Left on Paradise

by Kirk Adams

  “That’s not very romantic.”

  “No, it isn’t. But it’s true.”

  “Still, it’d be hard to hear at your wedding.”

  “It wasn’t stated quite so crassly,” Kit said. “Ryan is good with words and made it part of the joy of our special day.”

  “I don’t want just a special day,” Heather said as she looked up, “I want love that’ll last an eternity. I want a man who will love me forever.”

  “A Mormon?”

  “I like my cola,” Heather said with a smile.

  “You may have to give it up,” Kit said, “to get the man of your dreams.”

  “I’m not sure which I’d prefer.”

  “I know exactly what you mean. A bottle of cola can be as satisfying as a husband. And I’ve haven’t much of either for a long time.”

  “I can’t really compare them.”

  “Someday,” Kit said with a grimace, “you’ll find the right guy. Or at least the right soda.”

  “I think I may be diet soda,” Heather whispered after a loud laugh. “Every guy I’ve ever gone out with has wanted to fool around the first date. I won’t and they don’t call back. Not one of them.”

  “It’s their loss.”

  “I’m not gaining much myself.”

  “You’ve kept your self-respect.”

  “How much happiness does that bring?” Heather’s face slumped forward as hair veiled her face.

  “You’d be surprised,” Kit said as she closed her eyes tight.

  “It’s not like,” Heather said, “I’m some pious miss wanting to wait a week after the honeymoon. All I want is to love the first man who touches me. To really love him and to have him really love me. And to be really sure. Is that asking so much?”

  Kit poured hot water from a pot into her cup, dipped a tea bag, and stirred two sugar cubes while Heather waited for an answer.

  “It’s funny,” Kit said after a time, “but once upon a time I remember hearing that songs of sex before marriage seemed scandalous—even for couples in love.”

  “Now,” Heather said, “there’d be a scandal if they demanded love before sex.”

  “It’s what we wanted, I guess.”

  “Not me,” Heather said. “I want a man who’ll die to other women and live to me alone. Who will love the children I give him and stay at my side when I’m old and gray. I want a man who won’t run off with some girl when he turns forty and who won’t flirt or look around. Ever.”

  “There never was such a man,” Kit said. “What you want is a husband without eyes or hands or even a ...” Now she paused.

  “I understand.”

  “I’m not so sure you do. Even Ryan looks and flirts, though he’s a completely faithful husband.”

  “Until now,” Heather blurted out.

  Kit looked Heather in the eyes and asked what the teenager meant.

  Heather looked away until she found the right words. Only after a long pause did she speak. “He’s not,” she whispered, “your husband now.”

  “I wonder,” Kit said with a frown, “if he realizes it?”

  Heather said nothing.

  A moment later they rinsed their cups and Heather told all four children to search the village for litter while she prepared their lunch—though she gave larger disposal bags to Linh’s daughters than to the twins. The sun already was beginning to climb to its midday heights when the children left the village.

  By midmorning, Lisa reached the waterfall where the Pishon River poured into the bay, collecting litter as she hiked downstream. At the falls, she removed lab equipment from her backpack: eyedroppers, test tubes, and petri dishes. Filling three of the glass tubes with fresh water, she measured drops of testing solution into each. One tube turned blood red and another light blue. She observed no reaction in the third beyond the dilution of the earth-colored chemical. Lisa rinsed the equipment and returned it to the storage case. The stream remained unpolluted, with the exception of the occasional plastic bottle or torn garment tangled along the banks.

  The young woman’s next task was to pick up litter strewn around the bay. She made two passes, one along the shore and the other several yards inland—filling a trash bag with biodegradable materials like banana peels, coconut husks, dead fish, a worn shirt, and even a frayed bra draped over a rock. The other bag remained empty except for a plastic wrapper and two dirty condoms. Lisa picked up the prophylactics with a stick since she didn’t know who they belonged to and didn’t want to find out. After securing the litter, she walked toward the beach and turned north.

  As soon as she reached Turtle Beach, Lisa knew something was wrong. Fresh footprints stamped into the sand indicated trespassers had entered western territory. When Lisa saw that they led to dozens of shallow holes, she dropped her backpack and sprinted to the turtle nesting grounds, kneeling at the first hole she saw. There, a crushed shell was abandoned to the sand, its inch-long occupant dead in its own yolk. Every footprint led north, so Lisa followed them, quickly reaching a full run. When sand filled her shoes, she kicked them off—and her socks with them—and even when sand turned to soft mud and wet grass, Lisa continued to track the steps of the robbers. Only when she came to rocks did she move more carefully.

  When she heard laughter ahead, Lisa redoubled her pace and found the poachers smoking a joint at the next bend, a little south of their own village. There were four of them—three northerners and Jason—and two wooden crates were stacked between them.

  When the men saw Lisa coming, they greeted the young woman who now approached them—breathless and red-faced from her hard run.

  “What’s going on, Lisa?” Jason asked.

  “You’ve poached our eggs,” Lisa said as she caught her breath.

  “You can cook yours however you like.”

  The others laughed.

  “Take them back,” Lisa said.

  “We’re hungry,” one of the northern men said.

  “You have to take them back. It’s illegal to hunt sea turtles.”

  “Not by our laws,” the hungry man said, “and not by the law of necessity either.”

  “They belong to our district. Your territory ends this side of Turtle Beach.”

  The man shrugged his shoulders. “Waste not, want not. You weren’t using them.”

  “The turtles were.”

  “And we thank them for guarding our breakfast.”

  “That’s our territory.”

  “From each according to his means. To each according to his ability,” the man said as he motioned to the others it was time to leave.

  As he turned away, Lisa jumped forward and pulled at the crates—which tipped and spilled their eggs. Several eggs were dashed against rocks and all of them cracked. Sticky gobs of yolk and tiny fetal turtles oozed on the ground—wasted to no apparent good.

  “You bitch,” the northern man growled. “We haven’t eaten a good breakfast for two months.”

  The hungry northerner stepped forward. Though Jason grabbed his shoulder, the man broke free and lunged for Lisa—who stood her ground. Only after he came within arm’s reach did the attacker stop before the young woman who stared him in the face, her fists clenched and back stiff.

  “Eco-chick,” the man said with a sneer, “plans to whip me.”

  The other men also laughed.

  “Don’t hurt her, Chuck,” Jason said, “or you’ll get a week time out. On a tropical island. With food and stash. And no work detail. It was hell, I tell you. Absolute hell.”

  When Lisa looked down to see a tiny turtle waving its delicate flippers atop a rock, sbe dropped to a knee to extend a hand to the tiny creature. Before, however, she could take the fetal turtle between her forefinger and thumb, the northerner dropped the heel of his boot on the animal and twisted his foot until green guts oozed. Afterwards, he shook bits of fetal turtle from the sole of his boot, sprinkling Lisa with blood and bile.

  Just for a moment, Lisa froze before the blood-soaked rock. Then, wi
thout looking up, she drove from her legs as hard as she could and smashed her shoulders into the man’s chest. Stunned by the ferocity of the attack, the northerner staggered backwards and Lisa pushed as hard as she could as the man grabbed her wrists. Both tumbled to the ground, Lisa landing atop her foe as she thrust a knee into his groin—though the northerner blocked the attack with a thigh as both cried out from the shock of collision. Lisa had lost the advantage of surprise and now her much larger foe rolled over, pinning the young woman and laughing hard as he held her down.

  “She loves me,” Chuck said. “She loves me not. Which is it?”

  “I hate you,” Lisa yelled as she clawed for his wrists.

  Chuck forced Lisa’s hands to the ground.

  “Let’s go,” Jason said, still standing several feet away. “We’ve still got enough eggs. I’m hungry.”

  “But she loves me.”

  Lisa tried to throw the northerner off, but couldn’t move and her hips only rocked him a bit rather than dislodging him.

  Now Jason tugged at Chuck’s collar. “It’s your choice,” he said, “if you want a rash of shit. All I want is some grub.”

  As the others picked up the second crate of eggs, Jason followed them and the northerner finally rolled away from Lisa—who sat in the dirt breathing hard and sobbing soft. After several minutes, she wrapped the dead turtle in her torn shirt and took it to the shore for burial at sea before she limped home, taking a half-hour to cover ground crossed in a sprint just a few minutes earlier.

  Soon after Lisa limped into camp with bloodstained elbows and a swollen knee, Jose stood before the neighborhood—his face flush and pitch high. He waved his arms as he talked.

  “Can’t you see?” Jose protested. “Violence begets violence. They assault her and you attack them. It’ll end in more fighting. The better way is to turn the other cheek and resist not an aggressor. Meekness will inherit the earth.”

  Deidra stood up, her back turned at Jose.

  “To begin with,” Deidra said, “to roll over and take the rape is old advice—and bad advice come to find out. You’d be singing a different tune if you were a woman.”

  Jose shook his head in disagreement, but Deidra paid no heed.

  “Second,” Deidra continued, “we’re not Christians and the Sermon on the Mount has no place here. Even I know enough theology to realize the scheme works only if the Christian God actually exists as the protector and avenger of innocent people. It’s not meekness but the meek themselves who are supposed to inherit the earth. We need to keep church and state separated.”

  Jose shook his head more vigorously in protest this time, but Deidra still paid no heed.

  “Third,” Deidra aid, “they’ve done enough harm. We need to teach them a lesson. Especially that Judas, Jason.”

  Hilary and Joan applauded and Ryan stood, getting Jose’s attention with a wave of his arm.

  “No one is attacking anyone,” Ryan said. “We’ll send a delegation to talk with them. Maybe we can resolve this peacefully. If that doesn’t work, we’ll go to the General Will.”

  Olivia jeered from the crowd even as Ryan ignored her.

  “We’d gain little by fighting,” Ryan continued, “since someone might get hurt and the problem still will exist.”

  “The General Will of the People will pass resolutions,” Deidra said, “but what’s needed is action. The northerners hurt one of our own and it’s our duty to protect her. She’s our people.”

  “That’s the line of militarists,” Jose said.

  “Those who live by cowardice will die by cowardice,” Deidra said. “The northerners poached our land and struck our neighbor. Can we pretend it didn’t happen? Should the Sioux have lined up at Little Bighorn to be butchered by Custer’s cavalry?”

  “No one’s asking,” Ryan replied, “that we surrender to anyone. We just need to operate by the laws. Let’s send representatives to investigate and negotiate.”

  “To negotiate with criminals?” Deidra responded. “Is that really sensible?”

  “It makes more sense,” Ryan said, “than asking innocent people to risk life and limb.”

  “I want a vote,” Hilary shouted from the crowd.

  A vote was taken and Ryan’s position won out. Kit, John, Linh, Viet, Tiffany, Charles, Maria, Ursula, and Heather wanted to give peace another chance while Hilary, Brent, Sean, Olivia, Ilyana, Joan, and Deidra preferred immediate detention of the aggressors. Lisa remained in her tent and Jose boycotted the vote, believing both approaches equally motivated by revenge. Ryan was appointed head of the delegation while Sean and John were made his assistants. Deidra volunteered to accompany them and Hilary was sent to request an emergency meeting of the General Will of the People. As the west villagers assembled for the march north, the sun remained high overhead.

  It took the four delegates thirty minutes to reach the northern village, where they found a dozen people—seven men and five women—circled around a low-burning fire. Turtle shells—some of them a foot wide—littered the area and the northerners barely acknowledged the arrival of the westerners. A square-shouldered youth walked from the fire pit to a pile of wood stacked twenty feet away and sat on it.

  “Greetings, neighbors,” Ryan said.

  No one answered.

  “Greetings,” Ryan said louder.

  Still no one replied, so Ryan walked near the fire to speak. “We have a complaint.”

  A teenaged boy stood. “So do we.”

  “What’s that?” Ryan stammered.

  “One of your women destroyed our property and attacked our men,” the teenaged boy said as he pointed at the man standing near the woodpile, “and knocked Chuck into the rocks. It could’ve given him a concussion.”

  “She had good reason,” Ryan said.

  “He stepped on a turtle, accidentally. It’s no cause for violence.”

  Deidra stepped forward.

  “We,” Deidra said, “didn’t hear of any accidents.”

  “We’ve got,” the teenaged boy said, “three men—including one of your own—who tell it that way.”

  Ryan kicked at the sand.

  “We’ve got,” Ryan declared, “a woman with cuts and bruises which say otherwise.”

  “Tell her not to roll in the rocks.”

  John pushed Deidra aside and took the front place.

  “The eggs are ours,” John said.

  “Yours?” one of the northern women sneered. “I cooked them myself; they come from turtle nests on the north point.”

  “Liars!” Deidra screamed.

  “Get lost,” the northern woman responded, “you damned bourgeois moralists.”

  Someone threw a banana peel which struck Deidra in the cheek. Laughter rang out and a second piece of rotted fruit sailed toward her. In a breath, fish bones and rotted fruit filled the air. As fruit flew faster and jeers grew louder, the westerners retreated ignominiously toward the trail—though Deidra stopped to shout that further poaching would be considered an act of war against man and god alike. As she turned away, a well-aimed breadfruit struck her in the back of the head and she staggered several steps before buckling at the knees. Sean and John grabbed her by the shoulders and helped her down the trail until she regained her footing.

  Hilary returned later that night with news the southern and eastern districts were too busy to summon a General Will until the end of the week. An emergency meeting of the Executive Council, however, had been called for the next day. No one was heartened by the news.

  30

  Skirmishes and Retreats

  Deidra opened her eyes. She wiped the inside of her thigh with a single finger and groaned out loud; her fingers wet from the flow of menstruation. When she snapped her wrist and flung blood across the tent, droplets splattered Sean’s face.

  “Ohhh,” Sean said as he wiped the moisture away without knowing what it was, “is that dew?”

  “A lot of good you’ve done,” Deidra snapped as she crawled out of bed toward a
stack of clean clothes across the tent.

  Sean rolled over and looked toward his wife. “What’d I do?” he asked.

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “I suppose that’s good,” Sean said as he yawned.

  Deidra glared at him. “My period started,” she said.

  “As they say,” Sean said as he stretched and sat up, “the first rule is to do no harm.”

  “What do you think you’re doing in my bed?”

  “Sleeping. Till a minute ago.”

  “I didn’t bring you here for fun and games.”

  “You were faking it?” Sean said. “You’re a better actress than Kit.”

  “You’ve done her too?”

  “I w ...” Sean paused. “I’ve seen her movies.”

  “You’re such a boy.”

  “I’m man enough to make you squirm and shout.”

  “But not man enough to give me a son. Or a daughter.”

  “You want to get pregnant?”

  Deidra looked at her groom for a long while. “I want,” she eventually said, ”to have a baby.”

  “That’s news to me.”

  “I told you the first time.”

  “When?”

  “When I prayed for the blessing of the great tiki.”

  “I thought it was a figure of speech for good sex.”

  Deidra said nothing.

  “You mean,” Sean said as he turned red, “you used me for my ... sperm?”

  Deidra laughed out loud. “I’m not saying,” she replied, “you don’t have soft hands, but it’s conception that really sticks inside a woman.”

  “I thought you wanted me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Deidra said with a shrug. “But I’m no tramp who does every man she likes. I bed a man for my reasons. Not his.”

  “You used me for a sperm donor?”

  “You enjoyed donating.”

  “Well, I’m not giving any more blessing, as you call it.”

  “They say it’s more blessed to give than receive.”