshot and glassy and told Jason to find her a cow to jump over the moon.

“Or,” Jason said, “a dish to run off with the spoon.”

“Sounds likes drugs,” Ilyana said with a giggle. “And munchies.”

Jason found a second banana, divided it into equal portions, and ate. He threw its peel into the brush.

“I’m still hungry.”

“Let’s find food,” Ilyana said.

Jason pulled a bag of dope from his pocket. “Man does not live by bread alone,” he observed.

Ilyana shrugged and said she needed a bite to eat as she started down the trail.

“One for the road?” Jason asked as he followed the girl.

“Let’s hurry,” Ilyana said, “or the best food will be gone.”

Ilyana walked down the trail and Jason moved beside her. He lit the joint anyway and Ilyana gave in. Not withstanding her hunger, she took several hits. As they finished it, they came to a clearing between the beach and village where a tent stood pitched near the trail.

“It’s the honeymoonless suite,” Ilyana said. “Maybe there’s food.”

Now the stoned teenager unzipped the front flap to the six-foot tent and stepped in. Jason followed and struck a match, lighting several candles already arranged on the floor. Using the flickering candlelight, Ilyana opened a basket in which she discovered crackers, jelly, and over-ripe fruit—and even a wide bar of Belgian chocolate.

“Paydirt!” Ilyana announced.

“Here we go,” Jason said as he unscrewed the cap from a half-full bottle of peach schnapps.

Ilyana ate chocolate and Jason drank liquor; then they traded and Ilyana drank while Jason ate. Indeed, they ate until they licked the last taste of chocolate from their fingers and stuffed the last crumbs of cracker into their mouths. When the schnapps was gone, Ilyana fell to the grass-stuffed mattress.

“I can’t walk me to home,” the girl said. “Tell me mother not worry.”

As Ilyana folded her hands and closed her eyes, neither saying her prayers nor crossing herself that night, Jason stared through the flickering light of the burning candle at the narrow hips and slender legs of the teenager. After a few minutes, he snuffed the wick with a pinch of his fingers and told Ilyana her mother would just have to worry.

Ilyana didn’t protest since she already was passed out.

23

Crime and Its Punishment

A dozen villagers drank coffee and ate breakfast rolls as Olivia approached, still dressed in the oversized jersey she’d worn to bed. Her eyes were bloodshot and her voice concerned as she squinted into the early morning sun.

“Anyone seen Ilyana?”

Several neighbors shook their heads.

“That girl,” Olivia said, “is always running off. Probably to the north camp this time.”

Heather pointed north. “She was taking those boys home.”

“When?”

“Near dusk.”

“Well,” Olivia said, “I need to go find her. I suppose she’s with those people.”

Viet looked to Brent—who rose from his seat.

“I could use a walk,” Brent said as he followed Olivia into the woods. While everyone else speculated about possible explanations, Hilary brewed another pot of coffee and Heather served a tray of rolls.

Conversation continued until the sharp sound of a woman’s scream sounded from the forest, followed in a breath by a second scream—this one more girlish and more anguished than the first. Jose and Viet jumped to their feet and sprinted toward the commotion, though fleet-footed Lisa passed them before they’d reached the woods. Hilary also chased after them, lagging only a little behind. All four arrived within seconds of each other at the privacy tent—where Jason stood stark naked as Brent held his wrists fast and Olivia pulled someone from the tent. The other person resisted as Olivia slipped and was dragged inside. A few seconds later yet another scream sounded—this one quite clearly from pain—and a red-faced Olivia stumbled from the tent while pulling her half-dressed daughter by the hair.

Ilyana cried for her mother to let go, but Olivia paid no heed.

“Shut up, slut!” Olivia screamed, “We’re going home.”

“Leave me alone!” Ilyana yelled back.

When Olivia raised the back of her hand to strike, Jason grabbed her wrist until the enraged mother broke free and directed a well-aimed kick to his unprotected groin. Though Jason tried to evade, Brent’s grip had immobilized him and the kick struck square and hard. Jason screamed in pain and buckled at the knees, his wrist twisting from Brent’s grasp as he fell to the ground.

Only then did Lisa interpose herself between Jason and his attacker. “No more,” she shouted to Olivia, “let’s sort this out.”

“That bastard,” Olivia pointed at Jason—who was clenching his groin with both hands while sobbing, “that bastard defiled my daughter.”

Olivia pushed Lisa aside and aimed a second kick to Jason’s groin, but this time the latter was able to roll away and the kick caught only his thigh. Though he screamed again, his shout was not as loud as before. Brent jumped over him and grabbed Olivia—who struggled only briefly before relenting. Her fight was elsewhere.

Now Olivia glared at her daughter, hunched in front of the tent, tears welling in the girl’s eyes—one hand pulling an undersized tee shirt past her bellybutton and the other covering a thin veil of pubic hair.

“He’s twice your age,” Olivia said, her teeth clenched and voice low.

“I didn’t do anything,” Ilyana cried, breaking into a childish sob. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Olivia shouted. “How could you give yourself to this creep?”

“I swear ...”

Lisa stepped between the young girl and the men, shielding the girl’s naked hips with her own body.

“Not here,” Lisa told Olivia before turning to Ilyana. “Get yourself dressed so we can deal with this at home.”

Ilyana went into the tent as Lisa followed. The flap fell shut and the others soon heard whispering and weeping. When Lisa emerged, her face was grimmer than before as she pointed straight at Jason—who’d finally stopped moaning and had sat up, though his cheeks remained tight from pain and eyes red from tears.

“We have a problem,” Lisa said.

Olivia clenched her teeth and asked what she meant.

“Ilyana says,” Lisa explained, “she passed out. From drinking and dope. She didn’t wake up till you screamed at her—and she saw a naked man beside her. She remembers a bad dream about Jason and her having ... but she insists it was only a nightmare.”

Olivia wept.

Brent turned on Jason. “Did you do her?”

“Yeah,“ Jason said as looked away. “We did it.”

Olivia groaned.

“Did you rape her?” Brent growled.

“It wasn’t like that,” Jason said. “She wanted it.”

“Was she drunk?”

“Smell her breath.”

“Don’t be a smart ass,” Brent said.

“We both were. And high. I didn’t mean ...”

Olivia sprang for him, her fists clenched. “She’s fifteen.”

Lisa grabbed Olivia by the hair and jerked the frenzied mother to a stop. “Not that way,” she said. “The people will have their say in this.”

Olivia shook herself free, slipped into the tent, and returned with her daughter—whose nakedness now was covered with rumpled shorts stinking of schnapps and smoke.

“I’m sorry,” Olivia cried as she held her daughter fast. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Ilyana and Olivia both wailed and sobbed as they slowly returned to camp while their neighbors turned away in shame-faced silence.

Only after the two women were gone did Brent speak. “What do we do with him?” he asked.

“He goes to trial,” Lisa answered. “I’ll call for a jury of his peers.”

“I suppose,” Brent said, “that’ll do—though what we really need is a good old-fashioned lynch mob.”

Lisa sprinted to camp and called for an emergency meeting while Brent pushed Jason toward camp.

The hearing began shortly after Kit returned to the island in early afternoon. Ilyana remained in her tent, nursed by her mother—with Lisa speaking for the teenaged girl and Jason conducting his own defense. There was little debate regarding matters of fact. While both sides agreed the pair stumbled to the tent after partying and spent the night, Jason insisted the sex was consensual—claiming he laid down alone, but the girl had crawled to him after he blew out the candles. Too stoned to resist temptation, he slept with her. He wept as he testified and swore to make amends—including a promise of marriage if Ilyana and her mother would have him.

Lisa testified otherwise. She said Ilyana admitted being too stoned to return home and remembered an erotic dream (possibly with Jason), but was shocked when she woke to find Jason undressed beside her. She claimed Ilyana didn’t realize she was partially naked until after she had been dragged outside the tent—clear evidence that the girl hadn’t willingly disrobed. Finally, Lisa testified that Olivia wished to charge Jason with sexual assault and intoxicating a minor with intent to seduce.

After debating facts of law and intent, villagers indicted Jason on three counts of rape: statutory, date, and forcible. He was remanded to the General Will of the People for criminal trial and confined to the privacy tent and supervised work detail until his hearing. When Lisa was told to summon the rest of the island to New Plymouth for the coming Sunday, she stripped to olympiad essentials of running shoes and jogging shorts and sprinted toward the beach—returning only after notifying each of the other villages of the summons and successfully organizing a trial in New Plymouth for Sunday. By the time Lisa returned, it was nearly dark and most villagers already had retired: it proving too shameful to face each other around the campfire in light of the tragedy that had befallen Paradise. Residents simply wanted to put an early end to a day that had turned their dreams into nightmares. They wanted to start a new day as soon as possible.

But though the villagers retired early, few slept well. The wailing despair of Ilyana’s persistent weeping unnerved everyone, her sobs and cries penetrating every nylon wall. Breakfast was served early and most islanders drank three or four cups of coffee to recover from sleeplessness and shock. Ursula served Ilyana breakfast in bed and Kit took all four children—the only ones to sleep well—for a day hike. Work details were completed with little chatter and supper served early. Jason faced grim remarks about hanging, especially by Tiffany and Ursula, and word came after supper that staff psychologist Dr. Erikson planned to visit the next morning. No one talked around the fire and lamps were extinguished early for a second night. And once again, neither the whispering of companionship nor the rustling of love was heard.

Early morning shadows hadn’t yet dissipated when Heather opened her eyes. Though the day was just dawning, the pungent stench of burning marijuana already drifted into her tent. The air was so foul she coughed.

“Doesn’t he ever learn?” Heather said as she pulled yesterday’s shirt over her bare shoulders and reached for shoes and socks set neatly beside her pillow. As the smoke grew thicker, she shouted out loud to Jason.

“Put it out. That stuff makes me sick.”

No one answered.

Heather sat up. She hadn’t noticed the stench of pot so thick before. Sometimes Jason’s smoke drifted her way but it was seldom more than a strong odor, like the burning of leaves in a neighbor’s yard. Something seemed wrong, so Heather unzipped her tent to take a look. When she stuck her head outside she saw smoke billowing from Jason’s tent.

“Fire!”

Heather’s scream was shrill and instinctive as she jumped outside and darted toward the burning tent before stopping to cry out a second time.

“Tent fire! Tent fire!”

Alerted neighbors scrambled from their tents. Within the minute, several villagers helped with the fire. Linh and Deidra evacuated their children while others raced toward the tool shed to get shovels and axes as Lisa took charge.

“Pull the stakes up!” Lisa commanded.

Ryan and Maria pulled stakes from one side while Hilary and Jose pulled them from the other. The tent collapsed inward: smoke and fire pouring through the nylon walls, opened vents, and front flap.

“Drag it,” Lisa shouted, “by the lines.”

Volunteer firepersons grabbed the four corners of the tent while Lisa seized the front flap. Heather stayed behind to deal with a grass fire as the others pulled the tent toward an open field. As flames blazed heavenward and smoke burned their eyes, the volunteers each held breath as long as able and moved as fast as possible. Still, by the time they reached the edge of camp, the tent and everything in it—Jason’s sleeping bag, clothing, personal effects, stash—were ablaze and all five volunteer firepersons had inhaled considerable amounts of smoke. A few yards more and the villagers dropped their corners to escape the burning heat and gasp for fresh air. All five emerged from the smoke coughing.

Help arrived as Joan and Sean brought shovels and axes while John and Charles carried buckets of water. Brent and Viet brought bags of sand to the original tent site—where Heather had beat down burning grass with a worn blouse retrieved from her tent.

“Jason’s tent caught fire,” Heather shouted as she pointed toward the tent now burning outside camp—still obscured by smoke that hung heavy and thick in the air.

John scowled. “How much dope did he bring?”

“Apparently not enough,” Brent said.

Everyone smiled just a little. Viet and Brent used his shovel to stamp out burning bits of tent marking where the flaming tent had been dragged while John and Charles returned their buckets of water to the storage shed and Heather walked toward the smoke rising from the edge of camp. The laughter of the volunteer firepersons was growing more raucous, so Heather picked up her pace. By the time she reached the burned out tent, the five volunteers were standing around a pile of smoldering ashes. The gray smoke rolling from the ashes smelled of dope.

Ryan stuck his face into the gray smoke and took a deep breath as the others watched. “Talk about the mother of all doobies,” he said. “The smoldering flames of hell.”

“Jason’s hell,” Hilary said.

“Jason’s heaven,” Lisa countered.

“Now it’s just a big roach,” Jose said.

“Anyone got a clip?” Maria said.

“You look like one big roach yourself,” Hilary said, pointing at soot covering Ryan’s face.

Ryan laughed and a series of inane jokes began—which grew more ridiculous by the word, even as laughter grew less restrained. Within minutes, Jose and Hilary rolled in the dirt holding their sides and Lisa wandered glassy-eyed into the forest while Ryan and Maria sprinted toward the bridge, peeling clothes as they ran.

Heather looked into the woods and took one step to follow them, but decided otherwise before returning to her tent. After inspecting it for damage, she retrieved a tent patching kit to plug several holes burned through the thin nylon of the tent by flying sparks and burning embers.

Lunch consisted of chicken noodle soup with rice (made from freeze-dried reserves), flatbread, and fruit salad mixed with pineapple, kiwi, and mangos. Juice and coffee were served too. Sean was finishing his soup just as Heather approached.

“Waitress,” Sean said, “I’d like to order a hamburger.”

“Would you like that priority mail or express delivery?”

“Which keeps the fries hotter?”