by Kirk Adams
“Three cheers for the suburbs,” Kit said.
Ryan rested his head on a feather pillow as the two moved apart—now putting distance between the backs of their hips and the bottoms of their heels. Long after Kit slept, Ryan lay in bed awake, thinking all sorts of things.
18
The Rains of Eden
Most rains were brief in Paradise, just long enough to water the streams and green the vegetation. A cloudburst provided a moment’s respite from the heat before the sky reclaimed lost moisture and breezes blew humidity seaward. Tuesday morning, however, brought storms. Heavy rain fell at dawn and continued into the night, repeating the same cycle on Wednesday. By Thursday, the heavy rains had flooded tents and washed out the bridge. Even after tarps were pitched over fire pits, the deep-dug holes flooded from below, forcing a profligate burning of logs to keep the campfire ablaze. Nylon cords strung beneath the tarp and near the fire were draped with shirts and pants (as well as shoes and socks and underwear and bras), yet drew scant attention from the close-pressed huddle of men and women desperate to stay dry. Occasionally, winds shifted and blew smoke into the eyes and mouths of the villagers—who coughed and turned eyes away without stepping into the downpour. A few inhabitants with dry tents stayed inside: snuggled in sleeping bags or warmed against a companion. Now and then one of them braved the rain to gather fruit or fill a bowl with tasteless mash, though such forays proved brief and infrequent.
Scheduled work stopped with the rains since wood couldn’t be cut, trees couldn’t be climbed, and fish couldn’t be caught. Yet work parties continued to deploy: some to gather food and others to repair the damage caused by the storms. Extended stakes were driven deep into wet earth to anchor tents after the tool tent was blown over by winds that pulled its six-inch spikes from paste-like mud. Shifting occurred as the barn settled in the softening earth—with the new storage barn saved only by thick ropes and long spikes. Injuries also increased; Jose sprained his ankle with a fall from the barn and Ryan was fortunate to escape with a lump on the head when a coconut was blown from a tree. All four children caught colds and were confined to their tents—to the agitation of their stir-crazed parents and the relief of many others.
Now the rain pounded against a mud-soaked tent whose poles quivered from bursts of wind—though additional stakes had shored the tent’s frame and allowed the nylon shelter to withstand the strain. Inside, Sean and Ursula lay on a shared sleeping bag and covered themselves with another. Their lunch had been pushed to a corner of the tent, insipid and uneaten.
It was Sean who stirred from the warmth of the sleeping bag. “Do you feel a little better, Ursula?” he whispered.
Ursula opened her eyes. She lay on her side, face toward Sean, her hands tucked between her knees and her body turned inward, curled into a fetal position.
“A little.”
Sean moved closer. He wrapped his arm around the small of her back and pulled her close. “This give you any ideas?”
“Not good ones,” Ursula said, an irritated tone to her voice.
“You said you’re better.”
“It’s the middle of the day and I’m not going to have people imagine you on your pregnant wife. It’s indecent.”
“Who cares what they think? It never stopped us before.”
“We need to set an example.”
“An example for who? Jason?”
“For our child,” Ursula said.
“Sex hasn’t exactly done wrong to the fetus,” Sean said. “It won’t care one way or another what we do.”
“It’s he or she.”
“Whatever.”
“Whoever.”
“Whichever.”
“Maybe tonight,” Ursula said, “after everyone’s sleeping.”
Sean rubbed his hand over the side of his hair. Inches of thick hair ran between his fingers.
Ursula softened her voice. “You could get me some more coconut water and toast if you have so much energy.”
Sean crawled from the tent and walked barefooted to the mess tent where he found a green coconut in the mess tent and bore two holes through its eyes with a screwdriver, smashing the tool into the coconut with so much force that the fruit cracked and most of its juice drained away. He placed the nut in a plastic bowl and set it aside, then fetched a thick plantain (its peel already streaked dark brown) and a bit of sliced pineapple—along with some dried bread he warmed over the fire.
After gathering the food, Sean returned to Ursula. “This enough?” he asked.
Ursula took the food from Sean’s hand and ate.
“I need a haircut,” Sean said. “You have scissors?”
Ursula shook her head.
“Who does?” Sean asked.
“I borrowed a pair from Linh once. Deidra has some too.”
“Will you at least cut my hair if I get ‘em?”
Ursula nodded, her mouth too full to talk.
Sean looked at her stuffed cheeks and scowled as he said that he’d return in a few minutes, then hurried through the downpour through a row of tents until he came to a blue nylon dwelling near the back of the village.
“Is anyone home?” Sean said loud enough to be heard inside.
A woman’s voice shouted out. “Is that Sean?”
“I need to borrow scissors.”
“Come in from the rain.”
Sean unzipped the tent and scooted in.
Deidra was alone, a short knife in one hand and a block of wood in the other. Whittled flakes were strewn all around her and a pool of water had accumulated in the corner of the tent. She didn’t look up.
“One minute,” Deidra said.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Sean answered. “Not in this rain.”
Deidra cut into the wood several more times before setting it aside. “Sorry. I was finishing the nose.”
Now Deidra looked at her guest. “You need a towel?” she asked.
Sean nodded and Deidra handed him a towel from a dry corner of the tent with which he dried his face.
“Ursula sent me for scissors,” Sean said.
“One minute.”
While Deidra rummaged through a wooden box, Sean eyed the flat of her belly and the curve of her hips, then stared unflinching at her bronzed legs.
“Where’s John?” Sean asked.
“He hiked to base camp,” Deidra replied as she searched for scissors.
“In this downpour?”
“He said he might as well make something of the day.”
“He does know it rains over the whole island?”
“He wanted to use the library.”
Sean said nothing.
“I guess it’s one way,” Deidra faced her guest as she rolled her eyes, “to make use of the day.”
Sean just shrugged.
A moment later Deidra found the scissors. “Be careful,” she said as she handed them to Sean. “These are barber’s scissors. They’re very sharp.”
Sean asked if she cut hair.
“A little,” Deidra answered. “I took a class.”
“What’s it cost?”
“For you, it’s free.”
“Do you mind?”
“My pleasure,” Deidra said. “Have a seat.”
Deidra unfolded a sheet over her bedroll and Sean sat on it cross-legged and asked Deidra to trim his hair short since it now covered his ears and he wanted it cropped close. Deidra kneeled behind him and towel-dried his hair, then picked up a comb and worked over Sean’s head while he moved his eyes around the tent.
After a minute or so, Sean looked at the half-cut block of wood. “What’re you carving?”
“A tiki.”
“The decoration?”
“The god.”
“How long to make a god?”
“Keep your head still,” Deidra said as she trimmed the hair around Sean’s left ear. “Another week to finish the tiki and consecrate it as a god. Unless John has his way. He can be irrational when it comes to native cultu
res. Did you know that his great-grandfather helped capture Geronimo?”
“No.”
“My family hated him from the beginning and his shunned me. They’re Presbyterian and I’m not.”
“What good’s religion if you fight over it,” Sean said.
“Let every house have their own god, I always say.”
Sean nodded.
“Whoops,” Deidra said, “don’t move or this could end with a scalping.”
“Sorry.”
Sean straightened himself. “What kind of god is it?” he asked.
“A fertility goddess.”
“Can you carve me a sterility god?”
Deidra slapped him light across the cheek from behind. “He who does the rain dance,” she said, “should carry an umbrella.”
“But we always did the sun dance—except one time.”
Deidra’s scissors snapped shut. “She got pregnant on one try?”
“Except we weren’t trying. I guess I forgot to use a condom.”
“Quite the stud.”
“A lot of good it does me,” Sean said. “Over two weeks out to pasture and still grazing alone.”
“That’s a long time for a guy your age.”
Sean glanced back and answered with a quieter voice than before. “You look younger than I do.”
“Flatterer.”
Sean shrugged as Deidra leaned forward from her kneeling position, her breasts brushing the back of his shoulders. She inched forward until both breasts flattened against Sean’s back. When she ran her fingers through his hair, Sean neither protested nor moved.
“It’s warm in here,” Deidra whispered.
“Warmer than before,” Sean said.
Deidra used one hand to steady Sean’s face, grasping the bottom of his chin and aiming his eyes straight ahead while she unbuttoned her blouse. When she leaned forward, Sean felt warm flesh against his back and turned just as Deidra’s weight fell on him—her lips touching his, her flesh pressing his, her legs straddling his.
“O my great tiki,” Deidra cried out, “give me your blessing.”
“Whatever,” Sean replied.
A woman’s cries soon echoed through the camp.
Rain fell as Linh crawled from her tent and splashed through the mud—wet earth oozing between her toes and splattering against her ankles as she walked toward the mess tent. Linh kept her face down and couldn’t see who remained at home, though she knew from the pungent smoke of burning dope that Jason was in his tent. She held her breath as she hurried through his cloud of euphoria since it wouldn’t do for her to stumble into her tent too stoned to warn her daughters against drug use. A thousand talks would be discredited by sight of one red-eyed mother.
When she came to the center of the village, Linh waved to Tiffany (who sat with Alan at the fire) before entering the mess tent. After filling a nylon pouch with dry food, Linh sprinted through open air to the cover of the tarp pitched over the firepit. Wind cleared the smoke as the women talked.
“Hi, Tiff.”
“Hi, Linh.”
Tiffany hugged her friend while Alan watched without emotion or comment.
“How’re your boys doing?” Linh asked.
“Better now,” Tiffany said. “Teddy had a fever but it broke. And Tyrone was a bear till his father read him stories. What about your girls?”
“About the same. Bad colds. Nothing serious.”
“Except to parents trapped in tents.”
Both women laughed.
Tiffany then asked Linh to stay for coffee. Linh was pleased with the offer and took a seat as Tiffany filled two mugs from an iron pot simmering with fresh brew. For a time, they enjoyed companionship without talk.
“Viet,” Linh said when her cup was half-empty, “is afraid we won’t get crops down if the rain doesn’t break.”
“Brent says the same,” Tiffany said before turning toward Alan. “What does your husband think?”
Alan stared at her.
“Sorry. I was just asking,” Tiffany said. “I didn’t mean any offense. I wasn’t sure whether to call him a husband or a wife.”
“Just don’t call him some chattering hausfrau,” Alan replied, “and we’ll be fine.”
Tiffany held her tongue and the two women sipped coffee as Alan warmed his feet at the fire even as rain continued to pour from the edges of the covering tarp, flowing down opposite sides like rival waterfalls. When the wind died for a moment and the smoke backed up, all three neighbors turned away coughing until the breeze returned and the smoke dissipated. No one spoke as they waited for the smoke to clear.
A woman’s ecstasy broke the silence.
“Sheesh,” Linh said, “can’t they keep it to themselves?”
Tiffany glanced at Alan before facing her friend.
“Some people,” Tiffany said, “forget there are children here. Toleration’s a virtue, but so is good breeding.”
“Nice pun,” Linh laughed.
“Still,” Tiffany smiled, “some people forget nylon walls don’t keep sound out.”
“Especially,” Linh said, “during the day. There she goes again. That’s twice.”
Both women blushed.
Alan didn’t.
“We ought to pitch a privacy tent outside camp,” Tiffany said with a roll of her eyes, “so couples won’t feel so inhibited.”
“The only inhibited ones,” Alan growled as he stood up, “are you two cackling hens.”
Though Tiffany’s eyes flashed, it was Linh who spoke.
“Alan, that’s not very nice,” Linh said. “Privacy is a two-way street and ...”
“Freedom in the walls of their own house,” Alan interrupted.
“Within the walls,” Linh said. “Not sounding from the streets. Nylon is a little less soundproof than brick.”
“Then why don’t we just build little farmsteads on the prairie and adopt Midwest decorum?”
“Have you ever thought,” Tiffany said, “how delicate it is to discuss sex with children?”
“Once kids are old enough to know,” Alan said, “they should be told. Before that they don’t understand what they hear.”
“Really?” Tiffany snapped, sarcasm evident in her voice. “I’m glad you’ve got it all worked out. Daddy.”
Alan threw his coffee into the fire; it steamed away, the acrid stench of burnt beans lingering in the damp air.
“Don’t tell me,” the man said, “you’ve never made love in your tent.”
“They’ve never heard us,” Tiffany said. “We find another place if we’re that amorous. Or energetic.”
“If,” Alan replied, “they can’t hear you in the tent, they sure can’t hear anyone else.”
“You woke my family last night,” Tiffany whispered.
Alan turned red.
“So don’t tell me,” Tiffany continued, “how to raise my children. It’ll be awkward enough to tell them about the birds and the bees when they’re old enough. I have no intention of discussing Alan and Steve this soon.”
“Not only are you a bigot,” Alan sneered, “but you’re also against sex education.”
“Sex education uses science books,” Tiffany said. “It’s pornography that uses live models.”
“I think,” Linh said, picking up her dinner bag and standing up, “the idea of a privacy tent would be useful. A sort of couple’s motel.”
“Maybe,” Tiffany said, “but courtesy would also be nice.”
“Let’s pitch that tent,” Alan said, “and let’s set up a children’s hospital on the other side of the camp. A place where mothers can stay with sick children.”
Tiffany said nothing.
“What,” Alan said, “is a few minutes pleasure to a whole night’s misery? Suppose someone did wake your children. Is that any reason for them to whimper and cry till dawn?”
“They’re sick,” Tiffany said, “and they’re small. They can’t help themselves.”
“They’re not that sick and they’re
not that small. No one needs to whine all night over a sore throat.”
Tiffany glared at Alan, her expression hard and eyes steeled. “They don’t whine,” she snarled, “half as much as you do.”
“Maybe if I got some sleep, I’d be a little less uptight.”
“You woke them up, not me.”
Alan muttered a few curses before he left and Tiffany and Linh soon changed the subject, talking another hour—mostly about the private wedding that Viet and Linh planned for the coming weekend. Tiffany volunteered to watch their children for the honeymoon until Linh explained she’d made no plans. After they finished talking, each woman returned to her own tent.
Heather was lying alone, a candle lit to supplement the rainy day’s dim light. A yellowed copy of The Swiss Family Robinson with a broken spine lay on the tent’s nylon floor and the young woman—now snuggled in her sleeping bag—enjoyed the warmth of the down-filled sleeping roll on such a miserable day. Her lunch plate, mostly eaten, sat on an upturned crate that served as a table and the young woman turned to one side, snuggling with her pillow—breathing out and letting her mind drift. Thoughts of high-school friends and childhood memories came to mind. She wondered if …
A woman’s shout pierced the air.
Heather sat up, cocking her head to the right. The shout was close and it didn’t sound like pain.
A moment later, the woman shouted again and Heather giggled. It was a neighbor making love. The woman moaned several times and the man groaned once. Heather triangulated the distance and figured it was Deidra—maybe she and John were getting along better than before.
When the woman began to moan rhythmically, Heather turned her ear to listen, rolling a little closer to the nylon wall. A few minutes later, the woman shouted again, this time not quite so loud.
“Quiet, for heaven’s sake,” the man said a little too loud, “or she’s going to hear.”
Heather couldn’t make out Deidra’s reply.
“Heather,” the man said even louder.
Then the man stopped talking and love returned. Mostly it was Deidra who made noise and the man only occasionally sounded. Still, as Deidra’s giggling and squealing grew louder and louder—increasingly abandoned and unrestrained—Heather began to feel uncomfortable. She rolled to the far side of her tent and covered her ears with pillows, but the noise grew louder and soon she felt flush. When the man let out a loud cry, Heather went weak at the knees. As silence returned (and with it, embarrassment), the virgin turned on her belly and made herself sleep—though it took a very long time.