Seductive Poison (32 page)

Carolyn must have noticed my puzzled face.

“The traitors have begun an organization called Concerned Relatives,” she explained to me. “They are trying to organize families concerned about their kids to join forces against us …” She lowered her voice. “Listen, just go to your cabin and try to sleep. There may be trouble later.”

I obediently went to my cabin, kicked off my filthy work pants, covered my head with my pillow, and instantly fell asleep.

Late that night, in the midst of my heavy sleep, sirens began to blare. I heard guards banging on cabin doors and yelling. Frightened and disoriented, I sat up.

“Security alert! Hurry, everyone! Anyone late will be punished.”

I wondered if this was what Carolyn had alluded to. My heart was racing. I jumped down from my bunk. Father’s voice was screaming over the P.A. system.

“Danger! Security alert! Hurry, everyone. Danger is near!”

Sick with fear I tried to remember what I had done with my pants. They weren’t on my bed or my trunk.

“White Night!” Father yelled over the loudspeaker.

My roommates were already out the door. I was on my belly, groping for my boots and pants, frantic that someone had taken them as a joke. Finally I found them, pulled them on, bolted out the door, and bumped into one of the guards.

“Wow,” he blurted out. “Sorry, Deb. This is your first … You better hurry, you’re late. I’d hate you getting on the Learning Crew.”

I wondered if I had time to use the bathroom. I knew I couldn’t wait. Jogging toward the bright lights of the Pavilion, Jim’s voice shrieking orders, I veered off toward the showers and relieved myself standing. Residents rushed by, children were crying.

I heard gunfire in the forest. I ran to the radio room as Carolyn had told me to do earlier that evening, and waited for further instructions. Everyone had gathered in the Pavilion. I could see Mama, white as a sheet, seated directly in front of Jim.

“Darlings, we are under attack.” Father looked wired, the way I had in high school when I was on speed.

“Remember those murderous family members we have chosen to leave and forget? They have formed a vicious group called the Concerned Relatives. The CIA has joined forces with them. We are under siege. The United States Government does not want us to survive. They threaten to surround, attack, torture, and imprison us. We don’t want that, do we?”

Suddenly the air was filled with a frightening noise. A screaming and trilling sound, made by all the residents of Jonestown flicking their tongues, resonated through the jungle. I imagined the sound could be heard for miles, perhaps all the way to Port Kaituma. They must think we’re mad, I thought.

“Louder! Let the mercenaries hear us,” Father hissed into the mike and then joined in.

I wanted to run away, but stayed at the radio room awaiting my instructions from Carolyn. The encampment’s security force marched around the Pavilion, counting to make sure each resident was present, checking every building to confirm, for our own safety, that everyone was there and attentive, in order to reinforce our commitment to be good disciples.

Maria was on the radio trying to make herself heard through the ferocious screaming in the Pavilion. After a while, Carolyn came to the stairs and told me everything would be fine.

“I forgot that this is your first White Night,” she murmured softly. “Go sit with Stephan on the fence.”

I anxiously climbed the four-foot wooden railing and positioned myself next to him, hoping I hadn’t called any unnecessary attention to myself. We were some fifteen feet from Jim’s chair. My hands were shaking, I began to bite the inside of my lip to stay focused. Adrenaline was pulsing through my body, but my exhaustion was equally great and I could feel myself losing and then regaining consciousness. I bit harder. We listened to the droning sound of Father’s voice, an endless harangue in which he prophesied that we would be killed by our enemies.

I wondered why he didn’t know what Carolyn knew, that everything was fine, that the peril had passed. But Father continued in a hysterical state, yelling over the loudspeaker, “All is lost. Traitors have betrayed us. Because of their disloyalty, their capitalistic self-indulgence, you, my good followers, have been condemned to death. Because of them and what they have said about us, we must die.”

A mother spoke from the microphone situated at the middle of the Pavilion. I could tell from her voice that she had experienced this before.

“But the children, Father. Can’t they at least live?”

“Darling, my darling …” Father’s voice was sweet, consoling, and filled with misery. Tears had begun to streak his cheeks. “But who would care for our children, once we are dead? The enemy won’t. Did you hear me tonight? They will take our babies and torture them. Have you forgotten our Six-Day Siege? How close they came to invading our sovereign territory?”

Then he cried aloud, “There is no way out, no resolution, my dear mother. Our enemies have outnumbered us.”

There was more gunfire in the jungle. The mother moved back to her place on a bench, hugging her sleeping infant to her breast. I looked around for Carolyn. I must tell her, I thought, that she is mistaken. It was almost dawn. The night sky had lightened to a soft metallic blue and I realized that we had been here for at least six hours.

“Hear that sound?” Jim asked us. “The mercenaries are coming. The end has come. Time is up. Children … line up into two queues, one on either side of me.”

Guards had placed a large aluminum vat in the front of the Pavilion near Father.

“It tastes like fruit juice, children. It will not be hard to swallow …”

I jumped down from the fence to stand in line with the others. I was confused and scared and didn’t understand what was happening. Who were these people coming in to kill us?

A young man’s voice yelled out in protest. “No! I don’t want to die. There must be another way …”

“Guards! Take him and secure him. He’ll have to be given the drink by force.”

I looked around for Carolyn and saw her rushing from the radio room, her eyes filled with terror as she passed me, her face flushed as she approached the podium and began to whisper to Father. Father stopped his tirade to listen.

I could hear Stephan muttering something from under his breath. He turned to me, his eyes filled with contempt.

“The fucking bastard,” he gasped. “It’s another bloody drill, that’s all. Another fucking scare tactic …” He shook his head, exhausted.

“The crisis has been quelled,” Father yelled into the loudspeaker. “The crisis is over. You may go back to your cabins. We will have a day of rest today. Yes. Kitchen staff, make a treat for our comrades. Let us have Sunday cookies tonight.”

Alarmed, I glanced about for Mama, but did not see her. I wondered why Stephan had called his father a bastard? I remembered that Jim had sent him here before the other boys because he felt that Stephan was becoming disrespectful and might leave.

Father had left the podium and was standing on the radio room steps. I watched as he motioned Shanda over. He was smiling, touching her shoulder, and speaking softly to her. There was something about this scene that recalled the day in Los Angeles when I gave him the offering count and he scolded me for whispering so close. I felt sick. Shanda looked ill-at-ease. Now she would be given more important duties. I turned away, the memories too painful. Please, Father, not young, innocent Shanda.

Alarmed and filled with dread, I headed to my cabin. I felt dizzy and my head was aching. Why had Father persisted in talking about an attack when Carolyn had told me all was fine? Why had Carolyn waited so long before talking to Father to quiet his hysteria? Why had I heard gunfire? What in God’s name was going on down here?

The truth is, there were no mercenaries. Only the compound guards were in the jungle. Our own guards were assigned to encircle the compound and fire their weapons. They, too, believed that we were threatened. Every White Night, Jim sent a different team into the rain forest to fire shots. Each boy was unaware that there had been others before him creating the same panic. Each was told a different story, one he could not repeat. No one realized that all of the gunfire was from our guns.

It is, of course, only in hindsight, in the safety of sanity, that I am able to see Jim’s deceit. He alone knew that there was no real threat. We were blinded by fear and isolation. Physically weak from malnutrition and lack of sleep and mentally exhausted from constant fear of punishment, we were feeble, compliant automatons. In madness there is no way to think logically.

As the days wore on, I struggled to preserve what was left of my sanity. I became accustomed to the White Nights and suicide drills. At first they occurred once a month, then there seemed to be one every two weeks and they would last for several days. My only solace was working in the fields. I felt grounded when we were planting or foraging. It was there in the sun and its ravaging heat
that we had a purpose. In the field, there was something tangible to hold on to.

Yet again, my discipline and application were noticed and rewarded. At Carolyn’s suggestion Father moved me out of my crowded cabin and into the one his three sons shared with Beth, his daughter-in-law. There were a few mixed-gender cabins. Most were inhabited by the bold young teenagers who wanted to live with a girlfriend or boyfriend. They spent all their spare time, Sunday evenings, to build them. With only four hours of light available to hammer and saw, it would take months.

As I passed my favorite latrine, which was new and relatively fly-free, I wondered why it was taking so long to build more cabins. We were so overcrowded. I recalled that the lavatory had been built in only a day and its construction was no more difficult than our stilted cabins. What were our goals? Was there a master plan for the hundreds of hardworking inhabitants of this land?

The fact that Jim had approved my move was a sign that trust was slowly being bestowed upon me. It was an honor to live with Jim’s sons. Father couldn’t let just anyone cohabitate with them. They often talked back to him and an untrustworthy individual might try to profit by using their adolescent rebelliousness against them. Father could not afford to have his sons confronted for speaking up against him in private. He was very concerned about their self-confidence. This was one of the reasons he had sent Stephan and Lew ahead to Jonestown. Another sign of his trust in me was the fact that I now had access to guns because his sons were on the security team.

Lew, Jim’s handsome twenty-two-year-old adopted Korean son, and his wife Beth were easy to live with. His other adopted sons, Tim, eighteen, and Jimmy Junior, seventeen, one white and the other black, were hardly ever at the cabin. Stephan, his biological son, was nineteen years old and lived in another cabin, but came by frequently to visit his brothers. Only Beth and I were there at night, but at dawn, the boys would stomp in, tired and worn after guarding the compound all night.

While they talked, yawned, and undressed, Beth would head over to the nursery to hold her twenty-month-old son, Chioke, before going on to her job in the laundry. I thought it was sad that Jim forbade parents to keep their children with them at night but I knew it was for their own safety in the event of an attack that they remained in the guarded children’s dorm. Children and seniors lived close to the Pavilion—a curse because it meant having to live next to the center of insanity. The loudspeaker system, although still audible, was less intrusive where we lived.

When I rose, it didn’t take much effort to get dressed since I slept almost completely clothed. We had to be prepared in case of an emergency invasion by our enemies. The early mornings were cool. The cries of the howler monkeys that had frightened me on my arrival had become a soothing constant in the midst of our uncertain situation. Jim said bras were a Western indoctrination, so I pulled a shirt over my bare chest, even though it hurt to go braless.

I was thankful to the Greeting Committee, which I privately referred to as the “Confiscation Committee,” for sparing my thick wool socks. Not only did they keep my feet dry, they warded off mosquito bites from my ankles and the bottoms of my feet. My boots were deteriorating, but hopefully they would hold out until I was to leave. The small hole on one side was working itself into a tear, large enough for the dreaded red biting ant to get access to my toes.

On most mornings, when I stepped down from my bunk onto the wooden planks, something soft and warm touched my foot. It was Beth’s bear, which had fallen from its hiding place in her bed. Each of us had a secret something we cherished. It could be as egotistical and vain as a mirror or as functional as my socks, but it was something we’d managed to keep for ourselves. For Beth, the bear was probably the closest thing she had to being with her baby. Placing the curly-haired teddy next to her head, I would grab my sickle and tiptoe out of our cabin into the dawn’s fresh, revitalizing air.

I was still working in the fields. By now I had learned to overcome physical discomfort at any cost, and I thought of the grain bugs in the rice as friends—my own little protein-boosters.