Seductive Poison (39 page)

“Hewo!”

“Hello, David? Is your mama there?”

“Mommy’s aou’side picking stawbury jam.”

“I need her quickly, sweetie. Can you hurry and run outside? Tell her it’s an emergency.”

I could hear the phone slide off the counter, dangle from the cord, and knock against the kitchen-counter wall. I heard their back door slide open.

“Mommy. ’Mergency’s on the phone …” Twenty-nine seconds. Hurry! The thumping of the receiver stopped.

“Mommy said who’re you … ?”

“It’s Auntie Debbie, honey, and I haven’t much time.” More precious seconds faded away as another communiqué from child to mother was transmitted. Finally, a breathless voice answered.

“Debbie? Are you okay? I received Mom’s letter last week. It didn’t sound like her. It’s been months! How’s Mama? Is everything okay? Debsy, are you all right?”

“Oh yes. We’re both fine.” I felt stilted, afraid, suddenly, to speak. What if the phone was tapped? Hurry, say something positive to her. “It is very beautiful here. We love it. Yes, truly, Mom and I are happy here.” I should have checked the baseboards for bug-wiring.

“Debbie? Speak up. I can barely hear you …”

“Mom and I are very pleased to be here.” I raised my voice. “Annalis, you sound so close. I can almost feel you here in the room with me. I wish you were …”

“Debs, speak up. What’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes, but I don’t have much time. I just wanted to call and say I am writing you a letter. I’ll try to mail it tomorrow.” If I can get to the post alone. “I will explain everything then. Please, Annalis, be careful. Tell no one I called. I’ll explain later. No one can know.”

“But, Debbie, I need to know more. I want to …”

“Trust me. I love you, but you must do as I say.” Oh, Annalis, too much is at stake. “I must hang up, I’ve run out of time. Bye! And, Annalis, don’t try and contact me here, understand? I never made this call.”

“Debbie? Debbie, wait. What did you say? I didn’t …”

“Love you,” I whispered into the phone, then kissed the receiver and disconnected. One hundred and nine seconds, exactly.

I tried to catch my breath, feeling as if I had just run the sixty-yard dash. My hands were sweaty and my lips and mouth were dry. I bolted upstairs to make sure the elderly couple who had arrived earlier from the States were still in bed and had not heard any strange sounds. I went back downstairs and began to clean the radio room. The radio was on and garbled, demonic murmurs were bleeding over and into one another from different frequencies. I turned down the radio and while I waited for Sharon and the others to return, continued cleaning up and making order.

Toward the end of the week, my fear of the American Embassy was confirmed. I desperately wanted to alert them to my desire to leave, but Jim had warned us that he had moles inside the embassy. I assumed they were official informants who wittingly and unwittingly offered Jim information that he then used against us. Father warned us constantly: “I have my ways of getting the information I need.” I wished the embassy officials weren’t so thickheaded. Weren’t they trained to detect fraud and deceit? It was true, when government visitors, doctors, even our attorney, Charles Garry, came to Jonestown we put on a tremendous show for them. The guests were wined and dined with foods we never got to eat. In fact, when they looked into our faces we really were happy because on these special occasions we, too, got better food and we worked only half a day. The teenage dancers, the band, and our rehearsed pretense of freedom, reenacted for their benefit alone, worked every time. Perhaps it was impossible to see through our veneer. Jim had perfected it so well.

That’s why I was afraid to go to the embassy for help. Embassy officials were scheduled to visit Jonestown pretty soon. I could imagine how the visit would unfold if I confided in them: One of them would stand before Father and proudly taunt him, “Well, things aren’t so great after all; we’ve been approached by one of
your people in the capital and she wants to leave.” It could happen that fast and Father would have no difficulty finding out which of us was the traitor who had gone to the embassy.

What amazed me was that these government officials did not understand that the information they shared with Father would be used to maim us. It appeared the embassy did not believe the stories they were hearing from the United States, the letters and calls from Concerned Relatives asking for an investigation. Maybe they wouldn’t believe me either.

I had several assignments in the capital: to chaperone the youth at the cultural presentations, to get Carolyn’s tax clearance for Barbados, and to accompany six young couples to the American Embassy so they could acquire Guyanese birth certificates for their newborns.

The meeting for the six young couples and myself had been set for 9
A.M.
Thirty minutes later the consul waved us into his office. I carefully positioned myself behind the others, who were sitting on chairs in a semicircle facing the consul, Dick McCoy.

“Tell me,” the consul began his inquiry, “just how much do you enjoy life here? Are you happy, or would you prefer to return to the United States?” With his fair skin and hair, I knew he would never survive in the fields of Jonestown.

From behind the others, I tried to catch his attention and secretly alert him to the fact of my dissension. I raised my eyebrows and slightly shook my head, hoping he’d be compelled to speak with me later. He did not seem to notice. Father always said honkies were stupid.

“Yes, I love it in Jonestown. That is why I want my child to have Guyanese citizenship.”

“How about you?” He pointed. “Are you happy here?”

One of my favorite young women, Vera, stood up as if being confronted in Jonestown. With her body erect, her muscular, ebony arms hanging stiffly at her sides, she began.

“I wish we’d come here sooner. Even my complexion is better.”

Giggles ensued. With each official question, another youth successfully replied with our rehearsed responses.

“Why do you like it here? What is your name, for the record?”

“Yolanda, sir. I love it here because I am free to live a life that is not obstructed by racism.”

“Ahhh, you experienced this in America, did you, Yolanda?”

“Oh yes. At least here in Guyana we are free to live with people
of every color. Black, white, and East Indian. My baby will grow up unencumbered by prejudice.”

“And, Jonathan. Was that your name? Tell me a little about your daily activities in Jonestown.”

How old Johnny looked! Where was the freckle-faced boy he’d been eight months ago, in the States?

“Well, Mr. Consul, I am one of the child-care workers and responsible for care of the infants during the day. While some parents are working, others are visiting friends in Port Kaituma. But what I miss the most …” He looked at the watch Sharon had loaned him for this meeting. “Right now, the toddlers are heading to the pond for swim lessons … and I’m not there.”

As their answers became more elaborate and convincing, I tried again to signal my dissent. Why didn’t he interview each of us separately, alone, behind closed doors? That’s how it was done in the movies when someone really wanted to get to the truth.

Forty minutes into the session, the diplomat looked at his watch. “Goodness, I hadn’t noticed … I’m unfortunately out of time.”

As we rose to file out of his office, I trailed behind the others, stalling for time. Using the door as a shield and closing it slightly against my shoulder, I whispered into his office and away from my waiting companions.

“Sir, I was hoping to speak with you alone.”

Vera grabbed my arm and yanked. “Come on, Debbie.” The consul approached, pushing the door open.

“Yes, miss … I apologize, but I’ve another appointment which I am unfortunately late for. Would you mind awfully just setting up another appointment for later? Of course,” he stopped and looked at all of us, “if it’s an emergency and you must speak with me privately … If any of you need to …”

“Oh no! That won’t be necessary, really,” I exhaled. “I … I just wanted to extend a thank-you to you from Jim for taking the time to meet with us.”

“Think nothing of it. It’s my duty. Anyway, I’ll be seeing him soon enough. I’m scheduled to return to Jonestown on May 10. I have already prepared the list of residents with whom I will want to meet. Let’s see, here it is. Yes, Jim asked that I send it in ahead of time to ensure the residents are there when I come. Thoughtful of him. I guess you folks are out and about a lot. I’d hate missing them. Anyway, I must be off and again, please make an appointment if you
need to …” This wouldn’t work. They were too dim-witted to be able to help me.

The couples and I headed toward the double glass doors to wait for our ride.

“Damn, Debbie … I was wondering what you were doing for a second … trying to talk to him in private? Like you were assigned to or something,” Yolanda smirked.

“Yolanda, leave Debbie alone. You know that Jim has her doing all kinda things we can’t know about. She might be on a secret mission for all you know,” Vera retorted.

“Then why were you yanking at her if her mission was so important?”

“Let it go, guys.” I tried to gain control of the situation. I had to quickly diffuse further comments and the possibility of anyone’s transmitting the dispute to Jim. I could already imagine Yolanda asking to get on the radio and apologizing to Father for interrupting and spoiling my secret mission.

“It’s just Temple etiquette,” I explained. “We must always thank people on Jim’s behalf. Then they feel important.”

“So important he didn’t have time to hear you say it.”

“Etiquette, my dearies, just the same,” I said with British properness, and everyone laughed.

The Land Rover pulled up as we stepped from the refreshing cool air of the embassy into the sweltering heat of the capital’s midday.

“The jerk’s probably CIA,” Johnny announced to no one in particular.

“Soon it’s going to be the last performance …” Yolanda sighed. “No more applause … Shoo, no more loud music and cola …”

“I know I’m glad to be going back,” Vera retorted.

“I know you’re lyin’. Tell me you ain’t gonna miss dancing every night.”

“Yeah, I will, but I miss my baby. Plus, this place is dangerous. Someone might try and kidnap one of us from here, just like Father says.”

Once the kids had returned to Jonestown, I should have felt good and confident that I was still in the capital, but everything was taking so long. I still didn’t have a plan. I had not been able to secretly send a letter to Annalisa. I was desperately lonely for someone
to confide in. I’d become edgy and nervous. Jim had already commented on my lack of focus. I had to take care not to trip myself up. I had to be ever watchful of his three most trusted aides here in town: Sharon, Karen, and Paula. In America I had been close to all three of them—Karen, with her fingers always running through her thin blond hair; Paula, who was more self-assured and who took her job as mistress to the Guyanese ambassador to the United States quite seriously. Father used both Paula and Karen to influence politicians and Customs agents alike. Funny, he never used a brunette for that purpose. Sharon was brunette and attributed her brown, wiry hair to being Jewish. She was unself-conscious, intelligent, and fiercely loyal. All three of them were trusted completely and were beyond suspicion.

I found it harder and harder to abide by the rules. One day, Jim ordered each of us to write ourselves up for capitalistic and treasonous thoughts. I thought he was on to something. He was too clever. I was not sophisticated enough to play mind games with him. He could intuit the faintest beginnings of deception. I’d pretended to comply but I didn’t hand it in. Instead, I inserted an empty envelope into the manila folder. No one was allowed to open “trusted” people’s confessions. Otherwise, Karen would have seen that my envelope was empty. Only Father read the inner circle’s disclosures. He had to protect his sources and our anonymity when we reported on each other, which was mandatory. Father said this was the way of socialism. We had to always fight the demons of self-absorption, and being reported upon was a safety precaution, a protection against the disease of individualism. I was just beginning to grasp the deception in this. It amazed me that I had never recognized before how he continually divided and conquered us. I hoped that when the folder got to Jonestown it would look as though my confession had fallen out. I hadn’t licked my envelope closed.