Seductive Poison (41 page)

“Okay, that’s good, I’ll make it quick. Just listen to me. Okay now, if you’re being watched, roll your eyes with disgust. The ticket I spoke of in the telegram is waiting for you at Pan Am, for May twelfth, Georgetown to Caracas. I’m sorry you have to wait so long, but it’s the first seat available out of Guyana. I’m holding the Caracas to New York segment in your middle name in case they’re monitoring flights to America. I know you won’t be able to call me anymore so listen closely: Tom is ready to fly down there immediately. If you want him to come down and help you, cough now…. Okay, then, well stick to the original plan. May twelfth you go to the embassy. Call me from there. I know you’re afraid, honey, but you can do this! Debbie, you’re brave and you’re doing the right thing. Okay, tell me you have way more important things to do than to spend three weeks baby-sitting Lori and David. I love you, Debs.”

After this conversation, I was less able to keep my feelings and thoughts intact. I could barely maintain my civility anymore. Karen wrote me up to Jim for being rude and “pissy.” I saw parts of her note in the envelope going to Father. I wanted desperately to get out, but my flight wasn’t scheduled for another ten days. I had to persevere.

At night, I was haunted by Teresa’s admonition to me in Switzerland: “Remember, you talk in your sleep when you’re worried. Be careful … Sleep where others cannot hear you.”

I would always wait until everyone was asleep, then hunt for an abandoned corner. If there wasn’t one, I would sit up all night at the kitchen table, while warning signals ricocheted through my head.

Mom kept writing me letters. It was important to look as though I read them, but the fact of the matter was, I couldn’t. I was unable even to look at her handwriting. I knew that I would lose my resolve if I did. I was precariously close to rushing back to her if I was told she needed me. Even though I knew that Mama now shared a cabin with Mary, I was always aware that she missed me and I worked hard not to think about it. I had to forget her. I could help her more from far away, once I got out of there.

I knew that if I did not have my wits about me, they would get me just like they had Margarita, the young Amerindian woman whom I had befriended. The night Margarita cried hysterically at the news that her baby had just died in the Georgetown hospital, I held her in my arms. While I rocked and consoled her, Sharon barged in with a Temple-friendly doctor. Against Margarita’s will,
he filled her veins with huge doses of Thorazine. That dread-filled night I sat holding my newfound friend’s writhing body, trying to comfort her, powerless, too afraid to intervene. Why, I wondered, couldn’t she be allowed to grieve? As Margarita faded into a zombie stupor and I prepared her few things for the boat to take her back into the jungle, I was acutely aware that had my comrades known of my treasonous thoughts, this just as easily could have been me.

The next day, just after I had locked myself into the bathroom to hide my overwhelming grief for my friend, a hard and rapid knock sounded at the door.

“Lucinda? I have a letter from your mom.”

I jumped up to wipe my face.

“I’ll be right out.” Another one of Mama’s letters.

“Did you respond to her last one?”

“Yeah …”

“I don’t remember proofing it. Did it go in with the
Cudjoe?”

“Pretty sure …”

I flushed the toilet and threw more water on my blotchy, red face, then opened the door.

“My, you look positively … radiant.” Sharon laughed. “Here …” She handed me the envelope. “I didn’t realize you’d slept downstairs last night.” She had been monitoring me.

She watched me open the envelope, turn, and walk down the hall. Her footsteps followed me.

“Boil, boil, toil and trouble …” She screeched after me, pretending to be a witch. The hairs on my arms bristled. “What’s all this secrecy? Where are you going?”

“I thought I’d read Mom’s letter downstairs on my bed roll.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine. I was just thinking about Margarita.”

“Well,” she exhaled with indignation. “That’s all over, isn’t it? She’s left for Port Kaituma.”

“I know. I’d hoped to say good-bye.”

“Well, that wasn’t necessary, was it?”

I nodded and turned. What a bitch. I struggled to remain calm.

“Lucinda? Are you listening to me? I said Jim wants me to accompany the consul into Jonestown on May tenth and stay there a few weeks. Beth and Deirdre will be coming out to take my place here.”

I hardly heard her sputtering about all the logistics. There was the meeting with the Russian Embassy regarding our immigration
and the arrangement to be made with the Cuban ambassador for an advance group of Temple PR people to visit Cuba. Then Beth and I had to record our blackmail of the American consul. Jim wanted his remark, that we should “shoot down” planes flying over the compound and threatening us, on tape. I watched Sharon’s lips moving. Spittle had collected at the outer creases.

My heart was sinking. Beth would come to the capital. Did I have to betray her, too? How could I? I knew I would have to use her, use her friendship to conduct my deceitful plan because I knew she would give me space to be alone. I would be able to check on my flight, make sure the ticket for the twelfth, at 11:55
P.M.
, was waiting for me at Pan Am.

I could hardly stand to think about my last conversation with Beth in the cabin when I said good-bye. I didn’t want to stab her in the back. If only she would stay in Jonestown. There, she wouldn’t be able to take my betrayal personally and she couldn’t be blamed. But here, if I got away, Jim would probably denounce her and hold her responsible. Would she be ostracized and punished for allowing this to happen? I prayed Jim wouldn’t forbid her to see her baby Chioke as a punishment for being my accomplice.

“Are you listening, Lucinda? What’s the matter with you? Put an asterisk next to your meeting at the American Embassy on May twelfth. You’ll be taping the consul. You and Beth must get him to repeat, ‘Shoot the planes down.’ Father says once we have his statement on tape, we have an official declaration to arm and protect ourselves. It will prove the embassy knew we have weapons.” She smiled and wiped the corners of her mouth. “Oh, Beth wanted me to relay a message: Since you didn’t bring one, she’ll share it here with you. Does that make sense?”

Beth agreed that I should go alone to arrange for the blackmail meeting. I had falsely reported earlier to her that I’d called the embassy several times but the line was busy. I’d brazenly suggested it would be best if I ran over in the morning to confirm our noon appointment. It was 10
A.M.
and Beth would join me just before noon.

I made sure the recorder was well hidden in my satchel and hurried down the dirt road toward the capital. I could smell the sea water as it wafted through on the breeze. It would take me about twenty minutes to get to the embassy. I tried to determine how
much time that would leave me for my plans. The heat of the day had not warmed my chilled and bristling skin. I could see the American flag flapping from the tall silver pole at the embassy. I increased my jaunt to a jog until I reached the doors.

The embassy secretary greeted me. I explained that I needed to talk with the consul immediately. She asked me to sit down while she tried to locate him. I looked around and decided to sit on a metal folding chair situated outside the consul’s office. I saw that his desk was covered with documents and different colored folders. A dark green mug was next to his telephone.

A good-looking young man walked by and offered me some coffee.

“Oh yes! With real cream?”

“Isn’t that how it’s always served?”

“Not in Jonestown.”

“Oh! Excuse me. My name is Dan. I’m the vice consul. Isn’t your meeting with the consul this afternoon?”

“Yes, but I have an urgent message and I must give it to him before the meeting.”

He glanced at his watch. “It’s ten forty-five. This is the first time I have ever seen any one of you alone here.”

“Mmmm … yeah.”

I anxiously looked down at the warm, sweet drink in my hands. How long had it been since I’d had a real cup of coffee? Precious, real creamed coffee? I concentrated on what I would say to the consul. After what seemed like hours, the secretary returned.

“Miss, I’ve found him.” The secretary smiled. She looked calm and sure of herself. Her green eyes reminded me of my sister, Annalisa, and made me homesick.

“I told him it was urgent and he’s rushing over.”

I looked at the clock—11:15
A.M.
I was supposed to call Beth soon. I leaned down to rub the dust from my shoes. I wondered if anyone would believe me. Perhaps he’d think I was lying. He would look at my short-cropped, amateurish haircut, dusty legs, and clingy clothes and assume I was only a pauper, not someone he could trust. I looked around to make sure no one was coming, then tried to rub the dirt from my legs.

“There’s a rest room just around the corner.” The receptionist sorrowfully smiled at me. Embarrassed, I set my coffee on my chair so no one would accidentally take it. This way the receptionist would know I was coming back.

The toilet stall had luxuriously soft tissue paper which I pulled off in a long roll. I dampened it and wiped my arms and face. The mirror told me that I did look like a beggar. I shouldn’t have been so careless running down the dirt road. Even my shirt looked dull compared to the secretary’s crisp, bright white blouse. I washed my face and wet my hair. Grabbing a rough paper towel from a silver dispenser, I rubbed my bangs dry. I returned to my chair and found that Dan had left a fresh cup of coffee with cream.

I sat down and began to fiddle with my fingernails. I looked at the clock, eleven-thirty. Finally, a tall, middle-aged man rushed through the front doors. I recognized the consul.

“Deborah? Yes, I remember you well from the meeting with the youngsters.” He paused to catch his breath. “You’re alone?”

“Umm … Can we go in your office? I’ve something confidential to say.” I shivered. Would I find the words? Would I sound convincing?

“Absolutely.” He waved me ahead of him and into a high-backed leather chair.

“You’re probably not going to believe me or understand what I am about to say.” I took a breath and, with all my courage, continued. “I want to go home.”

“Well, isn’t this interesting? What made you decide this?”

My relief was so intense, my lip began to twitch uncontrollably.

“We have suicide drills regularly … all night and into the next day, people are beaten, we have little food … I believe many want to go home.” I pressed my finger on my lip so I could continue. “Jim has threatened on many occasions that we will have to die because Grace Stoen is trying to get her son back. And also, you and the other officials should be more careful when you visit out there. Jim uses all the information you give him against the residents. When you’re there, everything is staged….” I stopped to take a breath. “I need a passport. Mine’s in Jonestown.”

The consul picked up the phone. “The ambassador needs to know this,” he said and proceeded to dial his number. He repeated my litany of concerns to the ambassador, then hung up.

“Not to worry. I have some emergency passports in the safe upstairs. Can you just wait a second? I also want to talk to the ambassador in person.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much time. I need to go to Pan Am and get the prepaid ticket my sister has on hold for me. And then, Beth, my friend from Jonestown, and I will be here later. We’re supposed
to get you to repeat your statement about shooting the planes down. We will be taping you.”

“What? You’re recording the meeting?”

“Yes, but you aren’t supposed to know. So be careful!”

“Hmm … Okay, first things first.” He jumped up and opened the credenza behind his desk and began rustling through papers. “I need a photo for your passport.” He aimed an ancient-looking Polaroid at me.

“Okay, let’s begin. Tell me, for the record, your reasons for wanting to leave Guyana and the Peoples Temple. I’ll get Dan in here to witness it.”

Sworn to this 12th day of May 1978

I, Deborah Layton Blakey, hereby swear that the following statement is true and correct to the best of my ability.

I have decided to leave the Peoples Temple Organization because I am afraid that Jim Jones will carry out his threats to force all members of the Organization in Guyana to commit suicide if a decision is made in Guyana by the Court here to have John Stoen returned to his mother. I know that plans have been made to carry out this mass suicide by poison that is presently at Jonestown. I also know that plans are made to kill the members who are unwilling to voluntarily commit suicide. I believe that this plan will be carried out. I also believe that the Organization will physically try to prevent any attempt to remove John Stoen from the custody of the Organization. In part for the above I have decided to leave the Peoples Temple. Signed: Deborah Layton Blakey

American Vice Consul, Daniel Weber