that. I would never catch their eyes. I don’t want to look at them,” said Becka. “Any men. They’re horrible. Including the Gilead kind of God.”
“Becka!” I said. “Why are you saying that? What do you mean, the Gilead kind?”
“They want God to be only one thing,” she said. “They leave things out. It says in the Bible we’re in God’s image, male and female both. You’ll see, when the Aunts let you read it.”
“Don’t say such things, Becka,” I said. “Aunt Vidala—she’d think it was heresy.”
“I can say them to you, Agnes,” she said. “I’d trust you with my life.”
“Don’t,” I said. “I’m not a good person, not like you.”
* * *
—
In my second month at Ardua Hall, Shunammite paid me a visit. I met her in the Schlafly Café. She was wearing the blue dress of an official Wife.
“Agnes!” she cried, holding out both hands. “I’m so happy to see you! Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m all right,” I said. “I’m Aunt Victoria now. Would you like some mint tea?”
“It’s just that Paula implied that maybe you’d gone…that there was something wrong—”
“That I’m a lunatic,” I said, smiling. I’d noted that Shunammite was referring to Paula as a familiar friend. Shunammite now outranked her, which must have irked Paula considerably—to have such a young girl promoted above her. “I know she thinks that. And by the way, I should congratulate you on your marriage.”
“You’re not mad at me?” she said, reverting to our schoolgirl tone.
“Why would I be ‘mad at’ you, as you say?”
“Well, I stole your husband.” Is that what she thought? That she’d won a competition? How could I deny this without insulting Commander Judd?
“I received a call to higher service,” I said as primly as I could.
She giggled. “Did you really? Well, I received a call to a lower one. I have four Marthas! I wish you could see my house!”
“I’m sure it’s lovely,” I said.
“But you really are all right?” Her anxiety on my behalf may have been partly genuine. “Doesn’t this place wear you down? It’s so bleak.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I wish you every happiness.”
“Becka’s in this dungeon too, isn’t she?”
“It’s not a dungeon,” I said. “Yes. We share an apartment.”
“Aren’t you afraid she’ll attack you with the secateurs? Is she still insane?”
“She was never insane,” I said, “just unhappy. It’s been wonderful to see you, Shunammite, but I must return to my duties.”
“You don’t like me anymore,” she said half seriously.
“I’m training to be an Aunt,” I said. “I’m not really supposed to like anyone.”
49
My reading abilities progressed slowly and with many stumbles. Becka helped me a lot. We used Bible verses to practise, from the approved selection that was available to Supplicants. With my very own eyes I was able to read portions of Scripture that I had until then only heard. Becka helped me find the passage that I’d thought of so often at the time Tabitha died:
For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night. Thou carriest them away as with a flood; they are as a sleep; in the morning they are like grass which groweth up. In the morning it flourisheth, and groweth up; in the evening it is cut down, and withereth.
Laboriously I spelled out the words. They seemed different when they were on the page: not flowing and sonorous, as I had recited them in my head, but flatter, drier.
Becka said that spelling was not reading: reading, she said, was when you could hear the words as if they were a song.
“Maybe I won’t ever get it right,” I said.
“You will,” said Becka. “Let’s try reading some real songs.”
She went to the library—I wasn’t allowed in there as yet—and brought back one of our Ardua Hall hymn books. In it was the childhood nighttime song that Tabitha used to sing to me in her voice like silver bells:
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep…
I sang it to Becka, and then after a while I was able to read it to her. “That’s so hopeful,” she said. “I would like to think that there are two angels always waiting to fly away with me.” Then she said, “I never had anyone sing to me at night. You were so lucky.”
* * *
—
Along with reading, I had to learn to write. That was harder in some ways, though less hard in others.