Left on Paradise

by Kirk Adams

“I don’t want another baby,” Sean said, his voice deep and raw. “I’ve already got one kid on the way and I don’t intend to populate the new world by myself.”

  Deidra turned around, her face hard and voice uncompromising. “You,” she scowled, “can conceive or you can leave. Doesn’t matter to me which.”

  When Sean just stared without speaking, Deidra threw an empty backpack toward him.

  “Pack up,” she said, “and be out of here before breakfast.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “If your things are here in an hour, I’ll throw them in the dirt. You weren’t much help this month and now you don’t want to do anything at all.”

  “But we’re married,” Sean said with a smirk.

  “I want a divorce.”

  “You can’t just end a marriage on your word.”

  “I just did,” Deidra said, “so get out of here before I have you charged with stalking.”

  “I want alimony,” Sean turned red.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Deidra said, “we’ll split fifty-fifty. You get the kids and I’ll keep everything else. Now get out of my tent.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Only to think the gods would bless the seed of a white man. It was poorly conceived theology.”

  “I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t,” Sean growled. “Babies are ruining sex.”

  Deidra no longer looked at her ex-husband, but turned to a stack of clothing until she came to a worn towel—which she ripped into three long strips before folding one of them into a small rectangle that she inserted between her legs as a menstrual cloth. After making herself comfortable, she pulled a cotton shirt over her shoulders and a pair of knee-long khaki shorts around her hips. Only then did she leave the tent—carrying a pair of sandals in one hand and her tiki in the other. It was time for morning prayers.

  Sean didn’t take long to pack. In a few minutes, he carried his over-stuffed backpack to Jose’s tent and threw it inside. Jose was just returning from breakfast and laughed hard when told of Deidra’s behavior, but invited Sean to stay—as long as he didn’t bring any babies. Two women overheard their banter and it wasn’t long before the entire village knew Sean had been jilted.

  Executive Council delegates reached the west village before noon, assembling at the new dinning hall. Steve Lovejoy was the first delegate to arrive and two women came thirty minutes later: a petite African-Islander from the south named Heidi and light-skinned Nurse Fallows from New Plymouth. The northerners sent no delegate at all while Deidra represented the westerners. Formalities were skipped and old business ignored as the meeting moved straight to the point. To avoid a conflict of interest, it was decided Lisa should present her case directly rather than through an advocate. The rest of the westerners waited at the back of the mess hall—impatient for the administration of justice. Only Linh and Tiffany, who tended the children, remained absent.

  “Before we begin,” Heidi said, “I need to make a sad announcement. We lost a southern child yesterday. A baby died from influenza: Belinda’s little girl.”

  Several neighbors gasped and others turned stone-faced. Two women wept.

  “We buried her last night,” Heidi said. “Her neighborhood is meeting today to resolve the housing issue. Three children have the flu, and two adults. We have to figure out how to avoid the spread of germs as well as how to keep our young ones warm while we’re living as nomads. The rains have been much tougher than we anticipated.”

  Kit raised her hand. “Do you need provisions?” she asked.

  “No,” Heidi said, “we have firewood and food. Our tents are just too wet. We’ll figure something out. I just thought you should be told one of our children died.”

  A moment of silence was observed. Five minutes later, the neighborhood’s grief was set aside for the hard business at hand as Lisa recounted the events of Thursday—the poaching and pushing by northerners.

  “What do you want us to do?” Nurse Fallows asked after events were recounted.

  “You’re the government,” Lisa replied. “You tell us.”

  “We can talk with them.”

  Several westerners groaned.

  “That won’t do,” John said. “We restrained our response expecting Small Council would make satisfaction.”

  “That’s all very well,” Nurse Fallows said, “but we can’t administer punishment by our own authority. Only the General Will of the People can do so.”

  “When?” John asked.

  “I can’t say. The south is tied up with sick children.”

  “And the east village,” Steve added, “is busy for the next few days putting a roof on a new theater. I have no problem calling a meeting, but I’m not sure everyone will come. The roof has to be raised before the wood gets wet and warps.”

  The westerners groaned again.

  “Then we’ll make matters right ourselves,” Hilary protested. “If the state can’t protect us, we retain the right to defend ourselves.”

  “And just where,” Heidi asked, “would you get that right?”

  “Through Madison and Locke.”

  “Just a pair of dead white males.”

  “No,” Hilary said, “they revealed to us our right to freedom and self-defense. You do remember We the People?”

  “I remember the failed Constitution of the Old World and I remember we’re moved to Paradise.”

  “We emigrated to Paradise in the spirit of the Declaration of Independence and its author. At least I did.”

  “I’m not Sally Hemings,” Heidi declared, “and you’re not Thomas Jefferson. The Founding Fathers are no more your forefathers politically than they were mine genetically.”

  “We want justice,” Hilary said.

  “We must be patient.”

  Hilary stamped her foot. “And we want it now.”

  “No slogans here,” Heidi scowled. “Justice takes time.”

  “How much time?”

  “Enough to wait for.”

  “Fine,” Hilary said, “we’ll wait—if you’ll detain the accused so he can’t do any more harm. Even the United States detains criminals.”

  Heidi conferred with her fellow councilors.

  “That’s fair enough,” Heidi announced a minute later, “the man will be arrested ... I mean, held for trial. Lisa will need to come with us to make a positive identification. We’ll need escorts.”

  All of the western men except Jose volunteered to help. So did Hilary, Lisa, Deidra, and Joan.

  “I protest,” Jose objected, “this is worse than militarism—it’s militiaism. It’s not free government and it’s certainly not progressive. Coercion is unfit for the citizens of Paradise.”

  No one applauded his short speech.

  “Don’t be a little pu”—Sean cut himself short—“Peace-nik.”

  “Pacifism brought me here,” Jose protested.

  “Peace brought all of us,” Sean said, “but we’re not talking about fighting for oil or killing for Unified Fruit. We want to protect our own community. Hopefully, the jerk will surrender. But if not, we have the duty to drag him to justice.”

  “Only by persuasion.”

  “Then come help us persuade him. Maybe you can make a difference.”

  “I’ll go talk,” Jose said. “To make peace.”

  Within the hour, Nurse Fallows hurried toward New Plymouth to brief developments to the professional staff while the newly organized company of militia began its march north. Hilary and Sean took point and moved without weapons. At the rear, John and Ryan picked up thick walking sticks in case of trouble. A contingent of eleven neighbors and councilpersons otherwise armed with nothing heavier than water bottles moved between them. The company moved in single file, their pace far from steady and their ranks irregular; some marched stone-faced while others joked and laughed. Jose wept for the entire thirty minutes that he followed the column to the north village.

  “I don’t like the north.”

  It was
Heather who talked as she stirred a boiling pot of diced pineapple whose tangy aroma filled the dining hall.

  “It is hard,” Kit said after a long pause, “to say anything nice about them. As a village, that is.”

  “Do you think there’ll be trouble?”

  “I hope not.”

  “I have a bad feeling,” Heather said.

  “I feel like a traitor,” Kit said.

  “Or a draft dodger.”

  Kit threw another handful of pineapple into the pot. “Is it thick enough?” she asked.

  Heather stirred the pot with a long wooden spoon several times before tasting a spoonful and telling Kit to add more gelatin.

  Kit did so.

  “I’m no fighter,” Kit said after a time. “I couldn’t beat a rug. Still, it doesn’t seem right for us to stay here in safety while the other women march with the men.”

  “Especially,” Heather said, “after Sean practically drafted Jose.”

  “I know.”

  The pineapple continued to thicken as Heather moved the wooden spoon in a wide circle. Several minutes later she announced it was ready and the two women used potholders to grab the pot’s handles as they pulled it from the fire—and soon ladled hot jelly into sterilized glass jars.

  “I’m no pacifist,” Kit said, “but I’ve always thought war man’s work. Grandpa fought the Nazis while Grandma stayed at home and raised their children. That always seemed natural.”

  Heather agreed.

  “I suppose,” Kit continued, “Betty Grable did more for the war painted on tanks than driving one.”

  “Spoken like a true veteran of the silver screen.”

  “I’ve mustered out of Hollywood now.”

  “Maybe we should’ve sent along some pinup posters of you in your hula skirt. Linh tells stories.”

  Kit blushed.

  “It’d give Sean,” Heather said, “something to fight for.”

  “I don’t think those posters would inspire your mother.”

  “Heaven only knows,” Heather said, “but we can hope not. Heather doesn’t want two moms.”

  Kit shook her head before returning the discussion to the current crisis.

  “I just hope they don’t fight,” Kit said.

  “So do I.”

  Both women poured the hot jelly. After a dozen jars were filled, Kit smiled and Heather asked what she was thinking about.

  “I remember Grandma,” Kit explained, “making homemade marmalade when I was a girl.”

  “I remember Joan,” Heather said with a scowl, “shopping for kosher jam at a Manhattan deli. For observant neighbors.”

  Kit laughed, then picked up a small pan of hot melted wax from the edge of the stove and poured it over a jar filled with jelly. The wax spread over the jelly, congealing as it stuck to the glass and quickly thickening—leaving a sealed quart of jelly preserved for future use. Kit set the jelly beside twenty others like it before choosing another jar from thirty that remained empty. She ladled jelly into jars as Heather poured wax.

  Both women continued to talk.

  “Linh and Viet finish the mango jam?” Heather asked.

  Kit nodded.

  “Then all we have left is the banana?”

  “And a little kiwi too,” Kit said. “We’ll have two hundred jars. That ought to keep us for a while.”

  “We won’t finish today.”

  “I meant it ought to supply the village for a few months.”

  Heather shook her head. “Sean,” she noted, “can eat a whole jar in a single sitting.”

  “Maybe,” Kit said, “we should put him on limited rations?”

  “I like that,” Heather said, “we can give half of his share to Ursula. She’s the one eating for two.”

  Both women laughed as Kit filled the last jars and dumped the final pint into a polished coconut husk for the evening meal. After using a spatula to scrape the pan clean, she flicked the last bit of jelly into the husk and set the pan aside for soaking. Heather retrieved a plastic crate for stacking of the jars. They finished work long before their friends returned from the north.

  The militia closed ranks as it entered the village. The afternoon sun blazed above the treetops and a thin waft of smoke circled overhead. Two women—a blond girl in her mid-twenties wearing a bikini and a brown-haired woman in her mid-thirties wearing nothing at all—watched the strangers march into their village. The older woman ran to the longhouse to summon help and soon five men in various levels of undress filed into the commons, followed by three women.

  Heidi led the militia toward the assembled northerners. “Small Council,” she announced, “wishes to speak with you.”

  “No one told us you were coming,” Father Donovan said as he moved to the front of his fellow northerners.

  “We couldn’t exactly announce the meeting,” Heidi said, “since you’re the cause of it.”

  “I’m also a member of Small Council.”

  “Then join with us in securing justice.”

  “I’d rather join with my friends.”

  Heidi groaned.

  “What do you need here?” Father Donovan demanded. “We’ve no extra food for the foreigners if that’s what you want.”

  Heidi didn’t flinch. “What we want is justice.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  “And we want it now.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  “This citizen,” Heidi said, pointing at Lisa, “claims she was assaulted.”

  A chorus of hisses broke from the northerners.

  “Don’t we all?” Donovan said as the northerners laughed.

  Lisa stepped forward and pointed to a square-faced man standing behind two others—accusing him of being the man who’d killed the turtle and attacked her.

  “What do you have to say about this, Chuck?” Father Donovan asked the man.

  “I say she’s a liar.”

  “We’ll let the people decide,” Heidi said, “who’s telling the truth.”

  “Fine by me,” Donovan said. “We can also let the people decide what to do with thieves and mobs. This is the second time these capitalist pigs have marched into our village just because we don’t share their bourgeois lifestyle.”

  John stepped forward. “We came,” he said, “to keep the peace.”

  “Armed with clubs?” Donovan said, pointing at John’s walking stick. “Or are those just ceremonial peacemakers?”

  “We’re not here to fight.”

  “We’re not talking to anyone who brings weapons in our camp,” Donovan declared. “We won’t be intimidated.”

  Heidi looked at John and Ryan. “Get rid of those clubs.”

  Ryan flung his stick into the woods, watching it spin until it struck a tree and cracked, but John dropped his only after Heidi gave him a long look.

  “Now we can talk in peace,” Father Donovan announced as two northerners stepped beside him and all five women moved behind him.

  Heidi took a position before the northerners, with her supporters from the Executive Council and the west village situated only a few steps to her rear—even as additional northerners arrived.

  “Apparently,” Heidi declared, “there was a fight over eggs.”

  “There was,” Donovan said.

  “And they were western district eggs.”

  “That’s not true,” the naked woman now shouted as she stepped in front of the priest.

  “I’m not going to argue the case out here,” Heidi said, “like I said, both sides will have their day in court.”

  “I’ll be there with witnesses,” the priest said.

  “With perjurers,” John scoffed, “is more like it.”

  “She attacked us,” Donovan said as he rolled his eyes, “and she fell. She needs to be a little more careful with her step. As well as with the truth.”

  “I said we’re not going to argue it out here,” Heidi said. “Chuck can return with me to New Plymouth until we can sort this thing out.”

&n
bsp; “Not likely,” Father Donovan replied.

  “This is a serious charge,” Heidi said, “and we can’t let accused criminals roam free.”

  “No grand jury has indicted him.”

  “West village did.”

  “They don’t exercise authority over us.”

  “Small Council does.”

  “Then indict her,” Donovan pointed at Lisa, “for assault and destruction of property. And the rest of these fools for trespassing.”

  “Be reasonable,” Heidi said as she took a step toward Donovan. “We just want him to come with us.”

  But the naked woman wasn’t going to allow Heidi to make an arrest and now rushed forward and shoved Heidi hard. Heidi caught the woman’s hair as both women tumbled to the ground—where the northern woman’s forehead struck a rock. The crowd stilled, except for the loud gasp of another northern woman at the sight of gushing blood.

  Before anyone could speak, all hell broke loose.

  Donovan sprang upon his opponents, knocking Sean to one side and punching Lisa in the chest. His compatriots did the same and nearly every westerner went down, except Sean and John. Sean kept to his feet after Donovan’s push, parrying the blows of a burly white man and immediately dropping his attacker with a hard blow that flattened the man’s nose against his face and loosened his front teeth. Meanwhile, John grabbed an assailant by the wrists and flung him into a tree. The northerner didn’t get up and John jumped into the melee, fighting beside Sean to aid fallen comrades—pulling the naked woman off Heidi and freeing Lisa from the weight of a broad-hipped woman who’d pinned her.

  As the brawl continued, Sean knocked the wind from a wiry Asian-Islander pulling Ryan’s hair—felling the man with three quick punches to the stomach—then whirling about and telling John to charge Donovan himself (who was helping three northern compatriots wrestle Charles to the ground). All four northerners fell under the impact of the well-timed charge and the two westerners immediately pulled Charles away, dragging him to the protection of an improvised skirmish line organized by Steve. From the rear, Jose sobbed and asked why they couldn’t live in peace.

  Just as he reached the protection of his compatriots, Sean screamed from pain. The naked woman had struck him hard in a knee with John’s discarded walking stick. He collapsed and stayed down, though John grabbed the woman before she could swing the weapon a second time and twisted her arm until she dropped the weapon—pulling her hair backwards so her throat was laid bare and her eyes welled with tears, then pushing the woman toward Donovan.