The Testaments

68

Aunt Vidala has opened her eyes. She has not yet said anything. Does she have a mind in there? Does she remember seeing the girl Jade wearing a silver Pearl Girls dress? Does she remember the blow that must have knocked her out? Will she say so? If yes to the first, then yes to the second. She’ll put two and two together—who but I could have facilitated this scenario? Any denunciation she makes of me to a nurse will go straight to the Eyes; and then the clock will stop. I must take precautions. But what and how?

Rumour at Ardua Hall has it that her stroke was not spontaneous but was the result of some shock, or even of some attack. From the heel marks in the soil, it would appear that she was dragged around to the back of my statue. She has been removed from the Intensive Care Unit to a recovery ward, and Aunt Elizabeth and Aunt Helena are taking turns sitting beside her bed, waiting for her first words, each suspicious of the other; so it is not possible for me to be with her alone.

The elopement note has been the subject of much speculation. The plumber was an excellent touch: such a convincing detail. I am proud of Nicole’s ingenuity, and trust it will stand her in good stead in the immediate future. The ability to concoct plausible lies is a talent not to be underestimated.

Naturally my opinion was sought as to the proper procedure. Should there not be a search? The girl’s present location did not matter much, I said, so long as marriage and progeny were the goals; but Aunt Elizabeth said that the man may have been a lecherous imposter, or even a Mayday agent who’d infiltrated the Ardua Hall grounds in disguise; in either case, he would take advantage of the girl Jade and then abandon her, after which she would be fit for nothing more than the life of a Handmaid; so we should find her at once and arrest the man for interrogation.

Had there been an actual man, this would have been a favoured course of action: sensible girls do not elope in Gilead and well-meaning men do not elope with them. So I had to acquiesce, and a search team of Angels was sent out to sift through the houses and streets in the vicinity. They were less than enthusiastic: chasing after deluded young girls was not their idea of heroism. Needless to say, the girl Jade was not found; nor was any Mayday false plumber unearthed.

Aunt Elizabeth gave it as her opinion that there was something very suspicious about the whole affair. I agreed with her, and said I was as puzzled as she was. But what—I asked her—could be done? A cold trail was a cold trail. We must await developments.

Commander Judd was not so easily deflected. He called me into his office for an emergency meeting. “You’ve lost Baby Nicole.” He was trembling with suppressed rage, and also fear: to have had Baby Nicole within his grasp, and to have let her slip—this would not be forgiven by the Council. “Who else knows her identity?”

“No one else,” I said. “You. Me. And Nicole herself, of course—I did see fit to share that information with her, in order to convince her of her high destiny. No one else.”

“They mustn’t find out! How could you let this happen? To bring her in to Gilead, then allow her to be whisked away…. The reputation of the Eyes will suffer, not to mention that of the Aunts.”

It was more enjoyable than I can well express to watch Judd writhe, but I put on a dismal face. “We were taking every precaution,” I said. “Either she really has absconded, or she’s been abducted. If the latter, those responsible must be working with Mayday.”

I was buying time. One is always buying something.

I counted the hours as they passed. The hours, the minutes, the seconds. I had good reason to hope that my messengers were well on their way, carrying with them the seeds of Gilead’s collapse. Not for nothing had I been photographing the Ardua Hall top-classification crime files over so many years.

Two Pearl Girls backpacks were discovered beside the entrance to a disused hiking trail in Vermont. Inside them were two Pearl Girls dresses, some orange peels, and one string of pearls. A search of the area was instituted, with sniffer dogs. No result.

Red herrings, so distracting.

The Works Department has investigated the shortage of water complained of by the Aunts living in Doorways A and B and has discovered poor Aunt Immortelle in the cistern, blocking the outlet. The frugal child had removed her outer clothing so as to save it for someone else’s future use; it was found, neatly folded, on the top rung of the ladder. She’d retained her undergarments for purposes of modesty. It’s how I would have expected her to behave. Don’t think I am not saddened by her loss; but I remind myself that it was a willing sacrifice.

This news caused another outbreak of speculation: the rumour was that Aunt Immortelle had been murdered, and who more likely to have done it than the missing Canadian recruit known as Jade? Many of the Aunts—among them those who had greeted her arrival with such joy and satisfaction—were now saying that they’d always believed there was something fraudulent about her.

“It’s a terrible scandal,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “It reflects so badly on us!”

“We will cover it up,” I said. “I shall take the view that Aunt Immortelle was simply trying to investigate the faulty cistern, in order to spare valuable manpower that chore. She must have slipped, or fainted. It was an accident in the course of selfless duty. That is what I shall say at the dignified and laudatory funeral we will now proceed to have.”

“That is a stroke of genius,” said Aunt Helena dubiously.

“Do you think anyone will believe it?” Aunt Elizabeth asked.

“They will believe whatever is in the best interests of Ardua Hall,” I said firmly. “Which is the same as their own best interests.”

But speculation grew. Two Pearl Girls had passed through the gate—the Angels on duty swore to that—and their papers were in order. Was one of them Aunt Victoria, who still had not appeared for meals? If not, where was she? And if so, why had she left early on her mission, before the Thanks Giving? She had not been accompanied by Aunt Immortelle, so who was the second Pearl Girl? Could it be that Aunt Victoria was complicit in a double escape? For, increasingly, it was looking like an escape. It was concluded that the elopement note had been part of it: intended to deceive, and to delay pursuit. How devious and cunning young girls could be, the Aunts whispered—especially foreigners.

Then news came that two Pearl Girls had been spotted at the Portsmouth bus station in New Hampshire. Commander Judd ordered a search operation: these imposters—he called them that—must be captured and brought back for interrogation. They must not be allowed to speak to anyone but himself. In the case of a probable escape, the orders were to shoot to kill.

“That is somewhat harsh,” I said. “They are inexperienced. They must have been misled.”

“Under the circumstances, a dead Baby Nicole is much more useful to us than a living one,” he said. “Surely you realize that, Aunt Lydia.”

“I apologize for my stupidity,” I said. “I believed that she was genuine; I mean, genuine in her desire to join us. It would have been a marvellous coup, had that been the case.”

“It’s clear she was a plant, inserted into Gilead under false pretenses. Alive, she could pull both of us down. Don’t you understand how vulnerable we would be if anyone else got hold of her and she were made to talk? I would lose all credibility. The long knives will come out, and not just for me: your reign at Ardua Hall will be over, and so—quite frankly—will you.”

He loves me, he loves me not: I am assuming the status of a mere tool, to be used and discarded. But that’s a two-handed game.

“Very true,” I said. “Some in our country are unfortunately obsessed with vengeful payback. They do not believe that you have always acted for the best, especially in your winnowing operations. But in this matter you have chosen the wisest option, as ever.”

That got a smile out of him, albeit a tense one. I had a flashback, not for the first time. In my brown sackcloth robe I raised the gun, aimed, shot. A bullet, or no bullet?

A bullet.

I went to visit Aunt Vidala again. Aunt Elizabeth was on duty, knitting one of the little caps for premature babies that are in fashion nowadays. I remain deeply grateful that I have never learned to knit.

Vidala’s eyes were closed. She was breathing evenly: worse luck.

“Has she spoken yet?” I asked.

“No, not a word,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “Not while I’ve been here.”

“Good of you to be so attentive,” I said, “but you must be tired. I’ll spell you off. Go and get a cup of tea.” She threw me a suspicious look, but she went.

Once she was out of the room I leaned over and spoke loudly into Vidala’s ear. “Wake up!”

Her eyes opened. She focused on me. Then she whispered, with no slurring: “You did this, Lydia. You’ll hang for it.” Her expression was both vindictive and triumphant: finally she had an accusation that would stick, and my job was very nearly hers.

“You’re tired,” I said. “Go back to sleep.” She closed her eyes again.

I was rummaging in my pocket for the vial of morphine I’d brought with me when Elizabeth walked in. “I forgot my knitting,” she said.

“Vidala spoke. When you were out of the room.”

“What did she say?”

“She must have some brain damage,” I said. “She’s accusing you of having struck her. She said you were in league with Mayday.”

“But no one can possibly believe her,” Elizabeth said, blanching. “If anyone hit her, it must have been that Jade girl!”

“Belief is hard to predict,” I said. “Some might find it expedient to have you denounced. Not all of the Commanders appreciated the ignominious exit of Dr. Grove. I have heard it said that you are unreliable—if you accused Grove, who else might you accuse?—in which case they will accept Vidala’s testimony against you. People like a scapegoat.”

She sat down. “This is a disaster,” she said.

“We’ve been in tight spots before, Elizabeth,” I said mildly. “Remember the Thank Tank. We both made it out of that. Since then, we have done what was necessary.”

“You are so bolstering, Lydia,” she said.

“Such a shame about Vidala’s allergies,” I said. “I hope she won’t suffer an asthmatic attack while sleeping. Now I must rush off, as I have a meeting. I will leave Vidala in your nurturing hands. I notice that her pillow needs rearranging.”

Two birds with one stone: if so, how satisfactory in ways both aesthetic and practical, and a diversion that will create more runway. Though not ultimately for me, as there is scant chance I myself will escape unscathed from the revelations that are sure to follow once Nicole appears on the television news in Canada and the cache of evidence she is carrying for me is displayed.

The clock ticks, the minutes pass. I wait. I wait.

Fly well, my messengers, my silver doves, my destroying angels. Land safely.