The Testaments(80)

“What was it?” I was wondering if my own mind was strong enough, and whether I too would be given multiple Corrections.

“It was a month in the cellar, by herself, with only bread and water. When she was let out again she wouldn’t speak to anyone except to say yes and no. Aunt Vidala said she was too weak-minded to be an Aunt, and would have to be married after all.

“The day before she was supposed to leave the Hall she wasn’t there at breakfast, and then not at lunch. Nobody knew where she had gone. Aunt Elizabeth and Aunt Vidala said she must have run away, and it was a breach of security, and there was a big search. But they didn’t find her. And then the shower water started smelling strange. So they had another search, and this time they opened the rooftop rainwater cistern that we use for the showers, and she was in there.”

“Oh, that’s terrible!” I said. “Was she—did someone murder her?”

“The Aunts said so at first. Aunt Helena had hysterics, and they even gave permission for some Eyes to come into Ardua Hall and inspect it for clues, but there weren’t any. Some of us Supplicants went up and looked at the cistern. She couldn’t have simply fallen in: there’s a ladder, then there’s a little door.”

“Did you see her?” I asked.

“It was a closed coffin,” said Becka. “But she must have done it on purpose. She had stones in her pockets—that was the rumour. She didn’t leave a note, or if she did Aunt Vidala tore it up. At the funeral they said that she’d died of a brain aneurysm. They wouldn’t want it to be known that a Supplicant had failed so badly. We all said prayers for her; I’m sure God has forgiven her.”

“But why did she do it?” I asked. “Did she want to die?”

“No one wants to die,” said Becka. “But some people don’t want to live in any of the ways that are allowed.”

“But drowning yourself!” I said.

“It’s supposed to be calm,” said Becka. “You hear bells and singing. Like angels. That’s what Aunt Helena told us, to make us feel better.”



* * *



—

After I’d mastered the Dick and Jane books, I was given Ten Tales for Young Girls, a book of rhymes by Aunt Vidala. This is one that I remember:

    Just look at Tirzah! She sits there,

With her strands of vagrant hair;

See her down the sidewalk stride,

Head held high and full of pride.

See her catch the Guardian’s glance,

Tempt him to sinful circumstance.

Never does she change her way,

Never does she kneel to pray!

Soon she into sin will fall,

And then be hanging on the Wall.



Aunt Vidala’s tales were about things girls shouldn’t do and the horrifying things that would happen to them if they did. I realize now that the tales were not very good poetry, and even at the time I didn’t like hearing about these poor girls who made mistakes and were severely punished or even killed; but nevertheless I was thrilled to be able to read anything at all.

One day I was reading the Tirzah story out loud to Becka so she could correct any mistakes I was making when she said, “That would never happen to me.”

“What wouldn’t?” I said.

“I would never lead any Guardians on like that. I would never catch their eyes. I don’t want to look at them,” said Becka. “Any men. They’re horrible. Including the Gilead kind of God.”

“Becka!” I said. “Why are you saying that? What do you mean, the Gilead kind?”

“They want God to be only one thing,” she said. “They leave things out. It says in the Bible we’re in God’s image, male and female both. You’ll see, when the Aunts let you read it.”

“Don’t say such things, Becka,” I said. “Aunt Vidala—she’d think it was heresy.”

“I can say them to you, Agnes,” she said. “I’d trust you with my life.”

“Don’t,” I said. “I’m not a good person, not like you.”



* * *



—

In my second month at Ardua Hall, Shunammite paid me a visit. I met her in the Schlafly Café. She was wearing the blue dress of an official Wife.

“Agnes!” she cried, holding out both hands. “I’m so happy to see you! Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right,” I said. “I’m Aunt Victoria now. Would you like some mint tea?”

“It’s just that Paula implied that maybe you’d gone…that there was something wrong—”

“That I’m a lunatic,” I said, smiling. I’d noted that Shunammite was referring to Paula as a familiar friend. Shunammite now outranked her, which must have irked Paula considerably—to have such a young girl promoted above her. “I know she thinks that. And by the way, I should congratulate you on your marriage.”

“You’re not mad at me?” she said, reverting to our schoolgirl tone.

“Why would I be ‘mad at’ you, as you say?”

“Well, I stole your husband.” Is that what she thought? That she’d won a competition? How could I deny this without insulting Commander Judd?