her lower rank, and it would be an insult to refuse, and did she wish to ruin him?
“But I don’t want to!” she would wail to us when Aunt Lise was out of the room. “To have some man crawling all over you, like, like worms! I hate it!”
It occurred to me that she didn’t say she would hate it, she said she already hated it. What had happened to her? Something disgraceful that she couldn’t talk about? I remembered how upset she’d been by the story of the Concubine Cut into Twelve Pieces. But I didn’t want to ask her: another girl’s disgrace could rub off on you if you got too close to it.
“It won’t hurt that much,” said Shunammite, “and think of all the things you’ll have! Your own house, your own car and Guardians, and your own Marthas! And if you can’t have a baby you’ll be given Handmaids, as many as it takes!”
“I don’t care about cars and Marthas, or even Handmaids,” said Becka. “It’s the horrible feeling. The wet feeling.”
“Like what?” said Shunammite, laughing. “You mean their tongues? It’s no worse than dogs!”
“It’s much worse!” said Becka. “Dogs are friendly.”
I didn’t say anything about what I myself felt about getting married. I couldn’t share the story of my dental appointment with Dr. Grove: he was still Becka’s father, and Becka was still my friend. In any case, my reaction had been more like disgust and loathing, and now seemed to me trivial in view of Becka’s genuine horror. She really did believe that marriage would obliterate her. She would be crushed, she would be nullified, she would be melted like snow until nothing remained of her.
Away from Shunammite, I asked her why her mother wouldn’t help her. Then there were tears: her mother wasn’t her real mother, she’d found that out from their Martha. It was shameful, but her real mother had been a Handmaid—“Like yours, Agnes,” she said. Her official mother had used that fact against her: why was she so afraid of having sex with a man, since her slut of a Handmaid mother hadn’t had such fears? Quite the contrary!
I hugged her then, and said I understood.
28
Aunt Lise was supposed to teach us manners and customs: which fork to use, how to pour tea, how to be kind but firm with Marthas, and how to avoid emotional entanglements with our Handmaid, should it turn out that we needed a Handmaid. Everyone had a place in Gilead, everyone served in her own way, and all were equal in the sight of God, but some had gifts that were different from the gifts of others, said Aunt Lise. If the various gifts were confused and everyone tried to be everything, only chaos and harm could result. No one should expect a cow to be a bird!
She taught us elementary gardening, with an emphasis on roses—gardening was a suitable hobby for Wives—and how to judge the quality of the food that was cooked for us and served at our table. In these times of national scarcity it was important not to waste food or to spoil its full potential. Animals had died for us, Aunt Lise reminded us, and vegetables too, she added in a virtuous tone. We needed to be thankful for this, and for God’s bounty. It was as disrespectful—one might even say sinful—to Divine Providence to mistreat food by cooking it badly as it was to discard it uneaten.
Therefore we learned how to poach an egg properly, and at what temperature a quiche ought to be served, and the difference between a bisque and a potage. I can’t say I remember much about these lessons now, as I never was in a position to put them into practice.
She reviewed with us the proper prayers to say before meals too. Our husbands would recite the prayers when they were present, as heads of the household, but when they were absent—as they would be often, since they would have to work late hours, nor should we ever criticize their lateness—then it would be our duty to say these prayers on behalf of what Aunt Lise hoped would be our numerous children. Here she gave a tight little smile.
Through my head was running the pretend prayer that Shunammite and I used to amuse ourselves with when we were best friends at the Vidala School:
Bless my overflowing cup,
It flowed upon the floor:
That’s because I threw it up,
Now Lord I’m back for more.
The