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HEAVEN'S HARLOTS:  MY FIFTEEN YEARS AS A SACRED PROSTITUTE IN THE CHILDREN OF GOD CULT

9.  Crossroads

It was a cold January evening in 1980, my first night as a resident in Paulo's small apartment, located on a cobblestone road in a tiny Italian village. I was completely isolated from anything or anyone familiar. The apartment had a small living room, a bedroom, a kitchen, and a bath, and was more than five hundred years old. Paolo had remodeled every room and installed central heating, a luxury in this small town. I had been in so many homes that were not mine, I did not find my new predicament unusual. Cognizant of the reality in my life that nothing lasts very long, I was enjoying my new independence. Except for being physically dependent on Paolo, emotionally dependent on access to Thor, and spiritually guided by the Mo letters, I could pretty much do as I pleased.

The first thing I took advantage of was listening to Paolo's music collection of early rock and roll, hard rock, and many of the bands I had missed during the 1970s and 1980s. when Paolo came home that first day, I turned the music off, conditioned to feel guilty about doing what I liked to do. However, since Bob Dylan had recently been saved, the whole Family was listening to his Christian songs now, and Paolo bought Dylan's Bible-based records for me. They were the first worldly recordings I had owned in ten years.

I had just turned off the stereo, and Paolo was now pacing back and forth between the bedroom and the bathroom, where his tranquilizers were sitting abandoned in the medicine cabinet. He had agreed not to take any more tranquilizers once I moved in, and I had spent most of the evening praying for him every time he wanted to go to the medicine cabinet. It was late at night, the neighbors had all already turned off their lights, but Paolo could not get to sleep. Trying to substitute Jesus for tranquilizers, I spent hours reading the Bible aloud to him and praying. But he still could not sleep. I followed him out to the living room and sat down on the couch in the dark. The only light came from a lamp in the bedroom that shone through the open door.

"Paolo, come here and sit beside me," I called to him as he paced past the bathroom door.

"I don't want to," he snapped.

"I think you should pray this time, Paolo. I always pray for you, but if you pray for yourself, it will have more power."

Paolo looked at me with what seemed like hatred. Normally, he appeared slightly disturbed in a gentle way, but he now wore an aggressive glare. I was apprehensive, but I returned his glare without breaking contact. I saw more fear in his eyes than I felt in my own heart. I told myself that I was safe.

"I want you to pray, Paolo," I repeated with a firm voice.

He turned around and stalked into the kitchen at the end of the hall. As he lingered there in the dark, for about twenty minutes, I quickly went over in my mind the various scenarios that could take place here in this isolated apartment in this deserted town where no one knew me and I couldn't even speak Italian. I said my own prayers silently, knowing that faith could overcome any obstacle.

When Paolo finally returned, his distraught face looked as if he had been through hell. He fell to his knees and bent his head down, as Catholics are taught to do when they pray.

"I don't know how to pray," he said after a few minutes had passed in silence.

"Say what is on your heart," I suggested.

"Help me, God. Aiutami, aiutami," he kept repeating in Italian.

After what seemed like a very long time, he got to his feet. His face looked better, and he seemed tired but content. Evidently the prayer had dispelled the hold of the tranquilizers, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Looking into his eyes again, I saw he had something to tell me. "What is it?" I asked.

"Do you want to know?"

"Yes, I need to know."

"Will you leave me if I tell you?"

"No. I won't leave."

"When you told me to pray," he began apprehensively, "I heard a voice in my head. It said to kill you. While I was in the kitchen the voice told me to take a butcher knife and come in here and kill  you."

"Is that why you went into the kitchen?" I said, goosebumps rising on my arms at the thought of what he could have done.

"I wasn't going to do it," he responded defensively. "I think I went into the kitchen so the voice would stop. I went in there to get away from you because the voice did not like you."

"My spirit is much more powerful than that puny voice," I said, remembering Mo letters that told us how the devil tries to scare us when he knows he has already been beaten. I pictured an enormous, powerful angel on my side and a shriveled, bent-over little demon whispering into Paolo's ear. Now I was sure that Paolo would come into the Family. Even the devil knew it, and he was making his last stand.

I succeeded in helping Paolo substitute faith for his addiction to drugs and therapy. I did not feel a sense of power over Paolo after this; instead, I felt an enormous burden of responsibility. I was now his spiritual mother. I had to nurture him, feed him, protect him, and educate him until he was mature enough to be on his own. It was as if I had been through a difficult birthing experience, and the baby had been born alive, but traumatized. Tired as I was after giving birth, I knew that the hard work had just begun.

Convincing Paolo to forsake all, a Family requirement in order to join, took time. Paolo was by nature selfish, stingy, and possessive. Not only did he not want to share me, he didn't like the idea of giving up his coveted worldly possessions. Paolo pampered himself with fashionable clothes, comfortable furniture, and good food. He had a huge double closet full of the latest Italian fashions and dozens of shoes. I used to laugh to myself that my clothes took up only about one-tenth the space that his clothes did.

Paolo was also not willing to share his money. I brought my flee fund money with me, and to provide an example of true communal actions, I deposited the whole amount, about two thousand dollars, into his savings account. However, Paolo insisted I come to work with him at the pet shop every day, and although he gave me money to shop for food, I never had any spending money of my own. One evening, as we passed the only jewelry shop in the town, Paolo pointed out a gaudy gold cross with Jesus on it and indicated that he would like to wear a cross now that he was a Christian. I offered him one of my Cartier necklaces, suggesting that he ask the jewelry shop owner to make a trade. Even though I was unaware of the value of the Cartier at that time, I knew it was worth much more that the cross. In the back of my mind, I thought that maybe Paolo would surprise me by exchanging my Cartier for a cross for him and a ring, or necklace, for me. When he showed up with only the cross, and said that the shop owner had given him nothing else, I was disappointed, but I dashed these thoughts from my mind. Anything I could do to show Paolo God's true love was worth it.

Paolo's mother lived nearby. His father, a Calabrese, had deserted her with two small sons when Paolo was very young. She supported them by working as a nurse, but as a typical Italian mother, she spoiled her boys, giving them everything they wanted. She came over every morning, after Paolo had gone to work, to make his bed, clean his house, and take his laundry. In the evening, she brought a warm dinner over for him, or he ate at her house.

As I began my household duties, I thought of what Timothy had told me about wasting God's talent. He was against my living with Paolo, and he still wanted me to come and live in Athens with them. But living with Paolo served many grand purposes: It was helping Paolo break his dependence on legal drugs, giving him a goal in life; it gave me a place to live so I would not have to go to Athens, which would break my connection with Thor and perhaps with my own soul; and it took me from the detached experience of loving many men to learning to love one man.

Meanwhile, I took the three-hour round trip on the train and bus every weekend to pick up Thor. My son integrated well into the Italian country life, camping out with us and going fishing; however, Paolo, who was the poorest conversationalist I have ever met, was even less talkative with children. There is a Bible verse that says "a man who keeps quiet is esteemed wise," and I thought that perhaps Paolo had deep thoughts. As time went on, I discovered that he just had nothing to say.

A few times I floated the idea of bringing Thor to live with us, but Paolo was averse to the idea. He said it was better for Thor to be with his father. Meanwhile, I had completely changed my own lifestyle for Paolo. I was now a dutiful housewife with a good sleeping schedule, regular meals, and lots of rest. Within a few months, I became pregnant. Even though I had not practiced birth control 'throughout the years of offering myself, I had never become pregnant. Therefore, to be having Paolo's baby was further proof to me that he was a disciple. In retrospect, I was just taking better care of my body.

All full-time disciples sent 10 percent of their monthly income into the COG headquarters in Switzerland, but since Paolo did not want to do this, we were put on the lowest status. That meant simply that we did not receive the "Disciples Only" (DO) letters, and we needed permission to visit Family homes. Of course, Cal never tried to enforce this rule, and I could go and come freely at his house, but otherwise, I was estranged from the COG. Sharon, Tim, and Breeze wrote to me from Greece, inviting me to come if I found out Paolo was not a sheep, and to bring him if he was. I could do neither. Now that I was pregnant, I would have to do my best to keep him connected to the Family, even if it meant living with him apart from a Family home.

The new Family rule, according to the latest letters, was that if a baby resulted from relationships with a fish, it was God's way of showing that the fish was worthy. Therefore, the bait (me) must stay with that fish and keep him close to God's Family. Nothing was mentioned about love except that God can give you the love you need. For many years I waited and believed that love was coming. Sometimes I even fooled myself that love was there, that I just had to acknowledge it. Years later, I heard the cynical words of a Dylan song, "Love is just a four letter word," and I thought how true that as in my life. But for now, my time was absorbed with teaching Paolo how to be a Child of God, and I had no time for inner-self thoughts. 

Unfortunately, my student was not a willing learner. He, at the same time, was trying to teach me how to be a typical, subservient Italian wife. The first day I went to work in his shop, he yelled at me for arriving late. He let me do all the dirty work, such as picking huge ticks out of the infested country farm dogs and sweeping the dirty dog hair away from his grooming area. After working in the luxury of Monte Carlo for three years, it was quite a change for me, but I had learned to be content in whatever situation I found myself in my service to the Lord.

Paolo was nicer to me after I became pregnant, and his mother, who had long ago resigned herself to her station in life as a single abandoned mother, was the epitome of self-sacrifice. She took it upon herself to train me in her image and likeness: how to shop daily from store to store, picking up the freshest pieces of meat and vegetables, making pasta from scratch, sewing curtains, crocheting baby clothes (she tried to teach me to knit but I have always been afraid to have knitting needles around children), hanging up pretty curtains. I followed her respectfully, but without enthusiasm. What I really planned was to get Paolo and me into a Family home somewhere as soon as possible.

In the spring of 1980, Cal informed me that he and Mara were going to go back to America. Almost everyone who had been in Europe for a while was encouraged to go on to other mission fields like the Far East or South America. First they would have to go to America and raise funds. Mara was pregnant with her second child, and since I was also, Cal thought it might be a good idea for us to get divorced so that we could marry our new mates. I discussed this with him at length, and we planned on meeting in America, and then going together to a mission field and starting a home consisting of Cal, Mara, their little girl, Thor, Paolo, me, and our new babies. That would keep Thor with both of us, and I liked the idea of having help in training Paolo to be a disciple. All I had to do was convince Paolo to move to America.

Paolo had already been to America when he had worked on cruise ships. He was not interested in returning. He was more interested in going to Canada or South America, since he had never been to those places. I explained that first we needed to get married, which meant I had to get divorced, which was easiest accomplished in America. He seemed to agree. Assured that I would be following soon, I agreed to Thor going with his dad to the States ahead of me.

Cal left with Thor before the summer, and I promised to help pay r the divorce. He handled the whole procedure in New York, where is parents lived. Meanwhile, Paolo and I were to start gathering funds to leave and meet them when summer ended.

As the summer months passed, Paolo seemed less interested in leaving. I pleaded with him to put the shop up for sale as he had promised, and although he kept saying he would, he did nothing. in ally, in November, seven months pregnant, I gave him an ultimatum.

"Paolo, we agreed on a plan before Thor left," I reminded him. "I trusted you. I never would have let Thor leave if you had told me you were not sure."

"You can't do anything about Thor anyway," he replied. "You gave Cal custody of Thor."

His words jolted me out of my delusional fantasy. Pathetically, I had not counted on Cal asking for full legal custody, which he had lone once in America, but I had continued to have faith in the plan. Now, it became clear to me that even Paolo was ready to betray my trust in him. I had given Cal custody in order to obtain an uncontested divorce. That was the only way that he would do it, and with him in America, with Thor in his possession, there was little I could do. The divorce papers also said that I had deserted them. I complained about this statement, but Cal said he had to give some excuse for getting divorced. Paolo, the only other person I ever talked to at that time, had encouraged me to sign the papers also, and now he was using this against me.

"Yes, I did give up custody!" I hissed at him, angry that he could be so insensitive to my feelings. He was there when I received the papers from Cal, when I cried over the desertion claim and the custody. Paolo knew how much those statements hurt me.

"But I trust Cal, and I still do," I cried. "And I thought I could trust you."

"Do you expect me to leave a good business, and go to America where I don't know what I can do?"

"You are going to America to be part of God's Family. If you don't want to do that, then I don't want to stay with you."

"What about the baby? God gave us that baby for a reason. We are supposed to be together."

"God gave me Thor for a reason too, Paolo, and I am going to stay beside my firstborn."

Paolo laughed condescendingly, an irritating habit he resorted to when he didn't know what to say.

"I am leaving here with or without you, Paolo. You can't keep me here. We aren't married yet, and you can't prove fatherhood either," I added, not knowing if that were true or not.

We were on chilly terms for the next couple of weeks. Since I had put the money Timothy had given me into Paolo's bank account, I had virtually no money. I contacted my mother and sisters, who were willing to help me. My mother had been reading all the anti-COG literature she received from church groups that explained our unusual marriage relationships; however, she was still horrified to learn that Cal lived with a pregnant woman in New York, while I lived with a stranger in Italy, and was also pregnant. I had been in touch with her through letters, but I never had given her the details of my life. Other than news about Thor's growth, my letters were filled with Bible verses supporting our ministry. Now that my mother heard about my divorce, she preferred I arrive with a husband-to-be, but said she would send me the money if I needed it to leave Italy. Paolo, sensing that I would do this on my own, gave in. He put the shop up for sale, and we left before Christmas. We arrived in New York in December 1980, with the news that John Lennon had just been shot and killed.

"Great entrance into America," said Paolo sarcastically.

Paolo and I began to live in my mother's house in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and we were married a few weeks before I had my first daughter. Only my mother was present at the ceremony held at the justice of the peace's office, and she took us out for pizza afterward. Paolo had not bought a wedding ring for me, despite having over ten thousand dollars in the bank, so my mother gave me an heirloom ring she had been saving. It was too big, and I eventually lost it while doing dishes. My second baby was born in the local hospital, and we named her Athena.

Back in Lancaster, I caught up with all my family's history. I knew that my sister Marlene, who had visited me in New York before I'd left for Europe, had died in a car accident, but back in my home, I finally had the time and space to allow myself to mourn. Many times I looked at the old pictures of her and remembered how I had hauled her to the antiwar march on Washington when she was only fifteen. Ruby had married a drug user whom she felt sorry for, and was now divorced and trying to start a new life with a baby. Karen and Ingie were living in Florida and doing well. My brother, Steve, was in prison again.

Cal and Mara joined us in Lancaster, and we rented a house and lived together for a few months while trying to raise money and decide which mission field to go to. My mother was terribly upset that we were living together, imagining the most horrible sexual transactions taking place, but actually, we never shared at all. Everyone had their individual problems to keep them preoccupied. Paolo had plenty of money from the sale of the shop, but Cal was dead broke. In COG philosophy, we should have shared our money with Cal, but Paolo was not ready for that. He still had a hard time sharing his money with me.

None of us were particularly good friends, but friendship was not valued in the Family. I don't think that any of us would have even kept company had we known each other outside of the Family. Our interests, likes, and dislikes were so different. But in the COG, all that mattered was God's work, according to Family doctrine. As for me, I would do anything to stay near my son. 

It soon became evident that Cal, now almost thirty years old, was not happy with Family policy. He had stopped sending in his 10 percent, and had started drinking and smoking. One day I found out that he was also smoking marijuana. Like many people who control their own negative urges by condemning them in others, I confronted him about his vices during morning devotions. I wanted everything to be laid out in the open so I knew where we were going. Cal stormed out of the room, and Mara looked at me sheepishly.

"You guys aren't in the Family anymore, are you?" I asked, dumbfounded by my lack of discernment.

"Cal's just having a difficult time," she replied. I thought as she said this that she must really love him. How strange to love someone in the Family enough to support their shortcomings.

"Mara, you need to let me know. I have a new disciple I am trying to train. He can't be seeing Cal smoke dope. What is happening with you two?"

"Okay," she confided. "We both have trouble believing Mo now."

We always had trouble believing Mo," I answered. "But what about serving God? Do you think the Family is still a legitimate alternative to the system or not?"

Having had a recent taste of the system life, both with Paolo in Italy and now back in America, I concluded that the Family was still a better way of living. I didn't like the loneliness of living in the so-called world. Of course, I hardly had time to make friends, but with work and children to take care of, I didn't see how any mother could have time for a social life. However, most of all, I didn't think I could live a life without a goal, and I saw my goal as living for the Lord one hundred percent. No Christian church would take me in now. There was basically nowhere for me to serve the Lord but in the Family.

"You know that Cal has not been happy in the Family for quite some time," continued Mara.

"Is he in or out?" I demanded to know.

"He wants some time to think about his life, about what he's going to do, now that we will have two children."

"Cal has three children. What does he plan on doing with Thor?"  My heart was racing frantically. Cal had legal custody of Thor, and now he was planning to leave the Family. What would he do with Thor? It was my worst nightmare come true. I had not counted on Cal becoming a heretic -- and having custody of my son.

"I'm going back to France to have my baby," she said, ignoring my question. "Cal is going to stay with friends in California and raise some money."

"I want to know what he is going to do with Thor!" I said more emphatically.

"You'll have to talk to Cal about that," she said, even though I was sure she already had discussed the matter with him.

Cal informed me later, after he had calmed down, that he would let me take Thor until he situated himself and his family. I knew that could take months or years. As long as I had Thor, life made sense.

Thor was now eight years old and had been to four different schools in his life, not counting the Family schools he had attended as a toddler. He had lived in four countries and in over a dozen different homes. It was a lot of moving; I had moved often as a child also, but I had thus far never analyzed the psychological implications of that factor on my life. Thor made friends wherever we went; however, he was not doing well in conduct at school, which I attributed to the system's poor way of teaching and disciplining. I started to teach Thor again at home, and when we moved, I did not put him back in public school.

Paolo and I bought a small travel trailer and, together with Thor and Athena, we started down the East Coast on our way to South America. On the way, we were joined by a COG family from Italy with four little kids who lived in a tent.

By the time we arrived in Florida, it was hot, humid, and buggy.  We found a home in Miami that processed COG missionaries on their way to South America. The Italian family separated from us there, and started working on raising more funds, while we ended up in a trailer park in Jacksonville. Paolo went to work as a waiter, not wanting to sell literature on the streets. I stayed home with Athena and taught Thor. When Paolo complained about my not making any money, I sold the gifts I had collected in Monte Carlo. I eventually sold all the jewelry, including the Cartier gold chain, and Salim's painting. They brought in a lot of money, but much less than they were worth.

Our trailer had no air-conditioning, and poor little Athena was covered with heat rash. In addition, since she had suffered a high fever after her first vaccination, Paolo insisted that she have no more shots, and I was always afraid she would come down with some childhood disease she had not been vaccinated against. Paolo had become very strict about our diets and medical needs, fanatically embracing the Family's policies of avoiding doctors. Although all my children have been relatively healthy, they also all went through the childhood diseases that most children were vaccinated against, such as measles, chicken pox, and whooping cough. While in Florida, Athena acquired a red rash all over her body, accompanied by a fever for three days, but I never knew what it was. By the time I took her to a doctor, she was already better.

Also, during our stay at the trailer park in Jacksonville, Thor came running home one day from the pool with his hand covering a profusely bleeding forehead. It was the first time I had left him at the pool under the care of a neighbor, since I'd had to run home and change Athena's diaper. Paolo was away, and I didn't drive, so a lady from the nearby trailer park store came to my rescue and drove us to a clinic, where I was relieved to hear that Thor's cut could be sewn up with a few stitches.

Finally, I received a letter from Sharon, who told me that a new  music ministry was being started in Puerto Rico. It was easy to obtain clearance to go to Puerto Rico; also, Family members could still collect food stamps there from the government. We put in our application for Puerto Rico and received the okay immediately, After selling the car, and leaving the trailer with a dealer to sell for us, we arrived in Puerto Rico in time for the oven-like August weather.

Our first week in San Juan was spent in a tiny rented room with no air-conditioning. I lay on the bed in the shaded room with the fan blowing on me during the heat of the day, while Thor and Athena played in the wading pool we bought and put right outside the open door so I could watch them. I had to bring them in every twenty minutes so they would not get heat stroke. In the evening, I took the children for a walk on the beautiful beaches. Meanwhile, Paolo scouted San Juan for housing and work. Unless we lived in a home, Paolo would never understand how to live by faith. COG members did not work for money at that time; they sold literature on the streets or sang in restaurants and cafes. Since I could not speak Spanish, and I had to watch the children, I did not see how I could do either in this heat. Finally, I hit on an idea.

Paolo had always wanted to learn to play the guitar, and the Italian brothers we visited had started to show him a few chords. He had bought a guitar in Italy and brought it with him through all our travels. I convinced him to play a few chords while I sang on the buses. The buses were air-conditioned, or had a good ventilation system, so it was better than keeping the children in the hot motel room. I took Athena in a stroller, and Thor collected up and down the bus aisle while Paolo played the guitar and I sang. After a few weeks, Thor started to sing with Paolo and they went out alone, since Athena often slowed us down.

I was worried about Paolo taking Thor out alone. There had been  a few incidents when Paolo had hit Thor harder than I thought was necessary. Thor had been his usual rambunctious self while we were on a long driving trip, and Paolo had reached the end of his patience and slapped Thor hard across the face. His mouth was bleeding, and I yelled at Paolo for hitting him so forcefully. Even though corporal punishment was condoned in the Family, we were supposed to talk to the children first, and let them know how they would be punished. In addition, I wasn't sure if Paolo would watch my eight-year-old son well enough in the crowded San Juan streets. I never had the feeling that Paolo was as concerned about Thor as a father should be. He was not mean to him, but he was not sensitive to a young boy's needs, such as when to take a break and when to buy him an ice cream.

During our first month in San Juan, we visited other colonies searching for a place to live. One evening we visited a large home outside San Juan where they were having a get-together for the members in the area. I had not been in a regular Family home for years, and I was shocked at the filth and disarray of the house. The brothers and sisters were sweet, but somehow different from the Family I knew in Europe. I felt extremely uncomfortable, and I later learned that these were all people who had not received clearance to undertake a mission, so they congregated in Puerto Rico. Most of the members who could not obtain clearance were actually incompetent. Our socialist philosophy was to take anyone into the Family who believed in Jesus, wanted to forsake all and live communally, and would obey the Mo letters and leadership, but I now began to realize what difficulties that entailed. Some of our members had come from very poor, undereducated backgrounds, and we were not properly trained in social reeducation. Although some of these people eventually learned to clean up their houses, teach their children to read and write, and earn enough money to support the colony, many of them stayed in pretty much the same condition as when they joined -- abject poverty. It was the first time I was aware of a huge class difference existing within the Family, and I was not sure of the causes or implications. After dinner, the leader of the home, a huge brother from Chicago, suggested we all put our names in a hat and pick a partner for the night. I declined, saying that we were not spending the night here, but he insisted that I at least share before going home. Paolo also was not interested in having sex with a name he picked out of a hat. We left before the names were chosen.

Within a few weeks, we found a couple to live with. They were clean, well-mannered people who had already received clearance to Argentina and were just staying to raise more funds. We moved to a small village called Humacao, rented a large, airy villa, and went singing in San Juan. This couple stayed pretty much to themselves in the second-floor apartment of the villa, and we never shared sexually. Sexual policies, I learned, varied greatly from one Family home to the next, as well as at different time periods in the COG.

One day I got a call from the leader of a house that was underground.

"Hopie heard that you are in Puerto Rico," the brother said. "She wants you to come up and visit us."

Once again, Hopie, Mo's daughter, was my savior. A car was sent down for Paolo and me, and brought us to a campground situated on a beautiful mountain about an hour's drive from San Juan. There were roughly twenty trailers and large living tents pitched under the trees, with a kitchen and a huge covered patio by a pool. It was a picture of heaven-on-earth, and seeing old friends just made it more celestial. There were a number of musicians from our Paris days, all of whom I knew well. Most were married now and had children. There were also singers and musicians from Italy whom I had met in my travels. Then there were the big leaders, whom everyone knew. It was definitely the place to be in the Family at this time.

The latest push in the Family was to recruit members back into the group. Flirting had been toned down now; we were giving sex only to men who were very influential or wealthy. The new, elite ministry in the Family was making videotapes of Family songs. This camp in the mountains of Puerto Rico was a gathering of our best talent, and more was on the way.

One of the significant "backsliders," as we called them, who had been brought back to the Family by Hopie's personal initiative was an extremely talented young man named Gabriel. He, along with all the other "prodigal sons," were treated royally. They were given the best houses, the nicest clothes, use of the cars, and were instantly made leaders. Mo said we were to reach the world through music, radio, and television, and we needed good musicians, technicians, and others with entertainment-industry skills to do it. Gabriel was multitalented, and besides writing scripts, performing, and directing the shows, he was one of our most successful public relations men, opening doors in the South American music world that would have taken us years to even find. For a short while in Puerto Rico, he was treated like a king. Many years later, he was to become one of the first victims of the "victor camps," where rebels or leaders who had disobeyed Mo in some way were humiliated by verbal lashings and public spankings, forced to confess before the colony every "sin" they had ever committed, subjected to sleep deprivation and exorcism, and separated from any source of help. However, that would come years later. In the camp near San Juan, our little paradise, it seemed like no harm could touch us! With intelligent and capable people like Gabriel around, I began to have more faith in the Family again, and the depression and horrific conditions of the San Juan homes that I had recently witnessed were soon forgotten.

Hopie, who seemed to have a special liking for me, was her usual, happy self.

"Praise the Lord, honey. It's great to see you again," she told me cheerfully. "When I heard you were in Puerto Rico, I thought, well, Jeshanah has to come up here. She's an old Paris Show Group performer. So what have you been doing? I heard you lured a fish into the Family."

"Yes, I did. When Monte Carlo closed down, I went to live with a fish in Italy."

"Well, praise the Lord. Good for you. That was Dad's main objective, to get souls into the Kingdom.

"I want you to stay up here in the music camp," continued Hopie.  "Is your fish with you still?"

"Yes, we had a baby and got married."

"Praise God! Two souls for his Kingdom. Well, can he sing or play music?"

"No, not really. He started to learn in Italy."

"I never knew an Italian who didn't love music. I know what he can do. I bet he's a great cook. Italians love good food. Why don't you and, what's his name, honey?"

"Paolo. "

"Why don't you and Paolo stay here and take over the kitchen? We could use some better cooks here. And I'm sure they could use you in some of the dance numbers, if they start doing shows like we did in Paris. That was great, wasn't it. The Lord's Spirit sure moved in Paris."

Paolo and I moved up to the camp within days. He recognized a good situation when he saw it, and the camp was a true haven. He was also given a little special attention, being the youngest disciple there, by years. We bought a little pop-up trailer to place alongside the R V s. Although Hopie said we were to be in charge of the kitchen, the practical leaders felt that Paolo was too young in the Family to be in charge of anything. He was relieved just to be there in the camp, where our daily needs were met by the community and we did not have to go singing to raise funds.

Soon after arriving, I found out that Sharon and Timothy had come over from Greece and were living on the island. When I finally talked to Sharon on the phone, I realized she had changed drastically; however, it wasn't until I would meet her, weeks later, that I understood what a complete transformation she had made. But for the time being, both Paolo and I focused on adjusting to our new communal life.

Like in all Family homes, sharing was taken for granted in the camp. The concept of "one wife" was now widespread in the Family. Mo's words "God's in the business of breaking up little selfish private worldly families to make of their yielded broken pieces a larger unitone family -- one wife" ("One Wife" 249:9) were taken literally now. Some homes even set up regular, weekly "sharing schedules" to ensure that everyone got equal opportunity. The ideal was to become one with every member in the home, not just with your own mate. Paolo, like most men, had not joined the Family to share sexually with many women, but he participated in the schedule until he was asked to go with a sister he found unattractive. After a brother explained to him that God's Love does not discriminate by outside beauty, Paolo reluctantly agreed to go with a sister he had refused repeatedly. However, he talked badly of the girl afterward, so the leaders wisely considered Paolo a special case, and he was no longer encouraged to share. Since I had become saturated with sex, I was more than willing to pass up any opportunities to share, using the excuse that Paolo was alone. Sex was a chore for me by now, and since we did not use birth control, I was always afraid of becoming pregnant.

My old rebellious and dear dance instructor, Salome, was also at the camp. She now had three small children, and from what I understood, one was from a fish. Salome, as a nursery worker, had always expressed to me her feeling that there were enough children in the Family, and she did not want to add to the number. She kept to herself in her own trailer, rarely coming out for fellowship. Rumor had it that she not only refused to share with brothers; she would not have sex would her own husband unless she could use birth control. Since birth control was absolutely not allowed in the Family, as far as I knew, I imagined that they had a sexless marriage. I envied her.

During our stay in the camp, Mo asked the Family to video women dancing in various forms of the striptease, which he called the "heavenly houris" dances. In new letters written at this time, such as "Glorify God in the Dance," Mo described how we should dance in these videos as if we were making love to him or the Lord. Like most of his new ideas, they had been tested previously at selected homes. Since ours was a special, underground home, we were allowed to see some of the original tapes that had been sent to Mo from the Greece home. I was interested in seeing Sharon's dance. Hopie gave us a little prep speech before showing the video.

"Now this is the second video we sent to Dad. He was not pleased with the first one, and especially with a few of the girls whom he felt were not dancing in God's Spirit of freedom. Thank the Lord for Dad's insight, and that he is never too proud to let us know when we are doing wrong. Amen?"

It seems that Sharon, among others, had danced with such sexual inhibition that Mo had rebuked her and said that it was time for that girl to receive the Holy Spirit, since evidently she had not yet. He also suggested that she drink a little more wine before performing her dance for him, and he gave specific instructions on what he wanted to see -- more sex!

I was shocked when I saw Sharon's second dance. She was a different person from the kind, sweetly shy girl I had known and loved. Her eyes seemed spooky as she penetrated the camera with a flirtatious, come-hither look that was not the Sharon I knew. Other girls on the video had danced and undressed in a sexy, but awkward, manner; however, Sharon, whom I remembered as one of the most modest women I have ever known, masturbated openly before the camera as if she were a professional porno star. She was brazen, brassy, saucy, and bold -- the ultimate sexual plaything for a man with unbridled sexual fantasies. I thought that she must have become one of Mo's own women, and it took my breath away as I realized how close I had come to being one too. Perhaps it was my mother's prayers, or my own innate defiant nature, but somehow I had missed being chosen by him. In a rather warped way, I entertained the thought that perhaps he did have spiritual insight, and he knew I could never give up my soul to the point that Sharon had. I didn't want to believe it was the same woman I knew, and as I went to bed that night, with a heavy heart, I pondered why Mo had picked poor Sharon. Sweet, sweet Sharon -- the lily of the field, I used to call her! She was no longer lily-white; she was now the red, red rose of Sharon, covered, smothered with the blood pouring from her wounded soul. These were my thoughts after seeing the person whom I had loved most in the Family dancing before her king!

I was asked to perform a houri dance the next day before a video camera, and I wondered what I could do that would not be criticized by Mo. Intuitively, I now knew that I was safe, since Mo went after the women who had a malleable inner core. Knowing that I would never be among Mo's inner circle strangely gave me more faith to stay in the Family. I had been a socialist before I joined, and I never liked this hierarchical system that had developed in the Family anyway. As long as I was not part of the leadership, I should not take blame for any of their mistakes. The bottom line was that we were still preaching God's love and salvation. These naked dances were only for the elite, and the upper echelon historically degenerate and are replaced. I decided to do my dance like the person I was -- a woman who loved to dance for the dance's sake, not for Mo, or sex, or pornography. My warped mind was bent on excusing Family perversions, and I had become quite good at it. Declaring that leadership would evolve to eventual perfection was one of my best ploys of self-deception.

Choreographing my own dance and designing the stage scene between two trees, I began by dancing in the nude behind a sheer muslin curtain with a stage light shining from the back. Nothing could be seen but my silhouette as I danced. I let my body flow, spin, and spiral to the music. Of course, there was always the possibility that Mo would send a message saying that I was not in the Spirit, but I had already survived that experience years before. After a few weeks, Mo did have a message for me: "Tell the Uneager Beaver that I liked her dance."

I heard this compliment from Hopie while I was at a dinner party at the residence of one of the leaders, where Sharon lived, and my anxiety of finally meeting with Sharon and Timothy overshadowed any reaction I might have had to it. Sharon had lost about twenty pounds and was thinner than I. As she looked at me, she said, "I love you," but her eyes looked past my heart or soul Lo some faraway place only she could see. I thought that she must have achieved either sainthood or zombiehood, and I wasn't curious enough to want to find out which, which Was very unlike me. I was a little scared. Sharon reminded me of a happy victim -- the ultimate evil paradox. Instead, I talked at length with Timothy, who was watching the children so that Sharon could entertain at the dinner table. His boyish face still looked naively hopeful as he explained to me that Sharon had a "special calling."

"I heard Hopie say that Mo liked your dance," Tim told me gleefully. "He doesn't say that to everyone, you know, especially not on their first dance."

"Yeah, he also called me the Uneager Beaver again," I replied, but I could see that the meaning of this comment went over his head.

"Oh, don't worry about that, I'm sure he loves you."

Actually, I wanted to say that I was thankful that Mo still called me the Uneager Beaver, which suggested he would always hold the story I had written against me. Now that I had witnessed the change in his wife after becoming an "insider," I liked the freedom and safety of being an outsider more than ever before. I had never been very close to Timothy, so I did not say anything, and Sharon was now much too far away to ever talk to again. She was like one of those monks who achieve enlightenment after years of social isolation. If that was enlightenment, I didn't want it. 

The camp was full of outsiders like myself. We seemed to be a bunch of freethinkers who had been temporarily handicapped by ideals, opportunity, love, or other psychological/emotional anesthetics. Almost everyone living in the camp eventually left the Family, and at least one of them committed suicide after leaving. But I never heard of a suicide while in the Family, and certainly those days on the mountaintop kept all of us preoccupied. We were too busy to think about what we were really doing then, and it was only after we left, if we were able to spend time alone with ourselves, that the Wastefulness of our lives could be understood. During those mock "days of heaven on earth" in Puerto Rico, I was oblivious to the approaching storm.

Most of my concern was Over my son, Thor, who was now eight years old. He was at an awkward stage of childhood development, made more confusing by recent Mo letters on how to raise children. Because of our free-sex lifestyle, sooner or later the subject would have to be discussed with our children. Eight-year-olds want to know why Mommy and Daddy are sleeping in someone else's trailer.

More distressing than the sexual aspects of raising my son was the discipline that was being taught to all parents. Paolo took the disciplinary rules very seriously, and on a few occasions, he took Thor into the woods and whipped him with a stick. Each time Thor received a spanking, I wondered if his own father would have done the same. Thor asked about his father sometimes, and I said we would probably see him soon. But after these spankings, Thor especially wanted to see his daddy, and my heart would break. If God truly does punish us for our sins, I know that the worst way He can punish me is through my children; for this reason, I have often lived in fear. Nothing ever made me as anxious as the thought of what effect my actions would have on my children. On the other hand, there are never easy problems or easy solutions, as I was soon to learn.

N ear the end of the year 1981, I received a letter from Cal telling me that he was out of the Family for good and that he wanted Thor back. With the letter was a one-way ticket to France, where Cal now lived with Mara. I was sent into a complete panic. My plan was utterly destroyed. I had not counted on Cal becoming a heretic when I had signed those divorce papers. The only reason I had given him custody of Thor was that I believed we could all be together eventually, or at least live close to each other. To complicate matters, I now had two children, with two different fathers. The ideal was to all live together. That was not going to happen now, and I could not figure out what to do. I wrote Cal that I would not send Thor until some agreement could be reached on visitation. I was willing to return to Europe, if necessary, but for now, I was relieved that Thor was in my possession.

One day Cal called the San Juan home, and asked if I would come to the phone that evening with Thor so that he could talk to him, which I felt was certainly good for both of them. I was hoping that we could come to some sort of agreement during the call. When Cal phoned as planned, I explained to him that I did not use the ticket he sent because I wanted to be sure that he would send Thor back to me sometime. He said he was upset at first, but now understood' and that maybe we could work something out for the future.

It was already dark outside, but we had to return to the camp, so we said good-bye to our hosts. Paolo was driving and I was in the front seat, holding Athena, who was almost a year old and still nursing, while Thor sat in the back. As we turned a corner and headed down a deserted street towards the highway leading out of town and to the camp, a car suddenly headed toward us. Before Paolo could swerve out of its way, it backed into us and rammed our car.

"The doors," I screamed. "Lock all the doors." A dark-haired man came running out of the car toward us. I thought we were being robbed and I frantically locked my door and the door behind me. Thor was on the seat behind Paolo and I could not reach him.

Everything happened so quickly, and I was in such an emotional panic afterward, that I can't recall the exact details of this incident, and those involved have contradictory reports. I know that Thor was taken away from me at that time; I remember I was relieved to see my ex-husband, Cal, come toward me in the dark of the night, so I knew Thor had not been kidnapped by a stranger; I came to the dreadful realization that Cal was taking Thor away and I might not see him again. 

In a state of near hysteria, I was taken by Paolo back to the Family in San Juan.

Paolo took me inside the home and I sat down while he talked to the leaders, handing them an envelope Cal had given him. They called the camp and then explained to me what had happened.

"Jeshanah, listen! He took Thor for good. He's not bringing him back. "

"He can't do that! I have Thor's passport; he can't get out of here without it."

The home leaders came back into the room and opened the envelope. It was a letter from Cal.

"He has been to the police already," they explained, "and he is threatening to give away our locations and everything he knows about the Family if you don't give him Thor's passport."

"But he doesn't know where the camp is," I protested. Athena was crying now, and I tried to nurse her but no milk came. The leader's wife took her.

"He knows enough," he said. "You guys should stay here tonight.  They will call in the morning."

I looked around in bewilderment. Were they going to let Thor be taken from me? Forever, like Cal said? Wasn't Thor worth saving? What's wrong with these people? This is my son! I looked to Paolo for help, but he didn't respond, I didn't know what he was thinking, I never did! Was he going to help me or not? Could I count on him when my emotional energy was depleted?

"No! No! You can't make me do it," I screamed hysterically.

"You need to get a good night's sleep," said the leader's wife, who had already laid Athena down in a baby cot. We were given a space In a spare room.

I couldn't close my eyes. Athena and Paolo slept all night, but I stayed awake, rocking myself as tears flowed down my cheeks. Maybe in the morning, I would hear that Cal had changed his mind. Maybe Thor would refuse to go with him. Maybe the leaders would force Cal to make concessions to me. All I wanted was a promise that Thor could see me. I would go back to Italy. I would not go to South America, not if Thor was on another continent. There would be a change in the morning, I was sure of that. "Sorrow lasts for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." That's what the Bible said. Still, I stayed awake all night praying and weeping.

We heard the next day that all the top leaders had fled the island during the night. There was too much bad publicity about the Children of God and many angry people in America were looking for the leaders, many of whom were right here in our camp. Groups like the one called Free COG, standing for "Free our children from the Children of God," and deprogrammers, who kidnapped adult COG members and tried to un-brainwash them, were becoming more powerful. In addition, individual Family members were now embattled by lawsuits from mothers or fathers who had left the COG but whose spouse and children were still in. Cal had a lot of information about US leaders' legal names and addresses and what they looked like -- and they were afraid. They suggested that I give Cal whatever he wanted. Hopie, who had also left the island, sent a special message saying that it was all in God's hands, and if I trusted Him, He would give me the desires of my heart.

At that time, I did not mind that they left. I knew that the to leaders always protected their identity and location, but I couldn't believe what they were asking me to do. Paolo drove up to the cam to get the passport and some of Thor's clothes. Meanwhile, Cal called and talked to the leader at the home. Cal had been in San Juan about a week, studying the movement in and out of the San Juan house, which he found by following a brother home from the post office. He had called to make sure we would be there with Thor that night; then he and his brother had planned the kidnapping. He wasn't about to make any deals, and all the chips were stacked on his side of the table. I was in a state of shock when Paolo took me to the airport to meet with Cal. I still hoped that I could persuade him to change his mind.

Cal met me alone at the planned location, without Thor. He said he thought it would not be good for Thor to see me in this state. I was a wreck from being up all night and day crying.

"Cal, you can't do this to me," I pleaded.

"You were going to do it to me," he responded spitefully. He was a different person from the one I had left a year ago. He was tough and much more sure of himself.

"No, I wasn't going to keep Thor away. I wanted to work something out with you."

"What could we work out? You are in the Family, and I am not. You want to live in South America, and I live in France."

"I would not have gone to South America."

"That's what you say now. But you would have taken him and disappeared. Why didn't you send him back with the ticket I sent you?"

"I know it looks bad, but I was afraid to send him. I didn't have any proof that you would let me see him again."

"You're probably right. I don't want Thor having any contact whatsoever with this perverted cult you're in. You guys are nuts. Your leaders are all f--ing perverts. Where are your leaders now, huh? They've all left you by yourself, haven't they?"

I couldn't listen anymore. I knew he was right, but what could I do? Agree with him? It wouldn't get me Thor back. And what about Paolo and Athena? I held my head together as if to stop it from exploding. Like Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, I seemed to have been left without a choice. There was no road open to take. I would have to forge one for myself, but not now. I was too weak, too confused, too close to the edge! Knowing he was taking Thor for good, right now, this very instant was all that mattered. I turned to Paolo for help.

"Paolo, do something!" I cried. "Find out where he's going. Please don't let him take Thor without knowing where he's going?'

I sat on the nearest bench and buried my face into my hands while Paolo gave Cal the passport and suitcase. Paolo had let me down. He did nothing at all. Maybe he liked his position in the Family now, near top leadership. Maybe he just never liked having Thor around, a bothersome, constant reminder that I had been married to someone else. But I had helped Paolo in his darkest hour. Now, I wanted and needed his help in my darkest minute, and he did nothing! I would have to take care of myself! They were gone! My beloved had been yanked out of my heart and it was bleeding profusely. Would I become a zombie like Sharon? Was that how God did it? After all, the Family did not plan this one. Lifeless, I let Paolo take me back to the San Juan home.

I didn't want to see anyone. I stayed in the little room they had given us for two days and two nights. Not even Athena could make me come out. I nursed her and handed her back to Paolo to take away.

After crying all the tears I had left, I lay folded up in the fetal position, praying to die. Then I stopped praying, and anger took the place of any false hope I had stored for God to do something. I was given messages from the leaders that God wanted me to sacrifice Thor as a test, and He would give him back. However, not one of my friends from the camp came to comfort me. During those tortured, guilt-ridden days of passing judgment on myself, the Family, and the world, I finally came to a verdict.

This was not between me and the Family, I told myself. It was between me and God. What kind of God would ask Abraham to sacrifice his only son? Why put a man to a test like that? I had tried to understand the reasoning, and as long as I had not been so intimately touched, I could. But no longer. I had found at least one truth in my heart. I could not trust a God who would ask this of me! 

I went to my knees and raised my clenched fists upward.

"I am not a man!" I cried. "I am a mother! And I won't pass that test. I won't even take it! I will not sacrifice my son!"

I dropped to the floor, and while a coat of scales fell from my soul like a snake's skin being discarded, I closed my eyes and slept for the first time in three days.

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