“The Canadians can’t tell us apart,” said Aunt Dove. “We all look the same to them.” Both of them laughed, as if they were delighted at having played such pranks.
Then Aunt Dove said that the most important extra reason for wearing the silvery dress was to smooth my entrance into Gilead because women didn’t wear men’s clothing there. I said leggings weren’t men’s clothing, and they said—calmly but firmly—that yes, they were, and it was in the Bible, they were an abomination, and if I wanted to join Gilead I would have to accept that.
I reminded myself not to argue with them, so I put on the dress; also the pearl necklace, which was fake, just as Melanie had said. There was a white sunhat, but I only needed to put it on to go outside, they said. Hair was permitted inside a dwelling unless there were men around, because men had a thing about hair, it made them spin out of control, they said. And my hair was particularly inflammatory because it was greenish.
“It’s only a tint, it will wear off,” I said apologetically so they’d know I’d already renounced my rash hair-colour choice.
“It’s all right, dear,” said Aunt Dove. “No one will see it.”
The dress actually felt quite good after my dirty old clothes. It was cool and silky.
Aunt Beatrice ordered in pizza for lunch, which we had with ice cream from their freezer. I said I was surprised that they were eating junk food: wasn’t Gilead against it, especially for women?
“It’s part of our test as Pearl Girls,” said Aunt Dove. “We’re supposed to sample the fleshpot temptations of the outside world in order to understand them, and then reject them in our hearts.” She took another bite of pizza.
“Anyway it will be my last chance to try them,” said Aunt Beatrice, who had finished off the pizza and was eating her ice cream. “I honestly don’t see what’s wrong with ice cream, as long as it has no chemicals.” Aunt Dove gave her a reproachful look. Aunt Beatrice licked her spoon.
I said no to the ice cream. I was too nervous. Also I no longer liked it. It reminded me too much of Melanie.
That night before going to bed I examined myself in the bathroom mirror. Despite the shower and the food, I was wrecked. I had dark circles under my eyes; I’d lost weight. I really did look like a waif who needed to be rescued.
It was wonderful to sleep in a real bed instead of under a bridge. I missed Garth though.
Each night I was inside that bedroom, they locked my door. And they took care that during my waking hours I was never alone.
* * *
—
The next couple of days were spent in getting my Aunt Dove papers ready. I had my picture and fingerprints taken so they could make me a passport. The passport was certified at the Gilead Embassy in Ottawa, then sent back to the Consulate by special courier. They’d put in Aunt Dove’s identifying numbers, but with my picture and physical data, and they’d even infiltrated the Canadian immigration database where Aunt Dove had been recorded coming in, removed the real Aunt Dove from it temporarily, and posted my own data plus my iris scan and thumbprint.
“We have many friends inside the Canadian government infrastructure,” said Aunt Beatrice. “You’d be amazed.”
“So many well-wishers,” said Aunt Dove. Then both of them said, “Praise be.”
They’d put an embossed stamp on one of the pages that said PEARL GIRL. That meant I would be let into Gilead immediately, no questions asked: it was like being a diplomat, said Aunt Beatrice.
Now I was Aunt Dove, but a different Aunt Dove. I had a Pearl Girls Missionary Temporary Canadian Visa that I had to give back to the border authorities when exiting. It was simple, said Aunt Beatrice.
“Look down a lot when you’re going through,” said Aunt Dove. “It hides the features. Anyway it’s the modest thing to do.”
* * *
—
Aunt Beatrice and I were driven to the airport in a black Gilead government car, and I passed border control with no t
rouble. We didn’t even get body-searched.
The plane was a private jet. It had an eye with wings on it. It was silver, but it looked dark to me—like a huge dark bird, waiting to fly me where? Into a blank. Ada and Elijah had tried to teach me as much as possible about Gilead; I’d seen the documentaries and the TV footage; but I still could not picture what might be waiting for me there. I didn’t feel ready for this at all.
I remembered SanctuCare, and the women refugees. I’d looked at them but I hadn’t really seen them. I hadn’t considered what it was like to leave a place you knew, and lose everything, and travel into the unknown. How hollow and dark that must feel, except for maybe the little glimmer of hope that had allowed you to take such a chance.
Very soon I, too, was going to feel like that. I would be in a dark place, carrying a tiny spark of light, trying to find my way.
45
We were late taking off, and I worried that I had been found out and we would be stopped after all. But once we were in the air, I felt lighter. I’d never been in a plane before—I was very excited at first. But it clouded over, and the view became monotonous. I must have gone to sleep, because soon Aunt Beatrice was nudging me gently and saying, “We’re almost there.”