Margaret Atwood - The Testaments

This news caused another outbreak of speculation: the rumour was that Aunt Immortelle had been murdered, and who more likely to have done it than the missing Canadian recruit known as Jade? Many of the Aunts—among them those who had greeted her arrival with such joy and satisfaction—were now saying that they’d always believed there was something fraudulent about her.

“It’s a terrible scandal,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “It reflects so badly on us!”

“We will cover it up,” I said. “I shall take the view that Aunt Immortelle was simply trying to investigate the faulty cistern, in order to spare valuable manpower that chore. She must have slipped, or fainted. It was an accident in the course of selfless duty. That is what I shall say at the dignified and laudatory funeral we will now proceed to have.”

“That is a stroke of genius,” said Aunt Helena dubiously.

“Do you think anyone will believe it?” Aunt Elizabeth asked.

“They will believe whatever is in the best interests of Ardua Hall,” I said firmly. “Which is the same as their own best interests.”

—

But speculation grew. Two Pearl Girls had passed through the gate—the Angels on duty swore to that—and their papers were in order. Was one of them Aunt Victoria, who still had not appeared for meals? If not, where was she? And if so, why had she left early on her mission, before the Thanks Giving? She had not been accompanied by Aunt Immortelle, so who was the second Pearl Girl? Could it be that Aunt Victoria was complicit in a double escape? For, increasingly, it was looking like an escape. It was concluded that the elopement note had been part of it: intended to deceive, and to delay pursuit. How devious and cunning young girls could be, the Aunts whispered—especially foreigners.

Then news came that two Pearl Girls had been spotted at the Portsmouth bus station in New Hampshire. Commander Judd ordered a search operation: these imposters—he called them that—must be captured and brought back for interrogation. They must not be allowed to speak to anyone but himself. In the case of a probable escape, the orders were to shoot to kill.

“That is somewhat harsh,” I said. “They are inexperienced. They must have been misled.”

“Under the circumstances, a dead Baby Nicole is much more useful to us than a living one,” he said. “Surely you realize that, Aunt Lydia.”

“I apologize for my stupidity,” I said. “I believed that she was genuine; I mean, genuine in her desire to join us. It would have been a marvellous coup, had that been the case.”

“It’s clear she was a plant, inserted into Gilead under false pretenses. Alive, she could pull both of us down. Don’t you understand how vulnerable we would be if anyone else got hold of her and she were made to talk? I would lose all credibility. The long knives will come out, and not just for me: your reign at Ardua Hall will be over, and so—quite frankly—will you.”

He loves me, he loves me not: I am assuming the status of a mere tool, to be used and discarded. But that’s a two-handed game.

“Very true,” I said. “Some in our country are unfortunately obsessed with vengeful payback. They do not believe that you have always acted for the best, especially in your winnowing operations. But in this matter you have chosen the wisest option, as ever.”

That got a smile out of him, albeit a tense one. I had a flashback, not for the first time. In my brown sackcloth robe I raised the gun, aimed, shot. A bullet, or no bullet?

A bullet.

—

I went to visit Aunt Vidala again. Aunt Elizabeth was on duty, knitting one of the little caps for premature babies that are in fashion nowadays. I remain deeply grateful that I have never learned to knit.

Vidala’s eyes were closed. She was breathing evenly: worse luck.

“Has she spoken yet?” I asked.

“No, not a word,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “Not while I’ve been here.”

“Good of you to be so attentive,” I said, “but you must be tired. I’ll spell you off. Go and get a cup of tea.” She threw me a suspicious look, but she went.

Once she was out of the room I leaned over and spoke loudly into Vidala’s ear. “Wake up!”

Her eyes opened. She focused on me. Then she whispered, with no slurring: “You did this, Lydia. You’ll hang for it.” Her expression was both vindictive and triumphant: finally she had an accusation that would stick, and my job was very nearly hers.

“You’re tired,” I said. “Go back to sleep.” She closed her eyes again.

I was rummaging in my pocket for the vial of morphine I’d brought with me when Elizabeth walked in. “I forgot my knitting,” she said.

“Vidala spoke. When you were out of the room.”

“What did she say?”

“She must have some brain damage,” I said. “She’s accusing you of having struck her. She said you were in league with Mayday.”

“But no one can possibly believe her,” Elizabeth said, blanching. “If anyone hit her, it must have been that Jade girl!”

“Belief is hard to predict,” I said. “Some might find it expedient to have you denounced. Not all of the Commanders appreciated the ignominious exit of Dr. Grove. I have heard it said that you are unreliable—if you accused Grove, who else might you accuse?—in which case they will accept Vidala’s testimony against you. People like a scapegoat.”

She sat down. “This is a disaster,” she said.

“We’ve been in tight spots before, Elizabeth,” I said mildly. “Remember the Thank Tank. We both made it out of that. Since then, we have done what was necessary.”

“You are so bolstering, Lydia,” she said.

“Such a shame about Vidala’s allergies,” I said. “I hope she won’t suffer an asthmatic attack while sleeping. Now I must rush off, as I have a meeting. I will leave Vidala in your nurturing hands. I notice that her pillow needs rearranging.”

Two birds with one stone: if so, how satisfactory in ways both aesthetic and practical, and a diversion that will create more runway. Though not ultimately for me, as there is scant chance I myself will escape unscathed from the revelations that are sure to follow once Nicole appears on the television news in Canada and the cache of evidence she is carrying for me is displayed.

—

The clock ticks, the minutes pass. I wait. I wait.

Fly well, my messengers, my silver doves, my destroying angels. Land safely.

XXVI

LANDFALL

Transcript of Witness Testimony 369A

69

I don’t know how long we were in the inflatable. It felt like hours. I’m sorry I can’t be more precise.

There was fog. The waves were very high, and spray and water were coming in on top of us. It was cold as death. The tide was fast, and it was sweeping us out to sea. I was more than frightened: I thought we were going to die. The inflatable would be swamped, we would be thrown into the ocean, we would sink down and down. Aunt Lydia’s message would be lost, and all the sacrifices would be for nothing.

Dear God, I prayed silently. Please help us get safe to land. And, If someone else has to die, let it be only me.

We were rowing and rowing. We each had an oar. I’d never been in a boat before so I didn’t know how to do it. I felt weak and tired, and my arms were cramping with the pain.

“I can’t,” I said.

“Keep going!” Nicole shouted. “We’re okay!”

The sound of the waves hitting the shore was close, but it was so dark I couldn’t see where the shore was. Then a very big wave came right into the boat, and Nicole called, “Row! Row for your life!”