The Testaments (The Handmaid's Tale 2)

“I don’t know why we are bothering with the frills,” Paula said to the Aunts, talking past me. “She won’t appreciate them.”

“She won’t be the one looking at them,” said Aunt Sara Lee with unexpected bluntness. Aunt Lorna gave a suppressed snort.

As for the wedding dress itself, it was to be “classical,” said Aunt Sara Lee. Classical was the best style: the clean lines would be very elegant, in her opinion. A veil with a simple chaplet of cloth snowdrops and forget-me-nots. Artificial-flower-making was one of the handicrafts encouraged among the Econowives.

There was a subdued conversation about lace trim—to add it, as Aunt Betty advised because it would be attractive, or to omit it, which would be preferable in Paula’s view, since attractive was not the main focus. Unspoken: the main focus was to get the thing over with and consign me to her past, where I would be tucked away, unreactive as lead, no longer combustible. No one would be able to say she had not done her duty as the Wife of her Commander and as an observant citizen of Gilead.

The wedding itself would take place as soon as the dress was ready—therefore, it was safe to plan it for two weeks from this day. Did Paula have the names of the guests she would like invited? Aunt Sara Lee asked. The two of them went downstairs to compile: Paula to recite the names, Aunt Sara Lee to write them down. The Aunts would prepare and personally deliver the verbal invitations: it was one of their roles, to be the bearer of poisoned messages.

“Aren’t you excited?” said Aunt Betty as she and Aunt Lorna were packing up their sketches and I was putting my clothes back on. “In two weeks you’ll have your very own house!”

There was something wistful in her voice—she herself would never have a house—but I paid no attention to it. Two weeks, I thought. I had only fourteen scant days of life left to me on this earth. How would I spend them?

37

As the days ticked past, I became more desperate. Where was the exit? I had no gun, I had no lethal pills. I remembered a story—circulated by Shunammite at school—about someone’s Handmaid who had swallowed drain cleaner.

“The whole bottom part of her face came off,” Shunammite had whispered with delight. “It just…dissolved! It was, like, fizzing!” I hadn’t believed her at the time, though now I did.

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.