A bathtub filled with water? But I would gasp and splutter and come up for air, and I couldn’t attach a stone to myself in the bath, unlike in a lake or a river or the sea. But there was no way I could get to a lake or a river, or the sea.
Maybe I would have to go through with the ceremony and then murder Commander Judd on the wedding night. Stick a purloined knife into his neck, then into mine. There would be a lot of blood to get out of the sheets. But it wouldn’t be me doing the scrubbing. I pictured the dismay on Paula’s face when she walked into the slaughter chamber. Such a butcher shop. And there went her social standing.
These scenarios were fantasies, of course. Underneath this web-spinning, I knew I could never kill myself or murder anyone. I remembered Becka’s fierce expression when she’d slashed her wrist: she’d been serious about it, she’d really been prepared to die. She was strong in a way that I was not. I would never have her resolve.
At night when I was falling asleep, I fantasized about miraculous escapes, but all of them required help from other people, and who would help me? It would have to be someone I didn’t know: a rescuer, the warden of a hidden door, the keeper of a secret password. None of that seemed possible when I woke up in the morning. I went round and round in my head: what to do, what to do? I could barely think, I could scarcely eat.
“Wedding nerves, bless her soul,” said Zilla. I did want my soul to be blessed, but I could see no way of that happening.
When there were only three days left, I had an unexpected visitor. Zilla came up to my room to call me downstairs. “Aunt Lydia is here to see you,” she said in hushed tones. “Good luck. We all wish you that.”
Aunt Lydia! The main Founder, the gold-framed picture at the back of every schoolroom, the ultimate Aunt—come to see me? What had I done? I was shaking as I made my way down the stairs.
Paula was out, which was a lucky thing; though after I came to know Aunt Lydia better, I realized that luck had nothing to do with it. Aunt Lydia was sitting on the sofa in the living room. She was smaller than she’d been at the funeral of Ofkyle, but perhaps that was because I’d grown. She actually smiled at me, a wrinkly, yellow-toothed smile.
“Agnes, my dear,” she said. “I thought you might like to hear some news about your friend Becka.” I was in such awe of her that it was hard for me to talk.
“Is she dead?” I whispered, my heart sinking.
“Not at all. She is safe and happy.”
“Where is she?” I managed to stammer.
“She is at Ardua Hall, with us. She wishes to become an Aunt and is enrolled as a Supplicant.”
“Oh,” I said. A light was dawning, a door was opening.
“Not every girl is suitable for marriage,” she continued. “For some it is simply a waste of potential. There are other ways a girl or woman may contribute to God’s plan. A little bird has told me that you may agree.” Who had told her? Zilla? She’d sensed how violently unhappy I was.
“Yes,” I said. Perhaps my prayers of long ago to Aunt Lydia had finally been answered, though in a different way than I’d expected.
“Becka has received a call to higher service. If you yourself have such a calling,” she said, “you still have time to tell us.”
“But how do I…I don’t know how…”
“I myself cannot be seen to be proposing this course of action directly,” she said. “It would contravene the prime right of the father to arrange the marriage of his daughter. A calling can override the paternal right, but you must make the first approach to us. I suspect Aunt Estée would be willing to listen. If your calling proves strong enough, you will devise a way of contacting her.”
“But what about Commander Judd?” I asked timorously. He was so powerfuclass="underline" if I ducked the wedding, surely he would be very angry, I thought.
“Oh, Commander Judd always has lots of choices,” she said with an expression I couldn’t read.
My next task was to find a pathway to Aunt Estée. I could not declare my intention outright: Paula would stop me. She’d lock me in my room, she’d resort to drugs. She was hell-bent on this marriage. I use the expression hell-bent advisedly: she was risking her soul for it; although, as I later learned, her soul was already in flames.
The day after Aunt Lydia’s visit, I made a request of Paula. I wanted to talk to Aunt Lorna about my wedding dress, which had already been tried on twice and was being altered. I wanted everything to be perfect for my special day, I said. I smiled. I thought the dress looked like a lampshade, but it was my plan to appear cheerful and appreciative.
Paula gave me a sharp glance. I doubt that she believed in my smiling face; but if I was putting on an act so much the better, as long as it was the kind of act she wanted.
“I’m pleased you’re taking an interest,” she said drily. “It’s a good thing Aunt Lydia paid you a visit.” Naturally she’d heard about that, though not about what was actually said.
But it would be a nuisance for Aunt Lorna to come to our house, said Paula. It wasn’t convenient, as I ought to have known—there was the food to be ordered, there were the flowers to be arranged, Paula couldn’t deal with such a time-wasting visit.
“Aunt Lorna is at Shunammite’s,” I said. I knew that from Zilla: Shunammite’s own wedding was also shortly to take place. In that case, our Guardian could drive me over there, said Paula. I felt my heart quicken, partly in relief, partly in fear: now I would have to carry through my risky plan.
How did the Marthas know who was where? They weren’t allowed Computalks and couldn’t receive letters. They must have known from other Marthas, though possibly from the Aunts as well, and some of the Wives. The Aunts, the Marthas, the Wives: despite the fact that they were frequently envious and resentful, and might even hate one another, news flowed among them as if along invisible spiderweb threads.
Our Guardian driver was summoned and given instructions by Paula. I expect she was glad to have me out of the house: my unhappiness must have given off a sour smell that was irritating to her. Shunammite used to say that they put happy pills into the warm milk of girls who were about to get married, but no one had been putting happy pills in mine.
I climbed into the back seat of our car while our Guardian held the door open for me. I took a deep breath, half exhilaration, half terror. What if my attempt at deception should fail? And what if it should succeed? Either way I was heading into the unknown.
I did consult Aunt Lorna, who was indeed at Shunammite’s house. Shunammite said it was fun to see me, and once we were married we could visit a lot! She hurried me inside and took me to inspect her wedding dress, and to hear all about the husband she would soon have, who (she whispered, giggling) looked like a carp, with a receding chin and goggly eyes, but who was medium-high up among the Commanders.
Wasn’t that exciting, I said. I admired the dress, which—I told Shunammite—was much fancier than mine. Shunammite laughed, and said she’d heard I was practically marrying God, my new husband was so important, and wasn’t I lucky; and I gazed downwards and said but anyway her dress was nicer. She was pleased by that, and said she was sure we would both get through the sex part and not make a fuss. We would follow Aunt Lise’s instructions and think about arranging flowers in a vase, and it would all be over quickly, and maybe we would even have real babies, by ourselves, without Handmaids. She asked if I would like an oatmeal cookie, and she sent the Martha for some. I took one and nibbled at it, though I was not hungry.
I couldn’t stay long, I said, because there was so much to do, but could I see Aunt Lorna? We found her across the hall in one of the spare rooms, poring over her notebook. I asked her to add something or other to my dress—a white bow, a white frill, I can’t remember. I said goodbye to Shunammite, and thanked her for the cookie, and said again how lovely her dress was. I went out the front door, waving cheerfully just like a real girl, and walked to our car.