Seductive Poison (44 page)

As for me, I was close to annihilation. My mother, my brother, the friends whom I had betrayed, were already being told horrible stories about me and why I had defected. Anyone who left was evil, depraved, and antisocial. Beth was probably listening to Father’s lies about me right then: that I had tried to molest her son, that I had had an affair with her husband, that I wrote reports suggesting she was an unfit mother. Karen was probably being told that I had been working for the CIA for the last six weeks, and Father was saying
how sorry he was that when he’d read my vicious reports about her he’d believed them. Every person who once cared for me was probably being told hideous lies about me so that they would have no qualms about finding and hurting me.

Maria was probably searching through the copious Temple files for the blank sheets of paper I signed while Father was conjuring up ghastly misdeeds to be written on them as my confessions. I could almost see Jack, seated next to Karen in the radio room, undoubtedly being instructed on how to abduct, silence, and drug me into oblivion. I even imagined the spittle in the creases of Sharon’s mouth as she spoke over the radio to Karen, giving her the phone number of the doctor who had drugged Margarita. I knew how it worked, I knew the techniques well.

Bobby had probably been ordered to wait at the American Embassy until tomorrow night, watching and reporting on all activities: who arrived, when, with whom, and whether the ambassador looked anxious. Another one of the youngsters had most likely been assigned to wait outside and observe the entrance to the Post Office where the passport and tax clearance offices were housed. And finally, a point man had probably been assigned to drive the van continually from the embassy to the Post Office and back, retrieving information and calling Headquarters from the only public phone, at the Pegasus Hotel. Karen Layton would heroically transmit the gory details by the hour to Father, Carolyn, and Maria.

What were they going to tell Mama? That I was a heroin addict? That I had become a whore, slept with outsiders, and become disgracefully pregnant? Would they convince her that I had stolen thousands of dollars and fled the country? Would they pressure her into telling them all our secrets? Mama … Mama, please don’t believe them.

And poor, unsuspecting Larry, still in the United States. What would they tell him? Would he be sent to Guyana before I got a chance to speak with him, warn him? Yes! Jim would tell him vile stories about my defection, that I’d hurt everyone’s chance to immigrate to Cuba. He would be told it was because of me that Mama’s health was deteriorating. Oh, the lies, the terrible, brutal lies. Lies that I, too, had believed about other bad people who had left the church. It was there, in the car heading back toward the capital, that I realized they must have been just like me, they hadn’t meant any
harm, they had never planned to hurt us. Oh my God, all the evil, miserable lies.

Dan grabbed my hand and we dashed into the lobby of the Tower Hotel. It was two-thirty in the morning.

“She needs a room for the night,” Dan announced importantly.

“Passport, please,” said the young clerk. “And the rooms are one hundred dollars U.S. per night.”

“Do you have some money?” Dan asked. I remembered the crumpled $100 bill from the afternoon’s begging, still in my pocket, and placed it on the counter.

“Dan, this isn’t a good idea. The Temple will be hitting every hotel in the capital looking for me. Don’t leave me here alone. And not under my real name.”

Dan excused us from the check-in desk and listened to my litany of schemes the Temple would employ to discover my whereabouts.

“It is of utmost importance that you do not divulge the name of this woman to anyone, unless they show an American diplomatic passport.” He pulled out his and allowed the clerk to study it more closely.

“Good. I understand.”

“No matter what story they tell you, that my mother is ill, my Father has just died, that my sister is about to give birth and needs my rare blood type Q. No matter what, you cannot say I am here or give out the room number,” I added.

“Of course. Only with a badge.”

Dan stepped off the elevator onto the sixth floor and began to carefully search every dark corner. He then entered my room and checked under the bed and in the bathroom, then once more he looked around the hallway.

“I’ll be here at 8
A.M.
sharp.”

I deadbolted the door behind him as he left, walked into the bathroom, and began to run a hot bath. Looking around for some shampoo, I came across the tiny courtesy bar of soap and set it on the tub’s porcelain edge. I called the front desk and asked if someone could give me a cigarette.

A young black man came to my door. “We’ll keep you safe,” he winked. He lit the match, puffed hard on a fresh cigarette, and handed it to me. I watched him leave, then bolted and chained my door. The bath had filled close to the top. I found an ashtray and set it on the bathroom floor next to the tub. I discarded my crumpled
shorts, pulled my jeans and shirt from the bag Dan had left on the desk, and laid them out on the chair. Taking a long drag, I sank into the cool water and began to cough. The smoke was foreign to my lungs, but the taste was so forbidden, I could feel my ties to Father loosening even further. I grabbed for another drag, but my wet fingers extinguished the embers.

Drying off and walking around the room with no clothes on felt exhilarating. I had never had the occasion or the privacy before to do this, not even in boarding school. It gave me a sudden, fleeting taste of freedom.

Then I called the front desk and asked the time.

“Four o’clock, miss.”

“Will you ring me at seven-thirty?” As I hung up the phone, I tried to remember Annalisa’s phone number. I wrote it down several different ways, but they all looked wrong. Why couldn’t I remember?

I slipped into bed, between the crisp, clean cotton sheets and rolled into a little ball. As the soft pillow hugged my head, I tried to sleep but an ugly vision invaded my thoughts. I was lying here, ensconced in opulence and wonderful silence, but I saw everyone running from their cabins, the loudspeakers blaring: “Hurry, children! Hurry, mothers! Quickly, everyone to the Pavilion! We have had a defection! We have a traitor in our midst!” I saw Mary hobbling up the hill from the kitchens. Mama was disoriented, weak, and suddenly desperately afraid. “Who could it be?” They were both wondering if it was me. Mama was asking herself if she should stand tonight and indict herself during this terrible commotion.

My bed was no longer comfortable. The backs of my legs were sweaty. I sat up. My comrades were in danger. Another White Night, tonight, into day, into tomorrow, and all my fault. I had endangered their lives for my own selfish reasons. I begged God not to let Father hurt them. They couldn’t die because of me.

I relit my cigarette. Now what? Always nightmares? I stared at the phone and tried again to remember Annalisa’s phone number. All alone and no one to talk to. If only Dan had stayed with me.

There was a noise in the hallway. Someone was moving about near my room. I closed the bathroom door, turned the lock, switched off the light, and cowered quietly in the bathtub. I waited and listened until, exhausted, I fell asleep in the tub.

I was awakened by the ringing of the phone.

“Good morning … It’s seven-thirty and you have a gentleman here waiting for you. A Mr. Daniel Weber.”

“Tell him to come up in ten minutes.” I quickly rang off. I wanted to go home. As I unlocked the door to my room and tied my shoes, Dan triple-knocked and opened the door.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Okay.”

“You look tired.” He smiled awkwardly. “Everything is set. We’ll run over to tax clearance this morning and get your stamp.”

“Dan … I don’t need to go. You can do it alone. Really … I’ve done this before, remember, for Carolyn.”

“No, you need to do it. I will be with you the entire time and never leave your side.”

“Please!!!!! They’ll be there. They’ve been posted everywhere to find and challenge me. I don’t want to go there.”

“Debbie.” His voice raised slightly. “I am the vice consul of the American Embassy and I give you my word, I will stay at your side and not allow anyone to approach you.”

Grabbing my plastic bag, he put his arms on my shoulders and directed me toward the door. My stomach growled softly. I was hungry and had no more money.

Outside, I looked around for the van, but saw nothing. It was a three-block walk to the Post Office and only Dan and I were on the street. It seemed odd that no one had emerged yet, but when we approached the tax clearance entrance I noticed a dark vehicle pulling back slightly behind the building.

“Dan, they’re here. I shouldn’t have come. Can’t you take me back to the embassy?”

“Remember my promise? Come on, Deb, we’re almost there. Say, when we’re all done I’ll buy you lunch.”

I felt eyes following me. My hands shook. He didn’t get it. Why was it so hard to understand?

“You’ll be okay.” Dan tried to calm me.

The Post Office was filled with people. My blouse was getting sweaty. I was not a very impressive-looking person. Dan directed me to the desk of an official.

“We are here to get her passport’s tax clearance,” Dan explained.

“There are five people ahead of you. Take a seat and I’ll call when it’s your turn.”

The official directed me to the last chair in the waiting room. Dan encouraged me to take it, then leaned against the wall by the reception desk and watched me and the room. The decor of the room was as antiquated as the building. The walls were of dark wood and the little light that entered came from small window openings in the ceiling. The chairs were dark brown and splintered.

“Ms. Blakey,” the official announced after too many minutes. “You may proceed, alone.”

“But …” Dan interjected, “we’re here on official business and I must stay with her.”

“Only the girl is allowed.”

In the next room, even more people were waiting. The walls looked as though they’d been painted ages ago, with more scuffs and chips on them than paint. I looked pleadingly at Dan, but he shrugged his official shoulders.

I took one of the only two empty chairs. Dan remained standing at the entryway. Suddenly, from the darkness at the other end of the room, someone got up and moved toward me. It was Deirdre. Tall, black, and beautiful, Deirdre had come into the capital with Beth. Her father had been Jim’s assistant minister, and she, like Bobby, had been raised in the church. Deirdre was on her way to becoming important. Dan watched as she took the seat next to me.

“Debbie,” she implored, “what are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” I answered.

“You know Jim lets anybody go back to the United States who wants to. All you had to do was ask.”

“For whom are you saying this? No one is listening.” I looked straight ahead.

“Come on, Debbie. Father loves you.”

“Listen, Deirdre, you know the truth and I know the truth, so let’s not discuss it. I’m not hostile or vindictive, I just want to go back.”

“But, Debbie, you know you can.”

“I’ve tried all that, remember? My sister sent me a telegram saying to meet her in Caracas and Jim said no. I had no alternative. I’m not here to argue with you, you are not going to change my mind, so please just leave me alone.”

She was upset and left.

“Miss Blakey …” I walked over to the official’s desk. “You are requesting tax clearance?”

“Yes, I must return to the United States.”

“Please take a seat in the room over there. They will help you.” He pointed.

I moved to the next room, still in view of Dan, who remained at the first entrance.

As I watched him, I saw Deirdre coming back. She nudged Dan aside, the officials allowing her access without question, and moved quickly toward me. Another communiqué from Jim.

“Jim wants to know why you are leaving.” She took a dramatic breath. “The very least you can do is say why you’re leaving.”

I looked over to Dan. There was no help coming from him. I decided to comply. Maybe Jim would see I wasn’t planning to hurt anyone.

“Okay.” Deirdre pulled out a notepad and began to write my words verbatim. They had run out of cassettes.

“I don’t believe the structure in Jonestown is good,” I declared. “I think it is too severe, some of the punishments are way out of line. I’m not vindictive toward the church. I’m not leaving to hurt anyone, I just want to go back to the United States, have a life of my own, keep separate. That’s all. I want to settle down and have a family.”

“But, Debbie, you can have all that here.”

“Listen, I was there when Lorina came back from visiting the Capital, when she admitted having an affair with a Guyanese man. Do you think Father was pleased with her? Did he encourage her to have a relationship? She was so desperate and lonely she had an affair in town, and then, when she was told to write herself up, that all would be forgiven, I saw her beaten, I watched her on the Learning Crew, barely able to walk from the physical abuse. Her eyes were black and swollen. I won’t forget that, ever. The way she stood before Father, bruised and bloodied and he glared at her. ‘You will rue the day you were born … I’ll work you until you go crazy.’ No, Deirdre, I cannot live in Jonestown. I cannot be part of the organization anymore.”

“Just talk to Jim on the radio. Come back to the house and talk to him.”

“I won’t come back to the house!”

“Then will you talk to him via telephone and I’ll relay?”

“Miss Blakey …” a male voice called out.

“I’ll think about it,” I exhaled as both of us rose and moved in separate directions. Exhausted, I entered the cubicle I had been waved into.
Another hour passed as I answered questions: why I stayed there for five months, where I lived, whether I traveled during that time, why I didn’t have my original passport, why the embassy was helping me … and on, and on. When I finally walked out, Dan hugged me and assured me I had done a good job.

The rain began as we walked into the streets of the capital, with my passport now officially stamped. I noticed the tail end of a dark van pull around the corner and another one following us from one block behind. I was too tired to care.