The Testaments(59)

“Yes, the thought-experiment penises can get out of control,” I said. “They take on a life of their own.” I paused; Aunt Lise fidgeted.

“We’ll admit her on probation,” I said finally. “Give her six months and see if she can learn. As you know, we need to replenish our numbers here at Ardua Hall. We of the older generation cannot live forever. But we must proceed carefully. One weak link…” I am familiar with these exceptionally squeamish girls. It’s no use forcing them: they can’t accept bodily reality. Even if the wedding night is accomplished, they will soon be found swinging from a light fixture or in a coma under a rose bush, having swallowed every pill in the house.

“Thank you,” said Aunt Lise. “It would have been such a shame.”

“To lose her, you mean?”

“Yes,” said Aunt Lise. She has a soft heart; that is why she is assigned to the flower-arranging and so forth. In her past life she was a professor of French literature of the eighteenth century, pre-Revolution. Teaching the Rubies Premarital Preparatory students is the closest she will ever come to having a salon.

I try to suit the occupations to the qualifications. It’s better that way, and I am a great proponent of better. In the absence of best.

Which is how we live now.



* * *



—

And so I had to involve myself in the case of the girl Becka. It’s always advisable for me to take a personal interest at the beginning with these suicidal girls who claim they wish to join us.

Aunt Lise brought her to my office: a thin girl, pretty in a delicate way, with large luminous eyes and her left wrist in a bandage. She was still wearing the green outfit of a bride-to-be. “Come in,” I said to her. “I won’t bite.”

She flinched as if she doubted this. “You may take that chair,” I said. “Aunt Lise will be right beside you.” Hesitantly she sat down, knees together modestly, hands folded in her lap. She gazed at me mistrustfully.

“So you want to become an Aunt,” I said. She nodded. “It’s a privilege, not an entitlement. I assume you understand that. And it’s not a reward for your silly attempt to end your own life. That was a mistake, as well as an affront to God. I trust it won’t happen again, supposing we take you in.”

A shake of the head, a single tear, which she did not brush away. Was it a display tear, was she trying to impress me?

I asked Aunt Lise to wait outside. Then I launched into my spiel: Becka was being offered a second chance in life, I said, but both she and we needed to be sure that this was the right way for her, since the life of an Aunt was not for everyone. She must promise to obey the orders of her superiors, she must apply herself to a difficult course of studies as well as to the mundane chores assigned, she must pray for guidance every night and every morning; then, after six months, if this was indeed her true choice and if we ourselves were satisfied with her progress, she would take the Ardua Hall vow and renounce all other possible paths, and even then she would be only a Supplicant Aunt until the successful completion of her Pearl Girls missionary work abroad, which would not happen for many years. Was she willing to do all these things?

Oh yes, said Becka. She was so grateful! She would do anything that was required. We had saved her from, from…She stumbled to a halt, blushing.

“Did something unfortunate happen to you in your earlier life, my child?” I asked. “Something involving a man?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. She was paler than ever.

“You’re afraid you’ll be punished?” A nod from her. “You can tell me,” I said. “I have heard many disagreeable stories. I do understand some of what you may have been through.” But she was still reluctant, so I did not push it. “The mills of the gods grind slowly,” I said, “but they grind exceeding small.”

“Pardon?” She looked puzzled.

“I mean that whoever it was, his behaviour will be punished in time. Put it out of your mind. You will be safe with us here. You will never be troubled by him again.” We Aunts do not work openly in such cases, but we work. “Now, I hope you’ll prove that you are deserving of the trust I have placed in you,” I said.

“Oh yes,” she said. “I will be deserving!” These girls are all like that at the beginning: limp with relief, abject, prostrate. That can change over time, of course: we’ve had renegades, we’ve had backdoor sneakings to meet ill-advised Romeos, we’ve had disobedient flights. The endings of such stories have not usually been happy.

“Aunt Lise will take you to get your uniform,” I said. “Tomorrow you will have your initial reading lesson, and you will begin to learn our rules. But now you should select your new name. There is a list of suitable names available. Off you go. Today is the first day of the rest of your life,” I said as cheerfully as I could.

“I can’t thank you enough, Aunt Lydia!” said Becka. Her eyes were shining. “I’m so grateful!”

I smiled my wintry smile. “I’m pleased to hear that,” I said, and I was indeed pleased. Gratitude is valuable to me: I like to bank it for a rainy day. You never know when it may come in handy.

Many are called but few are chosen, I thought. Though that was not true at Ardua Hall: only a handful of the called have had to be discarded. Surely the girl Becka would be one of our keepers. She was a damaged houseplant, but cared for properly she would bloom.