Free Left on Paradise by Kirk Adams Page B

Russian to see. The sailor slipped into a nearby cabin and quickly returned with six bottles of clear liquor: cheap Russian vodka. The smile on his face was broad as the exchange was made and grew even wider when Charles unscrewed the cap from one of the bottles.
    “A toast, comrade,” Charles said as he took a sip, “to a great society in a new world.”
    After drinking, Charles handed the bottle to the Russian—who grabbed it and took a long swig.
    “T-t-to,” the sailor stuttered, “t-to Amerika. Kh mnoga Giorgi Vasheenton.”
    Charles shook his head in dismay as the Russian took another gulp, but still reached into his wallet to give the Russian all of his remaining bills—as well as a pocketful of coins. There would be very little need for the trappings of commerce in the new world.
    Tears welled in the Russian’s eyes as he stuffed the money into a pocket, embraced his socialist comrade, and God blessed America while racing down the hallway praising the profits of capitalism in a Russian dialect.
    Charles took a long drink from the open bottle.
     
    The next few days brought one mild storm (that caused dozens of emigrants to suffer severe seasickness until Doctor Graves prescribed anti-emetics) and boredom after the bad weather cleared. Because it proved difficult to navigate the narrow corridors of the ship without encountering some ill-tempered and quick-moving sailor who cursed settlers in brusque Russian for impeding his movement, many settlers endured the monotony from their rooms while the long days passed—though some sat on deck chairs and watched for the first glimpse of the new world.
    On the tenth day of the voyage, one such lookout spotted land. “Land ho! To the west. The new world.”
    It was a young brunette who jumped up and down on the ship’s bow and shouted for others to come quick—which they did. Within minutes, passengers knocked at cabin doors and called down passageways. Ten days of slow sailing had proved tedious since most planning had been completed in the first days. Now, there was something to see and within a half hour, nearly every emigrant stood on deck—straining for a good glimpse of the promised land. Still, even as the crowd bustled with energy and desire, no one was pressed too hard and every citizen took a turn looking from the forward positions.
    Nothing more promising could have been imagined. By the time the pilgrims gathered, the ship neared its destination: an atoll of small islets and submerged reefs ringing a central island, the largest of the surrounding motu no more than a suburban block and the smallest little more than a few palm trees, a bit of broken coral, and a coating of bird droppings. The islets rose from a barrier reef that protected the island, punctured only by a leeward current that opened several gaps. The main island sat in the center of the atoll, its lush hills and dark shores framing a pristine lagoon whose turquoise waters were protected between a barrier reef and the beach. The island’s largest hill rose over three hundred yards at the peak, its steep slopes streaming to the sea where stretches of white sand ringed the shoreline like the glimmer of glass. Colonists with binoculars saw coconuts hanging ripe for harvest and sea turtles lumbering ever so slow across the beach. Even those who looked with the naked eye saw flocks of gulls fly overhead, some circling the ship and others diving into the lagoon for fish. A smooth-skinned and saw-toothed whale twice broke the surface near the ship before it slipped into the sanctuary of the sea and disappeared.
    Now the ship was nearly stopped, its wake churning all the more for being slowed and the crew scampering across the deck as they relayed orders, shifted gear, and weighed anchor. The captain instructed passengers to prepare cabins for departure and Ryan told them to finish breakfast. Cooked meals, he announced, wouldn’t be available for several days. Settlers were told to fill canteens