Children of Paradise: A Novel (20 page)

On another occasion on the
Coffee
, this time with Trina able to accompany her to the capital, the captain stops the boat at the halfway point to let passengers stretch their legs, and he takes Joyce for a walk while the first mate shows Trina how to make animals and birds by twisting and knotting bamboo leaves. The captain leads Joyce along a winding path, and at one point he stops and picks up from the path what looks like a squiggly stick, and he flings it away smartly and Joyce looks at how the stick becomes nimble and flexes and a head sprouts and a tongue tastes the air and it lands and wriggles out of sight into the undergrowth.

—Is it poisonous?

—No, but the bite’s nasty.

They come to a clearing with a sky scraped clean and the two of them are under the bowl of this sky hollowed from trees. He tells her to imagine a gallery or museum in a city with the two of them let loose in it and given the run of it for an hour. First, she should close her eyes and listen to all the sounds around her. She says she hears the river and some parrots and a lone woodpecker chopping a tree.

—What else?

She cannot tell him that she hears her breathing and his, her heart so loud that it could be his.

—What else?

Now she stands as still as she can and holds her breath or slows it to a trickle of air and focuses on her ears.

—I can’t hear anything. I feel you near me and I can only think of you next to me and I imagine it is you that I can hear, your breathing.

He says what she takes for her body, her breath, and her heart, and his body, breath, and heart is, in fact, the lungs and the pulse of the forest, the trees and every living thing in it. And for an instant her body loses its usual parameters and disperses among the trees and vines and flowers and insects, animals, and birds. She could not explain it if pressed, but she is no longer Joyce, the mother of Trina and member of the commune; she becomes every tree and leaf, each vine and the dirt under her feet and the river coursing over rocks and the rocks near the surface that resemble flesh underwater.

She returns to the commune altered by water, by the captain’s touch, by the sight of trees and the textured light. She wants to put a name to how she feels, but she fears if she names the change in her, it will become public and she will lose it. She sees her future as a real possibility, someplace though without a name but with people she cares about, the captain and his first mate and Trina, able to live her childhood in this place that she must find and name, but not alone; perhaps with the help of the captain and his first mate.

People congratulate Trina. A group of four girls and a prefect, with an armed guard in case they meet some troublesome animal, walk with Trina and her mother to the river. They meet another guard stationed at the jetty and the two guards look on and chat. Luckily, the river is clear of the muck released into the water twice a day by the pig farm, which renders the water uninhabitable for the hour or so it takes the current to sweep the mess downstream. Joyce advises Trina to break the usual rule of swimming without disturbing the mud by sticking her foot into it and clouding the water. The group watches as Trina wriggles her foot and sinks a few inches into the mud and the water darkens around her ankle. Joyce asks:

—What does it feel like?

—Mud.

But it feels better than mud. The pull of the water is less than the sensation of her feet planted in the mud. The cloud raised by her feet sweeps downstream. She sees her body as a river whose current courses in her veins. Her blood comes into view as this mud kicked up by her. She wants to fall back into the river and sweep downstream with the current. As she leans back and floats off her feet, her mother grabs her and steers her toward the bank of the river. Trina closes her eyes and relaxes to the touch of her mother’s hand guiding her, and with the current pressing at her side, the banks of the river tilt and Trina is a jet painting a trail on blue canvas and disappearing into the blue far from the compound and far above the tallest, biggest trees, walking upside down on the roof of the world.

—Mum, if I tell you something, will you listen no matter what it is?

—Of course, my darling. What is it?

—I think Adam carried me to his cage and covered me with one of his blankets.

—Trina. Listen to yourself.

—You said you would believe me.

—I did not expect you to say something so far-fetched.

—It was Adam. Or Ryan. I don’t know.

—Look, I miss Ryan, too. Let’s talk later, darling.

Word travels fast among the women, and each one congratulates Trina, and some add a gentle warning about her need to conduct herself like a young lady, no wildness. Trina thanks them all. She worries that boys next to her can smell what she imagines must be an obvious scent of her blood. She asks her mother:

—Can you smell my blood?

Joyce says Trina should not be silly about something as ordinary as a period. The older girls say the boys are not to see her private parts, as they call it, no matter what. And soon Trina will need a brassiere. But not yet. Buds toggle on her chest. She asks Rose if Rose can smell the blood on her. Rose shakes her head and sniffs the air and shakes her head again. Rose tells her to stop worrying about stuff that women have coped with since the Stone Age. The bleeding stops Trina from sprinting for the next couple of days. Instead she walks with small steps, one foot just ahead of the other, knees close together, hands ready to hold her dress down in case a breeze whips it up.

Trina heads to her music class. She clutches her flute and walks slowly past Adam’s cage. She is sure the primate, with his extra-sharp senses, smells her blood. She stares at Adam and he stares right back. She holds out her hands to show that she has nothing for him, and he mimics her by spreading his fingers and showing her his palms. She mimics scratching his back, and he turns his back to her and moves to the bars of the cage. She stops and moves close to the bars. She thinks her blood might stir the creature into some kind of primitive rage. The thought makes her laugh and helps make up her mind to approach the cage and stick her hands in the bars and give Adam the scratching of his life. As she scratches and the weight of Adam leans on the bars, she closes her eyes and pictures her hand crawling up and down the gorilla’s back. Her fingers are insects exploring the undergrowth. But the terrain is alive and makes her fingertips feel like they are playing her flute but without sound, just movement, her fingers moving and the back of Adam pressing against the bars of his cage.

—This may sound crazy, Adam, but I think you called my name. I fainted and you carried me from there to here and you covered me with one of your blankets. Am I crazy, Adam?

—Get away from that cage, girl.

Trina jumps a step from the cage and looks and becomes downcast at the sight of the young guard who likes to beat children for no good reason. She looks around for another adult, but no one is near to save her. She decides that since it looks as if she is destined to get a beating from the camp sadist no matter what she says or does, then she better make it worthwhile.

—Girl, who you calling girl?

She says this with a sneer and waves her flute in the air, her fist tucked on her pelvis, her head cocked to one side.

—Can’t you see with the two eyes God gave you that I am a young lady, not a girl, and don’t you know with the head God put on your shoulders that I am allowed to scratch the gorilla?

The young guard, surprised by the girl’s pluck, takes a moment to recover. He, too, steals a look around, and seeing no one nearby, he decides to enjoy the exchange.

—I don’t care if you are the president, get away from the cage.

The guard lifts his stick, and Adam spins around and growls and bares his teeth at the guard. Trina takes another couple of steps from the cage, and the guard jumps back even though he stands a safe distance away.

—Come here, girl.

She glances at the long stick and then at the cage. She stands her ground and holds her flute up as if to use it to combat the guard.

—I said come here.

This time he is a little louder. Adam rattles the bars and growls. Trina takes two steps but not toward the guard. Instead she moves backward, closer to the cage and to Adam. The guard lifts his stick and stretches and swings at Trina. She steps back, and Adam sticks his arms through the bars and grabs her and pulls her against the bars. She relaxes in his grip. She keeps both hands on her flute. Adam growls at the guard. The guard shouts for help, and other guards and adults and some children run to meet them. Trina closes her eyes and thinks Adam must be able to smell her blood for sure. His arms feel as strong as the hands that carried her the night she fainted. Not like Ryan at all. But how? She has no idea. All she has to go by is the memory of a feeling. Adam’s grip. The current of the river, her fingers on his back just like her feet planted in the mud of the river. His back stirs and muddies the clear air. She pictures both of them being swept far from the compound and no one able to follow them because the river becomes clear behind them, erasing all evidence of their trail.

—What’s going on here?

The preacher’s voice never fails to bring all activity to a standstill. The sound of his voice fills a person’s head with the loud vision of the preacher’s face. Bodies freeze and wait for his voice to instruct them what to do next or for the voice to become quiet. The spell woven by the sound of him holds everyone captive. No willful, independent action resumes until his voice ceases and makes it so. In moments of doubt, this voice helps to calm thinking. At times of self-doubt, all the members of the commune need do is conjure the instruction in the preacher’s voice and the sequence of thoughts in that sound acts like a palliative on their own wayward thinking, calming them and banishing any notions of dissent. This extends to their dreams. Any place where their thoughts are not allowed to stray is guarded by his voice steering them back to the permitted pastures. Any sadness or longing is immediately burned from the mind by the steady flame of his teachings in his voice. Sadness, depression, longing are luxuries. How can any sane mind be sad at the prospect of the kingdom of heaven, unless the sadness is merely impatience?

All heads turn to face the preacher. He steps toward Trina in the grip of Adam. He takes the young guard’s stick and orders the guard to follow him. He stops beside Trina, smiles at her, and asks if she experiences the slightest bit of pain. She shakes her head and he says:

—I didn’t think so.

He taps the arms of the gorilla.

—Adam, release Trina now. She’s safe with me here.

Adam drops his arms from around Trina, and she steps toward the preacher, who places his left arm around her shoulder.

—What happened here, Trina?

She explains. He looks at the guard.

—Is that right?

—Yes, Father.

Others arrive and the preacher tells his guards to open the cage and he orders the young guard who threatened Trina to go into the cage. The young man shakes his head but not in an impudent way. He begs the preacher to ask anything else of him but this. The preacher wants to know if the guard refuses to obey a simple request and to think very carefully before he answers. The other guards look at their friend, and it is clear from their faces that he has no option but to do as the preacher asks.

—Please, Father.

The preacher waves at him to be silent and indicates with an outstretched arm that the young guard must step into the cage. Adam takes a few steps back from the bars and looks at the open door of his cage and at the guard inching his way forward. Adam backs away from the open door to leave room for the guard to step in and join him in his accommodations. The guard’s mother begs the preacher to have mercy on her only son. The preacher warns her to stop begging if she wishes to see her son alive.

—The more you beg, the more you show your mistrust and doubt of me.

She shakes her head and mutters no, and falls silent. She cries silently, a fine tremor throughout her body coupled to steady streams on her face. Adam looks from the preacher to the guard and back to see if there are any clues from either one about what will happen next. The preacher points his stick at the cage door. The guard, rooted to the spot, stares at the preacher, whose order stays the same and the meaning just as unequivocal. He locks eyes with the preacher a little longer, not in defiance but more in a plea for a change of heart from the man who brought him to this promise of salvation. But the preacher raises his eyebrows, and the youth casts his eyes to the ground, slumps his shoulders, and drags himself into the cage, while the other guards quickly secure the lock behind him. He falls back against the locked door and begs the preacher to please forgive him and allow him to leave the cage and he will do anything to make amends for whatever wrong he committed.

—What do you think you did wrong?

The preacher is now shouting at the guard. Adam bares his teeth and takes a step toward the guard, and the guard lifts his arms in a gesture of surrender and presses back against the cage door. The guard cries for the preacher to please let him out. Trina breathes in deep and blurts out:

—Please spare him, Father.

The preacher touches Trina gently with the stick and shakes his head.

—Be quiet, Trina. Trust me.

She nods and searches the proliferating gathering for Joyce as more people drop their jobs and run toward the cage. They leave pots on very low flames and take pans off stoves in the middle of stirrings, percolations, stewing, brewing, and frying. Carpenters turn off drills and saws and drop their hammers and spit out the nails in their mouths and run out to the cage. A tractor idles, abandoned in a field right in the middle of turning over polished soil in which any and every seed that belongs to the forest springs up, impelled by an excess of nutrients in the untamed ground, while the commune struggles to make the most rudimentary of vegetables grow, and as heavy rains hose away rice seedlings, and as potatoes surrender to termites or harden into dense stones. They abandon wet clothes to languish in basins next to clotheslines. The nurses and the doctor leave their stations in the infirmary, accompanied by a few patients who can barely walk, and all head for the cage. The schoolroom hushes, and the teachers look out and order the prefects to take over, and they, too, abscond their classes. It takes one group of older children fifteen seconds of waiting on the edge of their seats for the teachers to disappear out of the building before these children push past the prefects, and another fifteen seconds for the entire schoolhouse to empty of children, followed by outwardly disconsolate but inwardly relieved prefects who do not wish to miss whatever lesson transpires outside. Night watchmen and the bakery staff, asleep following a night preparing for the needs of the sleeping community, sense the uproar and stir from their slumber and vacate their warm beds and stumble to reach the scene at Adam’s cage.