Early Warning

THE PROBLEM Eloise had when Jorge came by and told her how enemies of the Temple were bent on destroying it was that she believed him. Jorge was twenty-two; he never thought of the Kennedy assassinations, except as ghost stories. Nor, when she asked him, did he know what the CIA did, only what Jones said it did, which was to infiltrate peaceful organizations like his and destroy them from within. Eloise knew that was true, especially if that organization openly — you might say defiantly — professed socialist principles, which Jones did. When Jones said that J. Edgar Hoover had once called him personally and threatened to destroy or kill him, his wife, and his “rainbow children,” and told him that he had a dossier on him full of crimes “you and I know you didn’t commit, but that I can prove you did,” that was the first time Jorge had heard of Hoover, and he believed the reverend, who had been good to him, like a strict but loving father, and allowed him to work as an orderly in the Temple medical clinic. People came in pain and left in joy, because at last they had found treatment, but also love; Jorge was convinced that the latter was more effective than the former. Eloise remembered what Frank had said about that young woman — Judy was her name — that Hoover hated because she knew he was gathering every molecule of shit he could on everyone he knew in order to maintain his hold over them, and how unusual was that? Not at all, in Eloise’s experience.

Jorge insisted that there was nothing at all wrong with Cat, Janet, Lucas, and Jorge himself going to Guyana — the piece of property there was beautiful, rather like Marin County, fertile and well watered. The medical clinic was already up and running, and it was no less healthy than family farms in the Midwest had once been.

“That’s not a good recommendation to an old farm girl,” said Eloise, but Jorge said, “I would rather work in my own communal field than a field owned by United Fruit.”

Eloise said that she hadn’t known that United Fruit owned fields in the United States. Jorge scowled but pressed on. All they needed was some money for transportation. Janet had let it out that the family farm had been sold somehow, or split up, and there was money. Just a few hundred dollars was all they needed. No one, not Lucas or Janet, knew he had come over to ask.

“Cat?” said Eloise.

Jorge didn’t answer, just smiled and said, “We know that, deep down, you are in sympathy with socialism and with our experiment. You gave Marla money.”

Eloise, who was sitting on the sunporch in her favorite rocker, pushing herself back and forth with her toe, said, “Who told you that?”

“Marla is unhappy in Paris. She might join us.”

Marla’s last letter had been full of news about how she had been taken up by a group of feminists who adored the self-referential profundities of her inscriptions. They wanted to do a street play on the corner of the Boulevard Saint-Michel and Boulevard Saint-Germain, not even translating the plays into French, but acting them out as a reflection of the pedestrians going by, especially, since summer was at hand, of American tourists. Her funds were holding out fairly well, but she was getting tired of hummus and baba ghanouj. Eloise said, “I can’t imagine such a thing.”

Jorge, who was sitting on the couch, drinking the chamomile tea Eloise had given him, said, “Well, she didn’t write to me, but Reverend Jones has the letter.”

Eloise said, “If Reverend Jones wants my money, then he’ll have to come and ask for it, because I learned long ago never to discuss finances with anyone but the boss.”

She expected Jorge to laugh at this, but he shook his head very seriously. He said, “Now that Rupert Murdoch is financing his assassination and the destruction of the Temple, he dare not go anywhere. His life is in too much danger.”

“Who is Rupert Murdoch?” said Eloise.

“He’s like that Hearst man.”

“William Randolph Hearst?”

“Something like that,” said Jorge. “Anyway, Rupert Murdoch had one of our members killed last fall, as a warning, and now he has bigger plans, which means that our members are only safe in Guyana. We thought we were safe in California, but that isn’t the case. The coming Nazi takeover will happen everywhere, and when it does, people like me and Lucas will be sent to camps. It happens every thirty years or so. We think, for Janet’s and Lucas’s safety, you should—”

Eloise found herself rocking rather furiously, and made it a point to stop.

“We’ve already applied for our passports and visas, though Janet’s passport is still valid.”

Eloise said, coolly, “What don’t you know about her?” She thought, Or me, for that matter.

“Janet has been pretty open about her feelings and thoughts.”

“And her assets?”

Jorge smiled.

Eloise thought, I used to like this kid. She said, “When are you planning to go?”

“We understand that the visas will come in early August, so we ought to buy the tickets pretty soon.” He looked her right in the eye. “Four tickets — Janet, Lucas, Cat, me.”