I wish to tell you, my Outsider friends, about the fate of a recent visitor to our island. Upon hearing our story, you may have certain judgments as to whether we are right or wrong. Judge us as you will, but know that our way of life is precious to us and that we will continue to defend it. And know that our ways are peaceful – we have never had a war on The Island. Can you say the same for your country?
It was just a few years ago, in September – or was it October? – some time in the fall, anyway, when Ian Monson first set foot upon The Island. Our place. A very special place. Ian worked for the U.S. government (I forget which agency, but aren’t they all pretty much the same?), and his job was to spread the word about the evils of smoking and to decrease the incidence of smoking however he could. He had heard rumors of places in the South Pacific where the rates of smoking were shockingly high, and so with the zeal of a missionary, Ian had been sailing around the archipelago, visiting each inhabited island with his very serious message.
When he first landed on our shores, we didn’t know any of this, of course, but we learned about him straightaway when we conducted our visitor interviews. From the moment we asked question #7, “Do you smoke?” and received his abrupt and haughty “No” as an answer, a centuries-old process sprang into motion. A centuries-old process, that is, that has continued to be updated with modern technology and science. We may seem like simple islanders to you, but we’re not stupid.
We gave him The Exam, a written test that gives us psychological information. We explained to him that we give this test to visitors to determine their suitability for staying here and to protect our island and its culture. This is all true, by the way.
While the other staff were tending to his visa and checking his luggage, a woman phoned the results of The Exam to the head of The Island’s council. Everyone on The Island calls him Uncle Babbo (and as an Outsider, you don’t need to know his full name). “We have a Class IV visitor, Uncle Babbo,” she said.
After getting more detailed information and thinking about it for a minute, Uncle Babbo said, “I’m assigning Synthe to him as his guide. I’ll call her and send her right away.”
Taking the phone call from Uncle Babbo and getting some instructions and background information from him, Synthe went directly down to the docks. On the way down, she lit up a cigarette, taking deep drags and enjoying every one. She finished the cigarette before arriving, being well trained in details of The Process and thus not wanting her charge to see her smoke.
She called out his name, and he looked shocked. Maybe he was expecting someone older. Synthe was 23 at the time, with long, straight dark hair and a beautiful face that defied attempts to identify her with a particular nationality or ethnic group. Like most of the girls on The Island, she had (and still has) a body, let’s say “worthy of wearing a bikini.” Very worthy. And on that day, she did. Not technically part of The Process, but very helpful.
Extending her arms, she gave him a hug and the traditional greeting of a kiss on each cheek. While he enjoyed the hug and kisses, he was disappointed in the smell of smoke on her. Of course, if he were to stay with us that would have to change…
As they became acquainted, Ian told Synthe a bunch of stuff that she already knew – why he was here, how he’d like to save us from the evils of smoking, etc. – then she directed him along the beach and began to explain the unique culture of The Island.
“Our economy gets some boost from arts and crafts and light manufacturing,” she started. “But the heart of our economy is agriculture. The Island is a gardener’s paradise – everything grows well here. However, one particular plant stands out – it is native here and grows everywhere. That’s tobacco. Many botanists think that it’s native to North America, but that’s not true. We introduced it to the Native Americans centuries ago. We market our tobacco under other countries names. For example, Cuban cigars are mostly ours.”
Ian considered her words skeptically. “Hmm, I’ll have to look into that. Synthe, what percentage of adults smoke here?”
“About 98%,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Ninety-eight percent?!” he exploded. “What do you do, force-feed kids nicotine at birth?”
“No, everyone here is free to choose. And the 2 percent who don’t smoke are never pressured to start. Although, truth be told, the smokers feel sorry for those who don’t.”
“Well, you do have minimum age limits for kids to get tobacco, don’t you?
“In our culture, being able to smoke is a coming-of-age privilege, but we don’t put a specific age limit on it. It’s a ritual. When girls want to start smoking, they come to their mother and ask for permission. The mom says “no” 3 times, even though she’s usually as excited as the daughter. Then, the next morning after the 3rd “no,” the girl will find a package of cigarettes next to her bed. That’s permission to practice. She finds a nice girl who will teach her the finer points of smoking and when she feels ready she goes back to her mother. They have a little ceremony where the mother lights her daughter’s “first” cigarette and presents her with her own lighter and custom-designed cigarette pouch. It’s really a very beautiful ceremony. I remember when my mom…”
Her voice started to crack and she almost started to cry. But then Synthe regained her composure and said, “Sorry, I get a little emotional about that. Anyway, boys do something similar with their dads, but with more chest thumping and no crying.”
Ian’s eyes rolled. “How are we ever going to make progress in a culture where smoking is so culturally ingrained?” he muttered. “Well, we’ll have to educate. And find alternative uses for tobacco, so we won’t disrupt the economy. And deglamorize smoking…”
Now Synthe’s eyes rolled. In a strange way she liked him, but he was so far away from understanding our culture. “Let’s walk,” she said. They passed by a mother who was combing and braiding her daughter’s hair, cigarette in hand. The daughter got a cigarette out of her bag, and the mother put down her comb, picked up a lighter and lit her daughter’s cigarette. The daughter took a big drag, blew out a pretty white cloud of smoke and smiled at her mother, who went back to lovingly combing and braiding her daughter’s hair.
Ian stared at them awhile, the sweetness of the scene having a clear effect on him, even though he never would have admitted it.
They walked past a group of people playing volleyball. The people were laughing and having fun, some even smoking while they were playing. There were people swimming, who would come out of the water for a cigarette, and folks sunning on the beach, and walking along the shore, smoking and enjoying each other’s company.
The two stopped for lunch at a beachside cantina and sat down; the waiters knew to put them in the non-smoking section which, although not used often, is reserved for visitors and the “two-percenters.” Synthe went over a couple of tables to greet some friends and get a few drags from their cigarettes, again making sure that Ian couldn’t really see her, although he obviously knew what she was doing.
At lunch, Ian heard about how diverse we were as a people and that explorers from every continent (except Antarctica) had washed up on our shores over the centuries. Each person who came here brought something new to the culture of The Island. We also have several different religious traditions on The Island, he learned, and they all got along. He had to admit that this aspect of our culture was pretty cool.
Later that afternoon, Ian and Synthe walked to another beach, where some folks were jumping off cliffs and snorkeling in the adjacent bay, and the people watching them were smoking, of course. Ian told Synthe that The Island was obviously a lovely place and nearly idyllic, except for the smoking thing. “If we could just get rid of that nasty, unhealthy habit,” he said, “it would be paradise on earth.”
Synthe took exception to that, and contrary to her training, she got a bit defensive and started arguing with Ian. She asked him how many people died in the U.S. per year from auto and gun accidents and he said that he didn’t know, but it would be in the tens or hundreds of thousands. “On The Island,” she said (rather smugly), “we know the exact number – zero.” She stomped off to a beach umbrella under which some more of her friends were located and begged some drags off their cigarettes. (Again, she had her back turned to Ian.)
When she came back, she said in a more conciliatory tone, “Look, I know where you’re coming from; I’ve had education in your universities. But I’d just ask you to consider that maybe this place is special because of our tobacco culture, instead of in spite of it.”
He didn’t have a comment, and the two parted for the day. But later that night, Ian had some flowers delivered with an apology card attached. Synthe had to admit that it was a very sweet gesture. It also made her confident that things were going to work out fine.
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“Hello, Uncle Babbo? It’s me, Synthe. Are you ready for our meeting?” Synthe said as she stuck her head through the door of the modest office with the million-dollar view.
“Yes, little sister, come in. You’re right on time.” Uncle Babbo said. (He always calls the young women “little sister” even though you’d think it should be “niece,” but it’s best not to think too much about these things.) “You look like you need a cigarette, dear. Can I get you one?”
“Please,” she said. It is always Island custom to offer tobacco at a meeting as a friendly gesture, but this time she really did need it. She took a cigarette from the box he offered and leaned forward to accept the light from his lighter. She then brushed back her hair with her left hand as she took a hard drag from the cigarette in her right. Bending her head back, she blew the smoke skyward as a sense of calm returned to her. Uncle Babbo could see how much more relaxed she was from just this single drag; he is particularly sensitive to these kinds of things.
“Synthe, much of what I’m telling you here today you already know, but I’m required by our laws and traditions to tell you anyway,” Babbo said, as he removed a cigar from his cigar box, trimmed off the end, and lit it. “You have been a guide and friend to this man Ian for 3 days now and he is scheduled to leave The Island tomorrow. If we allow him to leave, he will tell the outside world of our existence and interfere with our culture. We can’t allow that.”
Synthe nodded in agreement, taking another impressive drag on her cigarette and blowing the smoke to the side.
Puffing on his cigar between sentences, Babbo continued. “You know what has happened in the past when cultures collide. Killing. Lots of it. I could name many examples, and so could you. We, on the other hand, have found a way to protect ourselves without killing.
“Some ask if what we do is moral. But I say that among all the choices we have, The Process that we have developed is the most moral. Do you not agree?”
Synthe concluded that Babbo was right; she had heard this all before. She nodded “yes” while taking a cheek-hollowing drag.
“You know that we live in a communal society that also values individual freedom. Individuals are sometimes asked to sacrifice for the good of the community, but we want them to do it of their own free will.
“Therefore, Synthe, I ask you if you are willing to offer The Choice to Mr. Ian Monson, according to our ancient traditions? And if he selects The Process, are you ready to accept the responsibilities that this path entails? Answer these questions according to your free will.”
While Babbo truly meant what he said, both he and Synthe knew that if she said “no,” The Island would be in a world of hurt. There really was no suitable substitute for her.
Synthe cooly took a last hard drag from her spent cigarette, and blew out the smoke while crushing the end in Babbo’s ashtray. She said, “Uncle, you know first of all that I love this place. Second, I’m growing quite fond of this man; he’s actually quite charming, cute, smart, and athletic. There’s only one thing wrong with him, and,” she said with a mischievous gleam in her eye, “I think we can fix that. So the answer to both your questions is ‘yes.’ But there’s one condition.”
“Oh, what’s that?” Babbo said, suddenly serious.
“Can I have another cigarette? These last 3 days of holding back have been killing me.”
They laughed together as Babbo handed her a cigarette and gave her a light.
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The dinner that Synthe and Ian had that evening was lovely. The food was tropical and exotic and the conversation flowed naturally. Ian knew he was going to miss this charming, beautiful, and intelligent woman, and he told her he was making plans to return to The Island as soon as he could. He’d bring nicotine patches and other aids to help the Islanders quit smoking as painlessly as possible.
Synthe just smiled and said, “Let’s walk down the shore to Danda’s Shack. They make a mai tai from fresh coconut and pineapple, and rum that is distilled right here on The Island. You’ll never get anything like it off The Island.” (Boy, was that an understatement…)
They walked hand in hand down the beach. It was so romantic, with the sun setting over the ocean. Ian abruptly stopped, stared into Synthe’s eyes and kissed her beautiful smooth lips. He was expecting to have a negative reaction to her “smoker’s breath,” but surprisingly, he found himself almost liking it… But then he corrected himself. ”No, no,” he told himself. He most certainly did not like it. Well, the kiss yes, very much. But not…well, he had to admit that he was starting to get confused.
They arrived at The Shack and Synthe invited Ian to sit down while she got the drinks. Approaching the bar, she said, “Danda, two mai tai’s. And make sure our guest’s has plenty of that Island Magic.” Danda smiled and nodded knowingly. He skillfully mixed the coconut, the pineapple and the rum together, and to Ian’s drink, he added 2 milliliters of a clear, tasteless extract – The Magic. Synthe brought the drinks back to the table.
They enjoyed their drinks as the sun dipped below the horizon. Synthe began looking deeply into Ian’s eyes. Ian returned the look, and little by little, he found he could look at nothing else. The beautiful sunset, the palm trees, the other people – none of it mattered. He was only interested in Synthe…
Suddenly, he became aware that he wasn’t feeling right. “Synthe, how much alcohol do they put in these things? I’m feeling really strange, kind of dizzy.”
Synthe said, “You’d better lie down for a while. Let’s go to my place.”
The suggestion seemed eminently reasonable to Ian, so Synthe borrowed a golf cart from Danda, loaded Ian into it, and took him to her bungalow. She laid him on her bed and determined that it was time – time for Ian to make The Choice.
“Ian, I told you that tobacco is native to this island. But so is another plant that grows right alongside it. The plant has a chemical in it that, in moderate doses, makes one who consumes it vulnerable to suggestion. Also, not surprisingly since it has evolved alongside tobacco, it is also associated with an affinity for nicotine for those who are exposed to it. We call it The Magic. I know that this is a lot to take in, but do you understand?
He nodded ‘yes’ in a shell-shocked fashion.
“Ian, dear, you know that I’ve become very fond of you these past few days. But we can’t let you leave with the knowledge you have of The Island. So you’ve been given The Magic and now you are getting a choice. You can receive an antidote that will erase the effects of the Magic. However, it will also scramble your short-term memories for 2 weeks, starting a week ago. We will place you on another island and erase your cell phone and GPS records. Other than the memory loss and a slight headache, like a mild hangover, you will suffer no effects and you can fully return to your previous life. Just remember, not only will you have no memories of this place, but you will never see me or The Island again. Is this what you want, Ian?”
Ian replied, “What is my other choice?”
“Remain here with me. Bond with me, and become part of The Island.”
Ian’s heart was beating wildly, and a feeling of anxiety was building up inside him. He looked deeply into Synthe’s eyes. He trusted her. He…loved her.
“I’ll stay with you,” Ian said.
Synthe smiled. “I knew you’d make the right decision. OK, I know the effects of The Magic slow down your movements, but take off your clothes and put on this robe. It’s tradition. I’ll do the same – be right back.” She stepped outside the room.
With great effort, Ian removed his clothes and put on the robe. Then Synthe walked in wearing a gorgeous purple silk robe, and nothing else. “Lie down and get comfortable,” she said. He did as he was told.
“Ian, I know the feelings of anxiety are unpleasant, but they’ll be over soon. You see, they’re not entirely due to The Magic. The Magic merely heightens an internal conflict you already have.”
While she was speaking, Synthe had walked over to her dresser and turned her back towards Ian so that he could just see over her shoulder. She made sure that he got a glimpse, but only a glimpse, of her stylish pearl-handled lighter, her elegant lace and silk cigarette pouch, and the cigarette in her hand. A brief flash of light and a barely visible wisp of smoke were all he could see of her light-up in the dark room. She turned toward Ian with her cigarette hidden behind her back.
“You were always curious about smoking, weren’t you? Even when you hated it. You wanted to see me smoking as much as you wanted to see…this.” She pulled back her robe to expose her ample and beautifully shaped left breast, and took a dramatic drag from her cigarette. “Admit it, Ian, this excites you, doesn’t it?” she said. He didn’t need to respond with words, because to her satisfaction and his horror, Ian found himself with a rock-hard erection.
Synthe hopped onto the bed on top of Ian. She took a drag from her cigarette, her lips engaged in a sexy nicotine kiss on one end while the ash glowed orange on the other. She exhaled a beautiful cloud, and some of smoke wafted over Ian’s face. Much to his surprise, he didn’t mind it; he even…liked it. She kissed him, and again to his surprise, the smoky taste pleased him.
“I’ve kissed this with my lips,” Synthe said as she placed her cigarette on his lips. “You know you want to kiss it, too. Come on, sweetie. You won’t cough, thanks to The Magic.”
“No, no, I can’t…” he stammered. But then he looked into her beautiful and expectant brown eyes and he suddenly found himself taking a drag from her cigarette. A sense of pleasure enveloped him as he exhaled. When Synthe asked him to take a second drag, he didn’t hesitate.
At this point, Synthe knew he was ready. In a moment she had long anticipated, a moment she had been born for, she placed her soft vagina, wet with excitement, on his erect manhood, slowly engulfing it.
Synthe’s beautiful face, lustrous black hair, and perfectly proportioned breasts towered over him like a precious piece of art. The two lovers made deep eye contact and Synthe took a deep drag from her cigarette, exhaling an ethereal trail of smoke. By now, he could not deny the beauty of the cigarette in her hand, as she inhaled, as she exhaled. With every pelvic thrust she made, another piece of Ian’s struggle against his inevitable fate disappeared forever. Finally, Synthe, modern-day princess of the South Seas, took her most beautiful cheek-hollowing drag yet, and Ian’s final resistance crumbled into nothingness. As he exploded inside her, his old self exploded, and he was born anew.
He was an Islander now.
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What happened next? Well, to be technical, there are 2 more love-making sessions to complete The Process, but they merely reinforce the first one. When a couple is done with this (as Ian and Synthe were the next morning), they are officially considered married, but most couples want an official ceremony. Synthe and Ian had such a wedding, and a big party afterwards.
We created a cover story to explain Ian’s disappearance. To the rest of the world who once knew him, he’s now a “sea bum,” sailing around the world from port to port. Every once in a while, our operatives send e-mails and telegraphs from cities around the world to maintain the ruse.
Ian and Synthe have 2 girls now. I asked him what he thought about them smoking some day. He said that the thought pleases him, and he hopes they are as beautiful and elegant as their mother.
So, Outsider, know that we will not be telling you the location of The Island, or even its true name. But should you by chance end up on our shores, know what a precious place it is, and that we will do all we can to keep it that way. Peace.