Margaret Atwood - The Testaments

XXIII

Wall

The Ardua Hall Holograph

65

Aunt Vidala was discovered lying behind my statue in a comatose condition by elderly Aunt Clover and two of her septuagenarian gardeners. The conclusion the paramedics came to was that she’d had a stroke, a diagnosis confirmed by our doctors. Rumour sped round Ardua Hall, sad shakes of the head were exchanged, and prayers for Aunt Vidala’s recovery were promised. A broken Pearl Girls necklace was found in the vicinity: someone must have lost it at some point, a wasteful oversight. I will issue a memorandum about vigilance in regard to those material objects it is our duty to safeguard. Pearls do not grow on trees, I will say, even artificial ones; nor should they be cast before swine. Not that there are any swine at Ardua Hall, I will add coyly.

I paid Aunt Vidala a visit in the Intensive Care Unit. She was lying on her back with her eyes closed and a tube going into her nose and another one going into her arm. “How is our dear Aunt Vidala?” I asked the nursing Aunt on duty.

“I have been praying for her,” said Aunt Something. I can never remember the names of the nurses: it is their fate. “She’s in a coma: that may aid the healing process. There may be some paralysis. They’re afraid her speech might be affected.”

“If she recovers,” I said.

“When she recovers,” the nurse said reproachfully. “We don’t like to voice anything negative within the hearing of our patients. They may appear to be asleep, but frequently they are fully aware.”

I sat beside Vidala until the nurse had gone. Then I made a rapid inspection of the pharmaceutical aids available. Should I up the anaesthetic? Tamper with the tube feeding into her arm? Pinch off her oxygen supply? I did none of these. I believe in effort, but not in unnecessary effort: Aunt Vidala was most likely negotiating her exit from this world all on her own. Before leaving the Intensive Care Unit, I pocketed a small vial of morphine, foresight being a cardinal virtue.

—

While we were taking our lunchtime places in the Refectory, Aunt Helena commented on the absence of Aunt Victoria and Aunt Immortelle. “I believe they are fasting,” I said. “I glimpsed them in the Hildegard Library Reading Room yesterday, studying their Bibles. They are hoping for guidance during their upcoming mission.”

“Commendable,” said Aunt Helena. She continued her discreet head-counting. “Where is our new convert, Jade?”

“Perhaps she is ill,” I said. “A female complaint.”

“I will go and see,” said Aunt Helena. “Perhaps she needs a hot water bottle. Doorway C, is it?”

“How kind of you,” I said. “Yes. I believe hers is the garret room on the third floor.” I hoped Nicole had left her elopement note in a prominent location.

Aunt Helena hurried back from her visit to Doorway C, giddy with the excitement of her discovery: the girl Jade had eloped. “With a plumber named Garth,” Aunt Helena added. “She claims to be in love.”

“That is unfortunate,” I said. “We shall have to locate the pair, administer a reprimand, and make sure that the marriage has been properly performed. But Jade is very uncouth; she would not have made a reputable Aunt. Look on the bright side: the population of Gilead may well be augmented by this union.”

“But how could she have met such a plumber?” said Aunt Elizabeth.

“There was a complaint about a lack of bathwater this morning from Doorway A,” I said. “They must have called in the plumber. Clearly it was love at first sight. Young people are impetuous.”

“No one in the Hall is supposed to take baths in the morning,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “Unless someone has been breaking the rules.”

“That is not out of the question, unfortunately,” I said. “The flesh is weak.”

“Oh yes, so weak,” Aunt Helena agreed. “But how did she get out through the gate? She doesn’t have a pass, it wouldn’t have been allowed.”

“Girls of that age are very agile,” I said. “I expect she climbed over the Wall.”

We continued with lunch—dry sandwiches and something ruinous that had been done to tomatoes, and a dessert of runny blancmange—and by the end of our humble meal the girl Jade’s premature flight, her acrobatic feat of Wall-climbing, and her headstrong choice to fulfill her womanly destiny in the arms of an enterprising Economan plumber were general knowledge among us.

XXIV

THE NELLIE J. BANKS

Transcript of Witness Testimony 369B

66

We pulled up beside the ship. On the deck were three shadows; a flashlight shone briefly. We climbed up the rope ladder.

“Sit on the edge, swing your feet over,” said a voice. Someone took my arm. Then we were standing on the deck.

“Captain Mishimengo,” said the voice. “Let’s get you inside.” There was a low hum and I felt the ship moving.

We went into a little cabin with blackout curtains on the windows and some controls and what was likely a ship’s radar, though I didn’t have a chance to look at it closely.

“Glad you made it,” said Captain Mishimengo. He shook our hands; he had two fingers missing. He was stocky, about sixty, with tanned skin and a short black beard. “Now here’s our story, supposing you’re asked: this is a cod schooner, solar, with fuel backup. Flag of convenience is Lebanon. We’ve delivered a cargo of cod and lemons by special licence, which means the grey market, and now we’re heading back out. You’ll need to stay out of sight during the day: I heard from my contact, via Bert who dropped you at the dock, that they’re bound to be looking for you soon. There’s a place for you to sleep, in the hold. If there’s an inspection, coast guard, it won’t be thorough, it’s guys we know.” He rubbed his fingers together, which I knew meant money.

“Have you got any food?” I asked. “We haven’t eaten much all day.”

“Right,” he said. He told us to wait there and came back with a couple mugs of tea and some sandwiches. They were cheese, but it wasn’t Gilead cheese, it was real cheese: goat cheese with chives, a kind Melanie had liked.

“Thank you,” said Agnes. I’d started eating but I mumbled thanks with my mouth full.

“Your friend Ada says hello, and see you soon,” Captain Mishimengo said to me.

I swallowed. “How do you know Ada?”

He laughed. “Everyone’s related. Around here, anyways. We used to go deer-hunting in Nova Scotia together, back in the day.”

—

We reached our sleeping place by going down a ladder. Captain Mishimengo went first, turning on the lights. There were some freezers in the hold, and some big oblong metal boxes. On the side of one of the boxes was a hinged flap, and inside were two sleeping bags that didn’t look very clean: I guess we weren’t the first people to use them. The whole place smelled of fish.

“You can keep the box door open as long as there’s no problems,” said Captain Mishimengo. “Sleep tight, don’t let the bugs bite.” We heard his steps receding.

“This is kind of awful,” I whispered to Agnes. “The fish smell. These sleeping bags. I bet they have lice.”

“We should be grateful,” she said. “Let’s go to sleep.”

My GOD/LOVE tattoo was bothering me, and I had to lie on my right side to avoid squashing it. I wondered if I had blood poisoning. If so, I was in trouble because there was definitely not a doctor on board.