Left on Paradise (40 page)

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.”

“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.

“Enough of this nonsense,” John shouted.

“Let her go,” Donovan screamed.

“We came in peace and you started war. We fought with fists and she used a weapon.”

Donovan and his fellows slowly circled the westerners with an enveloping move, so John pulled the woman’s hair until she cried out.

“That’s close enough. You want to fight man-to-man, it’s fine with me. Let our women go in peace and send your women home. Then we can fight it out.”

“No one goes anywhere till she’s free,” Donovan said.

“That’s fine with me,” John answered as he pushed the woman toward Donovan, causing two men to jump back for fear of being knocked over. As they jumped away, John darted forward and grabbed the walking stick lying before them and raised it over his shoulder.

“This battle is over.”

When two northerners sprang forward, John swung the stick hard. The weapon brushed just past the face of one man and over the ducked head of the other. Both men retreated.

“Get out of our camp,” Donovan shouted.

The westerners and councilors backed from the north village until they reached the safety of the woods. Only then did they walk single-file back home—with John and Steve comprising a rear guard. Jose helped Ryan with Sean (whose knee already was swollen and stiff) by providing a shoulder to share the burden of weight. Hilary sprinted ahead to post a warning and Lisa ran to New Plymouth to summon help.

Before dark fell, the sound of an emergency siren wailed from atop Mount Zion even as the westerners recovered in the sanctuary of their village—where they made plans and treated wounds. Within half an hour, Sean’s knee was immobilized with an air cast to await further medical attention and a cold rag was packed against Charles’s loose tooth. Nothing could be done beyond some cleaning for John’s torn knuckles, Ryan’s bruised cheek, Steve’s swollen eye, and Heidi’s bruised scalp. Triage was administered and coffee brewed.

Lisa returned three hours after dark and announced that an emergency meeting was planned for the next morning. In fact, the entire state had been mobilized and every islander summoned, regardless of circumstance. Only the very sick would be excused from duty (with labor fines to be levied on villages with absent members). The first emergency session of the General Will of the People had been called. Viet and Brent were posted as guards that night—both men armed with clubs in case the northsmen attempted further violence.

31

Protests, Rights, and Wrongs

By midmorning, thirty-five islanders assembled at the west village and another dozen straggled in a short time later. Members of the Executive Council established a staging area near the beach where unopened cases of MREs, wool blankets, and food supplies were motored in by boat. By noon, half of the citizenry was congregated, many of them sullen or shocked from yesterday’s violence and others nervous with excitement. Some also grieved the dead child.

Kit and Heather prepared a kettle of vegetable soup for lunch while Tiffany and Linh served flatbread loaves baked earlier that morning. Ursula mixed a vat of fruit punch and Heather arranged trays of sliced citrus. Jars of jam were unsealed and a cask of red wine was cracked open. Less than an hour into the afternoon, lunch was finished and dishes cleaned. Only then did sixty-five (mostly) silent citizens of the state of Paradise vote by clear majority to restore law and order. Since both popular sentiment and the lease with Russia precluded organizing a military force, the militia was mustered as the Gendarme of the General Will of the People.

Half of the fighters, among them most of the men and some of the tougher women, armed themselves with hastily sharpened spears and thick-handled clubs. Others—excepting only war protesters like Jose—filled bags of rocks with stone missiles, though several citizens contented themselves with carrying emergency medical supplies. Six women (including Heather and Kit) volunteered to tend children and prepare food at the west camp and Sean was assigned guard duty when he proved unable to walk without a staff. Though Sean protested his assignment to rear duty, Viet and Brent convinced him that the column needed to move fast to catch the north village napping and that an effective guard really was required at the west village.

Soon, the militia counted off and divided into two columns for the march north, moving two abreast along the trail until they arrived at the outskirts of the northern village—where the columns wheeled apart and encircled the village before northern resistance could be organized. Since the northsmen hadn’t posted pickets, they were caught completely unawares, most of them napping. Only a few exiles living in the woods realized what was occurring and they neither resisted nor sounded the alarm. In fact, two men among them fell in with the militia. It was only when the first volley of stones crashed into the longhouse that the northsmen realized their predicament, surrendered their weapons, and permitted themselves to be separated into small groups for the march south. None dared resist.

By late afternoon, ninety-five citizens of Paradise were seated by district in the great tent pitched at New Plymouth—western plaintiffs and northern defendants sitting to the front and only a handful of citizens excused from attendance. The Executive Council and professional staff faced the citizenry and a platform was raised from which Heidi spoke. The tent soon warmed, but no one murmured—and the entire assembly remained subdued while oaths were sworn and the charter proclaimed as the General Will of the People reconstituted itself for the second time in a day, now with its full complement of citizens. Children were kept in place with sharp words and short tugs of ears while babies were quieted with goat milk and bits of broken bread. Rumors circulated with whispers and gasps.

Heidi surveyed her audience until every citizen stilled.

“Let’s not beat around the bush,” Heidi declared. “We have issues that require immediate resolution.”

No one objected.

“The south neighborhood,” Heidi said, “requires assistance. Many of you know we lost a child this week; Peregrine White died of the flu. What you might not know is we nearly lost two others. Doctor Graves says our tents are killing our young ones and we don’t have enough time to build houses. We’re asking the east village for its help.”

An east villager stood. “What can we do?”

“We’d like to move our children,” Heidi answered, “into some of your buildings till the flu passes.”

A collective groan rang from the east village.

“We understand it’ll be inconvenient,” Heidi said, “but our children are dying and someone needs to help. What did we come here for except to help one another?”

It was Alan who had stood.

“We’ve built our homes,” Alan said, “while your people roamed the forest like animals. And now you want to bring your children into our houses with vomit and diarrhea and germs? How fair is that? Should we suffer for your poor planning?”

Now the groans came from the south.

“All we need,” a southern man said, “are a couple buildings. Even your barn would work.”

“Just one building,” Heidi begged, “until we can build our own.”

Alan folded his arms across his chest. “How long,” he asked, “will that take?”

“A week or two.”

“We can raise a house in less than three days.”

When Heidi asked Alan if he was volunteering, Alan conferred with his neighbors for several minutes before answering.

“We’ll loan you,” Alan said, “a warm barn for your children and send a dozen workers to build a house. We can frame a simple building large enough to hold six children and six adults in a day or two—complete with a thatched roof and walls. That’s more than enough space and we can’t afford anything more if our own schedules are to be met. We have plans for rainy season.”

Heidi asked if the children could be sent immediately and Alan consented. Scattered applause greeted the compromise and Heidi expressed her gratitude before announcing it time to discuss the main item—a dispute between the west and north neighborhoods. Heated protests sounded from the northerners and cold silence from the west neighborhood as she began discussion.

“Yesterday,” Heidi said, “there was fighting between the north and west villages. Several people were injured.”

Father Donovan jumped to his feet.

“Let me speak,” the priest said, not waiting for permission to speak as he pushed his way through the crowd. “Some of you know me and others may not. My name is Father Gerald Killian Donovan and I’ve been selected to represent my neighborhood in this dispute.”

“You are the dispute,” Hilary shouted from the crowd.

Donovan signaled for quiet with the sweep of a hand.

“Our neighborhood,” Father Donovan said, “was given the worst territory on this whole island. We have less land and fewer trees than anyone else. Our creek isn’t enough to piss in and our beach is fishless. We’re out of coconuts and breadfruit and reduced to eating flour mash twice a day. Mind you, we don’t resent the affluence of the west neighborhood—with its rich fishing grounds and ripe fruit orchards—but we don’t have those things and can’t have them where we’re at.”

“Let them eat dope,” a woman shouted from the west.

“In any case,” Donovan continued, “we’re making it, even though we have to spend more time scavenging food than any other village on this island—which, I might add, is fouling up our own building plans. I’ve known Nicaraguan peasants who had an easier go of it than we do. And that under the tyrant Somoza.”

Someone shouted that they’d been given food reserves and Father Donovan turned red.

“To tell the truth,” the priest explained as his face reddened a little, “we stacked ours on the beach, but the tide came in further than we expected and everything washed to sea. Our entire supply was on that beach. It’ll likely wash up on Christmas Island, or thereabouts, in a few months.”

“How much dope did you lose?”

“We were lucky,” Father Donovan replied, even redder in the face than before, “it was stored in the barn.”

Some in the crowd jeered while others just shook their heads.

“Two days ago,” Father Donovan continued, “my neighbors and friends were gathering food. We’re hungry and we need protein badly, so they decided to collect a few eggs. Not that anyone wanted to, but necessity required it.”

Sean laughed out loud and Olivia cursed—though a southern woman shouted for them to mind their manners.

“My friends tell me they went to Turtle Beach,” Donovan said, “where they found two dozen eggs on our side of the border, which is why some of my neighbors mistakenly said we collected them from the tip of the island. I can’t discount one or two nests might have straddled the border or been a few feet across it, but I guess Chuck thought of the west more as good neighbors than trade rivals. None of us ever expected them to be so territorial. So possessive. We’re just hoping they don’t want to set up checkpoints and border guards. Or issue passports and make us fill out visas and work permits.”

A few settlers laughed, mostly from the south.

“Lisa,” Donovan continued, “called them poachers and knocked the food from their hands. Chuck says he stepped on a broken egg while trying to avoid an uncracked one when she slammed into him. He still has a knot on his head from the rock he struck. The next thing we know, a mob of westerners arrive at our camp threatening us. We were scared and when they came with reinforcements yesterday, what were we to think? Everyone knows they’re prejudiced against our lifestyle. We thought they were coming to destroy our village—which they call a tropical slum. We don’t have much, but we have the right to keep what little we possess. And we’re not ashamed to say we’d fight for it.”

“We’re sorry about the injuries,” Donovan said as he stepped forward and spoke a little less loud, though everyone who listened heard. “Things got out of hand, but I’m still not sure who started the fighting. Do with me what you think best, but give my village justice. All we need is a piece of good land and a few decent trees.”

Heidi stepped forward. “The northsmen,” she declared, “attacked Small Council without warning or reason. All we intended to do was bring Chuck here for your judgment.”

“Armed men marched on our village,” Donovan shouted. “What were we to think? You weren’t there a day earlier when we were threatened by your western compatriots. It felt like a death squad coming for us.”

After Ryan stood and asked to speak, Heidi gave him the floor and the former actor wasted no time with formalities or frivolities.

“To begin with,” Ryan said, “the northsmen raided our land. They were told to keep from Turtle Beach. Jason—who was with them—knew perfectly well the beach was ours and the turtles under our protection.”

Applause erupted from the west neighborhood.

“Second,” Ryan continued, “Lisa admits she attacked Chuck, but only under provocation. He refused to return the turtle eggs to their nests and deliberately crushed a protected fetal turtle with his bare foot.”

No one stirred, neither west nor north.

“Third,” Ryan said, “we were on a peaceful mission and didn’t hold weapons when we were attacked yesterday. We even threw our walking sticks away—only to be clubbed with them. As Heidi noted, our goal was to detain the aggressor for trial. We were public servants on official business and the northsmen attacked us.”

A couple northerners hooted, though most remained quiet.

“The fact is we’ve reached a crisis in this enterprise,” Ryan continued, “and violent men are using intimidation to force themselves over us. They’ve become lazy and lethargic and their bellies are hungry. As for their complaints about land, I was the one who laid out the districts. To be sure, there are minute differences between the neighborhoods since we’re living on a tropical island rather than in a suburban subdivision; but this island can support three or four times the present population without serious cultivation. If the northsmen planted just a little corn or wheat with their dope or fished at dawn, they’d be able to satisfy their hunger.”

Catcalls came from the north neighborhood as Ryan turned to the entire General Will of the People—now projecting his voice as loud as he could.

“Today you have a choice,” Ryan shouted. “It’s up to each of you to decide whether we’ll tolerate northern fascism or whether the rule of law will prevail.”

Scattered applause greeted the conclusion of Ryan’s speech and he returned to his own people as Heidi stood to ask who wished to speak next and several people raised their hands. One woman seconded Ryan’s motion and another sided with Donovan. Two men declared themselves to be unable to sort out the facts of the case and Jose declared he’d vote only for a peaceful solution. A gray-haired feminist reminded the assembly not to overstate the value of a fetal turtle only a minute removed from its shell.

The staff sociologist then took the podium.

“We sound like conservatives,” Dr. Law said, “fixing blame, advocating law, and judging morality. How can we forget our principles? Are we a mob of gossips judging and condemning our neighbors? I should hope not.”

The crowd stilled as the sociologist continued.

“What we have here,” Dr. Law explained, “is a classic case of policy-driven human conflict: two competing cultures are clashing over the press of resources and respect. On one hand, the northerners who emigrated to this place came looking for the fullest possible expression of liberty. And that freedom is represented to them in the legal cultivation and enjoyment of marijuana. On the other hand, the west neighborhood values material progress and success—a more bourgeois form of secularity. Everyone knows how adept they’ve become in the cultivation of crops and the gathering of the fruits of the earth.”

The sociologist took a breath before continuing.