The Testaments(56)

I thought about this: was I clever enough?

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“If in doubt, play dumb,” said Ada.

“Have you sent any pretend converts in there before?”

“A couple,” said Elijah. “With mixed results. But they didn’t have the protection you’ll have.”

“You mean from the source?” The source—all I could picture was a person with a bag over their head. Who were they really? The more I heard about the source, the weirder they sounded.

“Guesswork, but we think it’s one of the Aunts,” said Ada. Mayday didn’t know much about the Aunts: they weren’t in the news, not even the Gilead news; it was the Commanders who gave the orders, made the laws, and did the talking. The Aunts worked behind the scenes. That’s all we were told at school.

“They’re said to be very powerful,” said Elijah. “But that’s hearsay. We don’t have a lot of details.”

Ada had a few pictures of them, but only a few. Aunt Lydia, Aunt Elizabeth, Aunt Vidala, Aunt Helena: these were their so-called Founders. “Pack of evil harpies,” she said.

“Great,” I said. “Sounds like fun.”



* * *



—

Garth said that once we were on the street I needed to follow orders, because he was the one with the street smarts. I wouldn’t want to provoke other people into fighting with him, so saying things like “Who was your slave last year” and “You’re not the boss of me” would not be good.

“I haven’t said stuff like that since I was eight,” I said.

“You said both of them yesterday,” said Garth. I should choose another name, he said. People might be looking for a Daisy, and I certainly couldn’t be Nicole. So I said I’d be Jade. I wanted something harder than a flower.

“The source said she needs to get a tattoo on her left forearm,” Ada said. “It’s always been a non-negotiable demand.”

I’d tried for a tattoo when I was thirteen, but Melanie and Neil had been strongly against it. “Cool, but why?” I asked now. “There’s no bare arms in Gilead, so who’s going to see it?”

“We think it’s for the Pearl Girls,” said Ada. “When they pick you up. They’ll be directed to look specially for it.”

“Will they know who I am, like, the Nicole thing?” I asked.

“They just follow instructions,” said Ada. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“What tattoo should I get, a butterfly?” That was a joke, but nobody laughed.

“The source said it should look like this,” said Ada. She sketched it:

L

G O D

V

E



“I can’t have that on my arm,” I said. “It’s wrong for me to have it.” It was so hypocritical: Neil would have been shocked.

“Maybe it’s wrong for you,” said Ada. “But it’s right for the situation.”

Ada brought in a woman she knew to do the tattoo and the rest of my street makeover. She had pastel green hair, and the first thing she did was tint my hair the same shade. I was pleased: I thought I looked like some dangerous avatar from a video game.

“It’s a start,” said Ada, evaluating the results.

The tattoo wasn’t just a tattoo, it was a scarification: raised lettering. It hurt like shit. But I tried to act as if it didn’t because I wanted to show Garth that I was up to it.



* * *



—

In the middle of the night I had a bad thought. What if the source was only a decoy, meant to deceive Mayday? What if there was no important document cache? Or what if the source was evil? What if the whole story was a trap—a clever way of luring me into Gilead? I’d go in, and I wouldn’t be able to get out. Then there would be a lot of marching, with flags and choir singing and praying, and giant rallies like the ones we’d seen on TV, and I would be the centrepiece. Baby Nicole, back where she belonged, hallelujah. Smile for Gilead TV.

In the morning, while I was eating my greasy breakfast with Ada, Elijah, and Garth, I told them about this fear.

“We’ve considered the possibility,” said Elijah. “It’s a gamble.”

“It’s a gamble every time you get up in the morning,” said Ada.

“This is a more serious gamble,” Elijah said.

“I’m betting on you,” Garth said. “It’ll be so amazing if you win.”





XIII





Secateurs





The Ardua Hall Holograph


34


My reader, I have a surprise for you. It was also a surprise for me.

Under cover of darkness, and with the aid of a stone drill, some pliers, and a little mortar patching, I installed two battery-run surveillance cameras in the base of my statue. I have always been good with tools. I replaced the moss carefully, reflecting that I should really get my replica cleaned. Moss adds respectability only up to a point. I was beginning to look furry.

I waited with some impatience for the results. It would be a fine thing to have a stash of irrefutable pictures of Aunt Elizabeth planting evidence in the form of hard-boiled eggs and oranges at my stone feet in an effort to discredit me. Even though I myself was not performing these acts of idolatry, the fact that others were performing them would reflect badly on me: it would be said that I had tolerated these acts, and I might even have encouraged them. Such aspersions might well be used by Elizabeth to lever me off my pinnacle. I was under no illusions as to Commander Judd’s loyalty to me: if a safe means could be found—safe for him—he would not hesitate to denounce me. He’s had a lot of practice in the denouncing business.