by Kirk Adams
Now Lisa swatted flies while she sorted her trash into its proper components, then performed an autopsy of the dead fish—discovering that the larger fish had a hook in its throat and the smaller one did not (though she assessed both likely killed by human malfeasance). Lisa disposed of the dead fish and surveyed the sewage lines to insure that daily rains continued to wash waste down the trenches for dispersal into the forest.
What the young woman noticed, however, was that sewage pits were emptying far slower than planned—with the drainage ditches proving too narrow to allow proper flow of fecal waste into compostable sewage treatment. Several sewage lines were stopped up and required Lisa to poke them open with a stick. When examining the toilets, she also noticed that one smelled of urine, so she splashed two buckets of salt water on it and a third on herself. Even in Paradise, men proved unable to hit a large hole with a small stream. The sun blazed overhead and the young woman’s clothes dried by the time she returned to the village a few minutes later.
When she reached camp, Lisa saw Jason smoking a cigarette—that is, tobacco—near the fire pit and hurried to him.
“Those things will kill you,” Lisa said as she pointed at the cigarette.
Jason said nothing.
“I said those things are going to kill you.”
“I can wait.”
“Not,” Lisa scowled, “if I find another butt on my beach, you won’t. You’ll wish for the slow death of lung cancer.”
“It’s just one butt.”
“I found six today,” Lisa said as she glared at Jason. “If I find anymore thrown about the woods, we’ll have a tobacco bonfire. Get it?”
“They weren’t mine.”
“Don’t blow smoke in my eyes. You’re the only one in the village who smokes.”
Jason flicked a smoked cigarette into the fire. “That work for you?” he said with a smirk.
“Burn the butts or I’ll burn your ass.”
“You look stressed today,” Jason said as he flipped a half-full pack of unfiltered cigarettes at the young woman. “You need a smoke?”
Lisa took a cigarette and flung it into the fire, then returned to the village to collect a spare lunch and a clean trash bag before hurrying into the old growth forest where she’d sunbathed two days earlier.
Joan stuck her shovel into loose earth, then untucked and unbuttoned her blouse, letting it hang loose across her hips. She pulled out a bottle of tanning lotion from her knapsack and rubbed some on her neck and chest, being particularly careful to oil the skin near the frayed lining of her bra before returning to her work. Several times she smiled at the young man who worked with her and whose glances often flitted toward her chest. Twice, she caught his eyes with her own. The third time, she stopped working.
“Would you like me to button my shirt?”
Jose turned red. “They’re ... you’re fine.”
“You think so?” Joan asked as she looked at her own cleavage. “You want me to lose the blouse? Or just loose it?”
“You can’t talk like that,” Jose said as he blushed. “You’re married.”
“You’ve noticed that too, have you? You certainly are an observant young man.”
“I ...” Jose stammered, “I wasn’t looking at you.”
“I agree. You’re doing more stalking than looking.”
“I’m the one being stalked.”
Joan reached over to tussle Jose’s hair. “If I were stalking,” the middle-aged woman declared, “you’d already be mine, but I’d have to get my husband’s approval first. He’s particular about the company I keep and you are a close neighbor.”
Jose looked perplexed.
“Besides that, young man,” Joan continued, “I’ve decided on you for my daughter and she doesn’t seem amendable to time-sharing. She sees love more as some type of private property.”
Jose stopped laughing. “Heather’s just a girl.”
“You really are an observant young man.”
“Who’s too old for your daughter.”
“I think not,” Joan said with a shake of her head.
“She’s in high school.”
“Already a senior and very mature. You do have eyes to see?”
“I graduated six years ago,” Jose replied. “She’s my little sister’s age.”
“I was only a little older when I met her father at Berkeley—I was a freshman and he was in grad school.”
“I see the plan,” Jose said as he forced a laugh, “to rope the single guy into marriage.”
“Don’t be so old-fashioned,” Joan scowled. “I’d make a terrible mother-in-law.”
“Good. Because I have no plans to be a son-in-law anytime soon.”
“See how soon our minds met. Heather’s even more accommodating.”
“Ms. Ingalls,” Jose said with a blush, “that’s your daughter.”
“Now don’t get your hopes up,” Joan said, “since she’s a bit old-fashioned. I only meant to say she’s deferential.”
“That’s different.”
“Don’t be in such a hurry,” Joan said with a sober tone. “Spend some time with her and get to know her. If you like her, you have our approval. We brought her to this island to meet the right sort of people and to have a safe environment to grow up. Better to learn about love here than in the clubs of Manhattan or churches of Des Moines.”
Again, Jose blushed.
“She can’t remain a virgin forever,” Joan continued. “For goodness sake, someone has to go first. What do you learn at school these days? Maybe the conservatives are right about the ineffectiveness of sex classes. We figured out the passion and physics of it without any instruction at all.”
While Jose stood red-faced, Joan buttoned her shirt—though neither said much more as they continued their work.
Ryan stood before his tent—his shadow stretched longer than his six-foot frame—and rolled his eyes as he looked at his torn, muddy clothes. Another shirt was ruined and another pair of pants was filthy. Crawling inside, he found clean clothes, collected toiletries, and walked toward the bridge. Passing Maria’s empty tent, he called out, though he didn’t stop when he received no answer. Finding the bridge occupied by Joan and Deidra, who were shaving their legs with disposable razors and lathered soap, Ryan waded upstream, thinking the waterfall a suitable destination—having heard some neighbors used it to shower. He walked upstream with clean clothes draped around his neck and a bag of toiletries clutched in his right hand. A comb was slid into his pants pocket.
Ryan’s head was bowed and face drawn tight as he sloshed ahead. Kit had been difficult the previous night and the aftereffects of their spirited discussion hung over like a headache. And though fights were becoming a bad habit, last night was the first time in their marriage Kit had denied him sex from spite. Ryan relived the argument as he moved north and it was several minutes before his thoughts cooled—and he remembered he and Kit weren’t newlyweds and this wasn’t their first quarrel. The bickering would end soon enough, he supposed. It’d just take a little time.
Looking upstream, Ryan saw a woman who sat hidden in the shadows of an old beech tree. She looked slender and Ryan wondered whether it might be Maria, so he moved quietly to surprise her—keeping his feet from sloshing to keep noise down. It didn’t take him long to reach her.
“Maria, is that you? It’s me ...”
It wasn’t Maria and Ryan cut himself short as he looked at Lisa. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”
“Oh ... Ryan,” Lisa said, arching her back and thrusting her chest forward in a long yawn.
Ryan watched as her breasts rolled. They weren’t as full as Kit’s but flatter and firmer. Though he tried to look away, his eyes were drawn back to the woman’s nakedness.
“I-I’m sorry,” Ryan said. “I didn’t know it was you.”
Lisa yawned a second time and stood. Her breasts dangled earthward for an instant as she lost her step and stumbled until Ryan caught her by the wrists and steadied her
balance. The young woman remained nonplussed despite having almost fallen chest-first into her neighbor.
“What’s going on?” Lisa asked.
Ryan turned red and Lisa looked at her own freckled chest.
“They’re just breasts,” the young woman said. “I imagine you’ve seen a few before today. Kit has a full set.”
Ryan looked away. “W-what,” he stuttered, “in th-the world are you doing?”
“Don’t worry,” Lisa said with a shrug. “I’ll put in overtime by the end of the day. I don’t shortchange hours.”
“I mean, what are you doing here?”
“Yoga and some sunbathing.”
“Without a shirt?”
“No hang-ups, remember? Besides, Hilary tore two shirts this week. Clothing needs to be conserved.”
Ryan looked to the stream. The water rushed through his legs and the blood through his face. When Lisa scratched one of her breasts, he gasped.
“Sorry,” Lisa said. “Bad manners. The itch instinct got me.”
“I know the feeling,” Ryan blurted.
Now it was Lisa who blushed as she reached to the ground for a towel while Ryan took a step back toward the village.
“Weren’t you headed upstream?” Lisa asked as she draped the towel over her shoulders and chest.
“I need to return to camp. Kit’s probably looking for me.”
“Probably.”
As Ryan turned and hurried back to camp, Lisa slipped deeper into the woods.
Kit finished her chores by midafternoon, so she strolled to the beach, eating green bananas for early supper and resting beneath the shade of a palm tree. Later, she bathed in the sun, her back warmed by the sand and ankles splashed by the tide. She let out a yelp when someone tapped her forehead from behind.
“Ehhhh.”
“Sorry, Kit.”
It was John Smith—carrying a fishing pole, a folded net, and a bucket of chum—who startled her. He asked if Kit was feeling well.
“I’m okay,” Kit answered, glint shining from tears in the corners of her eyes.
“You sure?”
Kit nodded. “What’re you doing here?” she asked.
“Fishing. I didn’t catch much up north so I decided to move.”
“Isn’t Ursula helping you?”
“She was,” John answered, “till the smell of fish made her sick. She went to rest.”
“Weak stomach?”
“A little indigestion.”
“I’ve never fished before.”
“You want to try?”
“Sure,” Kit said, wiping sweat from her face and tears from her eyes with the back of her wrist. “Here?”
“We’ll use this net.”
“I’ve never done this before. I grew up in Manhattan. I wouldn’t even touch the iced trout at the market.”
Kit unbuttoned her blouse and climbed from her shorts, revealing a two-piece bathing suit almost old-fashioned in its modesty, while John threw his shirt into the sand and kicked his sandals aside before unfolding his nets. Soon, he handed a corner to Kit—who walked into the lagoon until the water lapped at her waist.
John distanced himself from her as he pulled a fifty-foot nylon net. “Drop the net,” he called out as he pulled the line tight, “when I say so, run for shore. Angle in as you move and we’ll bag some dinner. Ready, set, go!”
Kit ran for shore. At first, she moved slowly through the water, though she gained speed as the water grew shallow. Twice, she staggered and once she nearly fell. John moved faster and angled in sharper and by the time Kit reached calf-deep water, he stood on dry ground pulling in the net even as Kit groaned and tugged as she tried to pull the net—now heavy with fish—to shore. Though several fish thrashed through the shallows to escape the trap, more were caught in the webbing. When Kit finally reached the sand, she grew excited as she surveyed the catch.
“Those are big fish!” she cried out.
Indeed, a couple large fish were caught along with several smaller ones. John untangled the strands of nylon as he threw fish inland, where Kit picked them up and dropped them into buckets—though one slipped from her hands and flopped all the way to the sea before she could get it. The rest of their catch secured, they made a second try. On her second attempt, Kit slipped in the surf and nearly all of the fish escaped.
Before Kit’s aching arms ended the workday, another half-dozen casts were made—with most attempts catching at least a few fish. Then the day’s catch was set on stringers and taken to the bay for cleaning. After completing the gruesome task of killing and cleaning their catch, John and Kit wiped their tools and washed their hands. The afternoon sun had dropped and only a few gulls circled overhead—the beach quiet and the trails still.
“John, can I ask you something personal?” Kit said as she shook the sand from her shirt.
“It depends, I suppose, on what you ask.”
“Do you ever wish for children?” Kit asked with a somber voice.
“I did,” John said after a pause, “but ... well, there’s no reason to go into details. We just can’t have them.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Just one of life’s twists.”
“Did you ever consider surgery or adoption?”
“Surgery and in-vitro were useless. Adoption, yes. Until Deidra decided against it. She wants her own.”
“What about you?”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“You have needs too.”
“She’s suffered worse. And I’m her husband in sickness and health—as they used to say.”
Kit turned her back as she climbed into her shorts and slipped her blouse over her bikini. When she turned around, Kit saw that John had covered himself with a shirt and shorts.
“Why do you ask?” John said. “Does Ryan want them?”
“Neither of us did really,” Kit said. “In the States, we decided to forego children, so I had my tubes tied. It was my choice as much as Ryan’s. Sometimes in Hollywood, I had doubts. Here I have nothing but them. It’s so different.”
“How?”
“The bustle of the world isn’t here. It’s peaceful and perfect and a place made for living. I’m learning that life’s more than a career.”
“The twins have inspired you.”
“Yes,” Kit said, “they have. And the girls. There weren’t many children in Hollywood. Except for a few really obnoxious stars who weren’t exactly Shirley Temples. Unless you mean the drink.”
“Has Ryan changed too?”
“We quarreled about it last night and again this morning. He insists we did the right thing and doesn’t want me to return to the States for a corrective operation. He thinks I’m too old to bear a baby.”
John looked surprised. “You’re ...”
“Thirty-seven in a few months.”
“Thirty-six now?”
Kit nodded.
“I was born when my mother passed forty,” John said. “You’ve got a little time, at least.”
“There’s more risk at my age.”
“Maybe a little more risk,” John said, “but also greater gain. A woman your age has much to offer a child.”
“You’re the first man,” Kit’s eyes lit up as she spoke, “I’ve ever heard say anything like that.”
“To tell the truth, if Deidra would have it, I’d adopt a child today. I’d love to have a son. Or a daughter.”
“Can you speak to Ryan for me?”
“I’d rather grab a shark by the fins,” John said as he nodded toward the sea. “We’ve talked too much already.”
Only after a long pause did Kit mention how beautiful the lagoon looked and John observe they needed to cook the fish as soon as possible. As Kit grabbed a tackle box and a bucket of cleaned fish, John collected the net and poles before walking beside Kit on the trail to the village. Just before they reached the village, Kit tapped John’s shoulder.
“What if he never agree
s to it?” Kit whispered.
“He’s your husband.”
Kit said nothing.
“Do you love him?” John said.
“I do.”
“Then you live with disappointment. We can’t have everything we want. That’s something I’ve come to grips with.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
The two villagers entered camp with their catch. Kit found Ryan at their tent (already waiting undressed and anxious for his wife) while John took the cleaned fish to the grill—where he replaced Linh as chef and organized a fish fry with vegetable side dishes and brown rice. Everyone praised the meal and even Linh didn’t disagree since her mouth was filled with fish.
12
Paradise Lost
It took Charles most of Tuesday morning to hike to New Plymouth—where Small Council had been scheduled to meet midafternoon and was to be followed by a state dinner. Because he traveled alone and planned to remain overnight, Charles hiked along the shoreline, thinking it folly to risk twisting an ankle in the uninhabited hills where it’d be a day or two before he was missed. As a result of taking the longer route, he didn’t reach New Plymouth until lunch. There, he collected a few raw vegetables from a food table and headed for a noisy tent. The last to arrive, he took his chair without fanfare as delegates administered oaths of allegiance to open the session.
Only members of the Executive Council attended: these being the four village and one professional staff delegates. Charles represented the west neighborhood and Dr. Graves the professional village. The other neighborhoods sent women as councilors: a soft-faced brunette in her thirties from the east, a twentyish blonde from the north, and a gray-haired matron from the south. The brunette was made moderator by unanimous vote, then entertained proposals for a calendar of future meetings and an agenda for the present one. Proposals and priorities were penciled in and it was decided the first session would discuss supply shortages, native markings, marriage laws, and several lesser concerns. No one objected to the agenda and the meeting began in earnest.