by Kirk Adams
25
The Children of Aquarius
Work began at dawn with a communal breakfast during which proposals were made for village improvements. Since the new kitchen lacked both design and decorations, several women requested that New Plymouth be petitioned to import exterior primer and all-weather paint to adorn windows and doors originally built more to survive tropical storms than please the eye. It also was decided that leftover construction materials were sufficient to build a school at an undetermined time in the near future. However, despite several planned improvements in physical surroundings, many villagers remained dispirited and the session soon devolved into murmuring and complaining. Dissent ended only when Ryan called for July elections—it already being the second day of the month. This time, everyone agreed that a lottery was required to avoid favoritism and factionalism. To the dismay of many villagers, Sean’s marker was selected for Chief Neighbor and Deidra’s for the Executive Council.
Without much deliberation, Sean assigned Ryan and Kit to the fishing nets and John to sewage treatment. He made Jose work with Heather to cook meals while tasking Hilary, Linh, and Tiffany to clear land, plant crops, and cut wood. Brent and Viet were told to collect fruits, vegetables, and herbs—as was Lisa. Ursula was asked to tend children and animals and Charles to build food pantries. Joan was assigned food preparation (for storage) and Maria was given trail clearing. Ilyana was told to help with younger children and animals. Sean decided to rotate between assisting with trail clearing and food collection—staying near Lisa and Maria. Only Olivia wasn’t given an immediate assignment due to her detention. Sean also requested a censure of John (who had missed the meeting), but counted only two votes in favor of his motion.
After breakfast was finished and the meeting adjourned, villagers began their assigned tasks. While the weather was perfect—a warm sun cooled by ocean breezes—life in the village wasn’t nearly as nice as the climate. Most villagers remained irritable or despondent and their despair was reflected in sloppy work and quarrelsome attitudes. Following a sharp dispute regarding the portions served for lunch, Sean finally suggested a work suspension until tempers cooled. His proposal was accepted and several neighbors walked to the beach and others splashed with their children in the Pishon River. A few even passed the time napping. When the day was spent, nearly everyone retired early.
When John emerged from the forest well after dark carrying a rough-hewn piece of furniture, Kit was alone at the low-burning campfire as she sipped coffee and reflected on the day’s events. She waved when she saw John.
“Hi, John.”
“Where’s everyone at?”
“Early bed. It was a rough day.”
“I figured so. That’s why I took off.”
“I wondered where you were.”
“I lost track of time,” John said as he sat on a smooth-planed stump near Kit. “The battery died last week. On my watch.”
“What’re you carrying?” Kit asked.
“A cradle.”
Kit’s eyes brightened. “Really?”
“It’s for Ursula,” John said. “I carved it from a hollow trunk. See how it rocks. And these stabilizer bars will prevent it from flipping once they’re screwed in.”
“What if they fall out? Will the cradle roll?”
“They won’t slip out. I’ll soak the wood before I screw it in. When the wood dries, it creates a seal.”
“Without glue?”
“Yeah. I once visited a log cabin in Kentucky recreated from the time of the Revolution. Ladder rungs to the loft were made this way: rods were soaked in water and pounded into holes. They were decades old and still could bear the weight of a grown man. This cradle will hold.”
“It’s perfect.”
“It’s not much to look at, but it’ll work for a newborn. This was a quick job, but I’ll make a real crib when there’s more time.”
“Why so early? She isn’t due for months.”
“We don’t have time to waste,” John replied, “though I’m not sure everyone realizes it.”
“I must be one of the blind,” Kit said. “Things seem to be going well as far as our work is concerned.”
“I’m not convinced,” John explained with a shake of his head. “We’ll have our wood supply built up before the rainy season—and our food stores as best as I can tell. But these tents are a problem.”
“Don’t we plan to live in them for a year?”
“We flooded after a few day’s rain. Imagine what it’ll be like after a month.”
Kit grimaced. “Uhhhh.”
“Besides,” John said, “our plan was to have a kitchen built for food preparation and a communal house for sleeping and schooling. Right?”
“That’s right,” Kit said, “and both buildings should be finished ahead of schedule.”
“I don’t intend,” John continued, “to sleep in the same room as Deidra and Sean. Not for one night and not for three months.”
“I hadn’t really thought through the implications.”
“I have.”
“Oh, goodness,” Kit said, “that means Maria will be sleeping near Ryan and me.”
“And the other couples.”
“Sean and Jose will see us when we dress.”
“They’ll see everything,” John said, “and winters here aren’t cold. All those bodies in one room will heat up. Blankets will be packed away and clothes removed.”
“What can we do?”
“The communal house,” John said, “will exist for those who want it. But I plan to build my own place and I’ll help you build a home too. If Ryan and I work together, we can work nights to cut timber while you thatch grass. It’ll only take a week or two to raise two houses if we work in tandem. See this drawing. It’s a thatched roof hut: with a lifted floor and a storage loft and ventilation windows. If we want, we can even soften the floor with sand or use hot coals for indoor heating on damp nights.”
Kit looked at a folded paper that John slipped from his shirt pocket and volunteered Ryan’s help, then walked to the mess tent and poured two cups of coffee. John took his coffee black while Kit sweetened hers with lumps of processed sugar as she waited for him to renew the conversation.
“I’m concerned about Ursula,” John said after his cup was half-empty, “and her baby.”
“Why?”
“The rainy season will be dangerous for a newborn.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“A damp tent,” John said, “could kill a baby.”
“Maybe she can stay in the schoolhouse?”
“The others won’t be thrilled to share a room with a baby.”
“Maybe,” Kit said as she looked at John, “Sean can build her a house?”
“He won’t.”
“The neighborhood can insist.”
“We won’t.”
“What can she do?” Kit asked.
“I was thinking,” John answered, “Ursula could stay with me. Do you think she’d be offended if I invited her?”
“Do you mean,” Kit looked down, her eyes crossing her own legs as she blushed, that you …”
“That’s not what I mean at all,” John said stone-faced. “I’m giving a cradle, not robbing one. Have you seen any women near my tent?”
“She is pretty,” Kit said.
“She’s a pretty girl,” John said, “whose baby shouldn’t suffer for its father’s sin.”
“Are there sins in Eden?”
John took a drink of his coffee. “Either a crime or a sin,” he said. “I don’t see any other way of describing the mess Sean’s managed to make.”
“Dr. Morales,” Kit replied, “would say it’s a question of social ethos and Dr. Erikson would call it a lifestyle choice.”
John finished his coffee before he spoke again and Kit sipped from her cup as she waited for him to do so.
“Did I ever tell you,” John eventually said, “my grandfather was forced to marry, more-or-less at gunpoint
, after getting my grandmother pregnant?”
“That’s horrible.”
“They were married fifty years,” John answered, “and he became a deacon in the church. I mean, a really conservative Presbyterian church. They left seven children and thirty grandchildren, most of them good enough.”
“I’m sorry,” Kit now finished her coffee. ”I’m sorry about Deidra.”
“It’s not your fault.”
Neither spoke for several minutes—until John yawned and stood.
“Time to go to bed.”
“Me too,” Kit said. “Sometimes I’m too restless to sleep. I’m used to having a husband.”
“I know. Sometimes I think even a bad marriage is better than none at all.”
“I’m not so sure of that.”
“Neither am I,” John whispered, “but I liked marriage. Usually. It was good to me and even bad years were better than the ones before. Better an imperfect good than absolutely nothing.”
“That sounds profound.”
“Almost Augustinian. Evil as the negation of good and absolute evil as nothing good at all.”
“Maybe that’s true,” Kit whispered as she pressed the flat of her belly.
“You have Ryan,” John replied as he pulled Kit’s hand away from her waist.
“I wonder if I do.”
“You also have honor,” John said. “Keeping a promise to a grandmother even when she’ll never know it. I admire that.”
“My grandmother,” Kit said as she looked straight at John, “was very traditional. She helped raise me when my mother traveled. When I was fifteen, she sat me down and told me bluntly that while it wasn’t her business what I did in private—she didn’t want to know one way or the other—she didn’t want me living with any man until I was married. And she made me promise not to. She said I couldn’t date until I promised.”
“You’re keeping a promise made under duress?”
“A promise is a promise, after all.”
“You’re a good person.”
“She passed away,” Kit said with a shrug, “before I met Ryan, but it was nice to know I’d have pleased her. She was a good grandma.”
Neither spoke for a minute.
“Another week or so,” John said, “then you and Ryan are back to normal.”
“I wonder if it really is.”
John didn’t press the point, but thanked Kit for the coffee and took the cradle back to his tent. The fire had burned itself to ashes and it wasn’t necessary for Kit to douse the coals with water before she retired.
Tuesday was busy. Most villagers rose early to make up hours lost the previous day—though dinner wasn’t served until late in the afternoon and the dishes cleaned only at dusk. Children were sent to bed early and improvised chairs lined up before a bonfire. Dr. Erikson was scheduled as a dinner guest, arriving late after having been detained by a counseling session with the northerners about their drug use and work habits. In fact, she remained noticeably flustered when she reached the west village and managed to settle down only after eating a plate of cold food. Then she collected her thoughts, rose before the assembled village, and spoke—not far from the campfire. Now and then, a villager threw a log into the fire and the flames would rise into the evening sky. At such moments, Dr. Erikson’s face grew clear and her features sharp, but as the flames fell, her image became dark and dim.
“To begin with,” Dr. Erikson opened the discussion, “you must remember—every one of you—that you’re the chosen ones. You’re the truest progressives and broadest-minded liberals drawn from the old world. Every one of you must remember how you lived your life to this very day and how you’ll make a difference for all humankind for generations to come. Children yet unborn—though not to say unborn children—will live in peace and harmony based on how each of you chooses to behave on this island.”
Dr. Erikson took a sip of water.
“You are—that is to say, we are—the rainbow coalition,” the psychologist continued. “Look to your left and to your right. Black and white and brown and red and yellow. There are gays and straights, liberals and progressives, Marxists and libertarians on this island. Ryan left the accolades of Hollywood to begin this colony. He sold his home and left his fans. And each of you has done the same. You’ve given up father and mother and sister and brother for our peaceful republic of humankind. And now you’ve toiled and suffered and ached and endured a hundred trials. Yet look at what already has been accomplished. We’ve begun to feed ourselves from the fruits of nature: catching fish from the sea and collecting eggs from nests. Our hands and those of our compatriots plant crops and milk goats and one neighborhood even made its first cake of cheese. You yourselves have set a good example by raising this magnificent storehouse—with enough room to store several months of provisions. Haven’t you already proven wrong the conservatives who mocked us—who always insisted the New Left hadn’t the hardiness or the heart of the religious zealots who first built Boston? Haven’t you given the lie to those who insist political progressives are capable only of expropriating wealth manufactured by capitalism and enjoying neighborliness engendered by social conservatives? As if none of us was any better than a Bolshevik profiteer or the rust that ruins an automobile. As if we are only social parasites best flung into this fire like leeches and ticks.”
The crowd stilled as the speaker pressed her point.
“Even more,” the psychologist said, “we’ve yet to endure a single racial incident or even the mere accusation of ethnic prejudice or sexual discrimination. Not even one slur. We’ve proven the prejudices of the past can be exorcized. That they’ve been exorcized. We’ve also shown direct democracy actually works. This whole people has come together to rule ourselves. There are no kings among us, nor prime ministers, nor presidents. Each one of us is equal to the other.”
Dr. Erikson paused and the audience didn’t stir.
“Yes, there’ve been problems,” Dr. Erikson continued. “Some complain of monotonous food and others are in despair over Jason’s crime. Still others are tired from all the toil. But we mustn’t grow weary in our good works. The Pilgrims submitted to a winter of death for their dead Christ and Jamestown endured a year of hunger for its living king. Will we do less for mankind? If liberalism can’t triumph here—with its own chosen people and the fruits of paradise—can it triumph anywhere? If we can’t make a true community in this Eden, how can we expect our political kinsmen to do so in America? If we can’t harvest the bounties of a tropical island, what have we to say to Russians and Chinese and Ethiopians and Indonesians?”
Neighbors sat up straighter and a few placed arms around friends or took the hand of a loved one.
“Now,” Dr. Erikson concluded, “in a positive and productive manner, let’s deal with issues and set this community back to order. Each one of you was given a sheet of paper and a sharpened pencil. I want you to write upon it three things that you need and three things that you need to do. Take ten minutes while I pass out refreshments. Fold the paper and pass it forward when you’ve finished.”
The staff psychologist handed out chocolate bars brought from the camp reserves, along with other sweets. Kit hurried through the assignment, then helped serve drinks. Both women popped corn over hot coals and filled serving dishes while villagers worked through their answers. Once the surveys filtered in, Dr. Erikson returned to her duties while Heather helped Kit with refreshments. Completed forms were returned to the staff psychologist—who transferred the answers to a separate notebook. Once she had finished her review, snacks were set aside and the meeting returned to order.
“There are several common themes,” Dr. Erikson began as she pointed at the tallied stack of answers. “First, many of you are worried about supplies of perishable goods: especially razors, clothes, and wine. Is that fair to say?”
Heads nodded and voices assented.
“What choices do we have?” Dr. Erikson asked.
“To be more frugal,” Heather sug
gested.
“What else?”
“To import additional supplies at the next shipment,” Kit added.
“That can be done in a few months. What can we do now?”
“Manufacture our own,” a man shouted.
“Very good. We’ll come back to that. What else?”
“Do without,” Lisa said.
“Free ourselves from consumerism,” Dr. Erikson said. “Live more simply. Can you give us an example?”
Lisa pointed to the long hairs on her legs.
“I’m not shaving anymore,” Lisa explained. “Why should I nick my legs with dull razors just to defer to the Western canon of beauty?”
“Live more naturally,” Dr. Erikson said. “Excellent. Any other ideas?”
“Clothes are a real issue,” Lisa continued. “This is my last untorn shirt. Other than one dress blouse I’m saving for special occasions.”
“And how can we resolve this problem?”
“Open a boutique,” a woman’s voice said from the rear of the room.
Everyone laughed.
“Very funny,” Dr. Erikson said. “But seriously. What can we do?”
“A couple of us,” Kit said, “sewed a grass skirt. It didn’t take too long and it seems durable enough.”
“Perfect. Use the resources of this island.”
“We can also do without,” Lisa repeated. “It’s not really necessary to wear clothing on a warm day. Native peoples in the South Pacific go topless, why couldn’t we conserve our clothing the same way?”
The speaker panned her audience. “What,” the psychologist asked, “do you think of that suggestion?”
A few men grinned and most women groaned.
“I’m not sure I like the idea at all,” Linh said. “I’ve been married several years and I’m accustomed to my privacy. It just wouldn’t seem right. I definitely don’t want my daughters leered at after puberty. Or before.”