Left on Paradise

by Kirk Adams

  Within the hour, Tiffany and John had loaded Kit’s sailboat with a few day’s supplies and pushed the craft seaward. The canvas filled with a mild breeze and Kit tacked toward an islet less than five minutes away. Her friends watched from afar as she landed along a strip of sand and pulled the craft ashore. Though Tiffany begged Ryan to pay his wife an early morning visit to make amends—even if he had to swim through sharks to do so—Ryan believed it best to wait.

  After brunch, Jason slipped into his tent to check his stash of weed, sorting through a dozen brick-sized blocks of marijuana and a pouch of loose leaves. He even unwrapped several packets to taste the dope and eventually chose a brick of Columbia Gold for the party. Pinching two ounces of the dope into a plastic bag, he also picked through the weed to save several dozen seeds for future planting. After choosing his favorite pipe and finding a packet of rolling papers, Jason set his party favors to the front of his tent, restacked the bricks of marijuana beside his bed, and covered them with canvas. It wasn’t possible to be too careful. There were no connections on the island and he alone had an abundant supply of dope. Jason shook his head at the lack of foresight of those who came without necessities and meditated on the benefits his stash already had provided. Northern women were especially appreciative of his tangible wealth in commodities and futures.

  Now Jason lay on his bed to rest, pushing a pile of mud-covered laundry to one side and tossing a blackened banana peel out his front door. When he tried to drink from his dry canteen, he struggled to decide whether to walk to the stream to quench his thirst or stay in bed to rest his eyes. He chose the latter and an hour passed before he rose from his nap—at which time he collected his bag of dope and moved toward the mess area, where he found both a loaf of stale bread and a jug of warm water. After eating and drinking, Jason walked to a field located near the lagoon: a trailer-sized patch of flat ground on which was staked the entire legalized drug industry of the west village. There, Jason sowed the seeds he’d selected into a shallow trench running across the field and found a hand shovel to fill in the trench. After covering the seeds with dirt and mulch, he watered the seeds with a spouted canister and surveyed his garden. He also secured several dozen seeds he planned to use to plant in the forest as a reserve.

  Already, most plants stood several inches high and had been secured to five-foot stakes. The plants were circled by wet rings of overturned earth from which fish guts, scraps of toilet paper, and bits of bone protruded—and one fish head lay atop the fresh earth, a single eye staring heavenward, without life and without hope. Jason spent several minutes deciding whether the scene was more reminiscent of Bosch or Dali, but couldn’t make up his mind, so he opened his dope pouch and rolled a joint. Within a few minutes, he stood at the dope garden, a smile on his face and a smoking joint pinched between his forefinger and thumb. While he still couldn’t decide which artist was more likely to have painted the scene, he no longer really cared.

  “Can I have a hit?”

  Jason turned around and saw that Ilyana now stood behind him wearing a tan halter top that blended with her olive-toned chest and black shorts that draped the narrow hips of a girl still in her puberty.

  Jason handed her the joint.

  “I didn’t know you partied,” Jason said. “I thought you still played with dolls.”

  “I babysit,” Ilyana said, “but this is more fun.”

  Ilyana took a drag of the dope—and coughed as she exhaled—while Jason did the same without coughing.

  “A day with those kids makes me tense,” Ilyana said. “Do you have a stash of this stuff?”

  “Enough,” Jason said.

  Ilyana drew more smoke.

  “This,” Ilyana said after she exhaled, “would get you a couple years for contributing to the delinquency of a minor back in the States.”

  “But you were delinquent before you ever came here. Right?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then I’ve contributed nothing but the dope.”

  “My mama would have your hide.”

  “She doesn’t know?”

  “She knows I party,” Ilyana said, “but I promised to keep it to our own tent till I graduate.”

  “Why so strict?”

  “She doesn’t trust anyone.”

  “How long have you smoked?”

  “Maybe a year. A couple times a week when I can get the stuff. We ran out in Sodom.”

  “Sodom?”

  “That’s what the east village calls itself. It’s majority gay.”

  “That’s really funny,” Jason said.

  “You got anything to eat? I missed dinner.”

  “There’s bread and jelly over there,” Jason said, pointing to a shadowed area near the trail.

  As Ilyana walked toward the food, Jason warned her to be careful not to step on his plants—so the girl tiptoed around the tender shoots, though she caught one with her foot and uprooted it a little. Jason immediately cut back a broken branch and marked the spot for fertilization before sharing with Ilyana the pleasures of good dope and good food—feasting from a loaf of flat bread and a jar of pineapple jelly. After the dope was burned and the food eaten, Jason napped near his garden while Ilyana sauntered home to an empty tent (where a note explained Olivia had gone to curl Maria’s hair).

  Ryan ate alone at his bachelor party. Several partiers offered condolences and Sean congratulated him for a narrow escape, but the actor said little. After an hour of polite conversation, Ryan took a bottle of champagne and an empty flute monogrammed with two sets of initials and an anniversary date and walked down the beach toward a quiet place beside some coconut palms. He had stared at the horizon for an hour when a voice sounded from the dark.

  “Is that champagne for show or drink?”

  Maria had quietly crossed the sand and stood nearby—her auburn hair set in a bun, long dangling curls falling in front of her ears. She wore a satin sweater and a white skirt wrapped tight around her hips and golden earrings that jingled when she moved. Her face shined from cosmetics and sun lotion and the fragrance of perfume drifted before her.

  “You smell nice,” Ryan said. “You look nice.”

  “It was supposed to be for your wedding, but I decided to throw it on for the party. It’s been a while since I’ve had an excuse to dress up.”

  Ryan offered Maria his flute.

  “We’ll have to share,” Ryan said. “The match is at the tent.”

  “That’s fine.”

  They sat in the sand, well beyond earshot of the party.

  Ryan pointed to a flickering light in the dark of the sea. “I can see her campfire,” he observed, “through the brush.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “It’ll do us good to have some time away from each other. We’ve done nothing but bicker for weeks. Ever since the decree.”

  When Maria asked if he was glad to have come to this place, Ryan blushed and asked where exactly she meant.

  “This island,” Maria said.

  “It’s been a challenge,” Ryan answered after a pause, “but I’ve learned a lot. About myself, about life, about Kit.”

  “So have I,” Maria said. “Thank you so much for bringing us here. For bringing me here. This really is paradise, especially tonight. The sway of the palms and the cool of the breeze are perfect.”

  Ryan poured a glass of champagne and took a sip. After Maria finished what remained, he refilled the glass.

  “The party’s breaking up early,” Maria observed after she took a sip of the champagne.

  “Tomorrow’s a work day,” Ryan said.

  Maria sipped a little more champagne and Ryan followed suit. As slow-gliding gulls soared overhead and fast-moving clouds eclipsed a crescent moon, the young woman nodded toward the heavens.

  “It’s peaceful here,” Maria said.

  “We call it Paradise.”

  Maria took a long drink of champagne that drained the glass, so Ryan poured another.

  “Cheers,” Rya
n said. “To the first day of my month as a bachelor.”

  “Cheers.”

  The two sat still for several minutes. One last group of neighbors left the party, making noisy farewells that echoed down the shore. As their shouts and laughter faded, the beach fell silent and Maria continued to look at Ryan: her eyes fastened on his. After several seconds, she batted her eyes.

  “What?” Ryan said as the young woman stood to her feet.

  “Stand up and turn around,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Turn around. I’ve brought a gift for your bachelor party.”

  “I didn’t see any gift.”

  “You will.”

  A puzzled look came across Ryan’s face as he did what he was told, taking the champagne flute from Maria’s hand. He heard a little shuffling behind him, but didn’t turn around until told.

  “Now what is this sup ...”

  Ryan choked on his words when he saw that Maria stood in front of him undressed, her skirt dropped to the sand and her breasts bare and belly uncovered—her unbuttoned blouse slipped behind her shoulders. As the young woman inched forward, he himself took a step back, though his eyes remained fixed on Maria’s breasts.

  “You promised me a swim,” Maria whispered.

  Ryan turned deep red.

  “I never ...”

  “Yes,” Maria whispered as she stepped closer, “you did. You promised me a skinny-dip if you were ever single.”

  “But I’m not ...”

  “But you are,” Maria said as she closed the distance to Ryan, her breasts now pressing his chest. She reached with one hand to pull Ryan’s face toward her lips while taking one of his hands with the other.

  Ryan felt the young woman’s breasts warm through his shirt and her hips snuggle against his own. As desire stirred, he dropped the glass and the couple slid to the sand in an unbroken embrace.

  Several minutes later they sat up and retrieved their clothing.

  “You still owe me a swim,” Maria said.

  “Now?”

  Maria’s eyes flashed from pleasure. “Maybe another time,” she said, twirling her bra with a forefinger. “I have to work tomorrow.”

  After dressing, the couple walked hand in hand until they reached the village, where muffled sounds emanated from several of the village’s tents as Ryan and Maria embraced one last time before separating for the night.

  22

  Broken Hearts and a Honeymoon

  Ryan didn’t sleep. Aflame with passion, he spent the night remembering Maria’s touch, craving more, and fretting over the implications of an affair. At first light, he crept toward an orange tent pitched at the end of a row. It didn’t take long to reach his destination.

  “Maria! Maria!” Ryan whispered as he unzipped the door. “Wake up, Maria.”

  Maria rolled out of bed and smiled. “Back so soon?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Talk is cheap,” Maria said as she sat up and pulled Ryan close.

  “Not now,” Ryan whispered as he grabbed the young woman’s hands. “John gets up early—and he’s cooking today.”

  “Two cook hotter than one.”

  “Be serious. We need to talk while we can.”

  The smile left Maria’s face as she fell back to her bed and told Ryan to speak his mind.

  “I don’t want Kit to know,” Ryan said. “Not yet.”

  “How can we keep it from her?”

  “I don’t plan to have an affair.”

  “What do you call this?”

  “I’m not married, so it’s not an affair.”

  “Where does that leave us?” Maria said. “I’m not a one-night stand.”

  “You won’t be,” Ryan replied. “Let’s enjoy the whole month.”

  “Till you marry her?” Maria said with a scowl.

  “If I marry her.”

  Maria looked Ryan in the eyes and asked what he meant.

  “What I mean,” Ryan said, “is I’m pretty confused right now. I didn’t sleep a wink all night. I love Kit and I ...”

  Ryan looked at Maria. “Well,” he said, “I’m rather taken with you and I realized last night I have been for quite a while.”

  “Then why marry her?”

  “I need to figure out what’s right for you and for Kit. And for me. Give me a few weeks.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know,” Ryan said, “but if you and I are meant to be, it’ll at least buy me a little time to let her down gently.”

  Maria said nothing.

  “She is my wife,” Ryan whispered.

  “Was your wife,” Maria replied.

  “As a favor,” Ryan said as he looked away, “I’m asking you to let me tell her.”

  “Will you?”

  “Yes,” Ryan said, “I have to. We’ve had no lies between us. I never cheated on her and I never will.”

  “Will she want you when she finds out?”

  Ryan shrugged.

  “You don’t belong to her any longer,” Maria said, “but I’ll do as you ask. Provided two things.”

  “Anything,” Ryan said, his face a little less tense.

  “First, you don’t live with her until you decide for sure which of us you want.”

  “And second?”

  “I sleep with you whenever I want.”

  “But privately,” Ryan said.

  Maria nodded.

  “Fine,” Ryan said, “but if Kit and I stay together, you and I are done. No married men, remember?”

  Maria didn’t answer. Already she had slipped from her sleeping shirt and nestled against Ryan. They shared a warm kiss, then a hot bed. When they were finished, Maria signaled the coast was clear as Ryan stole away.

  Kit leaned against a coconut tree. The morning sun was shaded by palm fronds as she listened to the flow of wind through a chorus of branches. A bird flitted before her, hopping around a scrap of dropped food while looking about nervously. Kit whistled to it, but the bird took wing and left a day’s meal behind.

  “Sorry, little one.”

  Now Kit stood, yawning as she rose. Her arms tensed, her back arched, and her ankles extended as she stretched. She wiped the sleep from her dark-ringed eyes and relaxed, then adjusted her cotton blouse—insuring its straps were secured across her shoulders and its flaps tucked into her shorts. She collected her sandals and a bag of food before walking to the beach, where soon the surf splashed her ankles and the sun radiated warmth from every direction.

  At the beach, Kit heard the sound of a distant cry and looked to sea where the fin of a small whale flashed across the surface before slipping beneath the water. She watched for its return, but saw nothing and after a long wait returned to the shade of the palms where she knocked a coconut from a low-lying branch and cracked its hull with a machete. She ate, drank, and slept—then napped all morning.

  At noon, Kit started a fire in a shallow pit that she dug with a stick and baked flat bread mixed from flour, salt, and yeast. While the bread baked, she took a swim in the nude—though careful to insure no one watched from afar. With the sun beating down, she decided not to risk burning what hadn’t been tanned and retreated into shade to rinse herself with fresh water (brought in plastic jugs) and slip into clean clothes. Soon, she pulled the bread from the fire, brewed some tea, and spent an hour doodling in the sand with a broken stick as she ate. Several times she stroked the unstretched skin of her belly and gave long looks to her own narrow hips. She cried once and laughed twice. Thoughts came to mind of children, neighbors, Ryan ...

  Kit remembered her years with Ryan: the promises and compromises, the hopes and disappointments. She remembered girls who’d propositioned him and how he’d always turned from temptation—a few times after a moment’s hesitation. So many of his friends took mistresses, but never Ryan. He was a flirt, but a faithful one who returned to his own bed each night; he even used doubles for love scenes at her request. Kit wondered how their marriage could be made to work. />
  “We’re tired and torn,” she said out loud, as if to convince herself, “but he’s my husband and we have to keep our love strong. Maybe a month to ourselves will be good. It’ll be like starting over.”

  Kit remembered her promise to her grandmother and debated whether it remained obligatory. After all, Ryan was a husband on her grandmother’s terms and remained so under American law. Still, she wasn’t in America and decided she’d have to sleep alone until they could sort the rules out. Though she wondered whether solitude was a good idea, she thought it necessary for her own self-respect and that of Ryan. He’d be patient, she told herself, as he had been before. It was only solitude she asked of him, not celibacy.

  Already, Kit sensed her anger dissipating and concern for Ryan returning. She remembered how the same confusion often tried her whenever they’d been stressed on film sets. As always, a day away had softened her heart.

  “Another day alone,” Kit said, “and I’ll go home. Then we can work on our marriage. Or whatever it is now.”

  Kit lay down on the grass and slept. The sun was hot and she tossed and turned the entire nap, dreaming of Ryan and babies and faithless girls.

  On Monday, the villagers rose early and worked hard. When the temperature grew hot and tempers flared, Heather asked everyone to break early since quotas had been exceeded. Linh suggested a picnic and most neighbors agreed that a barbecue sounded nice. By late afternoon, tables were moved to the beach and food brought by the armful: star fruit, kiwi, lemons, mangos, breadfruit, coconuts, bananas, pineapples, rice, bread, cheese, milk, clams, crab, lobster, perch, and even a cask of palm wine. Sean traded the smallest of the neighborhood’s she-goats to southerners for a dozen chickens—which allowed Tiffany to grill four unproductive hens.