The Testaments

by Margaret Atwood

  “Good evening, Agnes, my dear,” said Commander Judd. I focused on his medals: it was easier to look at them than at him.

  “You may say good evening,” Paula said in a low voice, pinching me slightly with the hand that was behind my back. “Good evening, sir.”

  “Good evening,” I managed to whisper. “Sir.”

  The Commander advanced, arranged his face into a jowly smile, and stuck his mouth onto my forehead in a chaste kiss. His lips were unpleasantly warm; they made a sucking sound as they pulled away. I pictured a tiny morsel of my brain being sucked through the skin of my forehead into his mouth. A thousand such kisses later and my skull would be emptied of brain.

  “I hope to make you very happy, my dear,” he said.

  I could smell his breath, a blend of alcohol, mint mouthwash like that at the dentist’s, and tooth decay. I had an unbidden image of the wedding night: an enormous, opaque white blob was moving towards me through the dusk of an unknown room. It had a head, but no face: only an orifice like the mouth of a leech. From somewhere in its midsection a third tentacle was waving around in the air. It reached the bed where I was lying paralyzed with horror, and also naked—you had to be naked, or at least naked enough, said Shunammite. What came next? I shut my eyes, trying to blank out the inner scene, then opened them again.

  Commander Judd drew back, regarding me shrewdly. Had I shuddered while he was kissing me? I had tried not to. Paula was pinching my waist harder. I knew I was supposed to say something, such as Thank you or I hope so too or I’m sure you will, but I could not manage it. I felt sick to my stomach: what if I threw up, right now, on the carpet? That would be shameful.

  “She’s exceptionally modest,” said Paula through tight lips, glaring sideways at me.

  “And that is a charming feature,” said Commander Judd.

  “You may go now, Agnes Jemima,” said Paula. “Your father and the Commander have things to discuss.” So I made my way towards the door. I was feeling a little dizzy.

  “She seems obedient,” I heard Commander Judd saying as I left the room.

  “Oh yes,” said Paula. “She’s always been a respectful child.”

  What a liar she was. She knew how much rage was seething inside me.

  * * *

  —

  The three wedding arrangers, Aunt Lorna, Aunt Sara Lee, and Aunt Betty, made a return visit, this time to measure me for my wedding dress: they’d brought some sketches. I was asked to give my opinion about which dress I liked best. I pointed to one at random.

  “Is she well?” Aunt Betty asked Paula in a soft voice. “She looks quite tired.”

  “It’s an emotional time for them,” Paula replied.

  “Oh yes,” said Aunt Betty. “So emotional!”

  “You should have the Marthas make her a soothing drink,” said Aunt Lorna. “Something with chamomile. Or a sedative.”

  In addition to the dress, I was to have new underclothes, and a special nightgown for the wedding night, with ribbon bows down the front—so easy to open, like a gift-wrapped package.

  “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.

  “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 powerful: 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.

  After that, heart hammering, I asked our driver if he wouldn’t mind stopping by my old school, since I wished to thank my former teacher Aunt Estée for everything she had taught me.

  He was standing beside the car, holding the back door open for me. He gave me a suspicious frown. “Those aren’t my instructions,” he said.

  I smiled in what I hoped was a charming way. My face felt stiff, as if it was covered with hardening glue. “It’s quite safe,” I said. “Commander Kyle’s Wife won’t mind. Aunt Estée is an Aunt! It’s her job to take care of me!”

  “Well, I don’t know,” he said dubiously.

  I looked up at him. I’d never paid much attention to him before, since usually I had only the back view. He was a torpedo-shaped man, small at the top end, thick in the middle. He had not shaved carefully, and had bristles and a rash.

  “I’ll be married soon,” I said. “To a very powerful Commander. More powerful than Paula—than Commander Kyle’s Wife.” I paused to let this sink in, and then I am ashamed to say I placed my hand lightly on top of his, where it was holding the car door. “I’ll make sure you’re rewarded,” I said.

  He flinched slightly and pinkened. “Well, then,” he said, though he didn’t smile.

  So this is how women get things done, I thought. If they are prepared to wheedle, and lie, and go back on their word. I was disgusted with myself, but you’ll notice this didn’t stop me. I smiled again, and pulled my skirt up just a little, displaying an ankle as I swivelled my legs into the car. “Thank you,” I said. “You won’t be sorry.”

  He drove me to my old school as I’d requested, and talked to the Angels guarding it, and the double gates swung open, and I was driven inside. I told the driver to wait for me: I wouldn’t be long. Then I walked sedately into the school building, which now seemed much smaller than when I’d left it.

  It was after hours; I was lucky that Aunt Estée was still there, though again it may not have been luck. She was sitting at her desk in her usual classroom, writing in her notebook. She looked up when I came in.

  “Why, Agnes,” she said. “You’re all grown up!”

  I hadn’t planned beyond this moment. I wanted to throw myself on the floor in front of her and burst into tears. She’d always been kind to me.

  “They’re making me marry a horrible, disgusting ma
n!” I said. “I’ll kill myself first!” Then I really did burst into tears and crumpled onto her desk. It was acting in a way, and probably bad acting, but it was real acting if you see what I mean.

  Aunt Estée lifted me up and walked me to a chair. “Sit down, my dear,” she said, “and tell me all about it.”

  She asked me the questions she was duty-bound to ask. Had I considered how this marriage might affect my future positively? I told her that I knew about the benefits, but I didn’t care about them because I had no future, not of that kind. What about the other candidates? she asked. Would anyone else be preferable? They were not any better, I said, and anyway Paula had made up her mind about Commander Judd. Was I in earnest about killing myself? I said I was, and that if I didn’t manage it before the wedding I would be sure to do it afterwards, and I would kill Commander Judd the first time he laid a finger on me. I would do it with a knife, I said. I would cut his throat.

  I said this with conviction so she would see that I was capable of it, and for that moment I believed I was. I could almost feel the blood as it came pouring out of him. And then my own blood as well. I could almost see it: a haze of red.

  Aunt Estée didn’t say I was very wicked, as Aunt Vidala might have done. Instead she said that she understood my distress. “But is there another way you feel you might contribute to the greater good? Have you perhaps had a call?”

  I’d forgotten about that part, but now I remembered. “Oh yes,” I said. “Yes I have. I’m called to higher service.”

  Aunt Estée gave me a long and searching look. Then she asked me if she could pray silently: she needed guidance about what to do. I watched while she folded her hands, closed her eyes, and bowed her head. I held my breath: Please, God, send her the right message, I prayed in my turn.