Seductive Poison

by Deborah Layton

  What had I done? I left the podium, afraid of the shadow I’d cast upon my innocence. Father no longer viewed me as one of his children.

  He was my teacher, my father, our savior. Why was I being singled out? I loved Father, believed in his words, never complained to him, and never pulled on him. I was not one of those awful few he complained about—those needing him, wanting him, begging him for favors. I was a good disciple.

  As Father’s hands continued his bidding, the shame of his touch uprooted my very foundation. I was not sure which one of us I hated more. Perhaps I was being tested. Yes! Yes, perhaps this was only a test. Pushing the metal button on the top of my jeans, Father’s hand then rubbed my stomach softly.

  “Your skin is heavenly,” he murmured as the converted Greyhound bus cruised up the highway toward San Francisco.

  “At the next rest stop, I’ll order everyone off the bus to exercise,” Father whispered. “When it’s clear, go into my compartment and wait for me.” His eyes were soft and kindly and yet I felt as though he could see through my clothing.

  When we stopped, Father gave the orders and my comrades disembarked. I stayed on, pretending I was asleep. As she was getting off, Carolyn paused at my side, then moved on.

  Father’s bus was customized especially for him. He had his own private compartment in the rear quarter of the motor coach with a wall and a door. It was a place where he could disappear into his own space, where no one could see or hear him. We knew this was where he worked long hours while his disciples slept. Here, Father took care of important, godly business.

  It seemed like hours as I waited, hunched behind the door in his dark room. I wondered if Carolyn had noticed I was missing. Suddenly, the engine started. I stood up to greet Father, but he didn’t return. Not sure what to do, I sat at his desk, then nervously perched on the end of his bed. I was sick with anxiety. What was I doing here? Perhaps I had misunderstood him. I moved again, hunkering down behind his door where I felt safest. I heard voices as the door opened. Father was speaking with someone. His head was turned toward them, but his body quickly entered my space. I stood before my leader, unsure how to greet him.

  “Please unbutton your shirt.”

  My head reeled. I promised myself I wouldn’t have capitalistic thoughts anymore. I wouldn’t think about leaving. His hands began to caress me but they didn’t feel soft, like a minister’s hands. They were less sweet and attentive than my eighteen-year-old boyfriend’s hands had been. I whimpered. This wasn’t how God should act.

  “You look frightened,” he whispered. His voice was soft and consoling as he guided me to his bed and pulled off my jeans. “Please don’t be afraid. I am doing this for you … to help you,” he comforted me. “You don’t realize what a pretty girl you are.” He tossed my pants on the floor and unceremoniously unzipped his trousers. Desperately embarrassed, I looked away. Had I given Father the idea I wanted him to do this to me?

  His hands were now softer, his voice consoling. Completely clothed, pants open just enough, Father got on top of me, heavy and smelling ghastly. I felt a searing pain. Father continued to push against me. I could no longer decipher his words. I was suffocating. There were no kisses. Just the lonely sound of hot and heavy breathing on my neck. I descended slowly into paralyzed confusion and further downward into absolute darkness. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. He pushed himself back off me and zipped up his pants.

  Ashamed, I whispered, “I’m sorry, Father.”

  “Not to worry, my child. You needed it. I would never harm you. This is for your own good.” He was busy brushing the creases from his shirt. “When we get to the next rest stop, I’ll empty the bus. Get out quickly then and don’t let anyone see you.”

  “Yes, Father. Thank you, Father.” Saddened that he felt he had to do this to me, I pulled on my shirt and tried to push the buttons through the impossibly small holes. My hands trembled as I pulled my jeans back on, wishing I was invisible, wishing I was who I had been just a few hours ago. Despite his words, I didn’t feel any prettier.

  When the bus finally stopped, I waited anxiously for Father to return and tell me that it was safe to leave, that everyone was off, but he didn’t return. I huddled again on the floor behind his door. I wanted to go to sleep. I wanted to be on the other side, where I wouldn’t question my own thoughts.

  The engine started again, its vibration cutting through me as we pulled out slowly from the rest stop. Without warning, Father’s compartment door swung into my hunched figure.

  “What? You’re still in here?” Father seemed annoyed with me as he came in and closed the door. “Now you have to wait until everyone is asleep again.” Then he went back out and I was alone again in his sanctuary.

  I waited and waited next to his bed, screaming insult after insult at my tired and numbed mind. Then, in what seemed like the middle of forever, he knocked on the door to notify me it was safe and I tiptoed back out to the safety of my sleeping brethren. As I tucked myself away into the luggage rack, I thought I heard Carolyn’s voice and wondered whether she had been awake and noticed me.

  I awoke as the bus pulled into the San Francisco headquarters parking lot in the early morning dawn. The sun had barely decided which color to paint the morning as I grabbed my tote bag and rushed off the bus to my car. I didn’t want Father to see me again. What would I say? What in the world would he do?

  Driving over the Golden Gate Bridge under a brilliant orange and blue sky, I struggled to make sense out of what happened between me and our leader and wondered what would happen next. And then suddenly I was roused from my numbed state by a memory of an incident that had happened more than a year earlier.

  It had been an all-night session for the leadership and Annie and I had been late because her nursing classes ran longer on Wednesday nights. We drove in at record speed from Santa Rosa. The meeting this night was in the Ukiah hinterlands, at the home of one of the Planning Commission members. The sitting room was already crowded when we arrived. Excusing ourselves, we pushed toward the back of the room, managing to find places on the hardwood floor in front of the warm wood-burning fireplace. Father’s reclining chair was situated up front, in the middle portion of the room, and everyone fanned out from around his feet. We always sat on the floor because no one’s head was to be above Father’s.

  Comfortable but exhausted, Annie and I sat close together listening to someone trying to explain why he had done something wrong, trying to defend himself without acting defensive. As usual, Annie had brought sunflower seeds for us to munch on; sucking on the salty husk and working out the little seed inside it helped keep us awake.

  Suddenly Father’s voice seemed louder and very serious. The room was hushed and I felt profound fear in the air. I stopped chewing.

  “I want the person who begged me for sex and threatened suicide to stand.”

  Not again, I thought. Don’t these blockheads ever get it? I was filled with disdain for these women who could not control their sexual cravings. They made me sick. Their capitalistic and selfish acts of sexual aggression made these all-night meetings run even longer into the morning. I sighed with scorn and impatience.

  Father’s voice began to growl, “You know who you are. You’re no different. What makes you think you’re special? Stand up!”

  My impatience suddenly turned to fear and confusion, and I sat up straight. His anger seemed to be focused in my direction. Just the thought of his rage was terrifying. I reached secretly for Annie’s finger. Slowly, her hand trembling, Annie removed the bag of sunflower seeds from her lap and placed them in mine. My breathing became shallow. The silence in the room was deafening. Annie was leaning toward me. I thought she was trying to tell me something. She seemed to be struggling to get her legs out from under her skirt. Annie rose and my world slowed into a haze. Annie? Sweet, honest Annie? Not you!

  As I listened, too embarrassed for Annie to look up at her, I tried to comprehend what was happening. Our tiny littl
e world, the one only we shared, was being defiled and shattered. Now Annie could no longer be my friend, not the old way. She had been transformed into one of them. Every single one of “them” had changed, acted differently … as if they were better. They all got more important responsibilities, as if they were more trustworthy than the rest of us. They all, somehow, got closer to Jim. It didn’t make sense. I felt anger, a sense of betrayal and abandonment. No more giggling, acting stupid, making dumb jokes. Annie had left me.

  I could hardly bear to listen to Annie recite her litany of reasons why she had begged Jim for sex, what a wonderful lover he was, how he helped her feel better about herself. I couldn’t imagine it. Someone began to yell at her for pressuring Father. How dare she? Someone else stood up and screamed obscenities at her. I kept my head down. It just wasn’t Annie, not the one I knew. Why, Annie, why? I thought. Why would you beg him for sex? You, the last person on earth who’s interested in such boring things. Wildly disappointed, defeated and alone I sat there, wiping my eyes. Jim’s voice piped up.

  “Debbie … Debbie, you haven’t said anything. Aren’t you upset with Annie?”

  I rose up. “Yes. I am.”

  “Well, what do you have to say?” Father pushed for a response.

  “I am sickened by it.”

  “Don’t tell me. Tell her how you feel,” Father demanded. “Tell Annie how angry you are!” he yelled.

  I turned only very slightly. Annie was looking past, through, and far beyond me. I looked into her face but it wasn’t hers any longer. It was blank, numb, and old. She was no longer twenty years old.

  “How dare you have done such an awful thing to Father!” I screamed.

  The bridge now far behind me, I wiped the tears from my eyes. I wondered again why Annie would have threatened to kill herself to have sex with Father. It just didn’t make sense.

  I resumed my new responsibilities working for Carolyn and came to see the bus incident as an aberration. But, too soon, my turn came again. This time, after an early evening Sunday service in San Francisco, I was standing in the auditorium, having just finished counseling someone, when I looked up to see Father beckoning me over.

  His bodyguards were instructed to protect him, but not to overhear what he was saying. The guards were a new addition since Jim had received several death threats. Father had explained how he, like Martin Luther King, always needed to watch his back. The young burly men stood a respectful few feet away. Innocently excited, I rushed over.

  I had recently been allowed to move back to San Francisco from Ukiah and now lived inside the church on Geary Street, as did Jim. More important, Father had made me the Head Counselor, responsible for dealing with members’ complaints and the issue of who should be privately or publicly confronted. I loved my new responsibilities and was very proud that Father had considered me wise enough to be in charge. So when he called me over I imagined that he wanted to talk to me about something that had to do with my new duties. I loved being a counselor but was not sure why Father had made me Head Counselor, when there were older, seemingly wiser and more experienced counselors he could have chosen. Maybe I really was special …

  “Debbie, go into the men’s room and wait for me there,” he instructed me.

  Baffled, I went to stand inside, as close to the door as possible. I prayed no one would enter and find me there. The room was dirty and had been used by potty-training toddlers, their little drip marks evident on the floor and sides of the urinals. As I waited for Father, a familiar sick feeling came up from my stomach. He entered the room, then turned around, opening the door only very slightly. He instructed the guards that no one was to be allowed near, that he had business he needed to discuss with me.

  “Go over there,” he pointed, and I obediently walked toward the toilet stall and waited. “Why are you staring at me in that way?” he asked almost sheepishly.

  “I am not sure what you want me to do, Father.”

  “I want you now. I was watching you earlier, I yearn for your sweetness. Lie down, darling,” he said, pointing to the dirty bathroom floor.

  He looked like a vampire as he thrust back his black choir robe, lowered his heavy body onto mine, and cloaked us in his demonic embrace. “I’m doing this for you …” he groaned.

  “I want you to appreciate yourself more. You’ve no idea what you do to me,” he whispered. “I have great things in store for you, Debbie.”

  Two weeks later, I was on my way to my room when Father caught me in the hallway.

  “Tonight, I will tap on your door when it is safe for you to come down to my apartment.” Father’s voice was filled with sweetness, his face loving and kind.

  I nodded and entered my room while he entered his son’s, next to mine. But later that night, when I heard his knocking, I lay very still in my sleeping bag. Slowly the door opened, creaking slightly as Father poked his head in.

  “Oh, Father!” exclaimed Shanda as she rose to greet him.

  “Goodness, excuse me. I thought I was knocking on Stephan’s door,” Father apologized loudly. I could feel him eyeing the room, wondering why I had not awakened with the disturbance. “Hope I didn’t wake you and Debbie,” he said.

  “Of course not, huh, Debs?” Shanda called over to me. “That’s fast! She was awake a moment ago, Father.”

  I remained motionless, frozen with fear. I knew it was some monstrous mistake; he didn’t want to have to do this to me … it was my fault. I must have accidentally sent him a subliminal message asking for it and by staying quiet and asleep God would soon comprehend the misunderstanding and withdraw.

  My awakening came that weekend at a cathartic leadership all-nighter. I was sitting next to Trisha and had just thrown a handful of sunflower seeds into my mouth when Jim’s voice slowed and his words became accentuated with disgust.

  “I want the person to stand …”

  Another one? I thought. Not tonight, it was already too late.

  “You know who you are, you’re not special, not different. Stand up and apologize.” Everyone in the room was frozen. “So you think you are different, that I was not speaking to you?” he admonished.

  My thoughts were racing as I waited for the fool to stand.

  “Yes, it was you, stand up!” Father bellowed.

  I looked around the room and then into Father’s eyes. They were focused on me. Oh, Jesus … Mommy … Carolyn … Help me. The room felt terribly small. Sunflower seeds spilled from my lap and onto the floor, scattering under people’s legs and cushions as I rose. My mind was spinning with thoughts of Annie, trembling and standing next to me, of Maria, Christine, Grace, Marylou, Sharon, Jan, Teresa, Sandy, Karen, Laura, so many of them. And I finally realized, at that very second, that none of them had ever asked for this injustice. I had hated them all for so long, so unfairly. Now I was one of them. Standing erect and perfectly still, I knew what I had to do. I knew the words by heart and slowly began reciting the litany of compliments … how wonderful Father had been; yes, I had forced his Humbleness into compromise; I had threatened suicide; he was the best and had the biggest one I had ever seen … Mortified and ashamed, I stood as my friends and comrades hissed their contempt.

  “I had so many organisms,” I proclaimed. I did not understand what Father suddenly found humorous.

  My confrontation lasted into early dawn. The younger, newer members, my twelfth-grader friends, Jim’s sons and their friends, were pressured into telling me how much they hated me. Father wanted their ties to me severed. When it was all over, hours after we’d been dismissed, I cautiously opened the door to the room where Stephan, Robbi, and Shanda sat whispering.

  “It was not how it seems,” I said softly, then stepped back into the darkened hallway and closed the door. I was taking a terrible risk by breaking the unspoken code of silence regarding our relations, interactions, and discussions with Father with anyone else. If any one of the teenagers told Jim that I had made verbal contact with them in defense of my predicament, I w
ould be relentlessly confronted and punished. But I wanted them to know that I had not asked for this, I had not begged or even wanted Father’s tainted affections. I did not want them to hate me as I had hated the others for so many years. As I retreated I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped. It was Annie. She kissed my forehead gently and continued down the hall.

  6

  Resurrection

  Two weeks after my third fall from grace, Father summoned me to his quarters. It was a gloriously sunny afternoon and an unusual time to meet with our leader. He was rarely sighted during the day because, we were told, he was always on some secret mission for the advancement of socialism. I walked down the narrow stairwell toward his apartment, feeling queasy. Had the kids told him? I scolded myself for being so dependent on their acceptance.

  I squinted upon entering the dark stale room. As always, the shades were drawn and the room looked like night. I held my breath, promising I would sleep only three hours that night if my pals had kept our secret. By knowing the truth, that I had not asked or begged for Jim’s touch, they nourished an invisible redemptive seed within me. What would I say if Father demanded to know why I had betrayed him?

  Sitting around Father were the most influential people in the Temple: my two sisters-in-law, Carolyn and Karen Layton; Teresa; Sharon, one of Jim’s lieutenants and a diehard believer; John, now a law student and still being groomed to be Jim’s successor; and Tim Stoen, our assistant D.A. whose wife, Grace, had recently left the Cause. I was honored to be in the same room with these exalted few. None of them slept more than four hours per night, I was sure of it.

  Father looked up from his discussions. “Come in, darling … I can barely see you out there.”

  I inched my way forward. I vowed to stay up all night if they hadn’t told.

  Father laughed, “Debbie, come in! What are you frightened of … organisms?” He laughed, his face sweet and angelic. Carolyn smiled at me, her eyes hinting that my recent disgrace and misery were over.