Left on Paradise (39 page)

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, without 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.”

“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.