Left on Paradise

by Kirk Adams

  Alan laughed and relayed the quip to Steve, who kneeled to fill his canteen. It didn’t take long to tighten its cap and close the distance to husband and neighbor.

  “Besides,” Hilary noted as she rested her backpack on a bank and stooped to fill her canteen from the stream, “if this is the Jordan River, there must be Canaanites nearby.”

  “According to the religious right,” Alan said, “we’re the Canaanites.”

  “I plan,” Hilary said with a smirk, “to worship an idol at sunset. Or maybe just the sun itself.”

  “We’ll need a child to sacrifice,” Steve said.

  Hilary nodded toward the yelping. “I think Theodore will do just fine.”

  “Was he the firstborn,” Alan asked, “or the other brat?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Then,” Alan said a little less loud, “we’ll have to roast them both. Just to be sure.”

  Hilary laughed out loud. “If he doesn’t stop crying,” she said, “he’s going to be left on the short side of the Jordan. Like Moses.”

  All three laughed and Hilary reached into her pocket for some caramels. The melted candy stuck to its wrapper when opened, but she prevailed over the heat and soon put one of the pliable candies into her mouth. Alan and Steve declined her offer to share treats, so she stuffed the spares into a pouch on her backpack. With Steve’s help, she stood to her feet and shifted the weight of her worldly possessions so the pack again set square to her shoulders. It didn’t take long to close the distance with the trailblazers and to leave the sound of Theodore’s crying far behind.

  Others also stopped to take drinks. Two men fished plastic-wrapped protein bars from their pockets to replenish fading energy and another man slipped behind the trees to urinate—not far from two women doing the same. Five minutes later the hikers again moved as the two dozen immigrants (nineteen adults, one teenager, and four children) threaded through underbrush, waded upstream, and climbed uphill. As John Smith cut his way through vines (stopping every few minutes to catch his breath and rest his arms), the other trailblazers pushed fallen logs to shore and kicked rocks aside.

  Still, the pace slowed as the bed narrowed and the hill steepened. Indeed, as the sun burned through the tops of the trees with the passing hours of morning, the pilgrims increasingly were covered in sweat and sapped of strength. Arms grew weary and backs sore. Legs ached and feet hurt. Canteens dried more quickly, only to be refilled from a stream that grew ever more shallow. Rapids appeared more frequently and waterfalls hindered passage.

  It was at one of these—a three-foot waterfall amounting to little more than a drop over eroded rock—that lunch was eaten, sore legs rested, and water-soaked blisters gently rubbed.

  “How’re your feet?”

  Ryan looked at his wife’s toes soaking in the shallow rush of cool water. Her boots stood paired atop a flat rock to her right as her husband sat to her left, his own boots dangling from a bush.

  “A little sore, but no blisters,” Kit replied. “How much further?”

  “Not far,” Ryan said. “We’re nearly at the ridge. If my map is right, this stream flows from the crest. We’ll cross over a few trees at the hilltop and start down the other side. It’s a straight shot to our campsite.”

  “It’s been three hours already.”

  “We could’ve taken this hike in an hour or two if we weren’t so weighed down with people and packs. And children.”

  Kit pointed at the waterfall. “But look at them,” she said. “They’re adorable.”

  Ryan didn’t smile. “For children, I suppose.”

  Now Kit walked near the waterfall to watch the four children playing. Brent and Tiffany ate while their twin boys splashed along the bank and Viet and Linh lay in the grass—their eyes shut—as their elementary school-aged daughters soaked their feet in a shallow pool. When Tiffany waded into the water, her sons squealed with delight and soon she splashed both boys as they returned fire. She even dunked one of the boys, though she remained careful not to keep his head under water for longer than a couple seconds.

  Kit watched for a time, then turned to Brent—who reclined in the grass, his knees raised and eyes open as he listened to family play.

  “Don’t they ever need naps?” Kit asked.

  Brent laughed out loud. “In my dreams.”

  “They’re good boys.”

  “Yeah,” Brent said, “but I’m discovering they aren’t the best hikers in the world.”

  “They’re only little boys,” Kit replied.

  “It’s hard,” Brent said as he sat up, “not to fall into the trap of toughening them the way I was raised.”

  “This isn’t boot camp.”

  “Right now, it feels awfully close.”

  “At least wet boots camp,” Kit said with a smile as she turned to watch the boys play. Now their mother tossed them into the water. One boy went under briefly and came up crying. His twin laughed as Tiffany shrugged—not exactly overwhelmed with remorse. Brent closed his eyes and reclined for a short nap as Kit returned to Ryan.

  Ten minutes later, all four children were refreshed and dressed with dry socks and wet shoes. Soon, the neighborhood waded upstream and it took less than thirty minutes even for stragglers to reach the crest—where settlers scrambled the final few steps before disappearing over the top. A few weary travelers needed a helping hand to finish their journey.

  “There’s our portion of Paradise,” Sean said, pointing to a distant break in the forest. The meadow wasn’t big, stretching little more than the size of a youth soccer field—and filled with tall grass and the charred remains of several ironwood trees. Likely, a lightning fire had cleared the land and the western settlers now received a meadow large enough to pitch tents even before timber was cut and farmland cleared.

  Lisa Greenwood waved her arms across the horizon. “Look at the wonder of this place,” she said as she turned toward a man a few yards from her. “So lush and alive. So exotic and exciting. To think this island has never been seen by human eye. What d’you think? Did you ever imagine?”

  “Virgin forest,” Sean said. “Unknown and untouched and ...”

  “And,” Lisa interrupted, “we’re not going to gang rape her like prairie homesteaders. We’ll protect her and nourish her just as she protects and nourishes us. Tit for tat.”

  A cry echoed from below the ridge that help was needed, so Lisa dropped her pack and started for the crest. Sean followed in her steps as the cries for help continued and they soon saw it was Tiffany who needed assistance as she stumbled up the hill, dragging a small water jug and two young boys. Behind her, Brent was loaded like a mule—every pouch of his backpack bulkily protruding outward with an overabundance of household goods—as he pulled a second pack by its strap while crawling up the ridge.

  “What in creation,” Lisa said with a quiet voice and raised eyebrows, “does he have?”

  “What he has,” Sean answered a little less quietly, “are two kids. And now he has his wife’s pack so she can help the boys. We can’t go fifteen minutes without a break and still they’re stumbling up that hill. Look at ‘em.”

  One boy tripped over his brother on the slope and both fell face down in the grass. From the crest, neither Sean nor Lisa could tell whether they were crying or laughing. Their mother struggled to pull them to their feet.

  “I think,” Lisa said, now dropping her voice, “they’re exhausted.”

  “Just our luck to get them,” Sean muttered.

  As Lisa and Sean talked, John passed them as he hurried downhill—where he lifted one boy over a shoulder and pulled the other by an arm to the crest while Tiffany held the back of his shirt for balance. Soon all four stood atop Mount Zion and John returned to help Brent with his double load of gear. Ryan arrived a few minutes later, carrying a bag of discarded plastic wrappers, lost toys, and even a wet shoe dropped by one of the boys.

  As the rest of the neighborhood reached the summit, the emigrants took a break. Hikers
stopped to catch breath, eat a snack, or rest sore legs. Canteens were shared and Ryan reminded everyone to drink a full tin to avoid dehydration since the sun was reaching its peak. After a short rest, garbage was collected for recycling and stored in a bag tied to Ryan’s pack.

  Then the descent began.

  This time John Smith led one boy and Brent the other. Sean and Jose worked together to carry Tiffany’s pack since she was too tired to shoulder it any longer. Everyone else completed the journey with the equipment they carried at the day’s beginning. Within the hour, the first campers reached the meadow and others soon followed as tall grass was trampled flat, tents pitched, and a fire started. Hot coffee and tea were served with a box of chocolate bars and a tin of cookies that Linh had brought. Several colonists napped. The afternoon was spent pitching tents and unpacking possessions.

  All four children were sent to an early bed and immediately fell asleep in tents pitched far enough from the firepit that floating sparks burned themselves out before reaching the thin nylon of the tents. A short time later, a village meeting was called to order and several settlers stuffed their backpacks with bedrolls to use as improvised lawn chairs. Two emigrants unpacked portable canvas sports chairs—which they shared in gestures of good will.

  After several minutes of idle chat, Lisa called the meeting to order by clearing her voice. “Friends, neighbors, and countrymen,” she said with a loud voice, “lend me your ear.”

  A few whispers soon faded as Lisa stood before her compatriots, her arms crossed and her weight shifted to one hip.

  It was time to build a village.

  8

  A Garden Near Pishon

  Lisa unfolded both arms from across her chest and shifted her weight to the other hip. A sleeveless green tee shirt bared her shoulders and light gray jogging shorts covered her muscular legs to the knees. Her long red hair looked aflame against the flickering of a small fire behind her. She cleared her throat.

  “The first order of business,” Lisa declared, “is to elect village officers. Kit, can you please distribute pens and paper?”

  As Kit walked around the group, handing each inhabitant a torn sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen, Lisa continued the meeting.

  “Do we,” Lisa asked, “want to select by lottery or election? The bylaws allow us to choose.”

  No one stirred.

  “Speak up,” Lisa said. “I know it’s been a long day, but we need to get organized for tomorrow and we can’t assign work duties until leaders have been selected.”

  “I vote we use a lottery,” John said. “That way we won’t be pulled into cliques or popularity contests.”

  His wife Deidra disagreed and said so.

  “Around the neighborhood,” Lisa said, “everyone speak.”

  Brent and Tiffany said they didn’t particularly care either way and neither did Viet and Linh. Deidra, Hilary, Maria, Jason, and Jose preferred voting, along with Steve and Alan. Charles and Joan also cast their ballots for voting—though their daughter, Heather, opted for the lottery. Others who also favored the lottery included: John, Lisa, Ursula, and Sean. Ryan spoke last, noting that the majority already had chosen to vote, so his own opinion was inconsequential. Kit nodded her agreement with her husband, leaning her head on Ryan’s shoulder as he spoke.

  Elections were held to fill two posts: Chief Neighbor and Executive Councilperson. The Chief Neighbor was authorized to administer community rules for a two-week period while the Councilperson was called to represent the village in the Executive Council of the People—or Small Council—for a similar two-week term as specified in the bylaws of Paradise. Lisa was elected Chief Neighbor and Charles sent to the Executive Council. After a twenty-minute break in which Kit and Heather served pineapple juice, sliced mangos, imported cheese, and wheat crackers, Lisa took charge of the meeting and organized a proper division of work details. As soon as she stepped to the front of the assembly, idle chatter ceased.

  “To begin with,” Lisa announced, “let me thank all of you for this great honor. I never expected this, though I must admit I’m very, very excited by the opportunity it provides to make a real difference in a completely new world.”

  There was a round of light applause as Lisa reviewed a few hand-written notes. One of the men rolled a log into the fire while the neighborhood waited for their newly elected leader to speak. Soon, wood crackled and conversation continued.

  “First,” Lisa said, “we need to schedule our work week. We have to decide how much we’ll do and when we’ll do it.”

  Ursula raised her hand. “I think we need a forty-hour week.”

  “Let’s make it,” Jose said, “the four-day work schedule that European labor is seeking. Why follow the American model by working ourselves to death?”

  Several neighbors applauded his suggestion and a few joked they preferred a three-day week while Jason proposed a one-day schedule for himself—though he volunteered to work an extra day tending his marijuana garden.

  Ryan was still laughing when he raised his hand to talk.

  “Let’s be serious,” Ryan said, “this enterprise will be hard work and every one of you were chosen for your ability to perform. Not one of you is a slacker. Each one of you has accomplished something significant through school, activism, or work. Even Jason here put in eighty-hour weeks working to open medicinal access to marijuana during last year’s California elections.”

  Jason nodded as everyone laughed.

  “There’s plenty to do,” Ryan continued. “We need to clear land, plant crops, build shelters, cut trails, gather food, and make tools. And we have two months to complete our work or we’ll be eating nothing but flour and fish by the end of the year. Remember, we brought limited stores with us and aren’t getting outside shipments for at least six months. Now let’s get serious tonight since tomorrow we need to get to work.”

  After Ryan sat down, the newly elected chief neighbor again addressed the village.

  “What I suggest,” Lisa said, “is the following: every person should be required to put in a fifty-hour week of their own choosing. The Chief Neighbor can keep daily logs to track hours. Once quotas are met, the weekend starts—except for a rotation of weekend workers. Weekend shifts will be used to cook and clean, but we’ll rest from heavy labor so we don’t wear ourselves out. Firewood stocks can be built up during the week.”

  Tiffany jumped to her feet and took the floor almost before Lisa finished speaking.

  “Flex-time,” Tiffany said, “is a great idea. Ten hours per day should get the work done and give us a little siesta. I haven’t seen a ten-hour day since I gave birth.”

  Jose agreed the plan provided both American productivity and European flexibility and Heather observed that it allowed for vacations by accumulating overtime hours. When Sean asked whether the proposal accounted for genuine sick days (since someone stricken with the flu couldn’t possibly make up lost hours), Lisa suggested that genuine sickness—certified by a physician or neighborhood consensus—would be a valid excuse from work. Her proposal was ratified less than ten minutes later. When the division of labor had been both addressed and resolved, discussion returned to the workload itself.

  “I’ve figured out four major tasks,” Lisa said. “Wood needs cut, fields cleared, food gathered, and trails laid. Is there anything else?”

  “What about environmental protection?” Hilary asked. “Litter pickup and pollution control?”

  “Excellent,” Lisa noted. “I hadn’t really given that work an official status. My mistake.”

  A light round of applause sounded.

  Tiffany stood to speak two words before returning to her seat.

  “Child care.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that either,” Lisa said as she jotted the two words to her list of tasks.

  “Won’t children just stay with their parents?” Alan shouted from the back of the assembly.

  “Not with heavy chores and dangerous tools,” Tiffany answered, half-ri
sing from her seat as she spoke.

  “An important part of this experiment,” Lisa said, “is the understanding that children are held in common. We’re not social conservatives or bourgeois householders. Every one of us knows that it takes a village to raise the children. No more double-duty for mothers. Not unless they get double-hours for their work.”

  “Sorry,” Alan recanted, “I was just trying to be practical. Besides, I thought children prefer to be near their parents.”

  “You also,” Lisa said with a smile, “thought child-rearing is a part-time job?”

  Everyone laughed except Alan.

  “What I suggest,” Lisa announced, “is we appoint Alan to the part-time task of child-care provider for the first shift.”

  Alan opened his mouth to speak, but before a full word was uttered, Hilary seconded the motion and a dozen hands voted for the proposal.

  “I’ve just run some numbers,” Lisa explained after the vote was taken, “and subtracting four children, the Chief Neighbor, and the Councilperson from the roster, we have eighteen able-bodied adults. Since we need to work as two-person teams for the sake of safety, we have more work than teams. I figure that we need sections to gather food, preserve food, lay down trails, cut trees and chop wood, plant fields, clean litter, tend children, construct buildings, fish, and cook. Some of this will vary week-to-week, but it looks as if the child-care providers will also need to gather some food if we’re going to make a solid start. Are there any objections?”

  No one objected, so Lisa continued.

  “Since the Councilperson,” Lisa said, “will be absent only four or five days per month, he or she can also help with heavy labor. Likewise, the Chief Neighbor will resolve problems and also help with clean up.”