Almost Paradise

by April Hill

  “They’re allowed to whip girls there? Is that legal?”

  “Allowed, encouraged, and applauded. Legal, who knows?”

  “Enough to … hurt them?”

  “That, of course, is the entire point. The administration generally refers to what happens as ‘corrective paddling.’ Call it what you will, a good number of these ‘young ladies’ often forget what it means to sit down for days at a time.”

  “Why would the girls, or their parents tolerate that kind of abuse?”

  McLean laughed. “You mustn’t use that word, ‘abuse.’ Hargrave Hall is very sensitive about its reputation. If it got out to the press that our young ladies had their little asses thrashed, heads would roll. In any case, the young ladies ‘tolerate’ it because if they do not attain some level of education and the documents to prove it, Daddy often refuses to sign over the trust fund. The young ladies spent their youth ‘partying,’ as you Americans call it, and now they’re paying the piper—unless they can find a man other than Daddy foolish enough to support them. Our young ladies are never interested in supporting themselves. Such a concept is simply not in their genes. So, we have kind of ‘gentlemen’s agreement’ with the parents. We pretend to educate their daughters, and the parents pretend we’re doing it in the traditional way. The fact is, that most of the young ladies at Hargrave are from age seventeen all the way to twenty, and many of them are still struggling with lower form mathematics.”

  Emma winced. “Well, I hate to admit this, but I can identify with them. If I hadn’t cheated my way through algebra, I’d still be in high school.”

  “Ah, then, perhaps you and I should keep in touch, after we’re rescued.”

  Emma looked at him closely. “You don’t…correctively paddle students, do you?”

  “On occasion. Does that bother you?”

  She paused. “A little, yes.”

  He smiled. “Well, at first, it was difficult for me, as well. It became a bit easier each time one of them stole my car.”

  “Does that happen a lot?”

  “I’m on my third car in two years. The next one’s going to be a tank, if I can find one for sale.”

  Emma laughed. “Try driving a thirteen-year-old Plymouth. Nobody will want to steal it.”

  “Ah, you would think that, wouldn’t you. But these girls are crooked, not picky. If it would get them into town, they’d steal a hearse. Actually, I believe they have stolen a hearse or two, as party buses. For obvious reasons, Hargrave is quite a distance from town, and the mere sight of a Hargrave uniform is enough to make the average bus driver lock his doors and windows, and floor the accelerator. Most of our young ladies would chew through concrete to get to a pub or a dance club. Many of them can jimmy an automobile lock in under thirty seconds, and safe driving is not their strong point.”

  “Still, I can’t see how a … how spanking would help them.”

  He smiled. “Oh, did I say I wanted to help them? What I want is to get rid of them! At times, a truly impressive paddling is the only thing that convinces them they need to leave. You see, for all of the problems I’ve mentioned, I actually like my students—most of them. Many of them simply need a second chance at an education, after messing up elsewhere, and at Hargrave, we try to give it to them. As far as the ‘corrective paddling’ goes, that’s a necessary evil. It took me a while to come around to that way of thinking, but I did.

  “I’m fortunate, in that most of the truly evil ones avoid the History and English classes, since they realize that they’d actually have to learn to read and write. The more felonious of our young ladies usually confine themselves to what we euphemistically refer to as the Home Arts, or Office Sciences. We have a lot of budding Athletic Science students, and the Art and Music departments snatch up the rest. A few of my students are merely half-wits, but not generally criminal. The rotten apples only take what ‘real’ classes they have to in order to graduate.”

  “And they finally pass?”

  “Eventually. They’re not necessarily stupid, and when it finally dawns on them that it’s graduate or go around again, they can generally put it together long enough to get through. Either that or just devise a way of cheating that I’m not wise to, yet.”

  Emma shook her head, unconvinced. “But these girls you’re talking about are almost adult women. Some of them are adults. How can you … do what you do, without it being–” She stopped in mid-sentence, unsure of how to continue.

  “Look, Emma, don’t think for a moment that I don’t see the contradictions here, and the hypocrisy. Go ahead and say what you’re trying to. You’re wondering if it’s not somehow sexual, right?”

  “All right,” she murmured, flushing. “Yes. I wonder that. Don’t you ever … notice them, as women?”

  McLean chuckled. “Well, I’m not going to pretend that I’ve never noticed, but I’m almost always too angry to think that way. By the time one of these brats is bent over my desk with her knickers around her ankles, I’m generally busy calculating out how quickly I can best set her dainty ass on fire and get her out of my office before I lose it and beat the tar out of her.”

  “You spank them naked?” Emma cried.

  “We do. These aren’t children, and they need to feel what’s happening. Anything less, and they’ll simply flash an obscene gesture your way and giggle as they prance out.”

  “Have you ever ‘lost it’, as you put it?”

  “No, but I’ll wager that there are a few young ladies out there who hope to never cross my path again. It’s what we call the graduation walloping—the kind of hiding that finally encourages the young lady to want her ticket out of dear old Hargrave—a diploma.”

  Emma smiled. “Educational incentive?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And sex never comes into it?”

  “Speaking only for myself, there isn’t a one of these little hellions that’s ever been appealing to me, in that way. There have been one or two male faculty—female, too, for that matter—that couldn’t separate business from pleasure, and each of them was promptly dismissed, as they should have been. That kind of thing is as illegal at Hargrave as it would be anywhere else. The problem is, most of these girls are over the legal age of consent, and a fair number of them have been consenting regularly since they were twelve, legally or otherwise. So it’s difficult for some men to remember what they were hired for.” He sighed. “Maybe I’m simply jaded.

  “You’ve got to remember that we deal with these girls every day, sometimes for several years, as their teachers, and as … Well, as whatever the hell it is we are. I started to say Father, but that’s not it. Let’s say, guardian, or even protector, if that doesn’t sound too self-serving. After a while, you become involved with their problems, and care about them. It’s difficult to see them as sex kittens, even when they’re doing to their level best to seduce you.”

  “That happens?”

  “Frequently. There’s not a faculty member there who hasn’t been tempted, at one time or another. Grades are important, and there aren’t many available men around, of any age, so sometimes we elderly geezers get a good deal of lavish and generally insincere attention. That’s also why the school prefers married men, although that in itself isn’t a guarantee, of course. It’s the subject of a great deal of discussion, over a lunchtime Scotch.”

  “You’re allowed to drink during school hours?”

  He laughed. “I can’t think of a better time, can you? Suicidal depression is an ancient, traditional, and time-honored problem amongst Hargrave faculty.”

  “Are you strict?”

  “Not in the least. Although some might not agree. One young lady of my acquaintance has failed history three times, and turned in at least four stolen term papers. She even stole my car—twice. If she ever graduates, there’s going to a parade around Piccadilly Circus.”

  “Nice girl!”

  “Actually, she is, in a way. Every time she does something like that, she comes in pleading for f
orgiveness and another chance at redemption.”

  Emma smiled. “And you let her off, of course, like a big softy.”

  “On the contrary. I give her butt one hell of a welting and assign her additional work. I swear she’s going to get a diploma if I have to put my shoulder out of joint doing it. She has one more paper this semester, and the final examination, and she’s out! Gone! A teacher lives for moments like that!”

  “Don’t you think it’s possible that some of these girls actually like getting spanked?”

  “Certainly, and that is why I make certain that each of them leaves my office feeling as if she’s sat down on a hot stove, and knowing that the next one’s going to be at least as bad, and probably a hell of a lot worse. I’ve found that one or two very well-blistered backsides usually convinces most of our young ladies that spanking is neither a sport, or foreplay.”

  “You sound like you enjoy it, just a little.”

  “I will confess that on occasion, I do. Contrary to popular opinion, I am not made of steel. Should I ever get a shot at Candice Bentley, she’ll be eating her supper standing up for a solid week.”

  “A problem child?”

  “A dangerous felon, even by Hargrave standards. For a while, the faculty had a pool going—-winner gets to blister Candice’s rotten little butt. The women volunteered to bow out of the pool, in deference to male upper arm strength. No point wasting your best shot.” He grinned. “We all want nothing but the best for Candice. The problem is, Candice is a better cheat and liar than most, and I think she blackmails the others into taking the ‘rap’ for her. No one’s been able to catch her at anything major. The young lady has a glowing future with organized crime, any time she wants it.”

  “So, that’s what Robin meant when she said you’re a ‘professional’ at … at this.”

  “I did mention the perks of my job to Jack,” Andrew confessed. “In the context of the ‘Meredith problem.’”

  “That’s all you talked about, with Jack?” she asked, blushing.

  McLean smiled. “No. After that, we talked a good deal about boats. Which reminds me, I suppose we should be getting back.”

  Emma sighed. “The whole boat thing is just to make us feel better, isn’t it? Like occupational therapy for the condemned?”

  “Perhaps. But it’s been almost two months, now. We’re going to have to find a better source of protein, and I rather enjoy fishing.”

  “What if that boat we’re making sinks?”

  He laughed. “I enjoy swimming, as well.”

  * * *

  While Jack and Andrew climbed in to the tree and stripped the rusted Japanese airplane of everything useful they could remove with Jack’s tiny set of screwdrivers, Robin and Emma kept the fire smoldering, chopping out with broken coconut shells what charred wood they could. By late afternoon that day, they had hollowed out almost a third of the log, and were covered from head to toe with black charcoal dust. Hot, dripping with sweat and with most of their fingertips burnt and stinging, they decided to go to the pool for a shower and a swim. When they arrived, the ground beneath the tree was littered with sections of sheet metal, and the two men were in the process of tearing out the front seat.

  “An arm chair, “Robin said bitterly. “Meredith will be so happy. She says our chairs are too hard.”

  Jack chuckled. “With the condition Meredith’s behind is in most of the time, I’m not too surprised. Nope, this baby is for the men’s hut—our man cave, so to speak. The place needed a few improvements. We’re calling it the Playboy Mansion now, by the way. But we got the windscreen out of the plane, so you’ll have a window next time it rains. How’s the boat coming?”

  “I don’t have fingerprints any more,” Robin complained, holding up her hands for their inspection.

  “Well, all this crap should help,” Jack said, tossing a rusty chunk of metal to her feet. “We’ve bent a lot of this metal into shovels, sort of—more like scoops.”

  Robin grimaced. “Great! Now we can cut and burn ourselves.”

  Jack threw her something rolled into a ball. “Quit bitching, and think how good that first meal of fresh-caught fish will taste. I finally got you a fish net.”

  Emma opened the roll. “He’s right! It’s a fish net!”

  “A sling, we think,” Andrew clarified. “It was in back of the seat, for charts and small gear, probably.”

  “Not very big,” Robin said.

  Jack laughed. “Picky, picky. Go shower, and get the charcoal off. We’ll join you in a few minutes.”

  Robin slipped off her clothes and showered while Emma held up her shirt as a privacy curtain. When it was Emma’s turn, Robin improvised a long stick to prop up the shirt, and then walked around the back of the little waterfall.

  “God! It’s so cool back here,” she called up to Emma. “It feels almost like air conditioning. You know, I hate to admit this, but I could learn to love Meredith for finding this place.”

  Emma laughed, and started to step out of the shower. “Try holding that thought. You know it won’t last long before…”

  Robin’s ear-splitting scream tore through the little glen, and echoed off the rocks.

  “What the hell…” Andrew leaped from the tree one second before Jack, and together, they tore up the mossy embankment to the waterfall, where Emma was peering through the rushing water, unable to see where Robin was. Reaching the ledge, Andrew ducked behind the falls and emerged with one arm around Robin’s shaking shoulders.

  “What is it?” Emma cried, throwing her arms around her trembling friend. “Are you all right?”

  “What happened?” Jack shouted, as he ran up. Robin shivered, and fell into his arms. She pointed to the pretty little waterfall. In the commotion, none of them noticed Emma going behind the falls. Several moments later, she came out.

  “You were wrong, Andrew,” Emma said through chattering teeth. “The pilot didn’t bail out over the Pacific.”

  * * *

  “So now, this god-awful place is haunted, too?” Meredith wailed when they returned to camp with the news. “My God, do you realize we’re been showering in there? Naked? With a fucking dead guy watching us?”

  Robin rolled her eyes. “Count on good old Mer to come up with a really lovely eulogy,” she muttered. “Could you show just a little respect for the poor guy?”

  “But, wasn’t Japan the bad guy, back then?” Meredith asked, obviously confused. History had not been her best subject.

  “That was fifty years ago, Merrie” Emma said quietly. “And this poor man had a mother, and maybe a wife and children. He was probably very young, and scared.”

  Meredith sniffled at all the rebukes. “Well, you don’t all have to get so touchy do you? I didn’t kill him. I just meant, like … well … it’s just creepy!”

  “With no papers or identification,” Jack sighed. “I don’t suppose we can ever notify anyone, maybe his family. It’s a shame.”

  Meredith wiped her nose. “Check the numbers on the engine block,” she sniffled. “And the serial numbers on the control panel, above the altimeter and on the rear fuselage. His name and rank were probably over the port-side wing, under the breakaway canopy slide on the cockpit, but that’s all rusted away, isn’t it?”

  For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, the four castaways looked back and forth at one another, tying to determine whether they had all heard the same thing come out of Meredith Von Kessel’s pert mouth. Had one of the seagulls perched on the dining table started speaking flawless Tahitian, it wouldn’t have been a greater surprise.

  Meredith looked back at them. “What?”

  Emma touched her friend’s arm. “Merrie! Where on earth did you learn that?”

  “Oh, you mean all that airplane stuff? I dated this guy in the Marines for six months, back in … let’s see … yeah, four years ago. He flew airplanes on some aircraft carrier. He was nice, if you like that type, but I swear, that’s all he ever wanted to talk about! I nearly wore my
feet out, walking around that base pretending to be interested in a bunch of old airplanes!”

  After they had collected all of the information they could, as per Meredith’s instructions, the castaways buried the pilot’s skeletal remains in a little grove of trees just beyond the campsite, and marked the grave with a large piece of the wreckage. Now they had another reason to hope for rescue. Somewhere in Japan, someone could still be wondering about a young man who had gone away all those years ago—a young man lost in the fog of war, but never forgotten, and the sad little mystery of what had happened to him would be solved, at long last.

  It was another full week before the inside of the log was hewn out enough for two people to sit in it, and several more days before each end of the log could be laboriously shaved, carved and shaped into bow and stern. Then came the unpleasant job of dragging the crude hull to the beach for its final outfitting— using the ropes they had made of braided kelp and vines.

  Andrew looked out at the waves breaking beyond the reef. “It’s going to be a hell of a job, Jack, getting this beast up and over the breakers without being swamped.”

  Jack was working on an improvised tiller. “I’m hoping it’ll right itself pretty fast. And we’ll wait for low tide, of course, and…”

  “You need an outrigger,” Meredith said, checking her nails. “One on each side, to stabilize it.”

  “Another boyfriend?” Robin inquired sweetly.

  Meredith stuck out her tongue. “No, smartass! I saw one like that in the hotel gift shop in Honolulu. These little toy boats like the local fishermen use—only little.”

  Jack cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I knew that,” he said irritably. “I was just getting ready to tell you guys to get your butts up there and start cutting bamboo—for the dual outriggers.”

  Robin walked by him, and winked. “How many years of marine engineering was that, now?” A second later, Jack had pushed her over the end of the new boat, and delivered a mighty swat to her butt. “That stern needed a little more work,” he explained, grinning.