Left on Paradise

by Kirk Adams

  “Do you actually mean,” Ryan asked, red-faced in anger, “we should reward them for being sociopaths?”

  “What I mean to say,” the sociologist’s words came out slow and deliberate as his hands moved in perfect cadence to his speech, “is that we need to fix the underlying causes of their behavior. To address root causes. Our choice is between a war on people or a war on poverty. I choose compassion.”

  Ryan turned to the assembly.

  “And how often,” Ryan asked, “will we need to repeat this gesture? If we give in to their violence, not only will we never escape threats but they themselves will be destroyed in a vicious cycle of dependency upon the public dole.”

  An Asian woman from the south camp jumped to her feet. “Oh lord,” she cried out, “Ryan has morphed into Newt Gingrich.”

  “Gingrich,” Ryan shouted, “wanted to starve the poor. I only want to stop thuggery.”

  Another woman’s voice rang out, this one from the northern village. “The new Newt.”

  A third voice repeated her words. “The new Newt.”

  A moment later, hecklers from the south and north neighborhoods were chanting, “New Newt. New Newt.”

  Ryan seethed with anger and humiliation, but sat when Heidi returned to the podium. It took her several minutes to settle the crowd.

  “Ryan is no Newt Gingrich,” she said, “but it’s clear there are two distinct paths before us. Do we wish to make an inquiry into this incident to punish it or initiate relief efforts? Or do we wish to do both? Or neither? I suggest we take motions for formal consideration.”

  Heidi’s proposal was seconded and carried.

  The next motion was made by a black-haired man, perhaps thirty years old, from the south—who handed a baby to a nearby woman before standing to speak.

  “I wanted to say,” the black-haired man said, “while I don’t agree with their violence, I understand the desperation that motivated the northerners. I’ve heard men and women of my own neighborhood speak harsh words against other islanders since our lives took a turn for the worse. I recommend we forgive them for a bad solution to an even worse problem.”

  A couple neighbors applauded and a tall Latino from the south village stood.

  “I agree with Jon,” the southern Latino said. “Let’s make a clean start.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” a man from the east village shouted as he too stood.

  Everyone looked to the speaker from the east village.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Alan repeated himself, “because you’re no better than they are. Some men steal with guns; others use the law. You’ve just confiscated our property and our labor, so it doesn’t bother you at all to see laziness rewarded. You people chose the life of nomads, so sleep in the rain. And they chose dope, so let them eat marijuana brownies.”

  A dozen east villagers laughed and a few gave Alan high fives.

  A blonde in her thirties sitting with the delegation from New Plymouth now stood. She wore ragged clothes and showed thin hair chopped unevenly around her shoulders. It was Janine Erikson, the staff psychologist, who now spoke.

  “There are two sides to charity,” Dr. Erikson said. “One is the need of those who receive public assistance. All of us can agree that there is such a need even if we disagree about the causes of the crisis. The hungrier the northerners become, the more likely they are to erupt into violence. Why else do you think the elder Bush sent food to Somalia? It sure wasn’t compassion. He didn’t care about Afro-Americans, let alone Afro-Africans. Still, we also need to consider the effects of charity on what used to be called our own souls. As a materialist and a scientific psychologist, I’m not much of a believer in eternal souls, but I do have faith that generosity makes an impact upon our own lives. What drew me to the political left was its ability to make me a better person. I grew up trick-or-treating for UNICEF and sponsoring walk-a-thons for breast cancer and AIDS research. For the last few months, none of us have lacked for anything truly necessary and already it seems that our love grows cold. We who willingly endured heaps of bureaucratic waste and corruption in the United States hoping against hope that the smallest sliver of our taxes—months of labor, I hasten to add—might reach those in need now are quarreling over a day’s work to help our immediate neighbors. We’ve proven ourselves worse than the Amish—who pay federal taxes without collecting benefits and still sweat willingly for their kith and kin.”

  Everyone listened, some with teary eyes and others with burning cheeks.

  “We need,” the psychologist continued, “to help our neighbors whether or not they’ve made their own mess. None of us really believed welfare mothers and drug addicts were completely without blame, no matter what we were forced to declare in public. We simply insisted on forgiveness and a new start rather than starvation or jail or workhouses. Mistakes have been made and crimes committed, but I don’t see why we can’t assist needy neighbors to stop this cancer before it grows. I propose that ...”

  Here the psychologist took a minute to choose her words. “I propose,” she said, “we both build a barn for the northerners and fill it with food and at the same time punish anyone who instigated violence and terror, of whatever camp he or she might be.”

  Heads nodded and hands clapped as the slight-framed woman finished speaking. Within seconds, a dozen settlers seconded her motion, cast their votes, and accepted the final proposal by a margin of fifty votes. Even a few northerners voted for it.

  “Now we’re showing the world how to live,” the psychologist told the crowd after the votes were tallied. “I’d like to propose we build the house tomorrow. If everyone helps, we can finish it in a day or two and have this problem solved.”

  “Does,” Dr. Erikson asked, “the west neighborhood object?”

  “We accept your proposal,” Ryan announced after a short consultation with west villagers, “to keep the entire island involved in this matter and we volunteer a month’s rations. We also suggest another month’s stores be taken from the central reserves for our neighbors to the north. All we ask is that the assault on Lisa be treated seriously and northerners respect our territorial limits and environmental protections.”

  “They say good fences make good neighbors,” the psychologist said. “I propose we accept your proposal and request that members of the Small Council confirm border markings between the two territories while the rest of the assembly builds the longhouse.”

  The crowd voiced its approval with scattered applause and words of encouragement as Ryan signaled for the floor.

  “I’d also like to suggest,” Ryan said, “we establish a clear procedure for dealing with poaching. Maybe set up a Department of Natural Resources.”

  “Good point,” Dr. Erikson said, “but let’s take this one issue at a time. First, let’s vote on the rations. How many of you vote to stock the north neighborhood with one month’s rations and to accept the west neighborhood’s offer of one month’s food?”

  The vote was unanimous in favor of the proposal.

  “Now I need a vote on setting up territorial lines in the north. All those in favor say yea.”

  The crowd thundered its yea.

  “Nay?”

  A couple voices protested.

  Dr. Erikson gave a thumbs up.

  “Very good,” the psychologist said, “help is on the way. Now for the criminal matters. I’d like to say I’m personally offended by the behavior of Father Donovan and some of his camp followers. According to Lisa’s testimony, they assaulted a woman, destroyed a protected species, and poached from their neighbor’s property. And we know from the Small Council’s own testimony they attacked a peaceful delegation in defiance of public authority. I propose we punish Donovan with a month’s exile for inciting a riot and Chuck a month for assaulting a woman. The other two should be given a week for poaching.”

  Donovan jumped to his feet.

  “Slander and lies,” the priest shouted, “there are no witnesses and there is n
o proof.”

  “You admit,” Heidi looked straight at him, “you ate turtle eggs, right?”

  “From our beaches.”

  “Then I suggest we go to your side of the beach to find one of the empty nests. If it’s there, we’ll commute your sentence to time served. If not, we’ll double it.”

  Donovan said nothing.

  “I know the place,” the psychologist testified, “where the nests were robbed and I guarantee they were within the western district. In fact, the only turtle nests on the entire island belong to the west neighborhood.”

  A dozen settlers clapped hard and Donovan sat down.

  “Poaching isn’t a crime,” Jason said as he stood. “You can’t punish us ex post facto. It’s unconstitutional.”

  “What constitution are you speaking of?” Heidi asked. “We know no law but this people’s will. We’re not slaves to the political ideals and legal fictions of Puritan fanatics, Yankee traders, and Southern slavers. This assembly is the law and the constitution and the king and the sovereign. What we do is good and right and legal.”

  “We came,” Jason shouted, “to preserve more rights than Americans, not fewer.”

  “We also came for love and harmony,” Charles said as he stood to speak, “but you’ve proven yourselves exploiters rather than idealists, wreckers rather than builders. Do what you wish with your free time, but you need to support yourselves. We don’t have infinite reserves or indefinite patience.”

  Jason sat down.

  “The northerners,” Charles continued, “have turned a tropical paradise into a slum which we westerners now must support by our own sweat—not with the taxes of the idle rich, mind you, but the sweat and work of honest liberals. We’re glad to help once again, but this island is under no obligation to support its lumpenproletariat forever. Even Marx and Lenin understood that. Burn your marijuana till the smoke steams out your ass for all I care, but make sure you’ve provided for the munchies to follow.”

  Now a cascade of voices and hands were raised. Half the island spoke their mind and almost all agreed the northerners had crossed the line. While some talked of peace and love and others of class obligation, everyone agreed Donovan and his compatriots merited discipline both for their own benefit and as a public example. However, a number of voices from south and north protested that the proposed punishment was too severe and justice needed to be tempered with mercy. Ryan and Charles protested clemency, but were outvoted and eventually it was decided Donovan should be sent to temporary exile (or timeout, as some preferred to call the punishment) to Big Motu Island for three weeks with no more than dried food, fresh water, and a few tools. The priest was to be denied recreational drugs for the first week of his sentence. Chuck was warned not to break the law again on pain of similar punishment while Jason was judged a little more harshly given the fact he was a repeat offender and betrayer of former neighbors: he was sentenced to two weeks on a small motu with minimal rations and no drugs and fined three ounces of marijuana (to be handed over for medicinal use).

  However, when weather experts objected that even a light squall might wash Jason to sea, his sentence was commuted to a seven-day timeout at New Plymouth with his ration reduced to coconut and breadfruit for the full week. In addition, he was to be tied to a public bench with a loose rope and draped with a placard declaring him a thief. In light of Jason’s reduced sentence, it also was decided to exonerate Lisa for her defense of nature against Chuck’s eco-violence (though the assembly explicitly rejected the young woman’s misbegotten and heretical belief that fetal life of any species whatsoever might possess intrinsic value). Lisa was warned to submit future complaints to public authority for litigation, no matter how serious any particular concern might seem.

  Once sentences were ratified, the assembly broke into quiet murmuring and scattered applause. Then the charter was recited as prescribed and Heidi spent several minutes reminding everyone to gather at the north camp early in the morning, as well as to bring provisions and tools sufficient for the task. As soon as the meeting ended, Jason was taken to New Plymouth for detention and Father Donovan was ferried across the lagoon in a motorized launch. Jason was provided an empty tent and a wool blanket while Donovan was allowed a sleeping bag, a pup tent, a hand ax, and a tin of matches—as well as appropriate supplies of food and water. Neither man required a guard and the detail sent to deliver Donovan to the motu returned home shortly after dusk.

  32

  An Indian Summer of Love

  Most islanders arrived at the north village by midmorning, soon after the LCVP landed with a quarter-ton of construction materials and food supplies—though the first westerners arrived before breakfast, only to find northerners still sleeping off a late night party. Sean woke the slow-rising northerners while Jose prepared something to eat. In the meantime, Ryan directed west villagers to organize a construction site in a meadow close to shore. The westerners worked fast under his command, locating and cataloguing every tool and common supply they could find in the district—from saws found rusting in fruit orchards to vegetable seeds discovered rotting in damp packets. Tools were cleaned and blades sharpened—despite gibes from westerners that northerners might more seriously hurt themselves (or others) with sharpened axes and knives.

  When the staff from New Plymouth arrived in the landing craft, the professional staff took charge of the day’s work and reassigned Ryan to manual labor. Throughout the morning, construction materials were hauled from the landing craft and carried to the meadow. Postholes were dug and the ground between them smoothed while fast-drying concrete was mixed and poured around fifteen-foot poles positioned in deep holes. Meanwhile, while some islanders raised the barn’s frame, others cut a trail toward a distant fruit grove and dug a drainage ditch in the vicinity of a bog. When the day drew to a close, the islanders divided into small groups for dinner and later found places to sleep under the stars. Only a few returned home.

  The second day, even more progress was made. The barn’s frame was finished early—and walls subsequently nailed to the timber poles. By noon, thatched grass cut the previous day was hung from the roof and banana leaves picked that very morning were lined in freshly dug food cellars. After lunch, workers filled the barn with crates of dried foods brought by LCVP and sacks of fresh fruit picked from district orchards. Mangos, limes, kiwi, papayas, pineapple, and sugar cane were brought in burlap bags and set on shelves while bags of coconuts and breadfruit were dumped into food bins. Several watermelons were rolled to a corner and strips of salted shark (donated by the professional staff) were hung from the ceiling. Even the stock of seeds was replenished. A month’s supply of firewood was stacked neatly in the barn and a temporary latrine was dug near the swamp.

  As the barn filled, several workers were reassigned to decontaminate a maggot-infested cesspool only a few feet from the camp’s sole freshwater stream. The pit was covered with heaps of clean dirt and marked as a toxic waste site (slated for future cleanup) and a narrow canal was dug to divert the stream further from the toxic cesspool—to prevent underground seepage and pollution. Other detoxification efforts included: the pulling down of two filthy shacks, the burning of a mold-filled shed, and the scrubbing of the longhouse with salt-water and sand until it no longer stank. By late afternoon, work was finished and dinner drawn from individual rations while Kit and a southern woman mixed vats of tea sweetened with lemon squeezings and sugar cane.

  Shortly before dusk, a dedication was offered for the new barn, with the vast majority of the islanders participating in the formalities. Ryan himself sloshed a little champagne over the barn before passing the bottle for drinking. After taking a sip, Heidi climbed atop a stump to deliver a speech.

  “Once again,” Heidi said, “we’ve risen beyond adversity to accomplish a great thing. We’ve united north and south and rich and poor. Thank all of you so very much. Do we want to do this for the south neighborhood too?”

  A few cheers rang out.

  A southe
rn woman raised her hand.

  “Thanks just the same,” the southern woman said, “but we have our food and we need only a building to house our children. Adults can make do in our temporary quarters for a few days.”

  “Any objections?” Heidi said as she looked to the east villagers.

  “Can we delay that new construction for a week or so?” Alan asked. “We’ve lost three days already and need to catch up at home.”

  “You’ll let the children stay with you till the south’s new building is ready?”

  Alan sighed loud.

  “Fine,” Alan said, “we’ll raise one building as soon as possible—for the children. But then we need to be left alone to work our own projects. Does that work?”

  The southern woman said it worked well and Heidi looked to the assembly for concurrence. Most heads nodded, so she approved the request and announced a return to normalcy as the islanders broke into spontaneous applause and Dr. Morales climbed atop the stump.

  “I have another proposal,” the anthropologist said. “As you know, I’ve made some effort at establishing contact with our indigenous friends at Roanoke Island. Well, I’ve finally decoded some of their turtle shell carvings and discovered their harvest feast comes several days after the coming new moon—which is less than two weeks away as I reckon the calendar. The feast is devoted to their goddess of life and is celebrated by a great banquet. I’d like to send emissaries to observe the feast so we can learn their religion.”

  “Learn what?” John shouted from the crowd. “To worship their gods?”

  “When in Rome,” the anthropologist nodded, “is the anthropologist’s first commandment.”

  “I’m not bowing to any damned idols,” John said a bit too loud as he looked at Deidra. Several people standing close to him inched away.

  “Of course not,” Dr. Morales replied, “no one can be made to do anything. We’ll take only volunteers to the island. But I need to tell you up front that I’ve not only been required to venerate idols, but even to induce hallucinogens to enhance my cultural studies. I had a mentor who ate the ground bones of Yanomami tribesmen from the Amazon forests.”