Left on Paradise (45 page)

“Ursula,” he said, “I really am sorry. You were the best girl I ever had and I threw it away for sex with a crazy woman.”

Ursula’s eyes glistened.

“The irony,” Sean said, “is Deidra’s driving herself insane to conceive the baby we made by accident.”

Ursula just sobbed.

“I really screwed up,” Sean said.

Ursula nodded.

Sean limped away to get juice. After serving Ursula, he helped her to bed, then lay near the fire and watched the coals burn down until he fell asleep. Only when the fire burned out and the chill of the night cut through his clothes did he stagger to Jose’s tent—not long before the first stirring of islanders in their tents could be heard as a new day began.

“Ryan, come closer.”

Ryan rolled over and looked at his new wife. Maria lay beside him, her hips draped with a sheet. The tent was bright since they’d slept in late.

“You wear me out,” Ryan said. “Wasn’t last night enough?”

“Not now,” Maria said, her face drawn and taut. “We need to talk.”

“What’s wrong?” Ryan asked, propping himself up at the elbows with a long yawn.

“I’m pregnant.”

Ryan snapped his jaw shut and threw his hand over his mouth, but his yawn hadn’t ended and his tongue was still extended. As a result, he bit his tongue and uttered a muffled cry.

“Thamn,” he said rubbing his tongue with his fingertips. “Thut thu thu theen pregnanth?”

Maria stared into Ryan’s eyes. She spoke her next words very slow and deliberate. “It’s medical slang for having your baby.”

After a pause, Ryan found his tongue again. “How pregnant?”

“A month.”

“You’ve been pregnant for a month and this is the first time you’ve decided to mention ...”

Maria’s glare cut Ryan short. “Didn’t you take health class?” she growled. “I’ve just missed my period and didn’t suspect until a couple days ago.”

“It was nice of you to mention the possibility.”

“I knew how you feel about babies and I had no intention of worrying you unnecessarily.”

“I appreciate the concern.”

“Don’t be so sarcastic.”

“Don’t be so pregnant.”

Maria shook her head and Ryan sat upright for a moment before he dropped his jaw again.

“Did you know it,” Ryan asked, “when you made me marry you?”

“When I what?”

“When you”—Ryan decided not to repeat his previous words—“when we married.”

“I didn’t know until last night, I told you. It was the first time I used a pregnancy test.”

“Did you have an inkling?”

Maria dropped her eyes an instant, but then lifted them and stared straight at Ryan.

“Honestly?” Maria said. “I wondered. But my period’s not regular, so I wasn’t sure. It always was a possibility, I suppose.”

“How many pills did you miss?”

“All of them.”

“You weren’t on birth control?”

“There isn’t any.”

“I thought you had a supply.”

“They gave me condoms.”

“Did you ever think of using one?”

“Not when on the first night and afterwards would’ve been too late.”

“How can you be so stupid?”

“I wasn’t the only one,” Maria answered as she glared at her husband.

“Shit,” Ryan said. “This is a mess.”

“How’s that?”

“I wanted some time for us, for ...”

“Give me respect, not clichés. I’m your wife.”

“It’s just that we should enjoy our freedom for a while.”

“Love isn’t free and I’m not cheap.”

Ryan clenched his forehead between his hands. “What’s wrong with a little innocent fun?” he groaned. “I bring beautiful women to a tropical paradise and all they can think about are babies”

“You do realize how they’re made?”

“I know how they’re made; I just don’t get why.”

“Someone,” Maria said, “needs to explain to you the facts about life: about women and making life. The whole Eve thing.”

“You’re keeping it, aren’t you?”

“The baby is us. He—or she, for the matter—is the fruit of our love.”

“Now what am I supposed to do?”

“Lemaze, I expect.”

“I’m not ready for fatherhood.”

“I heard my dad say the same thing when mom was pregnant with my little brother—their fifth.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you weren’t on the pill?”

“Why didn’t you ask?”

“It’s the woman’s ...”

“Don’t go there,” Maria warned. “We made our choices and now we’re going to be parents. You’re not going to leave me the way Sean did Ursula. She sold herself too cheap and I won’t make her mistake. I played by the rules and left you alone as long as you were married. And now the rules declare you’re obligated to honor your wife and child. Do well and everything will be good between us. Treat me like a whore and I’ll leave you broken and bruised. And it starts with your attitude. Like it or not, you’re going to be a happy father. You’ll not humiliate me the way Sean did Ursula.”

Ryan bowed his head. “I won’t embarrass you,” he promised. “Maybe you’re right about Sean. Just give me a few days to think about it. I’ve never even imagined being a father. Not once.”

“You think too much,” Maria said, “What you need to do now is learn to live with life. I’m going to announce my pregnancy to the neighborhood and you’ll be at my side with a smile. Heather saw me getting the kit last night and word could already be out. She’s not usually a gossip, but we’re not neighborhood favorites right now.”

A few minutes later, Ryan and Maria walked straight to the dining hall where they announced the pregnancy to Deidra and Heather. They also told Jose and Linh (who were eating outside the mess). Ryan remained cheerful the entire time—though he said he hadn’t thought about the child’s sex (and didn’t care) when asked by Jose if he preferred a boy or a girl.

34

The Harvest Festival

The last week in July passed without further incident, though it took Brittany’s mother three days to fetch her daughter. The easterners were more diligent: building a barn (near the south tip of the island) dry enough to protect southern children from winter rains and sending for the children even before the last door was hung late on Friday afternoon. While most east villagers were just relieved to see the children depart, Alan grumbled and griped that they hadn’t left soon enough—and that they’d stained walls with muddy finger prints and floors with tropical juice stains. In any event, he and other inhabitants of the east village worked nights to clean the mess and then raise a roof over the new theater, as well as to plane timber for the latter’s interior walls. New Plymouth staff also monitored overdue west village elections during which Linh was made Chief Neighbor and her husband was appointed to Executive Council.

Only Dr. Morales didn’t assist with the belated elections—though he did sail west to invite Heather to visit Roanoke Island to help prepare the harvest feast. Indeed, anthropologist and intern arrived together on foreign soil early Thursday morning and worked all day learning local customs. After hours of negotiation over broken sentences and uncertain translations, Morales decided Heather should remain with the natives to finalize preparations while he sailed home to gather guests and gifts. Morales returned to Paradise on Friday evening, asking his compatriots to make preparations for a Sunday banquet and offering Charles and Joan the first invitations to attend the festival.

Everyone was pleased with the news, especially Deidra—who thought it fitting that Western civilization played the role of Squanto. On Saturday, the LCVP was loaded with food drawn from central reserves and village levies: bundles of wood, salted fish, jars of jelly, baked breadfruit, fresh lemons, ground sugarcane, live crabs, and the last bag of popcorn on the island. Deidra, Lisa, Jose, Ryan, Maria, Charles, and Joan spent the night at New Plymouth in anticipation of an early start, along with three volunteers from the north village and two from the east and south districts. Dr. Morales himself represented the professional staff of New Plymouth. Outsiders brought sleeping rolls to New Plymouth and either settled into empty tents or found quiet places beneath the open sky. Joan shared a hospital bed with a northerner while her husband slept under the stars beside Karla from the east village. Ryan and Maria stayed in an unoccupied supply tent.

A festival also was planned for the island of Paradise. Two plump chickens (large speckled hens nearly the size of wild turkeys) were fated for butchering and there was talk of slaughtering a troublesome goat belonging to the southern village—though the animal was spared for the sake of Lisa and several southern children who had befriended it. A southerner also protested against moral cannibalism by chanting “a goat is a man is a bird” and two young mothers begged for the animal’s life on grounds that their children needed as much fresh milk as possible. Salted ham (the only one on the entire island) was accepted as a substitute, along with a vat of instant potatoes and several large cans of creamed corn. Packaged foods were supplemented with hand-churned butter, stream-cooled milk, bread, biscuits, cakes, and bowls of fruit. Crabs and fish also were planned. It was decided to hold the festival at the west village—which had the best beach on the island, as well as the most convenient location. Only the northerners complained about the walk.

On Sunday morning, Kit rose before dawn. After raising her ax several times over one of two condemned chickens, she called for John to take care of the unfortunate fowl. John beheaded the larger hen with a single stroke, then held the bird fast while its headless torso convulsed as its blood drained. A moment later, the second bird also was dead and John was gutting dinner while Kit plucked feathers. After cleaning, the birds were smothered with spices and butter and cooked inside a cast iron pot—smoldering over a thick layer of hot coals. Periodically, logs were added to the fire to keep the birds baking. While the chickens cooked, John retrieved crabs from live traps and Kit kneaded dough. When Linh and Tiffany joined them, work went still faster yet. By midmorning, the chefs were joined by neighbor and stranger alike (a slim majority of them women) as they cleaned food and cooked.

When the noon meal was ready, John asked permission to say a traditional grace, but only he and Kit closed their eyes to give thanks while the others continued conversation and passed plates. Nevertheless, despite the awkward beginning, the meal brought satisfaction as dish after dish was served. Both chickens were picked clean and every trace of the twenty-pound ham also disappeared. Likewise, twenty crabs were eaten, as well as six seagulls netted by the southerners—and even some smoked fish. Indeed, the hunger for meat proved so insatiable it led to the butchering of the previously reprieved goat—which soon was broiling over an open spit with a mango stuffed in its mouth.

As word of the feast spread, those few islanders who hadn’t planned to come arrived with empty plates and growling stomachs. Several men picked at the goat as it cooked, though Ursula diligently chased them away with a wooden spoon. Even so, a fifth part of the goat disappeared before the roasted animal was removed from the spit.

While the goat cooked, islanders played volleyball at the beach. This time nearly everyone stripped their shirts—the fear of ripping their few remaining clothes being far greater than private embarrassment. A couple women wore bikinis and one even played in shirt and shorts, but most islanders removed their shirts and applied what remained of their sun lotion to the more tender parts of their bodies or covered themselves in coconut oil as a precaution. By now, a majority of citizens had acclimatized themselves to the increasing exposed mores of Paradise, being both physically tanned and socially inured to the radiance of light. Those who didn’t look upon the nakedness of neighbor or friend seldom noticed those who did and generally didn’t care, except for several parents who cloistered their children farther down the beach.

In a like manner, John and Kit took a sailboat into the open seas. Though John’s previous sailing had been restricted to a reservoir near Phoenix, Kit showed him a few tricks for steering in open seas as they spent the afternoon circumnavigating Paradise and reminiscing about their former lives. Both expressed concern that rain might ruin the day after they saw dark clouds skirting along the horizon, but their good fortune held and the storms kept at a safe distance. Kit teased that John’s earlier blessing had brought the favor of heaven, though John pointed to his fellow citizens at the beach and quipped that prayer more likely would bring damnation to the whole island—maybe a volcanic eruption or some other fire direct from hell.

Nevertheless, the volcanoes of the Pacific Rim remained inactive and the only thing broiled was the goat served at dusk. By the time John and Kit had secured the sailboat and arrived with empty plates at the table, they found that the goat was gone—a bit of gristle and a few bones were all that testified to the life that had been taken.

Wind blew into their faces as the voyagers sailed through open water at six knots and it took them longer than expected to reach their destination. Though they couldn’t know it, their compatriots were eating broiled chicken even as Dr. Morales and his unconquistadors (as they deemed themselves) steered through a gap in the coral and landed at the main island—where locals greeted them on the beach. There, the aroma of cooked meat flavored the shore and stirred hunger pangs in the citizens of Paradise—who dropped the LCVP’s loading ramp into two foot of water and waded ashore, each visitor bringing baskets of food and gifts as if from the gods. Dr. Morales returned the carved tortoise shell to the chief before joining his compatriots (who waited to be summoned in order not to disturb the solemnity of the religious ceremony). The unconquistadors were glad to do so, lest they be mistaken for Columbus and Cortés by ruining civilizations more ancient than their own in pursuit of piety and plunder.

The chief emerged from the woods after several minutes, flanked by two sons—each man armed with a ceremonial lance. He welcomed his guests in the name of the goddess before leading them deeper into the island. Several citizens of Paradise looked in disbelief as they passed poorly constructed huts and worn-out hammocks, as well as heaps of fish bones and bird’s claws littering the ground in every direction; others tried not to pass judgment by their stares. Soon, the entourage came to a grass meadow with lines of turtle shells and a table set before a decorated palm trunk: a twelve-foot swayed pole decorated with geometric shapes, grotesque human images, and symbolic animal forms. The twisted torso of a fierce goddess crowned the totem, her legs crouched for birth and breasts hanging nearly to her hips. Her face was contorted in unchanging anguish—lips stretched and tongue extended—as the foreign guests paid homage. Deidra worshipped with genuine American Indian chanting.

The chief motioned his guests to sit before turtle shell bowls arranged near the back of the field—each one overflowing with slices of breadfruit, pieces of fish, and polished coconut husks filled with water. As guests took seats after offering their own gifts of fish, jelly, and fruits to the goddess, the chief’s sons moved the visitor’s gifts to their father’s table for portioning and distribution. Only when spoils were divided did the chief bless the meal and call his people to feast—now eating foods never before imagined.

Eyes grew wide as natives tasted for the first time fruit jelly and tuna steaks (caught the previous day and simmered overnight). Their children squealed with delight as they tasted watermelon and nearly sucked their cheeks down their throats when they bit into lemon—and grew rambunctious and unruly after chewing sugar cane to pulp. All the while, the citizens of Paradise whispered among themselves how good it was to be of help to such a downtrodden people; even Deidra expressed pleasure at the cultural benefits of profit sharing.

The old chief grinned as he watched his clan eat and an hour passed until children licked the last bits of cane and adults sucked the bones of salted fish. When the chief raised his hands to the heavens, native and guest alike fell silent as he motioned for a teenaged girl to come forth and she did so: her back stiff and eyes dropped. She wasn’t much more than sixteen—short, skinny, and underfed—but the girl had passed puberty; her breasts were swollen, her hips carried a hint of fertility, and her fleshy belly protruded several inches over the ragged grass skirt that covered her hips. She looked to be a few months pregnant or at least showing a stretched belly not yet contracted following birth. The chief said a few words before blessing the girl with a kiss to the forehead and the girl bowed before the totem to worship.

“Fascinating,” Dr. Morales whispered. “A real fertility ritual. She’s being inducted into the cult of the goddess at the phallic-shaped totem. I think the girl is the chief’s daughter or wife. Possibly both from the looks of her. They only have one word for female and it covers all ages and relations—and it’s similar to their word for goddess and life and feast. There’s another argument against universal taboos.”

Deidra observed that the totem showed a woman in labor and everyone was pleased to observe that it was a matriarch who was honored as the primary tribal deity. Then the citizens of Paradise watched as several native women and every man in the tribe danced in a wide circle before the teenaged girl while the chief led a grotesque drama in which the men used sticks and gestures to simulate the making of a human baby. The latter rocked three-foot rods back and forth while the women tried to grab the logs whenever they came close. Whenever a woman succeeded, she left the dance—until the final girl seized the totem and fell prostrate as the chief blessed her in the name of the goddess. A moment later, the tribe broke into frenzied celebration. Only then did the chief speak with Dr. Morales.

“They honor,” Dr. Morales explained after returning to his own table, “the goddess as the life-giver by dedicating this girl to her. As near as I can tell, she’ll be made the chief’s wife and her child dedicated to the glory of the goddess. Now comes the feast of the goddess. This is solemn and we’re not allowed to talk during such a holy time. Not one word. From what I deciphered from the carvings, they believe a goddess came to this island from another world and nearly perished in the sea. The story is she washed up on a turtle or something—I couldn’t understand—and gave birth to this tribe. Now she’s said to provide both daily bread and new life: the word is the same. It wouldn’t surprise me if all these people were descended from one pregnant woman and her offspring. She must have given birth to a boy and slept with him later. Maybe she was lost at sea or set ashore, typically for infidelity or some other crime. This is incredible. Perhaps the most important anthropological find of our century.”

“It’s also a beautiful service,” Deidra said. “Very meaningful.”

“But what does it mean?” Karla asked. “I wish we spoke their language.”

“Soon enough,” Dr. Morales said. “Heather’ll pick it up quickly. She’s a bright girl.”

Joan looked at Charles.

“Where is our ex-daughter?” Joan asked.

“I hope she’s busy with a native boy,” Charles said. “Bringing about a little intercultural unity.”

“You’ve always had,” Joan said, “such high aspirations for her.”

“Maybe,” Dr. Morales continued without comment, “she’s preparing food. Or doing daycare. The children aren’t here yet and these tribespersons do have rather stereotypical gender roles.”