Not Without My Sister

by Kristina Jones, Celeste Jones, Juliana Buhring

  "Yes. She expect all men to be like her father. Even friends. She could not accept love from anybody."

  "Sotiria thinks Stavros killed Davida. Do you think so?"

  "Uuh ... yes, Sotiria likes to believe this, but I don't know. He would not kill her I think. She told me one day, maybe a month before she die, that she fight very hard not to take drugs, every day she must fight. And she say she is tired to try. One day she will take again, and that day she will die."

  "She told you this?"

  "Yes. She did not feel any will to live. She tired of life. I don't know what is truth, but maybe because she meet Stavros again one week before she die."

  "She met him again?"

  "Yes, he find her at her work and she talk to him. I don't know. Maybe he gave her drugs and she not strong enough to fight him ... ah! Yassus Sotiria!"

  I had been concentrating so much on what he was saying I did not notice Sotiria approach. She kissed her brother, pulled up a chair and sat down between us. I told them about Davidito's tragic death.

  Sotiria crossed herself and muttered, "God's mercy. I pray every day for these children, for their souls. Poor children! Poor, poor children." She pulled out a cigarette and lit up. "You know, I never lie to Davida. Always I tell her, her father is busy with his life, and we have ours. But if she want, when she turn eighteen, she can go to see him. But then, this woman who live with your father calls one day when Davida is fifteen. She tells her many things about her father, and so she writes to him and her father sends her a letter."

  I cleared my throat. "I ... I remember that letter."

  Celeste and I were horrified when he showed us his letter. We told him that we thought it was insensitive; he emphasized that he had a new family now. We had asked him to write another one apologizing for abandoning her. We added a letter of our own and gifts, but a year later Dad told us that they never received the package. Then we heard that she had started taking drugs.

  "After his first letter," Sotiria continued, "she never hears anything again. So she becomes very depressed. This is when she begin to drink and take drugs. When you visit I say nothing to him about this. But now I understand, he did not come because he want to know her. He come for himself. Just to make peace with his own conscience. I think I am going to call now that she is gone, and tell him what I think. You think it will do any good? He will even listen?"

  "Maybe. I think if he hears it from enough people, he may wake up to the fact that he has been a negligent father to many of his children."

  "You know after you leave, she very angry with him. She say, 'He is no father. Not to me, not to Julie. I never want to see him again. What he want me to come to Uganda for? What I do there? Only to work for him like Julie. No, I don't want to go. I will only fight with him."'

  By this time night had fallen and a cold wind blew around us. Nikos looked at his watch.

  "Come on, let's go get dinner," Sotiria offered. "Tomorrow, we will visit Davida's grave."

  The next day, a gray morning saw us make our way through the cemetery towards Davida's grave. Row after endless row of crosses stretched into the distance. It was a full five minutes before we reached the area where Davida's grave lay. Even from afar, it stood out from the rest.

  "I did not like the idea of marble," Sotiria explained.

  Instead of marble, the entire plot had been turned into a luscious garden. Bright purple and orange gardenia and chrysanthemums bloomed amidst roses of every size and color. A huge red rose, the size of three ordinary roses, leaned against a tall ornate cross at the head of the grave with a statue of an angel on one side, and a dancer posed gracefully on the other. There was a heart with a picture of Davida dancing and a short epitaph inside written by her mother.

  "Do you think I could have just a couple minutes alone to talk to Davida?" I asked.

  "Yes, of course. Take as much time you like. I just go for a smoke, okay?"

  I watched her walk away, waiting till she was a good distance. When she was out of sight, I found myself still waiting. For what, I was not sure. Maybe for the words to come:

  I wanted so badly to say something, but what it was eluded me. The cemetery seemed unnaturally still, as if it was holding its breath ... or me.

  "Davida ... I came to tell you something, and now that I'm here, I don't know what to say. I guess, I just had to see you again."

  And though I had fought it hard the whole visit, I finally cried. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I did not come to see you again. I'm sorry I left you and you felt so alone. I'm sorry your life was such a difficult struggle and you had such a rough go of it. But mostly I'm sorry I was not there to help you. I know it's too late now to say it, but I want you to know how much you meant to me. How much I loved you ... love you still and always. I want you to know that I will live my life the best I can, for both of us, okay? Goodbye, sister."

  I kissed my hand, put it against her picture, and walked away without looking back.

  As I left Greece, I thought of the last entry in Davida's diary:

  I am looking at the sky, the trees, the lights and the people. All leaving their smells on this world. I wish to forget all the times of pain and loneliness. I wish that time would stop and I could go back to the center of Athens to see again the people who have broken my heart; to see my fears, inside their sad faces.

  They looked into my blue eyes and not the pain that is in my heart. I cry, I sing, and I wait for someone to embrace me.

  Chapter 28

  Juliana

  I drove into the commune to pick Dad up for a drink. We had not spoken more than a couple sentences since my return from Greece, and I felt it was time to break the stalemate. I had a letter to deliver from Sotiria, and I could not keep put-ting it off.

  Going back to the commune house always made me edgy. Everyone inside wore a fake veneer that reminded me of the passage in the Bible calling false believers "whitened sepulchers full of dead men's bones." The Family loved to use this verse against church Christians, but I thought this passage applied to them. I knew the same lips now stretched in welcoming smiles were more often exercised in prayers against those like my sisters and I, who were speaking the truth.

  I drove with Dad to a nearby wine bar.

  Naturally, I was paying.

  We sat at a light wood table; two glasses of cheap white wine before us, and waded through the usual small talk. Then I produced the letter.

  Dad made a show of opening the grubby envelope, pulled out the sheets of smudged notebook paper and settled down to read. He skimmed over the broken handwriting far too quickly and folded the pages back into the envelope.

  There was an unsettling silence, as he contemplated what to say. I let him squirm, in no mood to start the dialog.

  "What can I say?" he looked up at me, but I remained silent.

  "What can I say?" He repeated again, as if I should give him a cue; he was starting to sound like a broken record—annoying.

  "If I could do it all over again, I'd do it differently." The large gulp of wine he swallowed seemed to suddenly lubricate his tongue.

  "Would you?" My voice had a sarcastic edge that surprised me. I did not plan to get into any kind of argument. Arguing with Dad is a tiring pastime I did not have the energy for. I was perfectly content to deliver the letter and let it speak for itself, but his calculated response set me off.

  "Of coursed would, honey," he replied.

  "How? How do you think you would have done it differently?"

  "Well, I wouldn't have left you guys."

  "Yes, you would!" I snapped back a bit too quickly. "Honey, of course not!"

  This childish back and forth was getting us nowhere. I counted to ten before responding, this time in an attempt to reason.

  "Dad, you would never have even considered the idea of leaving your wives and children if you had not been told to."

  "No! I gave you up because God asked me to."

  "Was that before or after 'leadership' approached you
and asked you to 'pray' about leaving us for God's Work? The idea would never even have crossed your mind if someone hadn't put it there."

  "No! I prayed about it, and I felt that was God's will for me. Besides, I left you in the best care."

  This drove me over the edge. "The best care! How do you know that?"

  "Because. They sent me 'reports. I got letters from you. You always sounded very happy and well-cared for."

  "And so you blindly took their word for it." I was smiling now, but it was the furious smile that involuntarily crosses my face when I am about to explode. "Did you never think your children might have been abused? Anyone can take a snapshot of your kids smiling and say they're happy. There was not a word we wrote to you that wasn't censored. They took pictures of us all dressed up, after which we were promptly undressed, and never saw those nice clothes again!"

  I was seething now "If you hadn't pursued your famous career, we would have had a father. How could you put such blind trust in people you didn't even know?"

  "I trusted the Lord for you," he replied, "and you were left in the best hands. Just look at you! You've turned into a fine young woman."

  "No thanks to the Family or you! I was a sad, scared little girl, a depressed suicidal teenager and an unfulfilled adult. You knew this. Did you never ask why?"

  "Sweetheart, there are thousands of kids abused all over the world, and in comparison, you were very well off."

  "Oh please! Don't try to minimize our experiences by comparing it with someone else's. One of your children is dead; all of us except the youngest have left the Family. Did you never once stop to think that maybe the Family is not all you imagine it to be?"

  "The Family is a very unique place; the best in the world, of course; but it's not for everyone. It's a high calling."

  "More like a never-ending struggle! Don't you get tired of constantly trying to attain this illusive state of perfection that's always just out of reach? I sure did!"

  "Well, all I know is when the Endtime rolls around, it will be the best place to be!" he answered confidently.

  "When the Endtime rolls around? And what if it doesn't? I never expected to live past twelve years old. You've been living your entire life on tenterhooks thinking 'ifs just around the corner.' And when you're on your death bed, and Jesus still hasn't come back, will you still be saying, 'you'll see'?"

  "You can believe what you want, sweetheart, but when it happens, you'll all come crawling back to the Family with your tails between your legs."

  "Still believe you're going to be the leaders of the Christians and save the world? Do you really think the world respects the Family? Your past has soiled you forever in their eyes. Do you actually believe that you're going to be shooting lightning rods out of your fingers, blasting Antichrist helicopters out of the sky? Come on, Dad! Life is not a science-fiction movie!"

  "Yes, of course I believe it. I don't know how it's going to happen, all I know is, the Lord said it. And it's happening already! Just look at our radio show here listened to by thou-sands of Ugandan Christians."

  "Actually, Dad, you've been stuck out here in Africa so long, you can't see the big picture." His naivety was infuriating and yet I found I also pitied him.

  "The Family is in the headlines, but not in a good way," I explained, "especially since Davidito's death. Just how much does your Christian audience know about the Family's beliefs? Do you think you'd still have any kind of following if they knew about your `Law of Love' beliefs? If they knew about your sexual beliefs? About your 'Loving Jesus' beliefs?"

  He was silent, but finally, he replied like a programmed zombie. "Well, we'll see! All I know is, if the Lord said it, it's going to happen."

  "Over two thirds of our generation have left the Family. Thousands of them have horrific stories to tell. Many suffer depression; some have committed suicide. Doesn't the Bible say, 'By their fruits you shall know them'? Isn't that a pretty good indication that something is seriously wrong with the fruit of the Family's doctrines?"

  "No," he was quick to respond. "If they leave the Family, then they are no longer under God's protection, so the enemy can get them. The Bible also says, 'Many are called, but few are chosen.'"

  "That's a nice line you've been fed so you'll feel better about your rapidly dwindling ranks. I know the Bible as well as you. Jesus said, 'If one of you shall offend one of these little ones in My name, it were better for him that a millstone be hung about his neck and he were cast into the sea.' I wonder what he would have thought of the hundreds of little ones the Family abused in 'His' name?"

  "I don't understand. Why have you become so bitter? Why can't you just leave it alone and move on? I don't judge you for living a Systemite lifestyle; why do you have to judge us for ours?"

  The old "Us-versus-Them" syndrome the cult created was clearly showing.

  "I'm not judging you, Dad. I'm trying to get you to understand that some terrible things happened and you want to close your eyes and pretend they don't exist."

  "I'm not denying they existed in the occasional rare circumstance, but this has all been apologized for numerous times."

  "No, they made large sweeping statements saying that they're sorry if some members took things to the extreme and mistakes were made. Well, it was a lot more widespread than anyone is willing to admit. It's not in the past when many of our generation are still suffering psychological dam-age. 'Mistake' is a nice sounding word for it. 'Crimes' is much closer to the truth"

  "Now you sound just like a bitter apostate."

  "How cliched, Dad. Now you just sound brainwashed."

  I paused to take a drink, expecting some half-baked retort, but Dad just sat there staring blankly, so I continued. "I thought God doesn't make mistakes."

  "He doesn't. It was people who made them."

  "But these 'revelations' were supposed to have come from God. These 'revelations' condoning free love—with children. So the theory wasn't wrong, just the practice...since they have since admitted the practice was wrong?"

  "The practice wasn't wrong. It was the System who made it wrong." This was the reason he had never believed any of his children were hurt. He never thought of it as abuse.

  "Wake up, Dad! The 'System' as you call it is the law! And it is illegal to have sexual relations with children. It is illegal to practice incest! You can be thrown in jail for it. It is wrong, no matter what. And don't tell me you would let an old man have sex with little Shirley!"

  "No, of course not! And no one was practicing incest!"

  "Actually, that's not true! Your very own leaders-Zerby—Maria—having sex with her own son. Berg—with his daughters, and his granddaughter Mene!"

  Dad's face went red with rage. "How dare you speak like that about God's prophet!"

  "God's prophet? Says who? I know he said it, so that makes him right? Anybody can prophesy, but you know a true prophet by the accuracy of his prophecies. Show me one prediction Berg made that came true!"

  He did not have an answer, so he had to change the subject. "Zerby! Berg! Why do you call them that?"

  "That's their names, Dad! What's wrong with using their names? Why does it bother you?"

  "Would I call you Buhring? Would you call me by my last name?"

  "I'm your daughter. Obviously, that's not the same." His arguments were becoming more ridiculous by the minute. He was no match and he knew it. "I would call Keda 'Yamaguchi'—who I happen to know helped to kidnap a little boy from his mother, and forged illegal documents and passports for the leaders. I have no doubt she's here in Africa because it's the safest place to bunker down outside the law."

  "So what do you want to do—throw her in jail?" Was it just my imagination, or was his hand shaking as he raised his drink.

  "I think there comes a time when everyone must pay for the crimes they've committed whether in or out of the Family. What goes around comes around. That's all any of the abused parties want—justice. All secrets have a way of coming to light. What was that verse?
'There is nothing hidden that shall not be revealed. What was whispered in the closet shall be shouted from the rooftops."'

  "Look at that! Justice. Revenge. You've turned to the dark side just like the rest of them."

  "Turned to the 'dark side'?"

  "Yes. You've let your bitterness take you over. You've listened to your sisters."

  "And now I'm possessed by Vandari demons?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "But if I've turned to the 'dark side' I would have to be under demonic influence. That's what the Family believes, isn't it? Honestly, Dad! Look into my eyes and tell me I'm influenced by demons!"

  He did, briefly, before turning back to stare into his own murky reflection in the glass.