Jake Arnott - The House of Rumour

Is it too late for Russia? A woman’s voice comes on the tannoy as she takes the microphone from Dad. It’s Christine, a black senior that we knew from the Los Angeles Temple. She’s never been afraid of speaking her mind. Russia, she says.

No, no, Dad replies. It’s too late for Russia. These people have killed. I can’t control them. I can’t separate myself from them. I’ve lived for all. I’ll die for all.

Well, I say let’s make an airlift to Russia, says Christine. That’s what I say. I don’t think nothing is impossible if you believe it.

I suddenly felt something rise up inside me. Yes. Russia. We’ll go and live there. Harosho, a kak ty?

Dad asks Christine, How are we going to do that? How are you going to airlift to Russia?

And Christine says, Well, I thought you said if we got in an emergency, that they gave you a code to let them know.

I grab Mom’s hand tightly. I want to join in the discussion. But I’m too young. So I speak to Mom and tell her we could go to Cuba. It’s nearer. We could go by boat if we couldn’t get a plane. I learnt in the school tent that in Havana they have the best ice-cream parlour in the world and it’s cheap enough for everybody.

Then Dad says that the Russians only gave us a code that they would let us know on that issue, not us create an issue. They said if they saw the country coming down they agreed they’d give us a code. You can check on that and see if it’s on the code. We can check with Russia to see if they’ll take us immediately. Otherwise we die. I don’t know what else to say to these people. But to me death is not a fearful thing. It’s living that’s treachery.

The crowd breaks out in loud applause and Mom starts talking about an airlift. Except for her it’s the Space Brothers from Sirius or Pleiades that will land and take us to another planet. Only if we have the right code. I’m trying to concentrate on the argument up front on the stage while she babbles in my ear about a spaceship coming to save us.

Dad is up there saying that Russia isn’t going to want us now. He says that he is standing with the people. That he could never detach himself from our troubles. He is speaking as a prophet today; he has taken all our troubles right on his shoulders. And Christine is saying that where there’s life there’s hope. That the children have a right to live. That we all have a right to our own destiny.

And the crowd is getting upset by what Christine is saying. As if Dad could be wrong. And I realise that is the most frightening thing for us. And people are shouting Christine down. It’s over, sister, it’s over! You’ll regret it if you don’t die! Let’s make it a beautiful day! And Dad says, I’ve been born out of due season, just like we all have, and the best testimony we can make is to leave this goddamn world!

There is more cheering and I hold Mom’s hand tight. Christine tries to talk some more and there is more shouting. You just scared to die! What fucking good would you do in Russia! How can you tell the leader what to do! Dad talks once more about revolutionary suicide. That we lay down our lives in protest against what’s being done. Death, Death, Death. It’s like we’ve talked of Death so much we’ve actually summoned him up. And the voice of Death is speaking in tongues. Like when you stand at the edge of a cliff and look down and you hear a voice say, go on, go ahead and jump. Except now it’s out loud. Communal. And a senior wails, we’re all ready to go, if you tell us we have to give our lives now, we’re ready. At least the rest of the brothers and sisters are with me.

There is the sound of a truck coming into the compound.

What comes now, folks? Dad calls. What comes now?

A commotion outside the Pavilion. The rest of the Red Brigade is back from the airstrip. Everybody hold it. Everybody be quiet, please. Sit down, sit down, sit down. Gather in, folks, Dad says softly on the microphone. It’s easy, it’s easy. One of the Red Brigade is taking to Dad. He nods. It’s all over, he says. The Congressman has been murdered. It’s all over.

And everybody knows now that this is it. Please get us some medication, says Dad. It’s simple. It’s simple. Just please get it. Before it’s too late. They’ll be here, I tell you. Get moving, get moving, get moving.

Time for medication, says Mom. She squeezes my hand and I turn to look at her. She shakes her head. Medication is for sick people, Martin, she tells me.

A table is being set up at the front. A big tub with the punch is being brought out. Mothers and babies go first. They are lining up on the wooden walkway. They have syringes without needles to squirt the poison into the children’s mouths. Everyone get behind the table and back this way, okay? Everyone keep calm and try to keep your children calm. They’re not crying from pain. It’s just a little bitter tasting.

Everyone can see that this is for real now. Not just another White Night loyalty test. Death is coming for us.

Mom whispers in my ear. You’ve got to get out of here, Martin.

Somebody has the microphone and is talking about how they used to be a therapist, and the kind of therapy they did had to do with reincarnation and past life situations. Whenever people had an experience of past life all the way through death, everybody was so happy when they made that step to the other side.

Mom shakes her head again. No, no, no, she mutters.

The Red Brigade have taken up positions around the Pavilion. I look around to see if there’s a way out. How are we gonna escape, Momma? I whisper.

Not we, she says. You, Martin. I’m ready to go.

And I squeeze her hand tighter.

Listen, she says. I see her try to concentrate. It’s like she is trying to make sense of things.

More and more people are going up and taking the potion. There is crying and screaming but also people testifying. This is nothing to cry about. This is something we could all rejoice about. They always told us that we can cry when we’re coming into this world. So when we’re leaving, we’re going to leave it peaceful.

I’m sorry, Martin, Mom is saying. I’ve always had trouble in my head. I know that hasn’t been easy for you.

Mom, I say. Please.

But I know now, she tells me. You see, I know what madness is. I always have done.

Die with a degree of dignity, lay down your life with dignity, Dad is calling out. There’s nothing to death. It’s just stepping over into another plane. Stop these hysterics. This is not the way for people who are socialists or communists to die. We must die with some dignity.

You see, says Mom. Dad is God.

She points up at him.

God is Dad.

Yes.

She nods.

But, Martin, you see, Dad is mad.

God is mad.

Death, death, Dad is saying, death is common to people. Let’s be dignified. If you adults would stop some of this nonsense. I call on you to quit exciting your children when all they’re doing is going to a quiet rest. Hurry, hurry, hurry, my children. Hurry. There are seniors out here that I’m concerned about. Quickly, quickly, quickly, quickly. No more pain now.

Come on, Martin, Mom tells me. I’m ready. You pretend.

What? I ask her.

You got to play dead. You can do that, can’t you? Play dead.

And Dad is calling for another vat to be brought out. The vat with a green C marked on it. Bring it here so the adults can begin.

We’re in the queue and they’re moving us quickly now. Mom finds it hard to keep up so I put my arm around her waist and let her rest an arm on my shoulder. Take care of her, someone says. Yes. That’s a good boy. They are giving paper cups to the adults now. Someone hands one to me. I’ve only got one arm free so I take one cup and Mom reaches out to it.