The Testaments

35

After Becka cut her wrist with the secateurs and bled on the Shasta daisies and was taken to the hospital, I was very worried about her: would she recover, would she be punished? But as the autumn and then the winter seasons came and went, there was still no news. Even our Marthas did not hear anything about what might have happened to her.

Shunammite said Becka was just trying to get attention. I disagreed, and I am afraid there was a coolness between us for the remainder of the classes.

As the spring weather set in, Aunt Gabbana announced that the Aunts had come up with three candidates for Paula and Commander Kyle to consider. She visited us at our house and showed us their photographs and recited their biographies and qualifications, reading from her notebook, and Paula and Commander Kyle listened and nodded. I was expected to look at the pictures and listen to the recital, but not to say anything at present. I could have a week to consider. My own inclinations would naturally be taken into account, said Aunt Gabbana. Paula smiled at this.

“Of course,” she said. I said nothing.

The first candidate was a full Commander, and was even older than Commander Kyle. He was red-nosed, with slightly bulbous eyes—the mark, said Aunt Gabbana, of a strong personality, one who would be a reliable defender and sustainer of his Wife. He had a white beard and what looked like jowls underneath it, or possibly wattles: skin folds drooping down. He was one of the first Sons of Jacob and so was exceptionally godly, and had been essential in the early struggle to establish the Republic of Gilead. In fact, it was rumoured that he had been part of the group that had masterminded the attack on the morally bankrupt Congress of the former United States. He’d already had several Wives—dead, unhappily—and had been assigned five Handmaids but had not yet been gifted with children.

His name was Commander Judd, though I’m not sure this information is of much use if you are attempting to establish his true identity, since the leading Sons of Jacob had changed their names frequently when they were in the secret planning stages of Gilead. I knew nothing of these name changes at the time: I learned about them later, thanks to my excursions through the Bloodlines Genealogical Archives at Ardua Hall. But even there, Judd’s original name had been obliterated.

The second candidate was younger and thinner. His head was pointed at the top and he had oddly large ears. He was good with numbers, said Aunt Gabbana, and intellectual, not always a desirable thing—especially not for women—but in a husband it could be tolerated. He had managed to have one child by his former Wife, who had died in an asylum for mental sufferers, but the poor infant had expired before the age of one.

No, said Aunt Gabbana, it had not been an Unbaby. There was nothing wrong with it at birth. The cause was juvenile cancer, alarmingly on the rise.

The third man, the younger son of a lower-ranking Commander, was only twenty-five. He had a lot of hair but a thick neck, and eyes that were close together. Not as excellent a prospect as the other two, said Aunt Gabbana, but the family was highly enthusiastic about the match, which meant I would be properly appreciated by the in-laws. This was not to be discounted, since hostile in-laws could make a girl’s life miserable: they would criticize, and always side with the husband.

“Don’t jump to any conclusions yet, Agnes,” Aunt Gabbana said. “Take your time. Your parents want you to be happy.” This was a kind thought, but a lie: they didn’t want me to be happy, they wanted me to be elsewhere.

I lay in bed that night with the three photographs of the eligible men floating in the darkness before my eyes. I pictured each one of them on top of me—for that is where they would be—trying to shove his loathsome appendage into my stone-cold body.

Why was I thinking of my body as stone cold? I wondered. Then I saw: it would be stone cold because I would be dead. I would be as wan and bloodless as poor Ofkyle had been—cut open to get her baby out, then lying still, wrapped in a sheet, staring at me with her silent eyes. There was a certain power in it, silence and stillness.

36

I considered running away from home, but how would I do that and where could I go? I had no notion of geography: we did not study it in school, since our own neighbourhood should be enough for us, and what Wife needed more? I did not even know how big Gilead was. How far did it go, where did it end? More practically, how would I travel, what would I eat, where would I sleep? And if I did run away, would God hate me? Surely I would be pursued? Would I cause a lot of suffering to others, like the Concubine Cut into Twelve Pieces?

The world was infested with men who were certain to be tempted by girls who’d strayed out of bounds: such girls would be viewed as loose in their morals. I might not get any farther than the next block before being ripped to shreds, polluted, and reduced to a pile of wilting green petals.

The week I’d been granted in which to choose my husband wore on. Paula and Commander Kyle favoured Commander Judd: he had the most power. They put on a show of persuading me, since it was better if the bride was willing. There had been gossip about high-level weddings that had gone off badly—wailing, fainting, slaps administered by the mother of the bride. I’d overheard the Marthas saying that before some weddings tranquilizing drugs had been administered, with needles. They had to be careful with the dose: mild staggering and slurred speech could be put down to emotion, a wedding being a hugely important moment in a girl’s life, but a ceremony at which the bride was unconscious did not count.

It was clear that I would be married to Commander Judd whether I liked it or not. Whether I hated it or not. But I kept my aversion to myself and pretended to be deciding. As I say, I had learned how to act.

“Think what your position will be,” Paula would say. “You couldn’t ask for better.” Commander Judd was not young and would not live forever, and far though she was from wishing it, I would most likely survive much longer than he would, she said, and after he died I would be a widow, with more leeway to choose my next husband. Think what a benefit that would be! Naturally, any male relatives, including those by marriage, would play a role in my choice of second husband.

Then Paula would run down the qualifications of the other two candidates, disparaging their appearances, their characters, and their positions in life. She needn’t have bothered: I detested both of them.

Meanwhile, I was pondering other actions I might take. There were the French-style flower-arranging secateurs, like the ones Becka had used—Paula had some of those—but they were in the garden shed, which was locked. I’d heard of a girl who’d hanged herself with her bathrobe sash to avoid a marriage. Vera had told the story the year before, while the other two Marthas made sad faces and shook their heads.

“Suicide is a failure of faith,” Zilla said.

“It makes a real mess,” said Rosa.

“Such a slur on the family,” said Vera.

There was bleach, but it was kept in the kitchen, as were knives; and the Marthas—being no fools and having eyes in the backs of their heads—were alert to my desperation. They’d taken to dropping aphorisms, such as “Every cloud has a silver lining” and “The harder the shell, the sweeter the nut,” and even “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” Rosa went so far as to say, as if talking to herself, “Once you’re dead, you’re dead forever” while looking at me out of the sides of her eyes.

There was no point in asking the Marthas to help me, not even Zilla. Sorry though they might feel for me, much as they might wish me well, they had no power to affect the outcome.

At the end of the week, my engagement was announced: it was to Commander Judd, as it was always going to be. He appeared at the house in his full uniform with medals, shook hands with Commander Kyle, bowed to Paula, and smiled at the top of my head. Paula moved over to stand beside me, put her arm around my back, and rested her hand lightly on my waist: she had never done such a thing before. Did she think I would try to get away?

“Good evening, Agnes, my dear,” said Commander Judd. I focused on his medals: it was easier to look at them than at him.

“You may say good evening,” Paula said in a low voice, pinching me slightly with the hand that was behind my back. “Good evening, sir.”

“Good evening,” I managed to whisper. “Sir.”

The Commander advanced, arranged his face into a jowly smile, and stuck his mouth onto my forehead in a chaste kiss. His lips were unpleasantly warm; they made a sucking sound as they pulled away. I pictured a tiny morsel of my brain being sucked through the skin of my forehead into his mouth. A thousand such kisses later and my skull would be emptied of brain.

“I hope to make you very happy, my dear,” he said.

I could smell his breath, a blend of alcohol, mint mouthwash like that at the dentist’s, and tooth decay. I had an unbidden image of the wedding night: an enormous, opaque white blob was moving towards me through the dusk of an unknown room. It had a head, but no face: only an orifice like the mouth of a leech. From somewhere in its midsection a third tentacle was waving around in the air. It reached the bed where I was lying paralyzed with horror, and also naked—you had to be naked, or at least naked enough, said Shunammite. What came next? I shut my eyes, trying to blank out the inner scene, then opened them again.

Commander Judd drew back, regarding me shrewdly. Had I shuddered while he was kissing me? I had tried not to. Paula was pinching my waist harder. I knew I was supposed to say something, such as Thank you or I hope so too or I’m sure you will, but I could not manage it. I felt sick to my stomach: what if I threw up, right now, on the carpet? That would be shameful.

“She’s exceptionally modest,” said Paula through tight lips, glaring sideways at me.

“And that is a charming feature,” said Commander Judd.

“You may go now, Agnes Jemima,” said Paula. “Your father and the Commander have things to discuss.” So I made my way towards the door. I was feeling a little dizzy.

“She seems obedient,” I heard Commander Judd saying as I left the room.

“Oh yes,” said Paula. “She’s always been a respectful child.”

What a liar she was. She knew how much rage was seething inside me.

The three wedding arrangers, Aunt Lorna, Aunt Sara Lee, and Aunt Betty, made a return visit, this time to measure me for my wedding dress: they’d brought some sketches. I was asked to give my opinion about which dress I liked best. I pointed to one at random.

“Is she well?” Aunt Betty asked Paula in a soft voice. “She looks quite tired.”

“It’s an emotional time for them,” Paula replied.

“Oh yes,” said Aunt Betty. “So emotional!”

“You should have the Marthas make her a soothing drink,” said Aunt Lorna. “Something with chamomile. Or a sedative.”

In addition to the dress, I was to have new underclothes, and a special nightgown for the wedding night, with ribbon bows down the front—so easy to open, like a gift-wrapped package.

“I don’t know why we are bothering with the frills,” Paula said to the Aunts, talking past me. “She won’t appreciate them.”

“She won’t be the one looking at them,” said Aunt Sara Lee with unexpected bluntness. Aunt Lorna gave a suppressed snort.

As for the wedding dress itself, it was to be “classical,” said Aunt Sara Lee. Classical was the best style: the clean lines would be very elegant, in her opinion. A veil with a simple chaplet of cloth snowdrops and forget-me-nots. Artificial-flower-making was one of the handicrafts encouraged among the Econowives.

There was a subdued conversation about lace trim—to add it, as Aunt Betty advised because it would be attractive, or to omit it, which would be preferable in Paula’s view, since attractive was not the main focus. Unspoken: the main focus was to get the thing over with and consign me to her past, where I would be tucked away, unreactive as lead, no longer combustible. No one would be able to say she had not done her duty as the Wife of her Commander and as an observant citizen of Gilead.

The wedding itself would take place as soon as the dress was ready—therefore, it was safe to plan it for two weeks from this day. Did Paula have the names of the guests she would like invited? Aunt Sara Lee asked. The two of them went downstairs to compile: Paula to recite the names, Aunt Sara Lee to write them down. The Aunts would prepare and personally deliver the verbal invitations: it was one of their roles, to be the bearer of poisoned messages.

“Aren’t you excited?” said Aunt Betty as she and Aunt Lorna were packing up their sketches and I was putting my clothes back on. “In two weeks you’ll have your very own house!”

There was something wistful in her voice—she herself would never have a house—but I paid no attention to it. Two weeks, I thought. I had only fourteen scant days of life left to me on this earth. How would I spend them?

37

As the days ticked past, I became more desperate. Where was the exit? I had no gun, I had no lethal pills. I remembered a story—circulated by Shunammite at school—about someone’s Handmaid who had swallowed drain cleaner.

“The whole bottom part of her face came off,” Shunammite had whispered with delight. “It just…dissolved! It was, like, fizzing!” I hadn’t believed her at the time, though now I did.

A bathtub filled with water? But I would gasp and splutter and come up for air, and I couldn’t attach a stone to myself in the bath, unlike in a lake or a river or the sea. But there was no way I could get to a lake or a river, or the sea.

Maybe I would have to go through with the ceremony and then murder Commander Judd on the wedding night. Stick a purloined knife into his neck, then into mine. There would be a lot of blood to get out of the sheets. But it wouldn’t be me doing the scrubbing. I pictured the dismay on Paula’s face when she walked into the slaughter chamber. Such a butcher shop. And there went her social standing.

These scenarios were fantasies, of course. Underneath this web-spinning, I knew I could never kill myself or murder anyone. I remembered Becka’s fierce expression when she’d slashed her wrist: she’d been serious about it, she’d really been prepared to die. She was strong in a way that I was not. I would never have her resolve.

At night when I was falling asleep, I fantasized about miraculous escapes, but all of them required help from other people, and who would help me? It would have to be someone I didn’t know: a rescuer, the warden of a hidden door, the keeper of a secret password. None of that seemed possible when I woke up in the morning. I went round and round in my head: what to do, what to do? I could barely think, I could scarcely eat.

“Wedding nerves, bless her soul,” said Zilla. I did want my soul to be blessed, but I could see no way of that happening.

When there were only three days left, I had an unexpected visitor. Zilla came up to my room to call me downstairs. “Aunt Lydia is here to see you,” she said in hushed tones. “Good luck. We all wish you that.”

Aunt Lydia! The main Founder, the gold-framed picture at the back of every schoolroom, the ultimate Aunt—come to see me? What had I done? I was shaking as I made my way down the stairs.

Paula was out, which was a lucky thing; though after I came to know Aunt Lydia better, I realized that luck had nothing to do with it. Aunt Lydia was sitting on the sofa in the living room. She was smaller than she’d been at the funeral of Ofkyle, but perhaps that was because I’d grown. She actually smiled at me, a wrinkly, yellow-toothed smile.

“Agnes, my dear,” she said. “I thought you might like to hear some news about your friend Becka.” I was in such awe of her that it was hard for me to talk.

“Is she dead?” I whispered, my heart sinking.

“Not at all. She is safe and happy.”

“Where is she?” I managed to stammer.

“She is at Ardua Hall, with us. She wishes to become an Aunt and is enrolled as a Supplicant.”

“Oh,” I said. A light was dawning, a door was opening.

“Not every girl is suitable for marriage,” she continued. “For some it is simply a waste of potential. There are other ways a girl or woman may contribute to God’s plan. A little bird has told me that you may agree.” Who had told her? Zilla? She’d sensed how violently unhappy I was.

“Yes,” I said. Perhaps my prayers of long ago to Aunt Lydia had finally been answered, though in a different way than I’d expected.

“Becka has received a call to higher service. If you yourself have such a calling,” she said, “you still have time to tell us.”

“But how do I…I don’t know how…”

“I myself cannot be seen to be proposing this course of action directly,” she said. “It would contravene the prime right of the father to arrange the marriage of his daughter. A calling can override the paternal right, but you must make the first approach to us. I suspect Aunt Estée would be willing to listen. If your calling proves strong enough, you will devise a way of contacting her.”

“But what about Commander Judd?” I asked timorously. He was so powerful: if I ducked the wedding, surely he would be very angry, I thought.

“Oh, Commander Judd always has lots of choices,” she said with an expression I couldn’t read.

My next task was to find a pathway to Aunt Estée. I could not declare my intention outright: Paula would stop me. She’d lock me in my room, she’d resort to drugs. She was hell-bent on this marriage. I use the expression hell-bent advisedly: she was risking her soul for it; although, as I later learned, her soul was already in flames.

The day after Aunt Lydia’s visit, I made a request of Paula. I wanted to talk to Aunt Lorna about my wedding dress, which had already been tried on twice and was being altered. I wanted everything to be perfect for my special day, I said. I smiled. I thought the dress looked like a lampshade, but it was my plan to appear cheerful and appreciative.

Paula gave me a sharp glance. I doubt that she believed in my smiling face; but if I was putting on an act so much the better, as long as it was the kind of act she wanted.

“I’m pleased you’re taking an interest,” she said drily. “It’s a good thing Aunt Lydia paid you a visit.” Naturally she’d heard about that, though not about what was actually said.

But it would be a nuisance for Aunt Lorna to come to our house, said Paula. It wasn’t convenient, as I ought to have known—there was the food to be ordered, there were the flowers to be arranged, Paula couldn’t deal with such a time-wasting visit.

“Aunt Lorna is at Shunammite’s,” I said. I knew that from Zilla: Shunammite’s own wedding was also shortly to take place. In that case, our Guardian could drive me over there, said Paula. I felt my heart quicken, partly in relief, partly in fear: now I would have to carry through my risky plan.

How did the Marthas know who was where? They weren’t allowed Computalks and couldn’t receive letters. They must have known from other Marthas, though possibly from the Aunts as well, and some of the Wives. The Aunts, the Marthas, the Wives: despite the fact that they were frequently envious and resentful, and might even hate one another, news flowed among them as if along invisible spiderweb threads.

Our Guardian driver was summoned and given instructions by Paula. I expect she was glad to have me out of the house: my unhappiness must have given off a sour smell that was irritating to her. Shunammite used to say that they put happy pills into the warm milk of girls who were about to get married, but no one had been putting happy pills in mine.

I climbed into the back seat of our car while our Guardian held the door open for me. I took a deep breath, half exhilaration, half terror. What if my attempt at deception should fail? And what if it should succeed? Either way I was heading into the unknown.

I did consult Aunt Lorna, who was indeed at Shunammite’s house. Shunammite said it was fun to see me, and once we were married we could visit a lot! She hurried me inside and took me to inspect her wedding dress, and to hear all about the husband she would soon have, who (she whispered, giggling) looked like a carp, with a receding chin and goggly eyes, but who was medium-high up among the Commanders.

Wasn’t that exciting, I said. I admired the dress, which—I told Shunammite—was much fancier than mine. Shunammite laughed, and said she’d heard I was practically marrying God, my new husband was so important, and wasn’t I lucky; and I gazed downwards and said but anyway her dress was nicer. She was pleased by that, and said she was sure we would both get through the sex part and not make a fuss. We would follow Aunt Lise’s instructions and think about arranging flowers in a vase, and it would all be over quickly, and maybe we would even have real babies, by ourselves, without Handmaids. She asked if I would like an oatmeal cookie, and she sent the Martha for some. I took one and nibbled at it, though I was not hungry.

I couldn’t stay long, I said, because there was so much to do, but could I see Aunt Lorna? We found her across the hall in one of the spare rooms, poring over her notebook. I asked her to add something or other to my dress—a white bow, a white frill, I can’t remember. I said goodbye to Shunammite, and thanked her for the cookie, and said again how lovely her dress was. I went out the front door, waving cheerfully just like a real girl, and walked to our car.

After that, heart hammering, I asked our driver if he wouldn’t mind stopping by my old school, since I wished to thank my former teacher Aunt Estée for everything she had taught me.

He was standing beside the car, holding the back door open for me. He gave me a suspicious frown. “Those aren’t my instructions,” he said.

I smiled in what I hoped was a charming way. My face felt stiff, as if it was covered with hardening glue. “It’s quite safe,” I said. “Commander Kyle’s Wife won’t mind. Aunt Estée is an Aunt! It’s her job to take care of me!”

“Well, I don’t know,” he said dubiously.

I looked up at him. I’d never paid much attention to him before, since usually I had only the back view. He was a torpedo-shaped man, small at the top end, thick in the middle. He had not shaved carefully, and had bristles and a rash.

“I’ll be married soon,” I said. “To a very powerful Commander. More powerful than Paula—than Commander Kyle’s Wife.” I paused to let this sink in, and then I am ashamed to say I placed my hand lightly on top of his, where it was holding the car door. “I’ll make sure you’re rewarded,” I said.

He flinched slightly and pinkened. “Well, then,” he said, though he didn’t smile.

So this is how women get things done, I thought. If they are prepared to wheedle, and lie, and go back on their word. I was disgusted with myself, but you’ll notice this didn’t stop me. I smiled again, and pulled my skirt up just a little, displaying an ankle as I swivelled my legs into the car. “Thank you,” I said. “You won’t be sorry.”

He drove me to my old school as I’d requested, and talked to the Angels guarding it, and the double gates swung open, and I was driven inside. I told the driver to wait for me: I wouldn’t be long. Then I walked sedately into the school building, which now seemed much smaller than when I’d left it.

It was after hours; I was lucky that Aunt Estée was still there, though again it may not have been luck. She was sitting at her desk in her usual classroom, writing in her notebook. She looked up when I came in.

“Why, Agnes,” she said. “You’re all grown up!”

I hadn’t planned beyond this moment. I wanted to throw myself on the floor in front of her and burst into tears. She’d always been kind to me.

“They’re making me marry a horrible, disgusting man!” I said. “I’ll kill myself first!” Then I really did burst into tears and crumpled onto her desk. It was acting in a way, and probably bad acting, but it was real acting if you see what I mean.

Aunt Estée lifted me up and walked me to a chair. “Sit down, my dear,” she said, “and tell me all about it.”

She asked me the questions she was duty-bound to ask. Had I considered how this marriage might affect my future positively? I told her that I knew about the benefits, but I didn’t care about them because I had no future, not of that kind. What about the other candidates? she asked. Would anyone else be preferable? They were not any better, I said, and anyway Paula had made up her mind about Commander Judd. Was I in earnest about killing myself? I said I was, and that if I didn’t manage it before the wedding I would be sure to do it afterwards, and I would kill Commander Judd the first time he laid a finger on me. I would do it with a knife, I said. I would cut his throat.

I said this with conviction so she would see that I was capable of it, and for that moment I believed I was. I could almost feel the blood as it came pouring out of him. And then my own blood as well. I could almost see it: a haze of red.

Aunt Estée didn’t say I was very wicked, as Aunt Vidala might have done. Instead she said that she understood my distress. “But is there another way you feel you might contribute to the greater good? Have you perhaps had a call?”

I’d forgotten about that part, but now I remembered. “Oh yes,” I said. “Yes I have. I’m called to higher service.”

Aunt Estée gave me a long and searching look. Then she asked me if she could pray silently: she needed guidance about what to do. I watched while she folded her hands, closed her eyes, and bowed her head. I held my breath: Please, God, send her the right message, I prayed in my turn.

Finally she opened her eyes and smiled at me. “I will speak with your parents,” she said. “And with Aunt Lydia.”

“Thank you,” I said. I was beginning to cry again, this time with relief.

“Do you want to come with me?” she said. “To talk with your parents?”

“I can’t,” I said. “They’ll get hold of me and lock me in my room, and then they’ll give me a drug. You know they will.”

She didn’t deny it. “That’s sometimes best,” she said, “but for you, I think not. You can’t stay here at the school, however. I couldn’t stop the Eyes from entering, and removing you, and changing your mind. You don’t want the Eyes doing that. You’d better come with me.”

She must have evaluated Paula, and judged that she’d be capable of anything. I didn’t know then how Aunt Estée had come by this information about Paula, but I know now. The Aunts had their methods, and their informants: no walls were solid for them, no doors locked.

We went outside and she told my driver to let his Commander’s Wife know that she was sorry for having kept Agnes Jemima so long, and she hoped that no undue worry had been caused. Also he should say that she, Aunt Estée, was about to pay Commander Kyle’s Wife a visit, to decide an important matter.

“What about her?” he said, meaning me.

Aunt Estée said she would take responsibility for me, so he need not concern himself. He gave me a reproachful look—actually a filthy look: he knew that I’d tricked him, and that he was now in trouble. But he got into the car and drove out through the gates. The Angels were Vidala School Angels: they obeyed Aunt Estée.

Then Aunt Estée used her pager to call her own Guardian driver, and we got into her car. “I’m taking you to a safe place,” she said. “You must stay there while I talk to your parents. When we get to the safe place, you must promise me you’ll eat something. Promise?”

“I won’t be hungry,” I said. I was still holding back tears.

“You will be, once you settle in,” she said. “A glass of warm milk, at any rate.” She took my hand and squeezed it. “All will be well,” she said. “All manner of things will be well.” Then she let go of my hand and patted it lightly.

This was comforting to me as far as it went, but I was on the verge of crying again. Kindness sometimes has that effect. “How?” I said. “How can it ever be well?”

“I don’t know,” said Aunt Estée. “But it will be. I have faith.” She sighed. “Having faith is hard work sometimes.”

38

The sun was setting. The springtime air was filled with the golden haze that can often appear at that time of year: dust, or pollen. The leaves of the trees had that glossy sheen, so fresh and newly unfolded; as if they were gifts, each one, unwrapping itself, shaken out for the first time. As if God had just made them, Aunt Estée used to tell us during Nature Appreciation, conjuring up a picture of God waving his hand over the dead-looking winter trees, causing them to sprout and unfurl. Every leaf unique, Aunt Estée would add, just like you! It was a beautiful thought.

Aunt Estée and I were driven through the golden streets. Would I ever see these houses, these trees, these sidewalks again? Empty sidewalks, quiet streets. Lights were coming on in the houses; inside there must have been happy people, people who knew where they belonged. Already I felt like an outcast; but I’d cast myself out, so I had no right to feel sorry for myself.

“Where are we going?” I asked Aunt Estée.

“Ardua Hall,” she said. “You can stay there while I visit your parents.”

I’d heard Ardua Hall mentioned, always in hushed tones because it was a special place for the Aunts. Whatever the Aunts did when we weren’t looking was not our concern, said Zilla. They kept themselves to themselves and we should not poke our noses in. “But I wouldn’t want to be them,” Zilla would add.

“Why not?” I asked her once.

“Nasty business,” said Vera, who was running pork through the meat grinder for a pie. “They get their hands dirty.”

“So we don’t have to,” said Zilla mildly, rolling pie crust.

“They dirty up their minds too,” said Rosa. “Whether they want to or not.” She was chopping onions with a large cleaver. “Reading!” She gave an extra-loud chop. “I never liked it.”

“I didn’t either,” said Vera. “Who knows what they’re forced to dig around in! Filthiness and muck.”

“Better them than us,” said Zilla.

“They can never have husbands,” said Rosa. “Not that I’d want one myself, but still. Or babies either. They can’t have those.”

“They’re too old anyway,” said Vera. “All dried up.”

“The crust’s ready,” said Zilla. “Have we got any celery?”

Despite this discouraging view of the Aunts, I’d been intrigued by the idea of Ardua Hall. Ever since I’d learned that Tabitha wasn’t my mother, anything secret had attracted me. When I was younger I’d ornamented Ardua Hall in my mind, made it enormous, given it magic properties: surely the location of so much subterranean but ill-understood power must be an imposing construction. Was it a huge castle, or was it more like a jail? Was it like our school? Most likely it had a lot of large brass locks on the doors that only an Aunt would be able to open.

Where there is an emptiness, the mind will obligingly fill it up. Fear is always at hand to supply any vacancies, as is curiosity. I have had ample experience with both.

“Do you live there?” I asked Aunt Estée now. “Ardua Hall?”

“All the Aunts in this city live there,” she said. “Though we come and go.”

As the streetlights began to glow, turning the air a dull orange, we reached a gateway in a high, red-brick wall. The barred iron gate was closed. Our car paused; then the gate swung open. There were floodlights; there were trees. In the distance, a group of men in the dark uniforms of the Eyes were standing on a wide stairway in front of a brightly lit brick palace with white pillars, or it looked like a palace. I was soon to learn it had once been a library.

Our car pulled in and stopped, and the driver opened the door, first for Aunt Estée, then for me.

“Thank you,” said Aunt Estée to him. “Please wait here. I’ll be back shortly.”

She took me by the arm, and we walked along the side of a large grey stonework building, then past a statue of a woman with some other women posed around her. You didn’t usually see statues of women in Gilead, only of men.

“That is Aunt Lydia,” said Aunt Estée. “Or a statue of her.” Was it my imagination, or did Aunt Estée give a little curtsy?

“She’s different from real life,” I said. I didn’t know if Aunt Lydia’s visit to me was supposed to be a secret, so I added, “I saw her at a funeral. She’s not that big.” Aunt Estée did not answer for a moment. I see in retrospect that it was a difficult question: you don’t want to be caught saying that a powerful person is small.

“No,” she said. “But statues aren’t real people.”

We turned onto a paved pathway. Along one side of it was a long three-storey building of red brick punctuated by a number of identical doorways, each with a few steps going up to it and a white triangle over the top. Inside the triangle was some writing, which I could not yet read. Nonetheless I was surprised to see writing in such a public place.

“This is Ardua Hall,” said Aunt Estée. I was disappointed: I’d been expecting something much grander. “Come in. You will be safe here.”

“Safe?” I said.

“For the moment,” she said. “And, I hope, for some time.” She smiled gently. “No man is allowed inside without the permission of the Aunts. It’s a law. You can rest here until I come back.” I might be safe from men, I thought, but what about women? Paula could barge in and drag me out, back into a place where there were husbands.

Aunt Estée led me through a medium-sized room with a sofa. “This is the common sitting area. There’s a bathroom through that door.” She ushered me up a flight of stairs and into a little room with a single bed and a desk. “One of the other Aunts will bring you a cup of warm milk. Then you should have a nap. Please don’t worry. God has told me it will be all right.” I didn’t have as much confidence in this as she appeared to, but I felt reassured.

She waited until the warm milk arrived, carried in by a silent Aunt. “Thank you, Aunt Silhouette,” she said. The other one nodded and glided out. Aunt Estée patted my arm, then left, closing the door behind her.

I had only a sip of the milk: I didn’t trust it. Would the Aunts give me drugs before kidnapping me and delivering me back into Paula’s hands? I didn’t think Aunt Estée would do that, though Aunt Silhouette looked as if she might. The Aunts were on the side of the Wives, or that’s what the girls had said at school.

I paced around the small room; then I lay down on the narrow bed. But I was too overwrought to go to sleep, so I got up again. There was a picture on the wall: Aunt Lydia, smiling an inscrutable smile. On the opposite wall was a picture of Baby Nicole. They were the same familiar pictures that had been in the classrooms at the Vidala School, and I found them oddly comforting.

On the desk there was a book.

I’d thought and done so many forbidden things that day that I was ready to do one more. I went over to the desk and stared down at the book. What was inside it that made it so dangerous to girls like me? So flammable? So ruinous?

39

I reached out my hand. I picked up the book.

I opened the front cover. No flames shot out.

There were many white pages inside, with a lot of marks on them. They looked like small insects, black broken insects arranged in lines, like ants. I seemed to know that the marks contained sounds and meaning, but I couldn’t remember how.

“It’s really hard at first,” said a voice behind me.

I hadn’t heard the door open. I startled and turned. “Becka!” I said. I’d last seen her at Aunt Lise’s flower-arranging class with blood spurting out of her cut wrist. Her face had been very pale then, and resolved, and forlorn. She looked much better now. She was wearing a brown dress, loose on top, belted at the waist; her hair was parted in the middle and pulled back.

“My name isn’t Becka anymore,” she said. “I’m Aunt Immortelle now; I’m a Supplicant. But you can call me Becka when we’re alone.”

“So you didn’t get married after all,” I said. “Aunt Lydia told me you have a higher calling.”

“Yes,” she said. “I won’t have to marry any man, ever. But what about you? I heard you’re going to marry someone highly important.”

“I’m supposed to,” I said. I started to cry. “But I can’t. I just can’t!” I wiped my nose on my sleeve.

“I know,” she said. “I told them I’d rather die. You must have said the same thing.” I nodded. “Did you say you had a calling? To be an Aunt?” I nodded again. “Do you really have one?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Neither do I,” said Becka. “But I passed the six-month trial period. After nine years—when I’m old enough—I can apply for Pearl Girls missionary work, and once I’ve done that I’ll be a full Aunt. Then maybe I’ll get a real calling. I’m praying for one.”

I’d finished crying. “What do I have to do? To pass the trial?”

“At first you have to wash dishes and scrub floors and clean toilets and help with the laundry and cooking, just like Marthas,” said Becka. “And you have to start learning how to read. Reading’s way harder than cleaning toilets. But I can read some now.”

I handed her the book. “Show me!” I said. “Is this book evil? Is it full of forbidden things, the way Aunt Vidala said?”

“This?” said Becka. She smiled. “Not this one. It’s only the Ardua Hall Rule Book, with the history, the vows, and the hymns. Plus the weekly schedule for the laundry.”

“Go on! Read it!” I wanted to see if she could really translate the black insect marks into words. Though how would I know they were the right words, since I couldn’t read them myself?

She opened the book. “Here it is, on the first page. ‘Ardua Hall. Theory and Practice, Protocols and Procedures, Per Ardua Cum Estrus.’ ” She showed me. “See this? It’s an A.”

“What’s an A?”

She sighed. “We can’t do this today because I have to go to the Hildegard Library, I’m on night duty, but I promise I’ll help you later if they let you stay. We can ask Aunt Lydia if you can live here, with me. There are two bedrooms empty.”

“Do you think she’ll allow it?”

“I’m not sure,” said Becka, lowering her voice. “But don’t ever say anything bad about her, even if you think you’re in a safe place such as here. She has ways of knowing about it.” She whispered, “She is truly the scariest one, of all the Aunts!”

“Scarier than Aunt Vidala?” I whispered back.

“Aunt Vidala wants you to make mistakes,” said Becka. “But Aunt Lydia…it’s hard to describe. You get the feeling she wants you to be better than you are.”

“That sounds inspirational,” I said. Inspirational was a favourite word of Aunt Lise’s: she used it for flower arrangements.

“She looks at you as if she really sees you.”

So many people had looked past me. “I think I’d like that,” I said.

“No,” said Becka. “That’s why she’s so scary.”

40

Paula came to Ardua Hall to try to get me to change my mind. Aunt Lydia said it was only proper that I should meet with her and assure her in person of the rightness and holiness of my decision, so I did.

Paula was waiting for me at a pink table in the Schlafly Café, where we at Ardua Hall were permitted to receive visitors. She was very angry.

“Have you no idea of the trouble your father and I went to in order to secure the connection with Commander Judd?” she said. “You have dishonoured your father.”

“Membership in the Aunts is far from dishonourable,” I said piously. “I had a call to higher service. I could not refuse it.”

“You’re lying,” said Paula. “You are not the kind of girl God would ever single out. I demand that you return home immediately.”

I stood up suddenly and smashed my teacup on the floor. “How dare you question the Divine Will?” I said. I was almost shouting. “Your sin will find you out!” I didn’t know what sin I meant, but everyone has a sin of some kind.

“Act crazy,” Becka had told me. “Then they won’t want you marrying anyone: it will be their responsibility if you do anything violent.”

Paula was taken aback. For a moment she had no answer, but then she said, “The Aunts need Commander Kyle’s agreement, and he will never give it. So pack up because you’re leaving, now.”

At that moment, however, Aunt Lydia came into the café. “May I have a word with you?” she said to Paula. The two of them moved to a table at some distance from me. I strained to hear what Aunt Lydia was saying, but I could not. When Paula stood up, however, she looked sick. She left the café without a word to me, and later that afternoon Commander Kyle signed the formal permission granting authority over me to the Aunts. It was many years before I was to learn what Aunt Lydia had said to Paula to force her to relinquish me.

Next I had to go through the interviews with the Founding Aunts. Becka had advised me on the best way to behave with each of them: Aunt Elizabeth went in for dedication to the greater good, Aunt Helena would want to get it over quickly, but Aunt Vidala liked grovelling and self-humiliation, so I was prepared.

The first interview was with Aunt Elizabeth. She asked whether I was against marriage, or just against marriage to Commander Judd? I said I was against it in general, which seemed to please her. Had I considered how my decision might hurt Commander Judd—hurt his feelings? I almost said that Commander Judd didn’t seem to have any feelings, but Becka had warned me not to say anything disrespectful because the Aunts wouldn’t put up with it.

I said I’d prayed for the emotional well-being of Commander Judd and he deserved every happiness, which I was positive some other Wife would bring him, but Divine Guidance had told me I would not be able to provide that sort of happiness for him, or indeed for any man, and I wanted to consecrate myself in service to all the women of Gilead rather than to one man and one family.

“If you really mean that, you are well positioned, spiritually, to get on very well here at Ardua Hall,” she said. “I will vote for your conditional acceptance. After six months we will see whether this life is truly the path you have been chosen to follow.” I thanked her repeatedly, and said how grateful I was, and she appeared to be pleased.

My interview with Aunt Helena was nothing much. She was writing in her notebook and did not look up. She said that Aunt Lydia had already made up her mind, so of course she would have to agree. She implied I was boring and a waste of her time.

My interview with Aunt Vidala was the most difficult. She’d been one of my teachers, and she hadn’t liked me then. She said I was shirking my duty, and any girl who’d been gifted with a woman’s body was obligated to offer this body up in holy sacrifice to God and for the glory of Gilead and mankind, and also to fulfill the function that such bodies had inherited from the moment of Creation, and that was nature’s law.

I said that God had given women other gifts as well, such as the ones he had bestowed on her. She said what might those be? I said the gift of being able to read, since all Aunts were gifted in that way. She said that the reading the Aunts did was holy reading and in the service of all the things she had said before—she said them over again—and did I presume to be sufficiently sanctified myself?

I said I was willing to do any kind of hard work in order to become an Aunt like her, because she was a shining example, and I wasn’t yet sanctified at all, but perhaps through grace and prayer I would receive enough sanctification, though I could never hope to achieve the level of sanctification that she herself had reached.

Aunt Vidala said I was displaying an appropriate meekness, which boded well for a successful integration into the service community of Ardua Hall. She even gave me one of her pinched-in smiles before I left.

My final interview was with Aunt Lydia. I’d been anxious about the others, but as I stood outside the door to Aunt Lydia’s office I was terrified. What if she’d thought better of it? She had a reputation for being not only fearsome but unpredictable. While I was lifting my hand to knock, her voice came from inside: “Don’t stand there all day. Come in.”

Was she looking at me through a miniature hidden camera? Becka had told me that she deployed a lot of those, or that was the rumour. As I was soon to discover, Ardua Hall was an echo chamber: the rumours fed back into one another so you could never be certain where they had come from.

I entered the office. Aunt Lydia was sitting behind her desk, which was stacked high with file folders. “Agnes,” she said. “I must congratulate you. Despite many obstacles, you have succeeded in making your way here, and have answered the call to join us.” I nodded. I was afraid she would ask me what that call had been like—had I heard a voice?—but she did not.

“You are very positive that you do not wish to marry Commander Judd?” I shook my head for no.

“Wise choice,” she said.

“What?” I was surprised: I’d thought she might give me a moral lecturing about the true duties of women or something of the sort. “I mean, pardon?”

“I am sure you would not have made him a fitting Wife.”

I breathed out in relief. “No, Aunt Lydia,” I said. “I would not. I hope he will not be too disappointed.”

“I have already proposed a more appropriate choice for him,” she said. “Your former schoolmate Shunammite.”

“Shunammite?” I said. “But she’s going to marry someone else!”

“These arrangements can always be altered. Would Shunammite welcome the change of husbands, do you think?”

I remembered Shunammite’s barely concealed envy of me and her excitement over the material advantages her wedding would bring. Commander Judd would confer ten times as many of those. “I am sure she would be deeply grateful,” I said.

“I agree.” She smiled. It was like an old turnip smiling: the dried-up kind our Marthas used to put in soup stock. “Welcome to Ardua Hall,” she continued. “You have been accepted. I hope you are grateful for the opportunity, and for the help I have given you.”

“I am, Aunt Lydia,” I managed to get out. “I am truly grateful.”

“I am glad to hear it,” she said. “Perhaps one day you will be able to help me as you yourself have been helped. Good should be repaid with good. That is one of our rules of thumb, here at Ardua Hall.”