Left on Paradise

by Kirk Adams

  Deidra ignored her husband as she made two passes around the tree. As John watched, she fell to her knees, clasped her hands in prayer, and kissed the earth. Only when she’d completed her ritual did she turn around to face the earthly distraction.

  “What,” John growled, “in the name of heaven are you doing?”

  “I’m praying,” Deidra said as she stood upright and unembarrassed, “to the gods of this place.”

  “You’re praying to a tree.”

  “It’s the supreme god of this forest. Look how it towers above the others. It’s older than you and I.”

  “So are the sea turtles.”

  “Wise aged creatures.”

  “Good soup, too.”

  “Don’t mock the gods.”

  John shook his head. “Don’t tell me you actually believe in your grandpa’s mumbo jumbo?”

  “Grandfather,” Deidra scowled, “was a wise man.”

  “He was a witch doctor.”

  “Who had the power to heal.”

  “He couldn’t cure cancer.”

  “The gods didn’t will it.”

  “So they let their last true believer waste away?”

  “I’m not going to debate theology with you.”

  “For goodness sake, Deidra,” John said, “you have a Master’s Degree from Arizona State. You know this superstition is a fraud.”

  “You follow the ways of your ancestors,” Deidra replied, “so why shouldn’t I?”

  “My ancestors were miners and cavalry officers.”

  “And mine heeded the gods.”

  “A lot of good it did them.”

  “No wonder,” Deidra replied with a scowl, “grandfather cursed me for marrying a white man.”

  “Now I’m a bad luck charm?”

  “He cursed you too in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “Deidra,” John said, “I’ve been damned in God’s name by plenty of men and I’m still here.”

  “In any case,” Deidra replied, “I intend to worship my ancestors and their gods and you’ll just have to accept my beliefs.”

  “You used to poke fun at native religions more than I ever thought to.”

  “I was younger.”

  “And wiser.”

  “Wisdom is the blessing of the gods. They give it for ...”

  “For what?”

  “For lineage.”

  “I figured as much,” John now said as he shook his head. “No dance around this tree is going to put a baby in your belly.”

  “Can you really say that? Don’t your people claim God performs miracles?”

  “My people don’t snort mescaline and pray to the spirits of dead coyotes.”

  “Don’t blaspheme,” Deidra said.

  “You know how I’ve always stood beside you,” John said. “I’ve done everything a man can do. I came to this damned island just to please you. But I swear I don’t know what to do about this kind of craziness.”

  “You haven’t prayed to the gods of my people.”

  “It’s nonsense.”

  “Was it nonsense that grandfather made me barren for marrying you?”

  “I don’t remember,” John growled, “the tests registering positive for curses.”

  Deidra showed no embarrassment. “Science,” she declared, “doesn’t see everything.”

  “Well,” John said, “science certainly can’t see the non-existent, so it won’t see me praying to wood—and neither will you or anyone else.”

  “If you scorn the gods,” Deidra growled, “they won’t bless your seed. Or any woman who sleeps with you.”

  “I won’t participate in this nonsense.”

  “Then you’re no husband of mine”—Deidra stomped her foot once—“if you won’t pray to the gods of my house.”

  “I’ll burn your damned gods if you bring them into my tent.”

  “Just like a Presbyterian,” Deidra retorted as she walked away.

  John watched her leave before he himself returned to the village—where he picked at his breakfast as he sat beneath a palm at the edge of camp. After eating, he found his work partner and started on his assigned duties, saying nothing of what troubled him.

  It wasn’t long after John lit a breakfast fire that the village stirred—many of the neighbors awakened by the aroma of burning wood. Breakfast was served after a time, children eating before adults. Sean was the last one to arrive at the mess tent and collected breakfast for himself and Ursula as everyone else finished. Filling two mugs with coffee and two bowls with lukewarm oatmeal, he took the food home to serve Ursula breakfast in bed to make amends for yesterday’s bad behavior. He propped the bowls filled with oatmeal against his ribs and held the cups of coffee in his fingers to unzip his tent fly—though he wasn’t welcomed as he had hoped.

  As soon as Ursula smelled the food, she clutched her stomach. “Uggghh,” she screamed. “Get out! Now!”

  Sean’s eyes opened wide as he jumped backwards. He set the food on the ground outside the tent before sticking his head back inside. “You okay?”

  “Of course not,” Ursula groaned, “you jackass.”

  “What’s wrong? You have the flu or something?”

  Ursula turned from her stomach to her side and propped herself up with one arm. Her eyes were red and puffy, almost swollen shut, and her lower lip quivered when she talked.

  “Explain how,” Ursula growled, “someone gets the flu on a tropical island where there’s no contact with the outside world?”

  “Oh yeah. Then what do you have?”

  “What I have,” the young woman said, “is the firstborn child of the village idiot.”

  Sean froze where he stood. Only after a long pause did he step into the tent and sit, asking if she was sure.

  “Don’t I look sure?” Ursula replied.

  “Did you go to the doctor?”

  “Bastard,” Ursula whispered, “maybe I should call for a medevac to fly me to base camp? Or maybe I should just jog there?”

  “Oh yeah. You can’t really hike, can you?”

  “Like I said, the village idiot.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Anyone who has met you knows.”

  “Knows what?”

  “That you’re the village fool.”

  “I meant the baby,” Sean said. “How do you know you’re pregnant?”

  “The test was positive.”

  “When did you take it?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “Take another to be sure.”

  Ursula looked at Sean with disgust. “You don’t get,” she said, “any more pregnant, you ass.”

  “I just thought,” Sean said as he shook his head, “there might have been a mistake. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “I thought,” Ursula growled through clenched teeth, “you’d be real excited.”

  Sean ran his hand through his hair as he asked how it happened.

  “That first night on the ship,” Ursula said. “I don’t remember disposing of a condom. Or using spermicide.”

  “Aww shit,” Sean said out loud, slapping his hand into his leg, “you’re right.”

  Ursula reached for a nearby cracker sitting on a box and began to nibble.

  “What will you do?” Sean asked.

  “It’s my choice,” Ursula said. “My choice. Understand?”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t want a baby and I don’t want to be pregnant ...”

  “I agree,” Sean interrupted.

  “And,” Ursula continued, “I was going to say I don’t want to bleed to death on this island.”

  Sean looked confused.

  “The morning after pill,” Ursula said, “isn’t a finished product. Everyone knows it. They just hurried the thing through before the Republicans got control of the FDA. And I think it’s all we have here.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m either leaving this island or having this baby.”

  “You could come back later,” Sea
n said.

  “Bastard,” Ursula muttered. “I’m not leaving the island—daddy.”

  “Are you ... are we ready for a baby?”

  “No,” Ursula said, “as a matter of fact, we’re not, especially you. But we have nine months to get ready. I’ve always known I’d be a mom. Just not this soon. But I’ve decided now’s as good a time as any to begin. Linh and Tiff are here to help me—and you.”

  “I’m here for you. Just give me a little time to sort this out.”

  “You have about nine months.”

  Sean turned away.

  “In the United States,” Ursula said, “you’d be gone in a heartbeat. But from here, you’re not going anywhere. Too much ocean and too few boats.”

  Ursula fell back into bed and Sean took a long walk. Neither one worked full hours that day.

  Kit loosened her bandana and ran fingers through her blond hair, then brushed her forelocks back and tied the scarf tight. A bird called from a bush and she whistled to it as she adjusted her bra—her last untorn one—to tighten its stretched straps before fastening a shirt button and tugging the cotton blouse away from her chest. She looked back to insure she wasn’t being watched as she unbuttoned her shorts to tuck the shirt and afterwards retrieved a box of food and walked to the beach along the main trail.

  Originally planned for a single hiker, the trail already was double-wide from heavy traffic and Kit wondered whether Lisa might try to narrow the path to its authorized size. Little permanent damage was done thus far—only the trampling of a little grass and the breaking of a few boughs, but Lisa was a stickler for sticks. Still, the widening had taken place naturally enough, without forethought or plan. Now Kit kept to the center of the path, looking into the forest’s canopy and listening to the rush of wind through trees. It didn’t take long to reach a narrow trail that veered from the main path and snaked through a glade of fruit trees near the lagoon. Just as she turned down the narrow trail, she heard the sound of play: the high-pitched scream of a young woman.

  Kit wondered who it was and picked up her pace. Within seconds, she emerged from the trees and saw a man and woman swimming. Squinting, she saw Maria splashing a wet-headed man whose back was to the shore—recognizing the young woman by her bunched hair and olive skin.

  As Maria looked at Kit, Ryan turned and waved, addressing his wife with a tone almost too pleasing.

  “There you are. I was looking for you,” Ryan said as he forced a smile to Kit. “You interested in a swim?”

  “There’s your lunch,” Kit said as she dropped the lunch box to the ground. When the box broke open, flatbread flipped into the grass and breadfruit rolled toward the lagoon.

  Ryan looked at Kit’s face rather than his spilled lunch and said nothing. Instead, he swam for shore as Maria followed in his wake. Though Kit paid little attention as Ryan emerged from the lagoon with shorts soaked and feet bare, her jaw dropped when she saw Maria emerge from the water in a wet lace bra and beige jockey shorts—both garments nearly transparent. Kit threw the girl’s dry clothes to her and spoke in a tone that wasn’t gentle.

  “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 d
aughter 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.”