Seductive Poison

by Deborah Layton

  “Mama, do as I say. Do not write him that letter! Promise me you will not submit that note. Promise me?”

  “Debbie, what is the matter with you?”

  “Promise me? Now!”

  “Well, all right,” she shrugged. “But I think you’re overreacting.”

  I sipped my warm coffee and concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply. Why must we quarrel now?

  “Mama, I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to get into trouble. I’ve been feeling sort of funny lately and I just want you to do this for me. Please don’t talk about this conversation with anyone.”

  “Debbie, if it means that much to you, I won’t.”

  “Not Carolyn, not Karen. I mean no one.”

  “Remember when we first arrived and Jim asked us to write up all our digressions while we were away from his aura? I didn’t report you for ordering wine with our dinner in New York. I love you. I don’t want anything to harm you.” She hugged me tenderly and stroked my hair. “But sometimes you scare me … as if I don’t know you…. Oh, Debsy, my sweet baby girl.” There was another long pause. “I’ll miss you. But it won’t be long. We’ll be together again.” I heard the beat of her heart through her tiny, frail, chest as she continued to hold me. She rocked me slightly, and patted my back. “It’s okay, sweetie, you don’t need to cry. I’ll be fine.”

  “Oh, Mama.” I desperately tried to control the heaving in my chest.

  “Here, honey.” Mom looked down at her finger and removed the thin gold wedding band that had remained on her finger for thirty-six years. “Take this and wear it.”

  “Mama, no.” Tears now blurred my vision. “Please, you keep it. I don’t want you to take it off. I can’t take it from you. It’s a part of who you have been …”

  “Honey, I want you to wear it. You’ll have a piece of me with you in Georgetown.”

  “I can’t.” I sobbed. “I like knowing you’ve kept it on your finger. That all of you is the same as you have always been, and how I left you.” There was an undertow of silence.

  “Debbie?”

  “Mmmhum?”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Please, Mama … ?”

  “Something’s wrong. I can feel it in you, in your muscles. You’re stiff and anxious.”

  “Mama, I’m fine.”

  “No. I noticed it when you arrived earlier. You’ve changed.” Wiping the tears from my cheeks and nose I tried to think of reasons for my behavior. “What are you talking about, Mama?”

  I felt dizzy. I wanted to run. I wished I’d never come.

  “Darling …” There were tears in her eyes. “Listen to me. I love you very much.” She pulled me closer. I heard her troubled breathing. There was a wheeze in her only remaining lung. “We’ll be together again soon …”

  Wiping the tears from my face, Mama poured hot water onto an old pink washcloth.

  “Here, you’re splotchy. Hold the cloth down and your color will return.”

  The warmth felt good on my burning eyes. If only I could just cry, yell, scream, hold her, tell her, promise her … I will find a way to get you out, too. I won’t forget you, Mama!

  The sound of voices calling out and the revving of an engine permeated our solitude.

  “It’s time to leave, darling. They’re yelling for you.”

  “I love you, Mama. Remember, keep our secrets just our own?”

  “Yes, honey, I understand.”

  I walked over to the ledge and set my cup down next to the thermos. Her shoulders slumped forward as though she had lost a battle.

  “Debsy?” she whispered after me.

  “Yes, Mama?” I ran my wrist and arm under my nose to catch another tear.

  “I’ll never see you again, darling.”

  “Mama!”

  “Shhhshh … I know.” She walked slowly to the window that looked out toward the kitchen huts and on to the Jonestown road. “I’ve always known. Good-bye, darling. Hurry now, it’s time.” Someone yelled for me to hurry … I was unable to speak.

  Before the screen door slammed behind me, I hastily tossed Larry’s letter from my pocket onto the lonely cot. I felt Mama’s gaze upon my back as I scurried up her path. I couldn’t turn around to wave. I could not look at her face. I had to stay focused. I had a mission. I had to look resolute. I had to be strong. I had to act as if I were coming back!

  I began my run toward the Pavilion, praying that my flushed complexion would look more like a reaction to my exertion than to my overwhelming fear. Father was standing outside the radio room watching me race to the center of the compound. My heart began to pound louder.

  “Whoa, slow it down. I hadn’t noticed your sun intolerance.” My face was burning. I wondered if my eyes were still swollen and red.

  “You are the best person for this mission, Lucinda. Do a good job for me and your mom. I think her health will hold up while you’re gone.”

  “Yes, Father. I just spoke with her.”

  “Oh?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Carolyn said I should tell her I’d be gone a few days.”

  “I don’t think that was such a good idea. Your mother is terribly dependent on you and any upset could have an unfavorable influence on her health. She’s recently asked for Larry to come and visit. She misses him, too.” He motioned me into the radio room where no one could watch or hear us. “This is an important mission and I hope your short time away will give Maria a chance to reestablish her self-worth and prestige in the radio room. You’ve done so well with organizing, directing, and coordinating the activities in Georgetown that Maria’s become a tad envious. You’ve done a miraculous job and I’m very appreciative. Well, off you go …” He smiled. “Oh! Just one more thing…. I can trust only you in the capital. I need you to report to me daily on how the others’ attitudes are. I’m concerned that some of them are getting a little headstrong. Perhaps they need to be brought back. Some field work would be good for them. It’s always important to remember our roots. They need my aura to keep strong and directed.”

  “Yes, Father.” He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me to his groin. “It is good you will be leaving for a few days. I’ve been noticing you more lately. It’s making Maria uneasy.” Father patted my behind and pushed me toward the door. I felt sick to my stomach.

  The driver yelled as I stepped out onto the stairs. “Yo. Let’s go, girl!” The kids were already on board, each balanced on a bulging duffel bag. I threw my tiny satchel over the guardrail and climbed into the truck. Everyone was yelling now and waving to Jim. “Socialism lives!” we screamed.

  Father smiled, but looked tired, ill. His face was puffy and I noticed again that his mouth seemed dry. He waved and then turned away from the radio room and headed down the path toward Mama’s cabin. My heart pounded in my ears. What was he doing? Why was he going there? Bumping our way past the kitchen huts, I saw Mary peeking out from behind the ovens. Passing Mama’s cabin, I waved just in case she was watching. What did he want with her? Why was he going down there? What would he find out? Were her eyes red too? Would she tell him her fears … that she’d never see me again? It was all I could do not to scream at Jim to leave her alone.

  As we moved farther out of the main compound and onto the Jonestown road, I lost sight of the buildings. I leaned back against the truck siding, afraid and exhausted but exhilarated with new hope. Each one of us was on a mission. Each of us had an assignment and none of us knew what the others were thinking. The children’s excited conversations surrounded me as we continued down the road, past the burnt clearing, the pig corral, the sugarcane field. I would never work these fields again, never have a chance to taste the sugarcane. Mud splattered my arms and face while I gazed out at the scenery, my prison, and I thought about all the times I’d hoped for my escape. I thought about that evening about five months ago, when I had sat on this same truck, jerking and bouncing after a long day in the field, promising myself that if I ever got another chance, if I ever again looked
at the sunset away from here, in the United States of America, I would always cherish the gift of freedom.

  Thirty minutes from the center of the compound, I began to close down. My body was now on autopilot and my mind was blank. Only the information essential to survival would reach me. There was only my mantra: Stay calm, you can do it, you can do it. Everything will be fine….

  Our driver halted so the armed guard could unlatch the entrance gate. We passed under our wooden sign, which had taken on an entirely different meaning since the day I first passed under it.

  Welcome to Jonestown,

  Peoples Temple Agricultural Project

  I lifted my hand to my mouth, closed my eyes, and blew a good-bye kiss to Mama.

  15

  Escaping Paradise

  As the captain maneuvered the Cudjoe into the Georgetown port, I wondered what day it was. There were no calendars in Jonestown. I did know, however, that Christmas and my twenty-fifth birthday had come and gone without acknowledgment or celebration. The dilapidated wharf with its wooden planks and support posts was thick with black, porous grunge. The breeze reeked of diesel and fish. An antiquated barge had loosened its ties and was drifting back out to sea. I breathed in deeply. As I watched and listened to the dockhands yelling out directives and readying their stance to grab the various ropes being hurled from our boat, I felt relieved and at the same time the thought of Mama, alone, tugged at me.

  I turned away from the ocean and saw the Land Rover bumping along the harbor to fetch us. The truck finally pulled to a stop and I walked to the driver’s side.

  “Debbie? What’s the matter?” Bobby opened his door and stepped down.

  “Nothing. Why?” I could hear the kids busily pulling their duffels up into the truck, talking excitedly.

  Bobby was one of the “from birth” members, now twenty years old and devoted to Father, whom he affectionately called “JJ.”

  “Hello? Debbie? I’m talking to you …” I realized Bobby was watching me closely. “I said, you look really sad. You don’t miss Jonestown already, do you?”

  “I love it there, Bobby. Say, who’s at the house?”

  “Sharon. She’s entertaining the son of the owner of the Guyana Chronicle.”

  “Oh, yeah. Jim mentioned how influential his father is with politicians.”

  There was a pause. “Anyway … it’s kinda nice. His comin’ over gives me an excuse not to write myself up tonight.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “You didn’t know? Maria wants us to write down all our faults and the selfish thoughts we’ve been having. They’re to be sent back in with the boat. She came on the radio this morning and said it was a directive from JJ.”

  “Really? Carolyn never mentioned it when I left.”

  “They were attacked again last night. Jim says it could have been our negativity here that’s caused it.”

  “Caused what?” I asked.

  “The attack. Some mercenaries tried to charge them. Jim and everyone had to defend the compound all night.”

  “Last night? What time? Was anyone hurt?” I prayed Mama was all right.

  “Don’t think so. Guess one of the kids started crying and there was a long discussion over what punishment he’d receive. JJ said the boy’s crying could have signaled our surrender and he got put on the Learning Crew.”

  “How do you know all this?” I asked.

  “Maria said …” There was a pause. “Debbie, does Maria not like you or something?”

  “She likes me fine. Why do you ask?”

  “Jeez, I sure thought you guys must have argued or something. She said Father asked her to take over the radio operations again because she was the only one he could trust.” He sighed. “Debbie, I liked you better. Maria acts like she’s the only one who can do anything right and takes credit for everything. Jim always complimented us on a job well done after your reports. Well, that is, when we deserved it.”

  “You’ve always been good, Bobby. Father’s very appreciative of your hard work,” I told him.

  “Yeah? Well, he’ll never know about it now.” He sighed again, then looked over his shoulder. “Everyone on?” The kids shouted in the affirmative and we pulled away from the wharf.

  I wondered what was happening back inside that had caused this new rift. Had Jim said something bad about me to Maria? Perhaps she was really envious of me. Poor Maria was never given an opportunity to leave, not in the States and not in Guyana.

  As we drove through town, I was comforted by the sight of people milling freely around the market and the official buildings with the flags of foreign countries. This was the “outside” world! I would have human contact outside our tightly controlled group. There had to be help somewhere. After all, the capital was a part of the civilized world!

  As we passed the market, the Ministry of Justice, and the Pegasus Hotel, I noticed a steeple protruding from a dilapidated building.

  “What’s that?” I pointed.

  “The spire? That’s the building Ben’s dad owns. It’s the newspaper.”

  As we drove down the crowded main street, I wondered how this relationship with Ben and his father had been formed and whether it might be useful also for me. Did Sharon now have to “give herself for the Cause,” which meant having an affair?

  Perhaps Paula’s influence had led to this new and potentially significant relationship. Paula had been good friends with Mama, and she used to come to my parents’ home with me occasionally. But down here, I’d barely seen her. She was so lucky. Even though I believed her affair with Bonny was a sacrifice for her, at least she got to sleep in every morning.

  “Look, check it out. See the sign?” We were passing by the newly erected Guyanese Cultural Center where a large sign had been posted across the marquee:

  Peoples Temple Agricultural Project

  Presents

  A Cultural Presentation to the Guyanese People

  A Dance of Freedom

  “We’re gonna be famous,” Yolanda exclaimed.

  “Get serious, Yolanda, this is really important,” Vera stopped her. “Father says we gotta do our best. Through us, the Guyanese people will understand how we are a part of this country.”

  “It’s not the people. It’s the government,” Johnny explained. “Didn’t you listen to anything Carolyn said? It’s the Prime Minister who’s upset that we don’t mingle more with the people here.”

  “Guess none of you understands what’s happenin’,” Vera declared.

  “The real reason we’re here, well, it’s to show them we are as happy and capable as they. Like Father said, we are as misunderstood as Cuba and Russia. The conspiracies in those countries pay people to say ugly things against their government. I bet they get thousands of dollars from the CIA.”

  “We’re home.”

  Our house looked larger and prettier than I had remembered. I noticed a small car parked outside the radio room window.

  “Yup, he’s still here,” said Bobby. We pulled up next to it and stopped. Everyone started battling to be the first out.

  “Dibs on the upstairs shower,” cried Joyce.

  “Listen up,” yelled Bobby over the commotion. “There’s been a water shortage in the capital and showers have been reduced. Make sure the buckets are placed under the showers so there is no wasted water. That way the next person can use the bucket water.”

  “Here too?” someone yelped.

  We had a two-level house with no interior connectors. The only way to pass from the downstairs to the upstairs was the outside steps. The kids ran up the stairs to the main house, pushing and laughing, vying for a good place in the shower queue while I stopped at the top of the stairs to look at the homes scattered around the weedy fields.

  If only I had a plan. If only I could talk to someone. If only there were someone I could trust. Jim even had the officials in Guyana convinced that there were enemies all around. If I asked any of them for help they’d probably think
I was a double-agent provocateur.

  I turned and went downstairs into the radio room. The space looked like a tornado had blown through. Notes were strewn on the floor, clothes and shoes piled in mounds, the radio unattended. I walked over to see which frequency we were set for, and noticed the telephone on the wooden desk. Did they have a contraption attached to this to record outgoing calls? Would the number I dialed be recorded onto a statement? I sat down at the desk and thought about Annalis. What time was it? She must be five hours behind me.

  Above me in the living room, I heard the kids’ voices and then the rhythmic bumps, stomps, and claps of their dance. I pictured them standing in a double line, the tall girls in the back. Each one of their beautiful young black faces devoid of fear because they were too excited about their momentary freedom, too ensnared in their fantasies, wishing their mothers and little sisters could see them getting ready for the presentation. All of them had family waiting securely in Jonestown, making sure they wouldn’t be tempted by the dangerous capitalists.

  I looked at the phone again. I hadn’t seen one in months. It looked silly sitting here with its oversized cradle for the heavy black receiver. Suddenly the rhythm of the dance upstairs was interrupted by a quick shuffling and footsteps coming outside onto the stairs. I jumped away from the phone.

  “Debbie?” It was Sharon.

  “I’m down here.”

  Sharon entered the room, breathless and bedraggled. I decided she could not be having an exciting affair and look so miserable.

  “The kids are practicing. It’s wonderful. You should come watch.”

  “I’ve been watching them rehearse for weeks, inside.”

  “Inside? How odd … Inside …” She played with the sound of the word on her tongue. “Debbie, you said inside. That’s a strange way to characterize the Promised Land.”

  “No. I just mean it’s safer there than it is here on the outside. Say, who’s responsible for scheduling transmission into Jonestown?”

  “Michael, but the reason no one’s manning the radio just now is because we needed enough people to go to the Russian Embassy today. Father told us the embassy had priority, but we’ll try right away to connect with the States about the new threats.”