THE PROMOTION

Me, I was against it. Aunt Vidala was furious. Aunt Helena followed the path of least resistance. But Lydia, as usual, got her way.

The girl in question was a 'fruitcake', as we had said in former times. I had been the one who had supervised the removal of her eye during her training. Lest you think that cruel and/or unusual, believe you me, she had got off light.

She was the slut to have accused High Commander Putnam. He, in comparison, had shown piety - leadership in dealing with personal sin. She had repaid the Red Centre's mercy with crime, she'd kidnapped Angela. Further, her particicution had gone off the rails - she led other Handmaids into sin. Instead of a bullet to the head, the Commanders had shown exceptional mercy by consigning her to the Colonies. With the other unwomen.

Please excuse while I list all this. It's necessary. I do it so that you will understand the madness infecting Ardua Hall.

To her credit, she had assisted the Putnam's in Angela's medical recovery. To her subsequent but entirely predictable shame, she was part of Ofmatthew's crime, getting beaten with a can of lobster meat in the melee.

She must have been a part of the children's human trafficking. As Ofhoward, she had disappeared with the rest. Was discovered with other renegade Handmaids at a resistance safe-house. Reassigned to the now suspended Magdelene Colonies, specifically the one I myself had scraped my fingers to the bone over.

Was eventually found - wait for it - in bombed out rubble in Chicago. Under a collapsed building. There's a story there.

It was a mistake to have had Aunt Lydia dispatched to deal with her. Lydia plays favourites. Except you wouldn't have known it when Lydia had beaten that very same girl in the Putnam's living room.

Something was going on. Handmaid, unwoman, fake-martha. Ofwarren, Ofdaniel, Ofhoward.

Welcome to my colleague - Aunt Janine.

CHANNELLING CARL ROGERS

Early on in my work with the US Senator, I was passed a written 'personality assessment', done in the 1950s by none other than Carl Rogers, then a preeminent, person-centered psychologist/clinician. It was an assessment commissioned by the, then-CIA about the old Soviet president Nikita Khrushchev. It was meant to be used by the Eisenhower, then the Kennedy administration to figure out how to deal with the guy.

I'd been given it, because my US Senator was having trouble figuring out a political opponent 'across the aisle', as we would have said in those days.

As you can see, I am thinking of that right now. Aunt Janine is something different when it comes to Red Centre's and Ardua Hall. Reminds me of Carl Rogers.

Maybe it is because of her own missing eye. Aunt Lydia assigns Janine to the most recalcitrant of Handmaids, the ones refusing to eat - or even cooperate in their own pregnancies. It's always one-on-one.

Janine sits and listens. None of her colleagues, not even Aunt Lydia, is allowed to hear the content of what Janine presents to those who are misbehaving. Not that Janine says a lot. She's never once whacked any of them. We've observed it at a distance - Lord above, about 1/3 of the time Janine and the recalcitrant share a laugh. Me, when I'd seen that for the first time, I backslid badly. I uttered, "Well I'll be buggered." Don't tell anyone. That time, Janine had followed the hilarity by unshackling the girl, and leading her to the dining room for her first meal in weeks.

Predictably, Aunt Janine was not popular with the other Aunts. If it had not been for Lydia's patronage, I am sure that someone would have spiked Janine's coffee by now. Indeed, the one time I had saddled up to Vidala, whispering, "What are we going to do about the new Aunt?" - sure enough, Aunt Lydia came up behind us and wanted to know what we were discussing.

It was what it was. Lydia seemed to be handling it. Unsurprisingly it did not effect Lydia's instinct for discipline. Or her ability to surprise. Indeed, with the new slate of Handmaids now here (instead of the failed Magdelene Colonies) I had plenty of opportunity to perfect bastinado. Use it or lose it, I always say.

CHAOS IN COMMANDERLAND

It had little to do with Ardua Hall, the rumours about Commander Waterford. About his death up near the Canadian border. Depending on the day of the week, at first he was talked about in hushed tones as a traitor, then as a hero of Gilead holding firm among the infidel.

The only reason I'm relating about him, is the unprecedented nature of what was to follow. Of something and someone firmly within the remit of the war on infertility, the very reason for every Red Centre's existence across Gilead.

Ok, now to the madness infecting Ardua Hall. Lydia, once again, up to something and we are in the dark.

Me - that day apparently I had had a panic attack. Not sure why. I'd been exposed by none other than Lydia herself - she standing over me, me prone on my quarter's floor - saying, "Quit with this weakness. Get up! We need you to supervise a cleaning of the guestroom." How she got access to my locked quarters I can only guess.

No shame in a panic attack, I suppose. It's just that Lydia should not know. Lord alive, if Vidala finds out.

Ok, I'd pieced it together. Lieutenant Stans. In the building. Leading a blue-teal clad woman to Ardua Hall's guestroom, the one I eventually supervised the clean of. Including the discrete disposal of the blue-teal outfit, including cape, dress and long gloves. With trace amounts of blood on them.

Ok, I now remember. I'd gone all dizzy at the sight of him, Lieutenant Stans. I'd told myself that everything to do with those 19 days had passed. That Aunt Lydia had shown the Commanders a thing or two.

Stans' SUV had come up to the front stairs of the Hall. Three Guardians pulled a teal-clad woman out, she being masked with a hood over her head. A teal coloured hood, no less.

I remember Aunt Helena being summoned, to retrieve a starter-Handmaids set of outfits. Wings, dress-reds, casuals. Socks and regulation boots. Underthings. To take them to the guestroom. I now remember the line-of-sight - at the end of the long hallway where my quarters were: Guardians standing guard. You don't see that every day, not here.

I must have seen that just before locking myself in my room.

For the love of all that is righteous, I had just composed myself after Lydia's orders. Stepped into the hallway as the Guardian-led procession passed. Lord above, dressed in Handmaid's dress-reds:

Mrs. Serena Joy Waterford. In dress-reds. Not highheels, but Handmaid's issue boots. A Wife of Gilead, in red.

Once again, you don't see that every day.

Retrieving some postulates, we entered the guest-room. There was a sign of a struggle. I mean, I'd seen recalcitrant girls resist their new calling, but this scene was going to require a full clean. There was blood. The blues were burned.

Late that night, one last new thing for the day. And why not.

Aunt Lydia came to my room, this time knocking.

When I opened the door, there she was holding a bottle of sherry, with two glasses. Aunt Janine was at her side. "May we come in?" she asked. Given that that morning she had come through a presumedly locked door, who was I to say no?

She sat at my little table, and pulled up a stool for Janine. I could reach the table, sitting on the bed. She poured a sherry for each of us, then raised her glass. "Here's to Ardua Hall. If it weren't for us, this whole country would fall apart." Before responding by sipping the sherry, she added, "Men are going to be the death of us all."

Looking at Janine sipping sherry, the one-eyed Aunt in my room, I considered that madness had not just infected the men.