The morning found Randall and me sitting on a bench in the canteen. A look of stunned weariness shared across our faces. We could not believe that Tim had done this to us. We knew he had, but we just could not believe it.
A shout went up from the opposite side of the square, and Raul, a Portuguese man with a funny lisp, came running from the tree line, making straight for Dad’s hut. Dad came out and followed Raul back in the direction he had come from. Although tired, several of us followed them. Even before we got to the clearing where they had stopped, we had seen it. A rubber pipe had been partly buried and laid from the wheat fields, across a distance of about a kilometre, to where Dad and Raul now stood… surrounded by oil drums.
Randall walked past the two silent men and opened one of the drums.
Diesel.
Someone really had been poisoning the harvest, and it didn’t need two guesses to know who was responsible. The fields would be useless for years to come, and we would need to start over, with a new area of the jungle to be chopped down and sown. But it also meant that this year’s harvest would be poor if indeed we even had one.
Dad made the discoveries known to all the Temple members that evening.
The silence was absolute. No one knew what to say. Most of us felt sorry for John. That poor boy had to hear exactly what his no-good father had done, but we all still loved him no matter what. I brought my own two boys closer into me. They had a right to know what was going on, but at the same time, I didn’t want them to be scared.
And then Dad showed us all why he was our Dad.
“We... we’ve had the gauntlet thrown down... thrown in our face. You all know what is going on... what is going on here. You know who has set their face against us. We don’t mean no harm to no folk, but... I tell you, these Zionists... they offend the Lord himself. Now the next few months will be... well they’ll be as tough as they can be. We got limited food, and not enough materials... building materials to make the new huts for all our brothers and sisters who are coming to join us.
“Now we can end it. We can go home right now. I wouldn’t blame... I wouldn’t blame none of you if you did. You didn’t come here to be hungry. But let me tell you... those fascists. They’re laughing at us. They think they’ve won. And if we all go home now, they... they will keep laughing at us for the rest of our lives.
“But they don’t know... they don’t know us. They don’t know what we’re capable of. They don’t know we have the Lord on our side.”
A smattering of applause and few “amen’s” rippled across the pavilion.
“They don’t know the strength the Lord gives... that he makes us strong.”
Another ripple.
“So my children, I... I say to you all. We can go home. Or we can stay. And... it’ll be hard, you know. On all of us. But what we can build, here... with the Lord’s strength, is our Eden. And I say we will not be driven from our place by... by the lies of the vile serpents. I say I am here to do my Lord’s work, and that I will fear no evil...”
Another ripple, louder now.
“I will not fear the Man and his money or the wolves he sends amongst our lambs. I will stand righteous. I will stand with my children, undivided, and my Lord will take my hand, and he will guide me against all those who envy what we have and seek to tear it down.
“Because I know the Lord... and you do too. You’ve seen Him here, with us. And so with His strength, we will... overcome. We will prevail. My children will prevail!”
The congregation burst, like a dam, into cheers and choruses of “hallelujah” and “amen”, and our voices echoed out into the night.
We all knew it would be difficult. There would be hard times ahead. But we were resolved.
Of course, none of us knew how hard it would be.
*
What food we had was strictly rationed. San Francisco ordered us more container-loads of supplies, but it would take several months to reach us. The huts, although communal were designed for ten people, and now there was double that in each, sometimes more. We found ourselves sharing with a nice family from Bakersfield, and several of our neighbours were from Fresno. We all got along as best we could.
Despite the community spirit, there was no getting away from the fact that we were desperately short of essentials, such as blankets, and the tablets for the water treatment station.
The Fall of seventy-seven was hard. Another wave of members was due in February – up to a thousand, and Dad was trying to stall them until the new huts could be completed, which was difficult without any of the tools that were due on the next shipment.
In September we heard from San Francisco that Tim had returned to the US. He had reunited with Grace, and they had filed papers in Georgetown for John to be returned to them. The quality of their lawyer was more than they could have afforded on their own, and we knew that he was being bankrolled.
*
It was an evening in late October, and me and Randall were taking a walk around Jonestown with the boys. Despite everything, they were growing up so strong and happy, and we were both so proud of them. Miguel was six, coming up seven, and Paulo was nearly three. We both marvelled at how much the two boys loved each other. They were always playing, scampering between our legs, although Miguel was getting too big for that now. Randall had always worried about their relationship. Whilst things had settled down with his own brother, for several years there had been a tension between them as boys became men. Randall often told me how they would fight as children, and that was what had led him to leave home as soon as possible and join the Air Force.
But our boys… well, they were a product of us and their environment. They got on with everybody, and everybody got on with them. Miguel was the serious one, always deep in his books, or frowning in concentration as the principles of carpentry were explained to him. Paulo was the joker, laughing and giggling, pestering his brother away from his studies to come and play.
We loved them both dearly.
As we wandered around what was now a reasonably-sized village, we heard Dad shouting in the radio hut. As we approached, the door flew open, and he came storming out.
“Dad?” Randall said. “You ok?”
I brought the boys close to me, expecting more bad news from San Francisco. Things seemed to be as bad there as they were here, albeit in a different way.
“Ahhh... it’s nothing.”
“You sure?” Randall asked.
“Yeah. Just an old friend of mine from Indiana. Well, an ex-pat, he’s Welsh. He’s been trying to get hold of me for months. I told him... I’m right here.”
“What did he say?” I asked.
Dad looked at me. “Hey says the Man is still at it. That we’re all being poisoned. Or they’re getting ready to poison us.”
“How?”
“Something in the water. I... I told him it isn’t possible. We got guards all over, but he still told me that we’re being set up for… for something awful.”
The Red Brigade numbers were increased, but it was still a bad Fall. The harvest was minimal, as we had suspected, and we heard that Tim had filed complaints with the FCC over the use of the radio. The worm was still trying to cut us off.
If seventy-seven had been unkind, seventy-eight showed every sign of being equally cruel.
Rumours surfaced in January that Tim was in Georgetown, trying to get John back. Several of the Temple members flew back to the capital, but I stayed, caring for the boys. We were later told that Tim had gone back to the US, but given what Dad had told us in October about the water supply being poisoned, I was not surprised when people started to fall in ill.
As a precaution, Dad suspended the relationship with the mining company which was using some of our facilities. Officially they were told it was because of the risk of infection, but there had been a growing shadow of suspicion as to who they really worked for.
As first it was just one or two who got sick, but then a dozen and then more. Diarrhoea, vomiting, a
nd some sort of circulatory problem I hadn’t seen before, but it looked like frostbite on the ends of their fingers and toes.
I suspected cholera, and soon we had over a hundred poor souls in the medical hut.
As the numbers increased, so the race was on to build one extension, and then a second and a third to the makeshift infirmary. All the sawing and banging was no good for those who were already ill, but we quickly got the extra beds that were so desperately needed.
And then we caught a break. The ship with our building and other supplies docked, and we were able to get the antibiotics that the patients urgently required.
Whatever kindness the Fates had afforded us was exhausted by the April of seventy-eight. Tim and Grace had returned to the US and had begun to orchestrate a political and media campaign against us, resulting in the distribution of an anti-Temple pack to anyone who would listen. And plenty of those phoneys did. We heard that it had gone to the editor of every major newspaper on the west coast, and even made it down to New York.
From May onwards, rumours started to circulate that Dad’s health was deteriorating, and it was the end of that month that me and one of the doctors were called to his hut. He was in a dreadful state, having lost a lot of weight and judging by his babbling and his parched lips, he was probably dehydrated as well.
The doctor diagnosed a lung infection and administered more antibiotics.
That night, a number of the elders met, and it was agreed that Dad’s wife, Marcy, would assume a number of his duties until he was better.
*
It was now October, and the harvest had failed completely. Dad was back on his feet, but only for limited periods. Marcy had been in the radio hut all day and did not seem surprised when a helicopter landed in the main square.
The rest of us were stunned and several members ran to get the Red Brigade. We really believed that this was it. The Man had finally come for us.
What we were not expecting, was the Soviets.
Dad came out to greet them and took them into the pavilion where they talked for several hours. It was dusk when they came out and addressed the throng that had gathered. Members had continued to come from San Francisco and by now there were over two thousand of us.
Dad began. "For many years, we... we have let our sympathies be quite publicly known, that the United States government was not our mother, but that the Soviet Union was our spiritual motherland. I’d like... I’d like you all to put your hands to... together for Comrade Timofeyev from the Soviet embassy.”
Feodor Timofeyev, the Russian ambassador, raised his hand, asking the crowd to not to cheer or applaud. We did anyway.
“We, the people of the United Soviet States of Russia, would like to send to you all our deepest and the most sincere greetings to the people of this first socialist and communist community of the United States of America, in Guyana and in the world."
There were more cheers and applauding.
"I’d like to wish you, dear comrades, all the successes to your great… to your very big work you’re doing here, but I fear that there are forces aligning against you. We have heard that within the next month a senator from your own US will come here, to your homes, on a so-called fact-finding mission. We cannot say for certain what he will report, but we believe he will seek the forced repatriation of each and every one of you.”
The crowd was silent, taking this news in. Many of us had whispered about a day when the Man would come, and what we would do. But we had always thought that it would be to end us. To end our ideas. No-one had even thought that he would take us back to the US.
Feodor continued. “We would, therefore, like to offer you... all of you, the opportunity to relocate to the Soviet Union. I have discussed this with Reverend Jones today. No one will force you, and you may come and go as you please. You may take this offer up at any time.”
That night, Randall and I lay awake.
“We’re a long way from Kansas now Izzy,” Randall said.
“I know hun... but think of the boys.”
“I know. But God is here Izzy. God himself. We’ve both seen Him. You think God will let anything happen to His people? I tell you, we’ve been chosen. He has chosen us.”
I didn’t know it then, but there were similar conversations going all around Jonestown. This was our land. The land that God had brought us to, and where he had revealed Himself to us.
The next morning, the decision was unanimous. We were staying. Feodor accepted our decision but said that the offer remained open.
By the end of the month, we had heard that Congressman Leo Ryan was coming to Jonestown on the seventeenth of November on a fact-finding mission. There was much talk as to whether we should allow him in, but it was generally agreed that if we let him see everything then he could not claim that we were hiding anything. It later emerged that Congressman Ryan was friends with Bob Houston’s father. Many of us suspected that he had been forced by the Man to make representations to Leo, no doubt pointing the finger at Dad over his son’s death.
Despite the widely stated date of the November seventeen, none of us were too surprised to see a helicopter circling Jonestown on the sixteenth, before landing. It was just like the Man to try and catch us out. But we were ready. We had been ready for weeks.
Marcy greeted the two men who got out and took them to Dad’s hut. One was in his early thirties, slender, but sinewy, with hair so black it looked like it had been dyed. The other man was older, maybe mid-fifties, and a good deal stouter. Later I would find out that the younger was simply known as Celus. His friend was George, although I only heard him speak a few times. The way that Marcy greeted Celus, with a hug, made me think that they were old friends. But she only greeted the other one with a handshake, so maybe he was new.
I didn’t see them come out again from Dad’s hut, but it was the next day that Congressman Ryan came. Most of us kept our distance. No-one wanted to say anything to him in case he tried to twist our words into something that they weren’t. He spent most the day at Jonestown, before returning to the capital in the evening, promising that he would return the next morning to finish up.
I saw Celus emerge from Dad’s hut, and turn to his friend. “See. Told you.” Marcy was with them too. I’ve never seen a look on her face like the one she wore then. She was pale and gaunt. Like she was in shock.
Word quickly went around that there was to be a meeting in the pavilion. I saw Dad being half-carried. He looked so frail.
The congregation was restless. Everyone wanted to know how Congressman Ryan was going to report. Dad took to the stage, and I saw that Celus and his friend were sat up there, next to Marcy.
They must be honoured guests indeed…
From this distance, I appreciated how sick Dad looked. Really sick. I suspected that the lung infection had returned. Dad held up his hands, and the congregation quietened.
“You know...” His voice was painfully weak as he began. “I... I’ve never lied to you. I’ve always tried to tell you things the way they are. Sometimes I got things right. Other times... I... I wish I had made a different decision. But I always did it with the best intention. So... I... I’m going to tell you what I know... what’s been told to me. And then... I turn myself over to you... and your... your mercy.
“Most of you can see that I got some friends with me tonight. From out of town. This here is Celus.”
Celus raised his hand.
“Now I’ve known Celus all my life...”
I was amazed by this. Dad was nearly fifty, and this Celus... he was no more than thirty-five.
“I trust him,” Dad continued. “He has taught me a lot. A lot about God. And His path. And now... my friend Celus has come to tell me about... what the Man has really been doing to us.”
The silence was so absolute that I could hear my own heartbeat. I knew the Man had been up to something. I knew it. Instinctively I held Miguel and Paulo’s hands tighter. Randall looked at me. The expression on his face said Now w
e find out.
“Some of... uh, some of you... most of you have... you have seen God with me... at our Masses. Well Celus here, and I trust him, has told me that these... visions are not what they seem. He has told me that the Man has been tracking us for years. Decades maybe... We know about Tim. And well... uh, the Man has been interfering with our Mass. He has been poisoning our supply of wine with a hallucino... hallucinogenic.
“Now he’s not saying that what we... we’re seeing isn’t real. Because we all know it is. But he tells me that the Man knows... he knows about the war in Heaven. He knows about those vile usurpers who want to spoil... spoil all that God has made. And... well... the Man’s hallucinogen... Celus claims that what we see and what we worship is actually Hell.”
The congregation rippled. Some instantly denied it. Other gasped.
Dad pressed on. “Now... now... now I ain’t saying it’s true. But I have known Celus a long, long time. And he knows about these things. He tells me that what we see is just an illusion. That the Adversary is wearing a mask. He tells me that it has been this way all along and Tim… Tim was put here to make sure we never found out, but… they don’t want us to find out. The Man wants… he wants us to keep worshipping this… this abomination.
“So this is what I am going to do. I... I’m going to lead Mass. And when we get to... wherever it is, Celus claims that he will lead us to a place where we can see for ourselves. Now there is something else. Cel... you all saw Congressman Ryan today. And you all saw the little entourage with him. The reporters... and some of the others. Three... three of them were the Congressman’s aides. The thin pale men, with that long, black, bobbed hair. Celus says... he says these men they ain’t... they are creatures of the Adversary. And he says that we may see some more where we’re going. And if we do, we need to holler because they are dangerous.
“Now if you don’t want to be... to take part in tonight’s Mass, it’s ok, I... we understand. But I got... I need to know what is going on here. I need to know why we’re all so ill. So anyone who... if you want to leave you can do. If you want to go back to ‘Frisco you can do. We don’t... I won’t hold anyone here. If you want to stay... find the truth, then...”
A Gathering of Twine Page 32