Left on Paradise

by Kirk Adams

  Heather started to speak but broke down after a single malformed syllable, so Joan pressed her point, moving beside her daughter and placing an arm around the teenager.

  “Heather,” Joan said, “your father says a new law of marriage has been proposed.”

  Heather said nothing; her face was pale and eyes misted.

  “He’ll tell us about it tomorrow,” Joan continued, “but between the new law and our lifestyle here, it’s become necessary for your father and I to tell you a little more about our marriage. The real facts of our life.”

  Heather remained mute as her mother talked.

  “What I mean to say,” Joan continued, “is that it’s time you were told your father isn’t the only man I’ve known and I’m not his only woman.”

  After Heather turned completely white, Joan paused for her daughter to regain her composure.

  “The truth,” Joan eventually said, “is both of us experimented in college—and rather enjoyed doing so. Even now, we’ve made ... er ... arrangements. We kept it quiet while you were growing up, so you wouldn’t be alienated in a socially oppressive society that refuses to accept open marriage. But you need to know now, both because it’s right and because it’s becoming impossible to hide the truth on this little island—and we wanted to be the ones to tell you. Except that your father is so shy he’s made me do it.”

  Heather’s knees buckled and she staggered backward before sitting on the sand while Joan kneeled beside her just as Charles returned with two glasses of tea.

  “Here we go, ladies,” Charles said, “fresh tea spiked with a squeeze of lemon.”

  “Wonderful,” Joan said.

  “Did you tell her?” Charles asked.

  “Most of it.”

  Heather looked at her parents, her chin quivering and her eyes tearing up as she asked how many affairs they’d had.

  “Only two affairs,” Joan answered, “and perhaps ten flings.”

  “I’ve been a bit more active,” Charles added. “One long term affair and about twenty flings, plus a number of coeds for a night or two. I just spent a couple days with Karla from the east village. A memorable woman.”

  “Oh,” Charles said, turning to his wife, “did I tell you that we used the bed in the infirmary Wednesday night? I’d forgotten how much nicer a mattress is than sand.”

  “I envy you,” Joan said. “Maybe you can take me there sometime.”

  “I promise.”

  “Till death do us part,” Joan said with a giggle.

  Heather crawled to a nearby bush and vomited. A moment later she blacked out and collapsed face-first into the ground.

  15

  Self-Government and New Life

  Brent and John rose early to start a fire and collect food while Kit and Tiffany prepared breakfast. It wasn’t long before the aroma of eggs permeated the camp and everyone in the village—Lisa excepted—gathered at the mess tent as the cooks served orange juice, cane-flavored oatmeal, waffled breadfruit, pineapple, plantains, kiwi, coffee, tea, and eggs: scrambled or fried to order. The eggs were an enormous hit, being eaten for the first time. Helpings were generous, seconds begged, and plates cleaned. Indeed, a full hour was spent eating. Linh served mint tea and plain toast to Ursula—who remained too nauseous to move, let alone eat. Following breakfast, Kit and Tiffany were applauded and awarded the day off work for their memorable meal while several volunteers tidied the kitchen and washed dishes.

  The meeting of the village assembly was scheduled for midmorning, though it was delayed a few minutes because Lisa was late in returning from her inspections. Dishes already were put away and the lingering odor of breakfast dispersed when she finally hurried to her tent. As the neighbors assembled for their meeting, Jose served coffee and Linh poured tea that was sweetened with granulated sugar and sealed packets of creamer brought from the mainland. After everyone was served, Jose and Linh took their places at their chairs and joined the small talk in the canvas tent as they awaited Lisa’s return—who soon came into the tent breathless and called the meeting to order.

  “Sorry, I’m late,” Lisa stammered, “but there’s a problem on the beach. One minute while I catch my breath ...”

  Everyone stilled as they waited for Lisa to speak.

  “But first,” Lisa began after a pause, “the agenda. Today I scheduled four tasks: elect new officers, discuss economic productivity, consider environmental impact, and discuss proposed legislation to be voted on next week by the General Will of the People. There’ll be time for new business at the end. Any questions?”

  Every hand remained propped on a chair or folded in a lap.

  “To begin with,” Lisa said, “we need to elect new officers. Let’s start with nominations for Chief Neighbor. My position.”

  Maria stood. “I’d like to nominate Ryan.”

  “Who else?”

  “Put Kit’s name on the list,” a man shouted out loud. “Breakfast was fantastic.”

  Most villagers applauded Sean’s suggestion.

  “One vote for Chef Kit,” Lisa said. “Who else?”

  Kit raised her hand to speak. “I’d like to nominate John,” she said. “He’s done a lot of work behind the scenes to make things work. Just don’t vote for me.”

  “Hold your campaign speeches,” Lisa said. “We don’t want to start down that trail. We’ll end up with commercials carved into coconuts.”

  Kit laughed.

  “Any others?” Lisa asked.

  No other neighbors were nominated.

  “Since we have three nominations,” Lisa said. “Let’s run a parliamentary system. Vote by hand for one of the three. The leading two candidates will conduct a run-off.”

  The vote was called and hands were raised. John received five votes while Ryan and Kit each received seven. In the second round, Kit beat her husband by a single vote. Mostly the ballot was split on gender lines, with men voting for Kit and women for Ryan. Hilary was the only woman to vote for Kit and Alan the only man to vote for Ryan. The nominees voted for each other in what was applauded as a gracious show of affection. After the ballot, Ryan called for a recount, having lost by such a narrow margin, but Kit declared there were no absentee votes or hanging chads and told him to park himself—which he did after giving his wife a congratulatory kiss.

  “No, no, no,” Lisa laughed, “despite that Oscar winning performance, your work just begins. Now you’re the moderator.”

  Kit walked to the front of the room and took the agenda from Lisa, thanking the younger woman for work well done as she herself took control of the meeting.

  “It looks like,” Kit began, “we need to elect a new Councilperson. Any nominations?”

  “I’d like to nominate Alan,” Steve said.

  “Who else?” Kit asked.

  Tiffany nominated Linh.

  “Linh and Alan are on the ballot,” Kit said. “Anyone else?”

  “I’d like to nominate my wife,” Charles said.

  Kit scanned the neighborhood before soliciting one last nomination.

  “Well,” Jose said, “I’d suggest Maria.”

  “That’s enough,” Kit said, “now we’ll vote for the run-off.

  This time Alan collected seven votes and the three women were evenly divided with four apiece. Maria offered to drop from the race, but the villagers instead elected to canvass a vote from Ursula. There was good-natured teasing about whether she could enter the electoral process midstream, but the majority determined that every vote should count—unlike Florida’s contested election—and Heather was sent with a slip of paper on which all four names were written. One was to be circled.

  The teenager returned five minutes later with the ballot folded into quarters. She handed it to Kit who unfolded the sheet, looked at it with a frown, and gave her verdict.

  “She wrote in Sean.”

  Laughter swept the assembly and it was finally decided to hold a run-off between the three runners-up. Maria won the run-off with seven votes (the t
wo others losing by a single ballot each) before winning the final election against Alan, 12-7. Because the elections ran over schedule, Kit adjourned for a light lunch of bread and soup and only after the neighborhood had reassembled did she stand before them gavel in hand.

  “To begin with,” Kit declared as her neighbors returned to their seats, “I’d like to propose a beach party for tonight.”

  Cheers sounded.

  “Now quickly,” Kit continued as she passed around a list of party needs, “let’s assign tasks. We need fish, shellfish, fruit, wood, drinks, and side dishes. Pass this card around and sign up. We’ll eat before dark.”

  As neighbors reviewed the signup sheet, Lisa stepped forward to report on current economic conditions.

  “To be brief,” Lisa said, “we’re on target. We’ve gathered almost everything we wanted.”

  “What remains?” Kit asked.

  “We could use a little more salt for drying fish and some more dried fruit. And we need to build a barn this week.”

  “Any problems?”

  “There are two. First, we need a little more flexibility from some of you. I know for a fact that I worked seventy hours last week and I don’t want to hear groaning from those who did less. Second, we need to cover for the sick so that productivity doesn’t fall behind our goals.”

  Kit asked if she was speaking of Ursula.

  “Yeah,” Lisa said. “It’s not her fault and I’m sure she’ll be up again in a day or two, but our process failed to get Alan the help he needed.”

  “Who,” Kit asked, “was supposed to cover illnesses?”

  “Charles and myself—the officers.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was busy with environmental efforts and Charles was gone three days for Executive Council.”

  Charles stood up from the rear of the tent. “You’ll see why,” he announced, “soon enough. It was a tough meeting that kept several of us busy.”

  “Fine,” Lisa said, “no one says you spent the time sipping daiquiris on the beach. We just need to cover our bases.”

  “I agree,” Charles said, “but plan more time for Small Council meetings. They’re going to be long.”

  Tiffany raised her hand. “I have something to announce,” she declared. “Ursula’s not getting better. Not for another nine months.”

  “Nice work, Sean,” Viet shouted across the room.

  “She can’t prove anything,” Sean yelled back.

  Nervous laughter mixed with a few loud gasps echoed through the tent. The faces of several women turned red.

  “Bad joke,” Sean said. “Apparently I’ll be the father of the first baby born in Paradise.”

  Now a mix of congratulations and sighs sounded.

  “Don’t worry,” Lisa said, “she just finished her first month and morning sickness hit her hard. First pregnancies are rough, but she’ll be on her feet soon enough.”

  “Cutting trees?” Alan said. “I doubt it. Not without a doctor’s slip.”

  “No,” Lisa said with a scowl, “she won’t be cutting trees or she’ll lose her baby.”

  “Her fetus,” Alan interrupted.

  “A woman’s choice on what to call it. Not yours.”

  Alan glared, but said nothing.

  “In any case,” Linh continued, her eyes moving across those of fellow villagers, “she’ll be able to work again, but she needs restricted duty. Nothing heavy and no climbing.”

  “May I?” Alan asked as he stood.

  Linh sat down.

  “We need,” Alan said, “to decide how to deal with pregnancy. I agree Ursula will be less productive for a few months and ...”

  “You ought to try producing a baby,” Tiffany shouted.

  “What I mean to say,” Alan said, “is we need to decide how to pick up the slack. One person can’t do the work of two. It’s simple math.”

  “What d’you propose?” Kit asked.

  “It’s Sean’s baby. He should cover for her.”

  Sean’s jaw dropped. His mouth hung open and his eyes widened—though he said nothing.

  Hilary wasn’t so quiet.

  “Patriarch!” Hilary shouted as she jumped to her feet. “Bourgeois moralist! Children are held in common. We reject social conservatism with its moral expectations and gender differentiations. Even America enacted liberal parental leave. Can we do less?”

  “If you think,” Alan growled, “she’s going to stroll around this island picking flowers for nine months, you’re crazy. Nothing will get done. The whole lot of you will be pregnant within the week.”

  The women exploded. Catcalls and shouts rose from angry neighbors. Only Kit and Heather didn’t join the chorus.

  “I’m sorry,” Kit said after the crowd stilled, “but this is uncalled for. Alan, I want you to apologize for that remark.”

  Alan folded his arms.

  “Alan,” Kit said, “you have a legitimate point but it’ll be debated in a civil manner. That goes for all of you and whoever refuses to cooperate will be cleaning sewer trenches as long as I’m in charge.”

  “Hilary,” Kit said as she turned to the young woman, “tell Alan you’re sorry. You were too harsh.”

  After Hilary apologized, Kit turned to Alan until he choked out what was considered an acceptable apology.

  “Now,” Kit said, “I’ll lead this meeting and we’ll behave like reasonable people. And we’ll do so democratically—by the vote. Alan, give me three reasons fathers should bear the burden of parenthood.”

  Alan thought for a moment before answering.

  “First,” Alan said, “fathers choose—explicitly or implicitly—to make babies while others among us who don’t want that responsibility choose other lifestyles. Second, love requires husbands or boyfriends or whoever to care for the women they get pregnant. It also demands that parents and children maintain a close relationship. Third, it’s dangerous to let the burden of work fall on the community as a whole as some of the communists did. Everything falls apart when duties aren’t specific and personal.”

  “Well done, Alan,” Kit said. “Your turn Hilary. Three reasons only.”

  “First,” Hilary said, “we’re a community, not divided by household but united in everything. Second, we’re all brothers and sisters and love should flow from each of us as husband to wife and wife to husband. Third, no one person can cover for another, just as Alan apparently found out ...”

  “Keep it neutral, Hilary,” Kit interrupted.

  “Sorry,” Hilary said. “What I mean is that necessity requires us to pitch in. We all benefit from the children and we all must pitch in to raise them. And this isn’t just for pregnant women. The time will come when depression or disease or death will render some of us less productive. What will we do, send the useless eaters to sea on one-way ice flow cruises like old Eskimos?”

  “Ice sounds so good,” Sean said from the back of the room, though no one laughed.

  “Very good,” Kit said. “Let’s vote. Who wishes for fathers to bear the burden of pregnancy by themselves?”

  Few hands were raised, so Kit asked who wished for the community to be responsible for providing adequate childcare. When the vote was tallied, Hilary’s position won 15-3.

  “Now,” Kit said, “we must decide what to do with the workloads of pregnant women. Suggestions?”

  “Having given birth to two babies,” Linh said, “I suggest we go case by case. Alan is right that broad rules can be abused. Sometimes a pregnant woman can work; sometimes she can’t. It’s all relative.”

  This suggestion brought light applause and even Alan unfolded his arms.

  “That seems acceptable,” Kit said. “What about Ursula?”

  “I’d suggest,” Linh said, “letting her take a week off to catch her breath. In the worst case, she could take care of my daughters and they can take care of her.”

  “I like that idea,” Alan said with a grin. “Babymakers for babysitting.”

  “Yes,” Li
nh said, “and she can cook once the sickness passes. Eventually she may be able to tend all four children and do a little food gathering; but no climbing coconut palms if you please.”

  Everyone laughed as tension eased.

  “This,” Kit said, “ruins Lisa’s proposed work schedule. I’ll have to refigure the workloads and give assignments this evening. Any objections?”

  “Do I still get the sewage pits?” Alan asked.

  “You behaved yourself,” Kit answered, “so I’ll take them myself. Or give them to my husband if he doesn’t get his act together.”

  Ryan raised both hands in mock surrender.

  “Charles,” Kit continued, “will lead us in the last segment of this meeting, though I’d like to address new business first. Are there any new concerns?”

  Lisa stood to speak.

  “There’s a serious problem,” the young woman said after waiting until every citizen had stilled. “Someone poached the sea turtle nests.”

  “What do you mean, poached?” Kit said as she blushed.

  “What I mean,” Lisa said, “is the nests have been dug up and the eggs stolen. The sea turtle eggs have been poached.”

  “Mine were scrambled,” a man’s voice called out.

  “Sunny side up for me,” a second voice declared.

  Lisa turned pale.

  “I’m sorry,” Kit said, “you weren’t at breakfast. We had eggs today. We sent Brent and John to collect them. We’re not getting many eggs from the hens. Barely enough for baking.”