June

I hear her steps in the stairs. The singular creaking of the steps, whose wood has worked for many years, haunts me. This characteristic sound that informs me at any time that someone will come to visit me and they never are courtesy. It's late, though. I thought she'd be in bed for a long time by this time. But obviously she is not. I hold my breath, lying on my blanket, and pray that she does not come to swing her victory in my face.
The door that opens is far from silent, and instinctively, I think if something was to happen to me tonight, someone would have heard that door opening. I try to reassure myself as I can. Her heels on the floor of the room make me the effect of a knife sinking into my heart a little further with every step.

I feel her sitting behind my back, and start to raise the sheet that covers me. She does not ask me for my permission. She acts! Why would she ask me permission to touch my body, after all, I no longer exist. I am her thing, I belong to her. I grit my teeth when I feel her hand resting on my belly and her head on my side.

Maybe I became completely crazy, but the feeling of her hand on me, her body against mine, feels nice. It's the first physical contact we have which does not make me shiver with fear or disgust. Her breathing is jerky, as if she was overwhelmed with emotion.

-Everything will be alright. I promise you, everything will be fine.

For a moment, I hope these words are for me. That Serena finally found a little common sense and that she came to support me. My hopes vanish as soon as I hear her claim her love for the child I'm carrying as if he was hers. It's almost poetic to feel her so fragile. I imagine her caressing her round belly, reciting comforting words in an extremely soft voice. I imagine her happy. And this vision makes me shiver down my spine. Or maybe it's her body breaking away from mine that gives me that feeling. Her lips resting on me confirms that I want more. I want her to stay with me to continue to rock me with her illusions of happiness to come. I want to feel her warmth against me. Her presence.

What is happening to me? I should feel like throwing her against the wall, spitting on her, cutting her into pieces for what she dares to put me through, but not tonight. Tonight I'm resigned, tonight I'm Defred and I just need some warmth, not any type of warmth, I need hers.

As she gets ready to leave the room, I decide to give it a shot. What could possibly be worse?

-Ms. Waterford?
-What is it Offred?
-You can stay if you want ... You know ... If the baby decides to move
-Another time maybe, tonight I'm tired ... she answers me softly.

There is no scream, no word higher than the other, no reproach in her voice. There is nothing. Just tiredness, as she pointed out to me. And suddenly, the truth strikes me. For her, I no longer exist, I have no value. No longer enough to make it worthwhile to be unpleasant or to denigrate me. I'm disappointing her, it's my fault. I am responsible for everything that is happening to me. If I had been less stubborn, if I had not stood up to her since the beginning, maybe I would still exist in her eyes. Maybe she would still see me, not as her equal, but at least as a woman. But June was not wise ... June did not know how to shut her mouth ... June is responsible. June has done horrible things in the past, broken a marriage, abandoned her daughter, June is not a good person.

-Please God, make Hannah forgive me.

June is no longer exists, only remains Defred. The wise and submissive Defred who ignores Nick when he speaks to her. The wise and submissive Defred who behaves as she should have done from the beginning. The wise and submissive Defred who decides to burn the letters, symbol of resistance, that June had hidden. Last vestige of an era that no longer is.

Serena came back to visit me late at night, first from time to time, then more regularly. It's always the same ritual. Is not Gilead all about ritual after all?
She smokes her cigarette, and then comes to join me. I can smell tobacco on her clothes and in her breath. That does not bother me. I would even say that it gives her a small rebel side that suits her quite well.

As always, she lies down my back, she puts her hand on my belly while her head rests on my shoulder and begins to talk to the baby. But today, her voice is not soft, she is not serene.

-Who does she thinks she is this Aunt Lydia? Tell me ... brave enough to say I do not create a healthy environment for your coming. How does she dare to come to my house and talk to me like this? I would give everything so you can be the happiest and most loved child of Gilead! To whom does she think she is talking to?

No, she is not angry. She is sad. I can feel it. Her tears running down my neck let her pain and distress go away. She feels helpless.
She cannot carry this child herself, she is dependent on me to satiate her child's desire, and it's killing her. She is not mad at me, she is angry at herself for not having this chance to give birth. If only June had understood that earlier. It might have saved her from disappearing.

I let her free her burden against me and sleep in the heat of her embrace. I know it's not me she hugs; I'm just a body carrying her child.

When I wake up, she's still here. Asleep by my side, her hand still resting on my belly. I try to move slowly, not to wake her up and risk starting the day with an avalanche of reproaches of all sorts, but with every movement I make, she tightens her grip on me and brings me back a little more against her.

-Stay a little more ... she murmurs in a half-sleep.

I do not know if she is aware of where she is and who she is talking to, but I prefer to keep quiet and obey her without moving rather than suffer her wrath again. Prudence is a mother of safety in Gilead.
Since Aunt Lydia's intervention, Serena and I spend a lot of time together. So that the baby hears her voice, that he can feel he is desired and expected, but also that I can relax and that the pregnancy goes well. I would be lying if I said that these moments are unpleasant.

Today, we are going for a walk. This is what the hostess has planned for both of us. To take some fresh air, walk, talk. She does the talking, i'm listening, I still refrain from opening my mouth unnecessarily.

Rita comes to tell me that Madame S, as she is called, is waiting for me.
S as Superior.
S as Her Serene Highness.
S as the shocking blood I see on the toilet paper in my hands. I do not know what to do with this information. I'm bleeding, I guess something is wrong, but I do not know what to do with this information. June would have known what to do. She would have shouted, she would have alerted the whole world to say that her baby was in danger, but me, Defred, I do not know what to do with it. I watch the paper drain to the bottom of the toilet bowl and I feel empty inside. No feeling, no worry, just a big, huge, cold void. I do not know if my body will continue to carry this child, I do not even know if it wants to.

Serena tries to make conversation during our walk, telling the gossip of the neighborhood, as if we were two friends walking side by side. I hardly listen to her, just enough to answer when it's necessary. My body is with her in this street, but my mind is not there for a long time.

We meet Naomi Putnam who tells us that little Angela is not very fit lately. A dental flush apparently. To hear the cries of the little girl, I doubt that it is only about that and Serena is not fooled either. If there is one quality that I can give her, it's her deep love for children, she feels that something is not normal, and her concern for the little one turns into aggression towards me.

-These walks are for both of us! I would appreciate not being the only one to make the conversation!
-Sure Mrs Waterford.
-Yes Mrs. Waterford. No, Mrs. Waterford. What's the matter with you ?
-Nothing Mrs. Waterford.

She is confused. The confused look she puts on me makes me understand that. She is worried. For the first time, I see Serena really concerned about what can happen to me and not just about the baby's well-being. In any case, that's what I like to believe.

SERENA

Something is wrong with her. She is no longer herself. There is no longer that spark in her eyes, this fire ready to ignite anyone who stands up to her. She's different since the baby shower. Not that her docile attitude disturbs me, on the contrary, but...well it does bother me! Where is this impetuous woman who was not afraid to challenge me? Where is the one who would have moved land and sea to be heard? She is no longer ... It makes our exchanges easier, of course, but the very idea of never having to challenge her anymore displeases me.

I loved our verbal jousting, our insistent glances, and our struggle for power. It was part of the game to submit her to my will, but now it is done, I derive no pleasure. What pleasure could I derive from her servitude? I considered her as my most serious adversary. Now she is no more than a servant who obeys my least desires. She is broken and that's my fault.

This is painful. For the reason that despite appearances, I am aware of the atrocity of what Fred and I are doing to her for the good of our nation. It is a sacrifice that takes courage and like all sacrifice, it comes with great sorrow. Sometimes I wish i could relieve her pain, comfort her, thank her for being MY miracle worker, and then I give up. What difference could it make? The situation would remain the same anyway.

As I cannot reassure her, I do it with my baby. I slipped into her room in the evening, snuggled against her, and I send all the love I can to this child who will be here soon. I sing him lullabies, I tell him about my days, I tell him about his future, all the love he will receive, I tell him about me. Who I am, Serena Joy Waterford. I do not tell him about Gilead, about the role I played in shaping our nation; I prefer telling him childhood memories, happy memories. I know she does not lose a word of everything I tell my baby, but I don't mind it. I even think that unconsciously, my words are a little to her too. To show her that I was someone else before Gilead. She never answers me.

Just like today, her answers are brief and succinct "Yes Mrs. Waterford, no Mrs. Waterford," she does not even call me by my first name. It was something she did before to challenge me, call me Serena, to make me understand that she was my equal and that she would never give up. Today, Serena no longer exists for her. I'm just Mrs. Waterford. God knows that I'd like to become Serena again in her eyes ... It confirmed to me that she saw humanity in me, that I was not a lost cause, that she cared for me. All this has disappeared and it drives me crazy! But oddly, not against her.

Our return home is tense, I am concerned about her attitude and I would like to understand what is happening. I wish I could talk to her about it, but she refuses to answer, leaving me even more puzzled.

Nick is in the kitchen when we come back. He always manages to be around when I'm with Offred, it's almost unbearable. Does not he have things to do? I see clearly in his little game, he thinks he will be able to spend some time with her and play the strong and reassuring man. As if that was what she needed. For more caution, I ask Offred to join her room. It is better to avoid letting them together. She runs past him without giving him a single glance. Take that Nick!

-Ms. Waterford?

I feel that i will not enjoy this conversation. Once again he will be interfering with things which are none of his concern.

-I'm worried about the handmaid ... he said with difficulty to choose his words
-The doctor says that everything is fine
-I mean her mental state
-Her mental state? I answer him by restraining me from spitting in his face without really knowing why.
-Maybe she should see a different kind of doctor?

It annoys me that he may be right! Obviously she is not well. I saw her, I see her every day, I noticed that she was not well. But despite all my attempts, she refuses to talk to me. Suddenly, I wonder if she is talking to HIM.

-Did Offred ask you to talk to me?
-No Mam…. He answers spontaneously.
-So I have nothing to tell you

Who the hell does he think he is to dictate me what i should or should not do? He poses himself as a hero of the male sex. Almost his cock brandished in his hands as a sign of his manhood. Of course, he is a man. He takes things in his hands. Including the welfare of MY handmaid!
He catches me by the arm when I pass him.

-She does not have anyone to look out for her
-It seems that she does... I answer him with disdain

It seems that she does ... this observation scares me and hurts me deep in my bones. He must understand that he has no role to play here. I need to get rid of him. I cannot let him hang on to my child's mother. It's up to me to take care of her, not him.