Walking Through Walls

by Philip Smith

  Toni’s talk of marriage abruptly ended with the arrival of Florence, a clear and an auditor from England. I think Florence was sent over by headquarters to get the Miami Org in shape. Possibly my letters to Ron had set off alarm bells at Scientology HQ. Obviously my father wasn’t the only one who felt the place was less than top-notch.

  A petite woman with a Mia Farrow haircut, Florence emulated the Scientology fashion code of white turtleneck, blue blazer, and beige Sansabelt trousers for men and women. She spent her days barking orders and screaming at me. Her favorite refrain was, “Philip, pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get back to work.” My previously flawless filing was suddenly deemed inferior, I never handed out enough tickets, and my phone manner was less than satisfactory. After about a week of Florence’s nonstop abuse, I asked her when I was going to be audited. I was anxious to get on the road to becoming clear.

  Florence responded icily, “What are you talking about?”

  “I started working here to pay for my auditing. I’ve been working almost every evening for the last several months, and I thought—”

  “I don’t know anything about that. For this to happen, I would have had to authorize it, and I didn’t, so let’s just forget about it.”

  “Um, I think Toni authorized it.”

  “Ton-eee?” she exclaimed with real disdain. “What business does Toni have making such authorization? I’ll have to have words with her. Toni has had only a few hours of auditing. She has a long way to go before she even thinks of going clear. This is ridiculous. Now get back to work.” With that, Florence walked away to attend to more important business. I was more concerned about having gotten Toni in trouble than not getting my auditing. As instructed, I pulled myself up by my bootstraps and returned to work.

  Eventually I was able to convince Florence that it was in the best interest of the Org that I be audited. In this way I could describe the process to others and encourage them to sign up for this enlightening experience. Once she understood the potential business opportunity I presented her, she consented. Finally I was taken to the holy of holies, the tiny room at the top of the stairs, for my session. There, sitting atop one of those folding bridge tables, was the fabled e-meter, just waiting to free me from the tyranny of my reactive mind loaded with “engrams,” or painful memories. Sitting across from me was a very tall and extremely thin man who displayed a permanent smile and whose eyes were wide open, as if his sight had just been miraculously restored. The session consisted of the thin man asking me a few seemingly innocuous questions, consulting the e-meter after each answer, and writing something down. It was all over in about fifteen minutes and seemed to be a teaser introductory session to get me hooked on auditing. At least I had gotten a chance to hold the tin cans just like the clears, and it was a lot less painful than getting shocked.

  Several months later I asked Florence when my next auditing session was. She looked at me with extreme condescension and said, “When you can pay for it.” With that, she turned on her heels and walked away from me.

  I was now fully prepared to buy my way into salvation. There was no doubt in my mind that Scientology would not only release me from the restraints of my confusing life but confer on me supernatural powers that rivaled my father’s. The first auditing package would run around $1,500, an unimaginable sum in those days. I’m sure Toni lived on much less for an entire year. I suggested to Toni that we create a savings plan at work where I would donate $50 a week from my savings while also working to pay for my auditing. This proposal was immediately accepted, and I happily went about contributing to my auditing fund and cleaning the floors. The truth was that no one was tracking my working hours, and I was going to pay, in full, for my auditing.

  When I had contributed over $500, I thought this was sufficient to start the pay-as-you-go auditing process. I mentioned this to Florence, who pretended not to hear a word I said and simply walked away. Another month went by, and I again requested to begin my auditing. No response.

  Maya had begun to wonder when I was going to have my auditing. She was eager to hear about this latest adventure in my search to become enlightened. “They have a lot of money of yours—they should start auditing you or give you your money back. I don’t like these people.” Maya especially didn’t like Scientology, since she never saw me anymore.

  I couldn’t sleep that entire week, worrying how I would get my auditing. It seemed hopeless. Maya was right; something was wrong. I wasn’t getting anywhere near becoming a clear, much less my lower-grade auditing. On the next Saturday morning when I reported for duty, I told Toni I wanted my money back. Without looking at me, she said, “I wouldn’t do that. Just go home and forget it.”

  “But I never got my auditing, and that’s a lot of money, and nothing is happening.”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea. Just forget it; go do something else. I wouldn’t ask for your money back if I were you.”

  “Why not?”

  “It can get serious.”

  “What do you mean, ‘serious’?”

  “Go away!” With that, Toni picked up the phone and began to dial. I noticed that she was dialing the recorded time-weather report—371-1111. She pretended to talk into the phone at the recorded message. “Hello, Martin, hiiiiiii, it’s Toni down at the Org. Yes, that’s why I’m calling…” I continued to stand there until she shot me a mean look that let me know she was going to hit me if I didn’t get out of there.

  I left work without saying anything to anyone. When I got home, I called Maya and told her what happened. “I have a really bad feeling. When I told Toni I wanted my money back, she got all weird and told me that something bad would happen. I don’t know what to do. I’ve sort of heard stories about people in Scientology suddenly disappearing. Now I’m kinda scared.”

  Maya always looked out for my better interest. “I think you need to get out of there. For whatever reason, they don’t want to audit you. Maybe you should ask your father what to do.”

  “No, I have to deal with this on my own. He warned me against going there in the first place. So what should I do? I don’t think they’re going to give me my money back.”

  “It’s a lot of money, and they didn’t give you anything for it.”

  “Yeah, but I’m scared.”

  “You know, you should ask that guy Jerry on the football team to go with you. He’s crazy enough to punch someone in the face if they give him any lip. He gets into fights all the time. Tell him you’ll give him twenty dollars if he gets your money back.”

  “Do you think he’ll do it?”

  “Jerry will do a lot of things for twenty dollars, and this looks easy. Don’t forget, he’s really big and completely nuts.”

  “Okay.”

  On Wednesday afternoon, Jerry, who weighed close to two hundred pounds, squeezed into my little Fiat and came with me to the Org. When we walked in, Toni looked away from me. I asked to speak to Florence.

  A few minutes later, Florence appeared and in a condescending tone asked, “Where have you been? We need the PC reports filed. Now.”

  “Florence, I never got my auditing, and I want my money back.”

  “What money? You never paid for your auditing.”

  “Yes I did. I paid five hundred fifty dollars so far, plus all the hours I worked, and I never got any real auditing after that introductory session. So I want my money back.”

  “I think you should get back to work. Immediately!”

  “Yeah, but I want my money back.”

  “We’ll talk about that later.” Florence turned to walk away.

  Jerry spoke up. “’Scuse me.” Florence kept walking and headed toward the stairs to go up to the auditing room. “’Scuse me!” Jerry ran and stood in front of her, blocking her way. The clock was on, and he began to earn his fee. In his best threatening tone, he said, “My friend came here to get his money back. Give it to him, and we’ll go.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We
don’t have any of his money.”

  Florence had a point. I contributed to my weekly auditing layaway plan in cash, and to my knowledge, no record was ever kept.

  She continued coolly, “Besides, Philip isn’t ready for auditing yet. As a PC”—preclear—“he still has a lot of class work to complete. He’ll be audited when I say he’ll be audited, and that will be quite a long time from now.”

  Jerry looked at me, slightly confused. I could tell he had no idea what Florence was talking about. He temporarily lost his focus until he asked, “Hey Phil, how much money do they owe you?”

  “Five hundred fifty dollars.”

  Jerry repeated the number to Florence. “Five hundred fifty for my friend here, and we go home. Otherwise, it’s not me you’re messing with but my dad, who is a big litigator for the city.”

  Florence was not impressed. “Excuse me. I have work to do.” She pushed Jerry aside and went upstairs.

  Jerry looked at me as if to ask, “Now what?”

  I figured the party was over and turned to leave. Toni sat at her desk, looking down at some flower-power doodle that she pretended to be engrossed in.

  The next thing I heard was yelling. I turned around and could not see Jerry but heard his voice from upstairs. The staffers looked startled. But no one moved. I ran up the stairs and saw Jerry banging his fist on the wall next to Florence’s head. “Gimme the money now!”

  Florence screamed back, “No!” When she saw me coming up the stairs, she started yelling at me, “You will be excommunicated for this and will never be able to set foot in any Org in the world! We will have to rout you out!”

  Jerry, who went to some sort of after-school Christian football meetings, put his face in front of Florence and screamed, “This ain’t no fuckin’ church, lady! You’re full of shit! Only the pope can excommunicate, not you! Now give me that goddamn money!” He picked up a heavy metal stapler off the desk and was about to whack Florence on the head. It was immediately clear to everyone that if Jerry let loose the stapler, Florence would not be auditing anyone again, ever.

  “Okay, okay. Toni, come up here immediately!” Florence was bent over and panting. Her eyes were wildly searching for a way out of the room.

  I heard the stairs groan as Toni pulled herself up them.

  “So cut the shit, let’s go, where’s the money?” Jerry was still “on purpose,” as they say in Scientologyspeak.

  “It’s coming.”

  I went downstairs. As I walked by Toni, she said without looking up, “You’re fucked. Really fucked. This goes all the way to Special Command.”

  I heard Jerry upstairs losing his patience. “The money now, bitch, or I let loose. You and this place won’t be standing by the time I’m done.”

  Those were the magic words.

  Florence came down the stairs, went into the back, and returned with five one-hundred-dollar bills.

  I let Jerry take the money. He counted it and said, “I think we need another fifty.”

  Florence went into her purse and handed him two twenties and ten ones. She was silent. As we started to leave, she regained her composure and said, “Philip, this will be communicated directly to Ron. I know he was interested in you. He will be disappointed. We will be forced to do an ethics review.”

  I surprised myself by responding, “Don’t bother, I’ll write Ron myself. He’ll be happy to hear from me about how badly you run the Org.”

  On the way to the car, Jerry was hootin’ and hollerin’ like he had just won a major game. Jerry handed me the money. I gave him one of the hundred-dollar bills. “What’s this for? My fee is twenty dollars.”

  “You earned it.” I was sad. My dream of a lifelong affiliation with Scientology had ended badly. I had really wanted to find a home at the Org, become enlightened in a scientific way, and have a unique understanding of a new kind of truth, just as my father had discovered new kinds of powers. I felt anxious and in a bit of a free fall.

  When I got home, I called Maya.

  “I know I’m not supposed to laugh,” she said, “but it’s very funny. I wish I had been there. I knew Jerry could do it. What are you going to do with the money?”

  “I was thinking that you and I should go to Europe for our summer vacation. You know, backpack, sleep on the beach, youth hostels. Just for a month or two. Let’s get out of here. I have enough money. We can go on one of those European planes; it’s only a couple hundred dollars. Let’s go to Greece and Paris. This is a better way to spend the money than on auditing.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as we can get tickets. I’ll call tomorrow.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to my mom and dad.”

  Maya’s parents were dead set against the idea. Her father was convinced that she’d be raped by village peasants while I was roasting on an open-air spit. My mother thought I was little young to be on my own in Europe but knew better than to say no, since it wouldn’t do any good. Deep down inside she loved the idea of me running off to Europe to become a sophisticated world traveler. Maya and I quickly planned our dream itinerary: Paris, Italy, Spain, and Greece. The day after school let out for the summer, we were at the airport with backpacks and sleeping bags, boarding some hippie airbus that originated out of Iceland.

  Our first stop was to be Paris, but at the last minute, and for no particular reason, we changed our minds and jumped a train to Spain. Maya spoke the language, and it seemed as good a place as any to start our adventure. In Madrid we found a small pension and took a wonderful turn-of-the-century room. Tall ceilings, faded green velvet curtains almost in shreds, blue and white tile work in the bathroom. The neighbors’ wash was hanging in the courtyard, and the heavy smell of olive oil infused the air. Neither of us had seen anything like it, and we were overcome by the romance of the place. The owner had the maid bring us a morning coffee.

  As I started to unpack, I suddenly felt as if all the blood had completely drained from my body, leaving nothing but a hollow core. This was immediately followed by a pervasive tingling, crawling sensation all over my skin. I started sweating and shivering, and collapsed onto the bed. After about twenty minutes of being completely immobile, I became delirious with fever. Maya later told me that I began to speak some nonsense language and was thrashing violently about in bed. Panicked, she ran to get the lady of the house, who took one look at me, cried, “Dios mio!” and ran off in search of the local doctor.

  Maya went downstairs and asked the woman in the kitchen to prepare some manzanilla tea for me, which was her mother’s favorite herbal cure-all. When the housekeeper brought the tea, I was completely frozen in a fetal position and shaking violently. I was unable to even raise my head or open my mouth to drink the tea.

  When the owner of the house finally returned with the doctor, I was lost in a haze of fever, chills, aches, and sweat. He looked me over quickly and told Maya there was nothing he could do until the next morning, when he would be able to get someone to draw my blood. He thought it might be malaria or typhoid, and told Maya, “Put cold compresses on his head—and pray.” He crossed himself as he left the room. Maya was terrified that if I died, she wouldn’t know what to do with the body or what to say to my parents. After all, we were only seventeen and very far away from home for the first time.

  For the next half hour, Maya washed me down with cold towels, when suddenly my fever completely broke. I opened my eyes and asked calmly, “Why am I all wet?”

  Maya started to cry. “Oh my God, I thought you were going to die! I never saw anybody so sick. I just didn’t know what to do. I can’t believe the fever is gone. It just suddenly vanished. Thank God you’re okay.”

  The next morning, with this incident behind us, we resumed our travels. After our first stop in Madrid, we completely abandoned our original itinerary and traveled to cities and countries based on spontaneous decisions. Never before had we felt so free. We slept on the beaches in Greece, ate grilled octopus, and visited the great works of Italian art that I had see
n only in books as a kid. Late-night Paris cafés and long train rides through the Spanish countryside filled with miles of sunflowers.

  Two months later, when I returned home, I called my father from the airport to let him know I had returned. “Hi, Pop, I just got back. We had a great time.”

  “I’m so relieved you’re home safely. I’m really sorry about what happened in Spain. I just couldn’t get to you quickly enough.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about? What happened in Spain?”

  “Don’t you remember? You were really sick with a serious infection.”

  I must have blocked the incident, because I had no idea what he was talking about. “Pop, I honestly don’t remember anything like that. Anyway, I’ve got to tell you about Florence. You would love Florence, especially the churches. The architecture is amazing; to think that they created these buildings so long ago. You know, now that you mention it, I do remember something happening in Spain. Maya told me that I had a fever or something. And then it was gone. So what were you saying about how you couldn’t get to me?”

  “I had been tracking you based on the itinerary that you left for me. You were supposed to be in Paris, but when I looked, you weren’t there. My connection with you had been severed. At the time, I felt that everything was okay and that I would look for you in the morning. So I went to bed. In the middle of the night, I heard an alarm clock ringing. You know that I don’t have an alarm clock, so I knew that it was spirit waking me for a reason. That’s when I realized that something was wrong with you, but I wasn’t sure where you were. So I got out a map, and with my pendulum, I started to look for you. I kept checking Paris, but the pendulum indicated that you weren’t there. I looked in England and Italy and still couldn’t find you. Spain was the last place I looked because that was going to be the end of your trip. But I found you in Madrid. I can’t remember the street name, but I have it written down somewhere. Once I found you, I instantly began checking out your vital signs.”