Not Without My Sister (9 page)

It was here I met Paul Peloquin again. He came to film, another strip-dance video for Mo. He pulled me aside: "Sweetie, Grandpa has made a special request. He wants you to dance. We're not really supposed to film underage girls. dancing nude anymore, but this is just an exception."

The new rules were supposed to stop all displays of child sexuality but the leaders wanted to make him happy.

"He thought your dance for his birthday last year was very sexy." Paul winked at me. I didn't want to do this dance--I felt used, put on display for some old man's entertainment. But no one said "no" to Grandpa without serious consequences so I agreed. And just as before, Paul coached me from behind the camera. When the song finished, I was applauded for my humility and yieldedness to the Lord. Everything was always about yieldedness and submission, but I was beginning to wonder if it was really God who we were submitting to, or the whims of our leaders.
The time had come for a team of us to move to a school being set up in Japan. When I was told that Juliana was to stay in the Philippines, I worried if she would be all right without Dad or me around. I had tried to look out for her as best I could over the years, but in reality there was little I could do.
I was determined not to leave before seeing my father. Even though the location of World Services was supposed to be a secret, I knew he was still in the Philippines. The day before flying to Tokyo, I was given permission to spend two hours with him at a hotel. I was put in a van and blindfolded so I could not see where I was being taken. After driving around for an hour, the van came to a stop. When they took the blindfold off, I was greeted by my smiling dad. I was so happy to see him again, if only for a few hours.
"You've got gray hair!" I exclaimed. He had aged since I last saw him almost two years before. He kissed me on the forehead just as he did when I was a little girl. "How's my baby?"
"I'm not a baby anymore," I said, standing up tall.
"Well, no matter how old you are, I'll always be that much older than you--so you'll always be my baby," Dad teased. I smiled, half annoyed, and half enjoying his fussing. We went into the five-star hotel.
"How did you know I was in the Philippines?" He was curious to know.
"I just did. It's obvious." I didn't say that Grandpa seemed to know everything that happened in our Home, and his Letters talked about the political situation in the Philippines. I'd just put two and two together. Dad was shocked. Mo moved in an aura of such tight control and secrecy that I could see he was worried that I might inadvertently let something slip and he'd be blamed.
"Don't breathe a word," he admonished.
"Oh, Dad—I know the rules."
We went into the restaurant and ate lunch together. "How's Julie doing?" he asked.
"She's okay, I guess. I don't see her often, but she's doing well in her school work."

"She's a brain on a stick," Dad laughed. He seemed so glib about it. "You're both true Family children. And look how good you both are doing."
Well, I wasn't so sure about that. I had had a terrible year, but I didn't want to disappoint Dad or sound like I was murmuring or being negative. Our time went all too quickly, and I got teary-eyed when it was time to leave. Dad told me to be brave and that he would see me again soon, if not on this Earth then in the Millennium. He kissed me on the forehead and said goodbye. I was blindfolded again and spirited away.

Early in December 1987, a group of about thirty of us arrived in Tokyo airport from the Philippines. As the plane came down, I saw the breathtaking view of Mount Fuji. Capped with snow, it was instantly recognizable. We crowded on to a hired bus and traveled to a small town called Tateyama, five hours south. It was in the mountains by the sea. Japan is a series of long islands and the seasons move slowly from one end to the other—it can be winter at one end and still summer at the other. We were on the middle island, Where it was just at the end of fall. Everything was miniature size—the roads, the shops, the houses and the Buddhist temples.
Our destination was the Heavenly City School. It was a large building that had been built for the Family by the Naritas, an elderly Japanese couple who supported the group financially. I learned that Mr. Narita was the wealthy owner of a nightclub called Charivari in the Ginza district, a high-class and expensive shopping and entertainment section of Tokyo. He had been targeted by some Flirty Fishers and had quickly succumbed to their charms. Perhaps even he didn't realize exactly how much he was going to spend in the years that followed.
As well as the school building, which was built in the shape of a cross, the Naritas—Mrs. Narita had quickly been converted as well—also owned a number of smaller houses within walking distance of the main school building, where the leadership stayed. Naturally, in return for his financial support, Mr. Narita enjoyed the sexual services of Family women. If the object of Flirty Fishing was to simply win souls to Christ, his soul was saved many times over. Flirty Fishing had by now been discontinued, mainly due to the AIDS scare, but there were exceptions for those whose support and protection the Family needed.
We arrived from the hot weather of Manila to a bitter cold winter. The abrupt change was a shock to my system. At night we slept on futons on the floor and took showers in true Japanese fashion in a large
ofuro
or communal bath. The school building was so large it was difficult to heat. Portable gas heaters were used sparingly to save on fuel and in the mornings we would all huddle around our one heater in the right wing of the building where we slept, to keep warm as we got dressed.
In January one morning, we woke to a dazzling view of snow. It was only the second time I had ever seen snow and I was captivated by the sparkling beauty of everything—trees, buildings and the ground were covered. We rushed outside, teenagers just bursting to break free and have fun. I had my first snowball fight since Greece. Ado, the head teen shepherd, took me aside.

"There's a letter for you," he started. "It's from England." I almost gasped with shock and felt faint.
England! Was it from my mum?
I was too scared to ask.
Ado handed me the letter. "Let's pray together first to cleanse this letter from hitchhiking spirits."
Obediently, my heart still jumping erratically, I closed my eyes as Ado prayed. The envelope was already opened and he watched while I carefully took out the letter. He already knew the contents—nothing we received was ever private and was always heavily censored. My eyes flew to the address, and then to the signature. It wasn't from Mum.
It was from Mum's sister, an aunt I didn't know I possessed. Aunt Caryn wrote that Mum, Kristina, and David would love me to come and visit them in England. She also mentioned that David was going to school and doing well in mathematics.
I reread those words, puzzled, because Family children did not attend System schools. I was riveted by shock at the idea of actually going for a visit. All my old dreams and hopes and yearnings—the constant weight of missing my mum that I had carried around with me for a decade—flooded back. I wondered why Mum hadn't written herself, or Kristina.
"I'd love to go and visit. Can I go to England?" I asked, hopefully.
"We'll get back to you," Ado replied. I dared to hope that my dream of seeing my mother again would come true, but it wasn't to be. The weeks slid away and I heard nothing more.
Tateyama was such a beautiful place that at times the problems and the threat of doom that always hung over our heads seemed very remote. But the Endtime was always there.
Grandpa had predicted the Great Tribulation, the last three and a half years before Jesus' return, would begin sometime in 1989. The call on the Naritas' purse had been great. They had built the School as a refuge, with a bunker basement deep underground, equipped to survive an atomic war. An air vent in the bunker would, in theory, filter out the radiation. They also had a large stash of whisky and liquor stored. Based on his experiences from the Great Depression of the 1930s, Grandpa believed that these items would the best commodities to trade in the event of an economic crash.
Mo had also interpreted the measurements of the Heavenly City given in the biblical Book of Revelations, chapter 21, to be the description of a pyramid structure. Mo's fervent disciples would live near the top of the apex while other Christians would be Heaven's second-class citizens.
One afternoon, we all were gathered in the main dining room. I was flabbergasted to see Peter Amsterdam walk in. Everyone went quiet as he sat down on a chair placed on a raised platform at the front of the room. He had an impor- tant message to give us.
Inspired by Mo's revelation, the Naritas had already built a pyramid structure at the top of a hill adjacent to the school building as a prayer room. Mo now decided to make it a tourist attraction, to spread the message.
"Over the next few months, artists from World Services will be working on the pyramid's interior, creating miniature models of the heavenly attractions inside," Peter Amsterdam explained. "You are not to go up to the pyramid under any circumstances, or even so much as look up at the hill during the work. Remember, the eyes of the Lord are in every place, so don't think when no one is looking you can disobey," he warned.
He looked around the hall and his eyes seemed to bore into each one of us as we sat in awe at meeting the third most important person in the Family. "You do not need to know why you are not allowed to look. And if anyone is caught disobeying, the offender will be excommunicated."
After he and the shepherds swept out and we dispersed, there was a soft, excited buzz, like a hive of bees. I was terrified of breaking the rules. I found out later that the real reason for the secrecy was that Mo and Maria were living at the Fountain House, ten minutes' walk away. It did seem odd to me at the time that at certain times during the day a message would go round that we were not allowed outside, and we were forbidden to go to the White House across the street from the school building. This was a small house also owned by the
Naritas where the leadership stayed, and Grandpa often visited, cloaked in secrecy, for meetings.
Peter Amsterdam led regular evening meetings with everyone—it was a time of retraining. He also instituted a Word Date schedule. We were supposed to share God's love and read God's Word. Four makeshift rooms were built in the bunker basement as love rooms. Each one had a bed, a little table stand with tissues and lubrication, and a painting with a Mo Quote on the wall for decoration. The only person I wanted to be with was Miguel. He was my first boyfriend. We were both thirteen years old, just a month apart, and he was a Sagittarius like my dad. He was fun loving and popular and I liked his jokes and laid-back style. But of course, only being with Miguel would be considered selfish and the teen shepherds arranged the schedule for us.
Our teen shepherd, Ricky, was our daily "inspirationalist" and he got a kick out of "breaking our bottles" by getting the girls to take their tops off while playing the guitar and singing, "Come on Ma, Burn Your Bra." For his birthday, his partner Elaine got the teen girls to take their tops off and he went down the line feeling them up. That was our "birthday present" to him. I was the only one who refused to take part. Afterwards, Ricky had it in for me.
"You're just an old bottle." He would single me out in front of everyone. It made me more embarrassed and stubborn. The group pressure to conform was intense, but I refused to take my top off no matter what. Finally, I relented. For Peter Amsterdam's birthday in April, Elaine suggested the girls do a repeat performance like they had done for Ricky. I refused at first but decided last minute to do a topless dance with Armi. My true motive was to impress Miguel who was sitting with the teen boys on the side watching, but the shepherds saw my change of heart as a sign of spiritual growth.
Peter had told us there would be people from World Services around, and that if we bumped into them we were not to talk to them. They always traveled in pairs and I soon noticed a teen boy doing fix-it jobs around the school building with a Scandinavian-looking man who accompanied him. I had only seen pictures of Davidito when he was a toddler, but though he was much older now, the teen boy looked uncannily similar. His tanned skin and distinct Spanish features gave him away. I wanted to talk to him, but he kept his eyes downward most of the time, and I sensed his uneasiness at this constant supervision. Nonetheless, I continued to look at him curiously whenever I saw him.
After the pyramid project was completed, we were finally allowed to go up and see it. The inside was transformed into a showcase of Mo's idea of a Heavenly City theme park. We also started to see more of Davidito, or Pete, as he introduced himself, and Davida, the daughter of Sarah Davidito. They had been given permission to attend some of our teen activities and classes. They both were incredibly timid which surprised me. I had expected Davidito to be confident, a leader, a role model of everything we were supposed to strive for. But given his background which we all knew about—his timidity was understandable. The children at Grandpa's Home lived in a glass bowl like Bi gBrother, where everything was reported. Over the years we had read every detail of his life, his first steps, every spanking, every reward. We knew everything about Davidito, Davida, and Techi, even though we never met them face-to-face. They had grown up knowing no other children but each other.
When I met him, Davidito was thirteen. It was the first time he had met a large number of teens and I could see that he desperately wanted to join in, but he found it very hard to talk to us after years of isolation and repression. One afternoon I got a chance to chat with him alone. He was sitting in the teen room and I sat next to him. I was a little nervous, not knowing what I could ask him and what he was allowed to say. But as we started chatting, I felt instant affection for him. He was just like any one of us, not the idol that had been built up in the Letters and
Life with Grandpa
.

"What's it like meeting so many young people for the first time?" I asked.
"It's good," he replied a little hesitantly. "I've made some friends. It's difficult, though. I'm expected to be an example all the time. I just want to be like everyone else."
We all knew that he was destined to become one of the last two Endtime Witnesses along with his mother, Maria, who had been elevated to the status of prophetess. Grandpa had prophesied that together they would fulfil this role talked about in the Book of Revelations, and that Davidito would die as a martyr at the hands of the Antichrist soldiers before Jesus' return. While I had nightmares that maybe one day I would be killed as a martyr, I could not imagine what it was like knowing your fate was to die on the streets of Jerusalem. I wanted to ask him how he felt about this horrible fate, but thought it might be cruel to remind him. It was a tall order having to be the perfect reflection of his parents all the time when all he wanted was to hang out with us and enjoy life.
One afternoon we were gathered together for Correction, under strict silence. I lay on a futon at the back of the room, as I had been sick for a month with swollen glands and a temperature. That summer almost the entire teen group had come down with kissing fever, or mononucleosis. But sick or not, a Correction had to include everyone. Peter Amsterdam walked in, flanked by our teen shepherds. They sat facing us.
After a prayer, Peter Amsterdam thundered sternly, "The sins of your foolishness and worldliness have come to the attention of Grandpa himself."

We looked at each other. What was this about?
He continued, "Some of you were caught listening to a compilation of System music! Sad to say, Pete was part of this. It doesn't excuse him but you all have had a part in being terrible influences, and allowing the Devil to get in."
I had no idea what Peter Amsterdam was talking about but again we were all in trouble for the actions of some. The list of our supposed sins was long. We had indulged in foolish talking and idleness instead of memorizing Bible scripture. We dressed worldly or cool. The girls flaunted long earrings and short tank tops.
At the end, the ringleaders were singled out and marched to the front. Peter Amsterdam produced a leather strap, and the guilty boys were given a belting in front of us as an example to all. We were all crying and shaking. When the punishment was over, he bawled, "Get down on your hands and knees and pray for mercy!"
It wasn't the end of it—a long list of punishments was devised for everyone for the backsliding and relaxed attitude that had led to this crime. Four of us teens who were not yet well were moved that night to the sick house, glad that we would escape at least some of the months of punishments the rest of the group would suffer. A few weeks later, I caught whooping cough. After two terrible months, and just as I was about to be released from quarantine, I was exposed to chickenpox. The shepherds told me that this meant I had to remain in quarantine for another month. It came to mid-November and I had been five months in confinement. I was going stir crazy, bored, cut off from my friends, and I was desperate to do some work, anything to keep me occupied. I hit a low of deep depression.