Beautiful Revolutionary

by Laura Elizabeth Woollett

  By now, Soul is climbing Phil’s leg. ‘That’s enough, Sunny. You’re gonna trip me up.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Evie repeats in her sharp schoolteacher voice, coming up behind them.

  One thing about Evie is, she’s always coming up when you’re not expecting her, and a lot of people don’t like that. Another thing, people don’t talk as much when Evie’s around. As the guys stand around swatting flies, Evie tugs Soul away from Phil, crouches down and starts fussing with his clothes, his hat with the flaps. Sally-Ann sucks her lips. Sometimes even she finds herself going quiet around Evie. Was it always like this?

  ‘You wore the black top,’ Sally-Ann says, for want of anything better. ‘I like that top.’

  ‘It’s a nice top,’ Phil echoes, admiring Evie as she straightens up. Evie ignores him.

  A bit of red shows like a wound through the trees, then the flatbed truck emerges. Sally-Ann hoists Soul up to see it better. ‘I spy Grandma and Grandpa!’

  ‘Grandma-grandpa?’ Soul gapes. ‘Where?’

  ‘Right. There.’ Sally-Ann points to the peak of Dad’s balding head, Mom’s dyed champagne-blond hair.

  Soul swivels to regard Phil. ‘Grandma and grandpa came on a plane. From America.’

  ‘So did you,’ Phil says. ‘When you were a baby.’

  ‘I wasn’t a baby!’ Soul argues. ‘I remember.’

  ‘Do you really?’ Evie asks skeptically. ‘What do you remember?’

  Soul starts talking crap about flying over the fires of America until they reached the clouds, the clouds wrapping them up like a blanket, putting them asleep until they reached the Promised Land. Even Evie laughs. Then the truck is so close Sally-Ann can see her parents waving, and the guys are stepping up to help with the luggage, helping the women down. Jin-sun smooches his wife Carrie, shows her the baby. Billy smooches Alice.

  ‘Oh!’ Mom makes a hilarious face as Martin Luther lifts her, places her down where the soil is less likely to muck her sandals. Dad jumps down, and then, since he’s tall, lends a hand to a young black girl with a lumpy little body and big scared eyes. Sally-Ann has never seen the girl before. Her parents look older and whiter than she remembers.

  ‘Welcome to the Promised Land!’ Sally-Ann grins, just the same.

  Behind her, quieter but smiling, too, Evie says, ‘Welcome to Jonestown.’

  The best thing about that night isn’t that they get fried chicken for dinner, or wearing the new blouses Mom gave them (orange with red-and-white flowers for Sally-Ann, blue with white-and-gold flowers for Evie), or even the after-dinner entertainment of African dancing and Jamaican steel drums and a steady flow of jazz, rock, and soul. The best thing for Sally-Ann is seeing all her favorite people in one place, how easily they fit together: Mom deep in conversation with Mother Rosaline, making her laugh, rolling their eyes at the pavilion roof; Dad listening patiently to Father, in his papaya-orange shirt, talking about the freighter they’re in the process of buying, how they’ll use it for commercial runs to Trinidad; Evie and Phil nodding along with Father, inserting comments, data, but also talking to each other in a grave, tentative way, too quiet to hear over the entertainment. Carrie breastfeeds baby Bam while giving Sally-Ann the latest gossip from the capital: how Joya Mendelssohn ran around like a headless chicken trying to find a bottle of vodka to bring to a last-minute meeting with the Russian consul’s wife; how the Guyanese women are always blowing kisses at Roger Luce, he’s so tall and so blond; how Terra Lynden has been real uppity, a bitch to live with. At one point, Father gets up to praise the African dancers on their performance, taking Dad with him, and Sally-Ann pulls goofy faces at Elly Bud and beautiful Yolanda Greene, both in full costume. Phil gets up to go to the radio shed, and Mom waits until he’s gone, before leaning across the table and marveling, ‘Phil is very good-looking, isn’t he?’

  ‘Also, grass is green,’ Sally-Ann retorts, with a smug swallow of her fruit punch.

  Evie laughs, high and tinkly like a musical triangle; touches her earrings and starts telling Mom tomorrow’s schedule of activities in unnecessary detail.

  Tomorrow is Father’s birthday, Sally-Ann knows, but also that he doesn’t want a fuss. Father is really a very humble man, and Sally-Ann doesn’t understand those people saying he’s the opposite. It’d be one thing if they were strangers, but the fact Sally-Ann used to be friends with some of them makes her wonder if she could’ve done things better, been a better friend and made them stay. Like Bobbi Luce — didn’t they have fun on the buses, helping with the healings? But now Bobbi’s telling the media how the buses were too crowded and the healings were fake, and even that she thinks the Temple ordered a hit on Brother Gene! Then there’s Wayne and Tish Bud, saying their family are being kept in Jonestown against their will, though Sally-Ann knows for a fact that Elly loves it here, laughs with her every day.

  Thankfully, Sally-Ann doesn’t have to worry about anything like this with Mom and Dad. Sure, they were creeped out when they first learned about Father and Evie; and sure, they thought Evie had gone nuts, divorcing cutie-pie Lenny Lynden for a married preacher; and sure, they used to call Father ‘Rasputin’ all the time, in the years between that first meeting and when Sally-Ann finished high school and went down to the valley by herself to see what all the fuss was about. She was supposed to go live with Vicky in New York straight after, try her luck busking and selling street art, but New York seemed overrated once she saw what a big thing Evie was part of — even if Evie took it too seriously. Now, six years down the line, there’s this little boy, Soul, toddling over from the kiddie table, getting his hair ruffled by Father then Dad; continuing to Mom and Evie, clambering between their laps.

  Phil returns just as Soul is burying his face in the folds of Evie’s new blouse. ‘Brodder Phil!’ Soul chirps.

  ‘Hey, Little King,’ Phil smiles, then bends to Evie’s ear. Her expression shifts from tender to taut. She kisses Soul’s forehead, rubs the wetness left by her kiss, and rises.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she tells Mom. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  Evie marches out of the pavilion after Phil. Soul starts to cry.

  ‘Hey, kiddo. Don’t cry,’ Sally-Ann sing-songs. ‘You’ve still got us, right?’

  ‘Oh, poor baby,’ Mom frowns tragicomically, smooths Soul’s dark hair.

  ‘Is that my son crying?’ Father booms. ‘Why’s my son crying?’

  Mom says he’s probably just tired, but Father lumbers over anyway, scoops up Soul.

  ‘Sweetheart, c’mon now. Peace, peace …’ Despite Father’s ministrations, Soul keeps howling, kicking. ‘Son, why’re you doing this to me? Don’t do this, baby. Please.’

  Sally-Ann notices the dull look on Father’s face, which flickers to pain the more Soul screams. She notices people turning to stare. A few more babies start squalling in sympathy. With forced glee, Sally-Ann rushes to Father, relieves him of Soul.

  ‘He’s such a baby sometimes,’ she laughs, rolling her eyes.

  Father nods solemnly, turns to Dad. ‘It’s getting late, for the babies.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ Dad obliges. ‘I’m told you all rise with the sun.’

  Mother Rosaline joins Father, says a few words about the sun. Mom helps Sally-Ann quiet Soul. Soon he’s cuddling her, babbling, ‘Grandma, I want to sleep with you tonight.’

  ‘That’s not such a bad idea,’ Evie says, reappearing in her sudden way. ‘There’s plenty of room in the Guest House. Would you mind?’

  ‘Mind bunking with this snuggle-bug? Heck, no.’

  ‘Well, he’s used to sleeping with Sally-Ann, that’s the only thing.’ Evie looks at Sally-Ann pointedly, and Sally-Ann knows, for sure, something’s up.

  ‘Slumber party?’ Sally-Ann grins. ‘Hey, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Mom waves her hand. ‘You can have one of the beds.’
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br />   Evie smiles. ‘I’m sure you’ll all be very comfortable.’ She kisses Mom, then Soul. ‘Be good for Grandma and Grandpa. They came all the way from America to see you.’

  As quick as she came, Evie is leaving again, stopping to bid Dad goodnight, to pull Father aside. Father shakes hands with Dad, and then follows Evie to the radio shed.

  ‘Evie’s all business, isn’t she?’ Mom says. ‘What do you think she’s doing?’

  ‘Crisis control.’ Sally-Ann mimics Evie’s poker-face. ‘Probably someone ordered the wrong kind of fertilizer.’

  Just then, Father’s voice comes over the PA:

  ‘THE CHILDREN ARE VERY SLEEPY. PLEASE PACK UP AND RETURN TO YOUR CABINS, PEOPLE. SWEET DREAMS.’

  Mom smiles at Sally-Ann, a crooked-pretty smile a lot like Evie’s. ‘Well, I guess if the children are sleepy, the jetlagged over-fifties club must be too. Let’s hope the fertilizer crisis doesn’t keep Little Mother up all night, huh, Soul?’

  The watercolor on the wall of the Guest House isn’t one of Sally-Ann’s favorites. She thinks the happy faces look two-dimensional, their smiles too fixed, and there’s a bit of sky that bothers her every time she looks at it, red and green paint muddied together in a shitty crust. But of all the pictures she presented Phil Sorensen with when he asked for something to hang, this was the one he chose.

  Soul is already awake when Sally-Ann opens her eyes, staring into her face with peaceful attentiveness. She smiles at him and he giggles, feigns sleep. ‘You big old fake,’ she teases, tickling him. Soul giggles again, a sound like a million tiny rainbow bubbles bursting. He’s so damn cute, it hurts sometimes. ‘Shhh, you’re gonna wake Grandma and Grandpa.’ But actually Sally-Ann doesn’t mind if he does; sun is already dotting their skin through the mosquito netting. She smiles impishly, ‘Hey … want to wake Grandma and Grandpa?’

  Soul slips under the mosquito netting and over to their bed. A minute later, Sally-Ann hears them groaning awake, Soul exclaiming, ‘Auntie said to wake you!’

  Evie and Phil show up on the porch while Mom and Dad are still in their PJs, noisily reading Soul the barn-animals book they brought for him. Evie signals for Sally-Ann to shut the door. She has on a layer of makeup and a different outfit, but her shaky hands tell Sally-Ann she hasn’t slept. Neither has Phil, by the looks.

  ‘I brought a change of clothes for you and Soul,’ Evie says, tremulously handing them over. ‘Come to West House once you’re ready.’

  ‘Harry doesn’t need me in the clinic?’

  Evie lowers her voice. ‘I need you to watch Jim today. He’s had another heart attack.’ At Sally-Ann’s concerned glance, Evie rolls her eyes, sighs like a bitch. ‘Mona is with him now, but, as you know, she’s useless.’ She touches her temple, blinks deeply. ‘I need coffee.’

  ‘If you have any more coffee, you’ll be climbing the walls, Evie.’ Phil half-smiles.

  Evie sighs again. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ She looks at Phil. ‘You may as well just meet us at breakfast. It looks like everyone here is still in pajama-party mode. Get some rest.’

  ‘Wishful thinking.’

  ‘Well … I’m going to lie down,’ Evie says cautiously. She turns from Phil, looks surprised to see Sally-Ann still there. Scowling, she pushes her to the door, closes it on Phil.

  ‘Moooo! ’ Soul bellows as they re-enter the Guest House.

  ‘Moo,’ Evie answers flatly. ‘Enough reading, Soul. Come lie down quietly with Mama for a while.’

  ‘You look very pretty today, Evie,’ Mom says, without a trace of irony.

  Sally-Ann doesn’t look forward to spending the day cooped up in West House with Father’s unconscious body, but she runs there anyway, as soon as she’s dressed. Mona, who’s clutching a glass of water by Father’s bed, squeaks when Sally-Ann enters and vacates her seat. Sally-Ann doesn’t ask about the red marks on Mona’s neck, or why she starts clacking frantically on her typewriter in the next room a minute later.

  Times passes in minutes, breaths per minute. The slow rise and fall of Father’s chest.

  Once Mona leaves the cabin, Sally-Ann takes out her sketchpad and works on her half-finished drawing of an angry sun. Sally-Ann has more half-finished drawings than finished ones.

  At lunchtime, Phil’s sister, Frida, comes in with a plantain sandwich for Sally-Ann.

  ‘Dr. Katz said to give him another half-dose of morphine,’ Frida says. She watches with unnerving interest as Sally-Ann prepares the hypodermic, pulls down the sheets, then Father’s pants. As the needle dents his sallow flesh, Frida crouches by the bed and tells him, ‘We should’ve killed that whore when we had the chance. She doesn’t deserve your love.’

  ‘Who …?’ Sally-Ann asks, but Frida just glares. Like Evie, Frida’s not the easiest person to talk to. It’s a relief when Frida finally stops staring at Father and goes back to work.

  Sally-Ann knows it’s an honor to be Father’s nurse, but she yearns for the clinic, the patients, the other nurses, Elly. She starts drawing a picture of Elly as a skinny-legged elephant, but puts it aside when Evie comes in later with a bag of oranges. She gives one to Sally-Ann, instructs her to feed it to Father, when he wakes.

  ‘Mom and Dad are resting after the orchard tour, but they agreed to babysit again tonight.’ She glances at Sally-Ann. ‘Honestly, the more exhausted they all are, the better.’

  Maybe this is another time where it would be better to stay quiet, but Sally-Ann has had no one to talk to for most of the day, and there’s something sinister about the feeling of plans being changed all around her. A terrible thought pops into her head, flies out of her mouth just as quickly. ‘Evie … will there be a White Night? With Mom and Dad here?’

  ‘At this stage, it’s unavoidable. The people need to be prepared for an invasion.’ Evie looks at Sally-Ann apologetically. Goes to the bag of oranges and takes another one out, making a few neat incisions and rolling it into a caterpillar, the way Sally-Ann liked when she was a little kid. ‘I don’t like it either, but they’re hardly going to be straying far on their own after dark. Not with all the stories the boys have been telling them about jaguars and vampire bats.’

  ‘What if something happens to Soul?’

  ‘They’ll have a radio. Besides, they know what they’re doing. They’re good parents.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Eat this.’ Evie hands her the orange caterpillar. ‘You need your strength.’

  Part of Sally-Ann wants to argue, to demand answers to all the questions crowding her head: who betrayed Father? Is it really so bad they need another sleepless night full of floodlights? Will it be like ‘Dwight Night’ — that terrible night after Dwight Mueller defected last fall, where they wound up arming themselves with machetes and waiting for mercenary soldiers to spring out of the jungle? She knows she’ll get no answers from Evie. Instead, she smiles weakly and wiggles the orange caterpillar in Evie’s direction. ‘Please don’t eat me, human! I want to be a butterfly.’

  Evie laughs, and then goes into the next room to pack an overnight bag for Soul. Sometimes Sally-Ann wonders if what Evie likes most about motherhood is all the extra stuff it gives her to be anal about. Evie comes back in wearing a billowy long-sleeved blouse and watches Father breathe for a while. ‘Oh, Jim,’ she says softly.

  It’s too dark in the cabin for Sally-Ann to draw, by the time Father opens his eyes. Anyway, she has a cramp. ‘She left me,’ Father moans, clutching his heart, and for a moment Sally-Ann thinks he means Evie. He rasps for water. After soothing his throat, he continues, ‘That balmy-eyed blond bitch. Took off with that spook, Whitehead.’

  Blond bitch? So probably he means Terra Lynden.

  ‘On my fucking birthday. Knew it’d break my heart.’ Tears start rolling down Father’s face. Sally-Ann finds his sunglasses. ‘She’s trying to kill me, sweetheart.’

  ‘That’s not gonna happe
n. You’ve got the world’s best nurse,’ Sally-Ann reassures him. ‘And Terra’s got some real bad karma coming, I bet.’

  ‘Terra, Terra,’ Father repeats tragically. ‘I gave her everything. Goddamn bitch in heat. Think I wanted that? Over and over, I give myself. Can’t help it. I’m too damn loving …’

  Sally-Ann has never been in love. Even before the Temple, it always seemed like more trouble than it was worth: all that time Evie used to spend in front of the mirror, making herself pretty for pimply boys; how nasty and depressed she was the summer after she split up with the French fiancé she’d barely told them anything about; the weird letters she used to send their parents after first getting together with Father — Jim this, and Jim that, and even saying what good sex she was having and what good friends with Mother Rosaline she was. Sally-Ann used to sneak peeks at those letters with Vicky, laughing about Evie’s nutty new church, but when Vicky moved east for college and got married to some guy, Richard Levin, mostly Sally-Ann just noticed how neurotic Mom suddenly was about boys. One time, before Sally-Ann went to a Country Joe gig with her friend Glen — just a gig and just a friend — Mom hugged her and asked, ‘You’ll tell me if you ever decide to have sex, won’t you? ’ Sally-Ann didn’t want to be like Evie with all her secrets, and she appreciated that Mom wasn’t expecting her to wait for some marriage that probably wouldn’t last. So she told a year later when she did it with her friend Dave, but anyway, Mom still cried, and Sally-Ann couldn’t see the point of upsetting Mom over something so stupid as boys again.

  ‘That whore, y’know, she kept asking me to impregnate her. I kept telling her: Terra honey, I’m not bringing any more children into this world. Take them outta this world, that’s kinder. But she was a bourgeois slut. Rich white lawyer daddy. Can’t change ’em …’

  Secretly, Sally-Ann and Elly have a dream of having a baby together. It started as a joke but somehow turned into more: how they’d build their own cabin and adopt a Guyanese baby from one of the villages. Only, Sally-Ann doesn’t know how she’ll ever get permission to move out of West House — or ‘White House’, as Elly calls it.