The Testaments(46)

An hour after I’d put on the penitential garb provided for me there was a knock at the door; a two-man escort was waiting. I was conducted along the corridor to another room. My white-bearded interlocutor from the time before was there, not behind a desk this time but seated comfortably in an armchair.

“You may sit down,” said Commander Judd. This time I was not forced into the chair: I sat down in it of my own accord.

“I hope our little regimen was not too strenuous for you,” he said. “You were treated only to Level One.” There was nothing to be said to this, so I said nothing. “Was it enlightening?”

“How do you mean?”

“Did you see the light? The Divine Light?” What was the right answer to this? He would know if I were lying.

“It was enlightening,” I said. This seemed to be sufficient.

“Fifty-three?”

“You mean my age? Yes,” I said.

“You’ve had lovers,” he said. I wondered how he had found that out, and was slightly flattered that he’d bothered.

“Briefly,” I said. “Several. No long-term successes.” Had I ever been in love? I didn’t think so. My experience with the men in my family had not encouraged trust. But the body has its twitches, which it can be humiliating as well as rewarding to obey. No lasting harm was done to me, some pleasure was both given and received, and none of these individuals took their swift dismissal from my life as a personal affront. Why expect more?

“You had an abortion,” he said. So they’d been rifling through some records.

“Only one,” I said fatuously. “I was very young.”

He made a disapproving grunt. “You are aware that this form of person-murder is now punishable by death? The law is retroactive.”

“I was not aware of that.” I felt cold. But if they were going to shoot me, why this interrogation?

“One marriage?”

“A brief one. It was a mistake.”

“Divorce is now a crime,” he said. I said nothing.

“Never blessed with children?”

“No.”

“Wasted your woman’s body? Denied its natural function?”

“It didn’t happen,” I said, keeping the edge out of my voice as much as I could.

“Pity,” he said. “Under us, every virtuous woman may have a child, one way or another, as God intended. But I expect you were fully occupied in your, ah, so-called career.”

I ignored the slight. “I had a demanding schedule, yes.”

“Two terms as a schoolteacher?”

“Yes. But I went back to law.”

“Domestic cases? Sexual assault? Female criminals? Sex workers suing for enhanced protection? Property rights in divorces? Medical malpractice, especially by gynecologists? Removal of children from unfit mothers?” He had taken out a list and was reading from it.

“When necessary, yes,” I said.

“Short stint as a volunteer at a rape crisis centre?”

“When I was a student,” I said.

“The South Street Sanctuary, yes? You stopped because…?”

“I got too busy,” I said. Then I added another truth, as there was no point in not being frank: “Also it wore me down.”

“Yes,” he said, twinkling. “It wears you down. All that needless suffering of women. We intend to eliminate that. I am sure you approve.” He paused, as if giving me a moment to ponder this. Then he smiled anew. “So. Which is it to be?”

My old self would have said, “Which of what?” or something similarly casual. Instead I said, “You mean yes or no?”

“Correct. You have experienced the consequences of no, or some of them. Whereas yes…let me just say that those who are not with us are against us.”

“I see,” I said. “Then it’s yes.”

“You will have to prove,” he said, “that you mean it. Are you prepared to do that?”

“Yes,” I said again. “How?”



* * *



—

There was an ordeal. You have most likely suspected what it was. It was like my nightmare, except that the women were blindfolded and when I shot I did not fall. This was Commander Judd’s test: fail it, and your commitment to the one true way would be voided. Pass it, and blood was on your hands. As someone once said, We must all hang together or we will all hang separately.

I did show some weakness: I threw up afterwards.

One of the targets was Anita. Why had she been singled out to die? Even after the Thank Tank, she must have said no instead of yes. She must have chosen a quick exit. But in fact I have no idea why. Perhaps it was very simple: she was not considered useful to the regime, whereas I was.



* * *



—

This morning I got up an hour early to steal a few moments before breakfast with you, my reader. You’ve become somewhat of an obsession—my sole confidant, my only friend—for to whom can I tell the truth besides you? Who else can I trust?

Not that I can trust you either. Who is more likely to betray me in the end? I will lie neglected in some spidery corner or under a bed while you go off to picnics and dances—yes, dancing will return, it’s hard to suppress it forever—or to trysts with a warm body, so much more attractive than the wad of crumbling paper I will have become. But I forgive you in advance. I, too, was once like you: fatally hooked on life.