AND IT WAS US IN PRISON

Aunt Vidala must have been in her element. Nineteen days. For almost three weeks she ruled solo over Ardua Hall. The one time that Aunt Lydia and I were in the same ante-room, waiting for our own interrogations, Lydia had said not to worry, "Vidala is dense. But mostly she's stupid. I just hope she doesn't break anything by the time we get out of here."

For almost three weeks, though, our release had not been clear. I'd worried that bastinado was in my future. One of my interrogators had mentioned that that had been my specialty among renegade Handmaids. I'd got paranoid that he'd mentioned it. Lucky me, all I got was waterboarding. And the same infernal questions, again and again, and again. Then once more for good measure.

As my mind escaped my body, I considered my own 'philosophy of persuasion', as I was to call it. I'd forgotten the things learned in the Think Tank during my own recruitment. About how useless it all was. My main tormentor, Lieutenent Stans, broke the first rule of 'information extraction'. He enjoyed the process too much. It showed. When I'd done this stuff, at least I knew where to draw the line. Really, I do. I know what you're thinking, and I disagree with you. No, I do not enjoy that kind of work. Not like Stans. It has to have a purpose. It is easy for you to judge. You've never had to deal with recalcitrant Handmaids.

Then we were loaded into a Guardians' van, quite different than the Birthmobiles assigned to Red Centres. Not built for comfort, I'll tell you. Being handcuffed did not help, with hands behind one's back it was simply impossible to sit properly. The neck collar was attached to the wall behind, so if we slid off the bench, we choked ourselves. There's no humanity with Guardians. At least we care about our charges.

It was me, Lydia, and Helena. In the van, tethered to the wall behind. Of the three, Helena was the most incoherent. Did nothing but whimper the whole way. Lydia was her old self, furious. But she'd looked better. Me, I'd been subject to enhanced interrogation, but I'd not been hit. Lydia had been hit. Repeatedly.

My crime? No one told me. I think it was simply that the kidnapping and human trafficking of Gilead's children had happened on our watch. Add to that, that a plot thought only to have been done by Marthas, had actually had 10, or so, Handmaids involved. Those ten were now missing. Did I know where they were? They'd asked that six-ways-to-Wednesday.

Note to self - when someone doesn't know, no amount of bastinado will get it out of them.

The van stopped. The back door opened and Lydia was signaled to exit. Yet, they hadn't thought to unhook her from the collar-restraint. They only noticed it after tasering her, and she started choking. Oooooops. I'd made that mistake, easy enough to make.

Helena and I never were allowed out. But when the door opened it was plain, we were at The Chancery. By the number of men with automatic weapons, it was evident that the Chancery was in session. When we got a moment, I said to Helena, "I bet Lydia is in front of the Chancery itself. I pity those men."

Helena made no answer, nor any indication that she was tracking. Anything.

I actually never did find out why we were imprisoned for those three weeks. On my return to what I thought would be preparing Handmaids, I made all sorts of notes about the futility of some disciplinary matters. My Think Tank nightmares returned.

Yes, I was a disciplinarian, but I was no monster. But the terror of prison was replaced by the boredom of the common room.

OUT TO PASTURE

The routine back in Ardua Hall was stifling. We'd been officially retired. Wake - head to Matins. Then after prayer, to breakfast. Then to the common room. Comfy chairs, a stairmaster and an exercise treadmill, as well as all the reading material we could muster as Aunts. At least we could read. There was even a copy of 'The Trojan Women', detailing how Hecuba had become symbolic of ancient Troy's plight.

I bet the inclusion of that had been my influence. I certainly talked about it enough over the years with Aunt Initiates. But you can only reread it so much.

Then lunch. Then exercise outside. I never went outdoors when it was raining. Then board games back in the common room with the other fuddy-duddies. Then dinner. Then Compline. Then bed.

Then repeat.

The only one who seemed to be enjoying this was Helena. She went through her days like a zombie. Except once when she started bawling for no reason. Lydia tried to control her, "Get a hold of yourself, woman!" Helena had to be restrained. Lashing out. It took half-a-dozen to settle her. Then there was no sight of her for the longest time.

Lydia was like a caged lion, pacing. She'd tried the treadmill a couple of times, quickly got tired of the board games, especially when she lost. I was the sanest one of the three.

Which brings up Aunt Vidala. Once per day, she'd appear. Common room, cafeteria, or praying quite conspicuously at one of the daily services. Never said anything to me, but would often get close to Lydia. Mumble something. Then smile. Then the one thing I never thought I'd see on Lydia's face - the look of defeat.

A first for everything.

CHICKENS AND EGGS

Which came first?

Answer: The Aunts.

Lydia was back at the prison collecting our first recruits for this, the prototype Magdelene Colony. Yes, we were back at work. How? I don't even want to ask. The handmaids could not get here fast enough. All the maintenance and 'set-up' was being handled by us, Aunts. Manual labour. It was not in our paygrade, but there we were - hammering, toting, painting cleaning, cooking. Doing Martha stuff. Talk about humiliating.

This Colony was mid-conversion - from a ranch once owned by an East District Commander. The men are not even subtle about it. That Commander had made 10x the money off the ranch's sale, than was fair.

How did we lowly Aunts know this? It's what we were told when told that our 'set-up budget' had to be slashed. The paint had run out. Cleaning supplies were replaced by simple water. As it was, even we Aunts were sleeping on the floor of a barn - keeping space reserved as best we could for the dozen, or so, Handmaids that Lydia was bringing with her, once she arrived. I hoped they were bringing their own blankets.

The chow-hall was built for ranch-hands. The kitchen there was substandard. Original plates and cutlery, all handwashed - not an industrial dishwasher in sight. We'd been promised.

Where had the money been spent? A full renovation of the old Commander's house, that's where. That place was decked out like a Jezebels. Which would be command-central during their Bilhah visits. Come on. Aunt Lydia had complained that the real reason for the development of Magdalene Colonies to begin with, was so that Commanders could erode the authority of Red Centres - Ardua Hall in particular. Lydia noticed things like that.

But on my one visit inside the mansion, I could not help but notice the cases of liquor. Unpacked. Two, three dozen cases. That liquor alone could have funded a proper barracks for us Aunts, as well as the Handmaids. Maybe some blankets! Our shower back in the barn was a hose hung from the ceiling, dribbling cold water down. Don't get me started on how we did laundry.

Also, you're owed a bit of an explanation. Yes, Lydia was out of retirement, as were we. 'We' being, Helena and I, although Helena these days was not good for much. Aunt Vidala still thought she was in command. Ha! Lydia had struck some sort of deal - at least that's what she told Vidala in front of me. That's all I knew about that. As such, Lydia was spending the first little while here at The Colony once she arrived with Handmaids - which will be good, because when she'll see the conditions in which we have to work, I'm positive more money will arrive.

But right now, we need more hands. Handmaid hands. There's a rumour that a Commander is already traveling here. Commander Blaine. The mansion was ready, but no Handmaid. That might not end well.

IN HIATUS

Back at Ardua Hall. Don't ask why.

The fallout to the child-trafficking continues. Canadians are calling it 'Angels Flight'.

I don't know who will be reading this, but that gets my hackles up. Gilead has its faults. But we do not traffic in children. We don't assign stupid names to straightforward concepts. Names meant to justify.

Me, I have tough Handmaid training responsibilities. But at least I still call 'bastinado' by its proper name. I don't sugar coat it, or shrink from responsibilities. Or blame someone else.

Me, I'm in guessing mode, during this hiatus. If we were not at the Madgelene Colony, who was there getting it ready? What exactly DID happen at that railway crossing, when so many of our girls-in-red had been killed? Lydia is not talking. Why is Aunt Lydia over at Commander Lawrence's estate so much? He has no Handmaid. Single or widowed Commanders are dealt with on a case-by-case basis, but that still doesn't explain why the two of them need to be in sight of one another so frequently.

So many questions.

The one thing I do know - Aunt Vidala has now accepted her station, she's taking Lydia's orders now. That concession had concluded with Lydia saying ever so sweetly, "Don't worry Vidala, you're still a Founder Aunt. No one can change that."