Paradise News

by David Lodge

  I was reminded of a married couple I had known at Saddle, pillars of the parish and weekly communicants, who always chatted animatedly with me when I called on them, but who, I was reliably informed, had not spoken to each other in private for five years, ever since their only daughter got pregnant by her boyfriend and left home. I contrived to tell this story without revealing my relationship to the couple. We got talking about the permissive sexual mores of the ancient Polynesians, which Yolande described as “the kind of sexual Utopia we were all pursuing in the sixties – free love and nudity and communal childrearing. Only with them it wasn’t a pose, they really lived it. Until the haoles came along with their hang-ups and bibles and diseases.” The sailors gave the beautiful amorous women of Hawaii the pox, and the missionaries made them wear muu-muus even in the sea so they sat about in damp clothes and caught cold. In seventy years the population of the islands declined from 300,000 to 50,000. “And now Hawaiians suffer from the same sexual hang-ups as people anywhere else. Read the agony column in the Honolulu Advertiser if you doubt me. But one mustn’t idealize the Polynesians. After all, they invented the word taboo. They just attached it to different things. If you happened to eat dinner in the wrong place or with the wrong person, it could be fatal. If the king picked up your baby and it weed on him he had to either adopt it or have its brains bashed out. Human beings seem to take a perverse delight in making life more difficult for themselves than it is already.” Yolande looked at her watch. “I should go.”

  I was surprised to find how late it was. We hadn’t sobered up completely, no doubt because we drank some sake, warm rice wine, in tiny handleless porcelain cups, with the sushi. Perhaps she should take a taxi home, I suggested, as I settled the bill, tipping the chef generously.

  “No, I’m fine,” she said. “And I had to park the car so far away, I’ll walk off any remaining effects of the booze.”

  I offered to escort her to her parking place, which was near the Zoo.

  “That would be nice,” she said. “It’s kind of dark over there by the park.”

  Indeed it was, and as we walked under the trees, where couples sauntered hand in hand, or with their arms round each other’s waists, it struck me that to them we must look like just such another couple, and I sensed from Yolande’s momentary, pensive silence, that the same thought had struck her. Suddenly the companionable ease of the evening was spoiled. I felt a rush of the old familiar panic, a premonition that at any moment Yolande would suddenly stop, and pull me into her arms, and kiss me, and push her tongue between my lips, and then what, then what? So that when a few moments later she stopped and laid a hand on my arm, I jumped away as if burned. “What’s the matter?” she said. “Nothing,” I said. “I was only going to say, look at the moon.” She pointed through a gap in the trees at the bright crescent moon. “Oh,” I said. “Yes. Very nice.”

  She walked on in silence for a few moments, then stopped and rounded on me. “What’s the matter with you, Bernard? Do you think I’m trying to seduce you, or something? Hey? Is that it? You think I’m a sex-starved deserted wife whose tongue is hanging out for a screw? Is that it?”

  “No, of course not,” I said weakly. One or two couples had stopped in the shadows nearby, their interest aroused by this outburst.

  “Let me remind you that you’re the one who set this up tonight, you’re the one who pleaded with me to come out, at a half-hour’s notice.”

  “I know,” I said. “And I’m very grateful.”

  “Well you have a funny way of showing it. Like the other night, I thought we were getting on fine together, and suddenly you rushed out of the house leaving me wondering what I’d said.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It wasn’t your fault. It was me.”

  “OK. Forget it.” She closed her eyes and took some deep breaths. I watched her bosom rising and falling under her cotton dress. The people who had stopped nearby melted away. Yolande opened her eyes. “You needn’t come any further,” she said. “I can see the car from here. Goodnight, and thanks for the champagne and dinner.”

  She stuck out her hand, and like a fool I shook it, and stood rooted to the spot, watching her walk away, her skirt twirling from her hips with the energy of her stride. Like a fool I let her go, when what I should have done was to run after her, take her hand, and try to explain why I find it so difficult to have an ordinary, friendly relationship with a woman. And that for most of this evening, I came closer to achieving it than ever before in my life.

  I have had an idea, a rather wild idea. It is now half-past midnight. I am going to drive up to Yolande’s house in the Heights, and leave this journal, or confession, or whatever it is, wrapped in brown paper, in Yolande’s mailbox, or, if it’s too big to go in, propped up on her porch outside the front door. I must do it now, before I have time to change my mind, or am tempted to go through the text first, editing it and improving it. I shall write on it: “Whoso readeth, let her understand.”

  2

  * * *

  Dear Gail,

  The beach is usually more crowded than it looks in this picture. The water is nice and warm, but just swimming is boring and Dad won’t let me and Robert try surfing because he says it’s dangerous. There’s not much else to do. It was more fun at Center Parc last year.

  Best wishes,

  Mandy

  * * *

  * * *

  Dearest Des,

  Well, here we are in Hawaii! Phew is it hot! Hotel clean and quite comfortable but you have to wait about ten minutes to get into a lift at rush hours. The beach is lovely, though a bit crowded. We’ve found a nice place to drink in the evenings, outdoors with a floor show. We met an English man called Bernard on the plane who I thought would do for Dee, but he’s very shy and she doesn’t fancy him anyway. Hope you’re behaving yourself.

  All my love,

  Sue

  * * *

  * * *

  Dear Mother,

  Well, we got here, but I’m not sure it was worth the journey. Waikiki is overrated – crowded and commercialized. All Macdonalds and Kentucky Fried Chicken, just like Harlow Shopping Centre. We should have gone to one of the other islands, Maui or Kauai, but it’s too late now. Love,

  Dee

  * * *

  * * *

  Dear Denise,

  Arrived safely. This is our hotel, I have marked our balcony with a cross. It overlooks the sea. Such a beautiful place, flowers everywhere. Nothing but the best for my Mum, Terry says! Unfortunately his girl friend couldn’t come after all, so his friend Tony is keeping him company. V. hot here, doesn’t really agree with your father.

  Love,

  Mother

  * * *

  * * *

  Dearest Des,

  Met that Bernard I told you about on the beach with a friend, another English chap called Roger who I thought would do for Dee. He is bald but you can’t have everything. We went out on a Sunset Cruise with him (Bernard couldn’t come), on this sailing boat, sails set by computer, ever so romantic, but Dee got seasick and I had to talk to Roger all the time, or rather listen to him, he’s a university lecturer, likes the sound of his own voice. Better luck next time. Wish you were here,

  Lots of love,

  Sue

  * * *

  * * *

  Dear Greg,

  This is the famous Waikiki beach. Haven’t seen much of it yet – been catching up on our sleep (nudge, nudge). How did you make out with the chief bridesmaid after the reception? Or were you too p----d?

  Cheers,

  Russ

  * * *

  Paradise Bakery

  Paradise Dental

  Paradise Jet Ski

  Paradise Redicab

  Paradise Yacht Sales

  Paradise Erectors

  Paradise Chapel

  Paradise Ferrari and Lamborghini

  Paradise Antique Arts

  Paradise Video

  Paradise Pets

  Dear Sir,<
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  I am currently enjoying, if that is the mot juste, which I venture to doubt, a holiday provided by your company at the Hawaiian Beachcomber Hotel, Waikiki.

  Your brochure states quite unambiguously that the hotel is “five minutes” from Waikiki beach. I have explored every possible route between the hotel and the beach, and my son and I have independently timed these journeys on digital stopwatches. The fastest time either of us achieved was 7.6 minutes, and that was carried out at a brisk pace, early in the morning, when the pavements were comparatively uncrowded, and the traffic lights at pedestrian crossings favourable.

  A normal family, carrying the usual accoutrements for a day on the beach, would take at least twelve minutes to get from the hotel lobby to the nearest point on the beach. The brochure is deeply misleading and seriously inaccurate, and I hereby give you notice of my intention to claim an appropriate rebate on the cost of the holiday. I will correspond with you again on my return to the UK.

  Yours faithfully,

  Harold Best

  * * *

  Dearest Des,

  We went snorkelling here with Roger yesterday. You can hire the equipment and a little waterproof camera to photograph the fish. There are thousands of fish, but also thousands of snorkellers, and a lot of bread floating about in the water, that they give you to feed the fish. Dee said it was disgusting and refused to go in, so I ended up feeding the fish while Roger took pictures. Better luck next time.

  Much love,

  Sue

  * * *

  Draft intro: The categorization of tourist motivation into either “wanderlust” or “sunlust” (Gray, 1970) is unsatisfactory, as is Mercer’s suggestion of a taxonomy of holidays based on “monotony reduction” (Mercer, 1976). A sounder typology is based upon the binary opposition culture/nature. Two basic types of holiday may be discriminated, according to whether they emphasize exposure to culture or nature: the holiday as pilgrimage and the holiday as paradise. The former is typically represented by the bussed sightseeing tour of famous cities, museums, châteaux, etc. (Sheldrake, 1984); the latter by the beach resort holiday, in which the subject strives to get back to a state of nature, or prelapsarian innocence, pretending to do without money (by signing chits, using credit cards or, as in Club Med villages, plastic popper beads), indulging in physical rather than mental pursuits, and wearing the minimum of clothing. The first type of holiday is essentially mobile or dynamic, and strives towards fitting the maximum number of sights into the time available. The latter is essentially static, striving towards a kind of timeless, repetitive routine typical of primitive societies (Lévi-Strauss, 1967, p. 49).

  [Note: Apparently Club Med failed to establish itself in Hawaii. Why?]

  Dear Joanna,

  What can I say? I was so ashamed and embarrassed, I couldn’t even bring myself to phone you afterwards. You must regret ever having agreed to be my chief bridesmaid. I shall never forgive Russ, never. Our marriage is over before it began. I haven’t spoken to him since the reception. When we get back to England, I shall begin divorce proceedings.

  You are probably surprised to get this letter from Hawaii, but it isn’t really a honeymoon. We sleep in separate beds and communicate by note or through third parties. I look on it as a holiday, one I saved for and looked forward to for months. I didn’t see why I should give it up as well as have my wedding ruined. And to have cancelled it at the last moment would have meant losing most of what we paid in advance. I looked up our holiday insurance, but it doesn’t cover cancellation for adultery. Well, I know it wasn’t strictly speaking adultery, since we weren’t married at the time, but we were engaged, and living together.

  How could he do it, and with that slut Brenda of all people? And then invite her to the wedding. That was the last straw.

  We go our different ways each day. I spend most of my time by the hotel pool – I prefer it to the beach, it’s less crowded and there’s more shade and you can order drinks and snacks. I don’t know where he goes, and I don’t care. Perhaps he’s picked up another little tart somewhere, another Brenda, but I don’t think so. He stays in most evenings and watches TV.

  Write back if this gets to you in time. Don’t suppose it will.

  Love,

  Cecily

  * * *

  Dear Stuart,

  Thought it would make your day to find this dusky beauty on your desk. Fine pair, eh? Reminds me of Shirley’s Tracey, in the old days at Pringle’s. Actually, Hawaii’s a bit of a sell as far as tit goes. Not a patch on Corfu. The Yank talent believe in keeping their bikini tops on. Pity. Waste of videotape. But hotel is comfortable, grub generous and weather hot. Don’t work too hard.

  Brian

  * * *

  * * *

  Dear Gail,

  We went snorkelling here yesterday. Lots of brightly coloured fish, very tame, they come right up to you. Daddy got sunburned all down his back and the backs of his legs. He can’t straighten his knees and has to walk about with them bent. It hasn’t improved his temper.

  With love,

  Mandy

  * * *

  Dear Sir,

  May I suggest that, in future, when the soi-disant instructor in charge of snorkelling equipment hire under your auspices informs customers of the dangers of sunburn, he makes clear that it is possible to get burned in the water as well as out of it?

  Yours faithfully,

  Harold Best

  Paradise Finance Inc.

  Paradise Sportswear

  Paradise Supply Inc.

  Paradise Beauty and Barber Supplies

  Paradise Beverages

  Paradise Puppets

  Paradise Snorkel Adventures

  Paradise Tinting

  Paradise Cleaning and Maintenance Service

  Paradise Parking

  * * *

  Dear Pete,

  This is the best bit of Hawaii so far. First you get to see a film about the Jap bombing of Pearl Harbor (that’s how they spell it here). Old newsreel, but quite interesting. Then you take a naval boat out to the wreck of the Arizona. You can look down through the water at the gun turrets. It’s called a war grave, so you’re not allowed to eat food there.

  Best wishes,

  Robert

  * * *

  * * *

  Dear Jimmy,

  What d’you know, an English pub in Hawaii! Proper draught pulls, but unfortunately they’re connected up to American beer, all gas and no flavour, and bottled Guinness costs about £2 a half-pint. Still, it’s a home from home. And in this heat you work up quite a thirst.

  Cheers,

  Sidney

  * * *

  * * *

  Dear Boys,

  Having a good time in Hawaii. We’ve been too a luau, that’s a kind of Hawaiian barbecue, and on a Sunset Cruise, and visited the Polynesian Cultural Center (v. interesting) and Waimea Falls Park (lovely trees and birds) and Pearl Harbor (v. sad). Your father is using up lots of videotape, as you can imagine. I hope you are remembering to lock up every night – and remember, no parties.

  Love from,

  Mum and Dad

  * * *

  * * *

  Dear Stuart,

  Funny, I’d forgotten Pearl Harbor was in Hawaii. Very instructional tour. Did you ever see that film, Tora! Tora!? Apparently it cost the Americans more to make it than it cost the Japs to actually bomb the place. Thought you’d like to know the little yellow buggers were undercutting us even that long ago.

  Best,

  Brian

  * * *

  * * *

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  Having a lovely time here, apart from a few niggles about the hotel (Harold is writing to the company). Waikiki is more built-up than we expected, but quite nice. Cleaner than Marbella. Spotless toilets. The children love the water.

  Love,

  Florence

  * * *

  Dear Stuart,

  Thank Christ there’s a fax machine in this hote
l. You know I was joking about trying to sell our surplus sunbeds here? Well, believe it or not somebody wants to buy them. Don’t ask me why. I suppose it must be some kind of tax dodge for him too. Or else he’s setting up a tanning parlour as a cover for a brothel, he seems a shady sort of character. Name of Louie Mosca. I met him in a topless bar called Dirty Dan’s down by the docks – me and another British bloke, Sidney, ditched our wives and sloped off for a bit of a stag night, or rather stag afternoon. I was in a mild state of tit-starvation, to tell you the truth, they don’t even have page three girls in the newspapers out here. He was sitting at the end of the catwalk, knocking back beers from the bottle and stuffing ten-dollar bills down the girls’ knickers like there was no tomorrow. We got talking, and I told him what line of business I was in, and how I was in Hawaii to sell off the sunbeds – somehow I didn’t want to admit to being a tourist, not in a dive like that – and he said how much? Not thinking for a moment that he was serious, I quoted him a silly price, shipping included, and he shook hands on it there and then. I suppose I’d had a fair number of jars myself. Now I look into it, we wouldn’t even recover the shipping costs. So send us a fax, sharpish, will you, saying that we can’t get an export licence, so I can cancel the deal. Thanks.