WHICH ONE OF US WAS THE COUP?

Then a call from Putnam. "Waterford is still in hospital." Yes, I knew that. "Yet I have here in front of me a properly executed and signed order from Waterford for Cushing's arrest. It's all legal. Calhoun says I should take it to you before doing anything about it. I mean, what if Waterford doesn't make it - or worse, does make it and denies doing this?"

Putnam was typical of the morons running this country. The thing of note was that he was coming to me, because neither he nor Calhoun could decide. No cojones. If I had not been terrified of Cushing myself, I would have simply hung up. Instead, I said, "Execute the order. First find out how many Guardians he has around him. Round up and take double the number of Guardians with you. Make sure you first secure the area, meaning the area immediately surrounding Cushing. Disarm his Guardians. Then arrest him. Return his unarmed Guardians to barracks. Monitor them."

Which is what Putnam did. The best part? They'd arrested him outside of Commander Waterford's home. Nice touch.

Next Chancery meeting? Putnam convened it. As Pryce, hence God, intended. Started with a eulogy for High Commander Pryce, mainly because the one Cushing had presided over hadn't had one. Then a moment of silence. Then Calhoun started in about rooting out sedition - but not just the Mayday insurrectionists, Calhoun emphasized the sedition within this very body, officially called The Guardians of the Faithful (not to be confused with Guardians). He made note of Cushing's empty chair.

Calhoun then read from an Eyes of God report which had exonerated Commander Deeds, and which had suggested his salvaging had been a coup attempt. My Eye guy later said that that report had not come from them. Probably a complete fabrication. Probably Calhoun's own authorship because I couldn't imagine Putnam managing such a thing.

Yet with his rare act of spine in arresting Cushing, it very briefly gave Putnam an air of brutal decisiveness. Yet, the decisiveness had been mine.

Our Chancery fairly quickly settled into a quadumvirate - Putnam, me, Calhoun, and (when he returned) Waterford as leaders. All of us, publicly at least, claimed that we were not trying to replace the leadership Pryce had given. We offered up the former High Commander as a way to get past what had been done to Cushing. (Cushing and his wife, Sonia, were sent to The Colonies.)

PICKING UP THE PIECES

At that first Chancery meeting where the new order was settling in, one of the more anonymous Commanders talked about how the bombing had set back our war on infertility. It was good to have an enthusiastic unanimous decision so soon after our trauma, so we ordered the return from the colonies any of our district's otherwise fertile unwomen - to be pressed into much needed Handmaid duty back here in this District.

So the post-Pryce world settled out. Without Pryce to hound me, I spent even less time in Chancery. Being around them, the Commanders there proved themselves time and time again to be complete morons. Also I spent less time in the office upstairs that Pryce had worked so hard to get me. More time at home.

Watching Eleanor deteriorate. From home, I had part of Pryce's former large portfolio. Trade. border security. Not security with a capital 'S', but as it related to the trade at the border. I spent more time on the phone, because the indecisive Putnam and the sexually distracted Waterford needed to call me on the most small of operational issues. How had Pryce dealt with those morons? He must have had the patience of Job.

LESBIANS = FEWER CEREMONIES

At first I thought it was going to be another of Aunt Lydia's interrogations. This time she hadn't even asked to visit me and Eleanor. She just showed up. It bugged me that the Aunts had this kind of power. No matter how I looked at it, there didn't seem to be a way around it. Those women at the Red Centre walked between the raindrops. They read things, they wrote things and still had all their fingers. They filed things away. Aunt Lydia had a steel trap memory.

But this visit was not an interrogation. No mention was made at all of our disappeared Handmaid. I had to cut Eleanor off and change the subject when she seemed to try to quiz Aunt Lydia as to Betsy's whereabouts. I love her dearly, but I couldn't risk Eleanor saying that Ofjospeh #2 had been traded for a Wife. (My Eye guy said Betsy was now in Toronto. Betsy had yet to be a propaganda tool of The Americans up there.)

There she was, Aunt Lydia at our dining room table. She took out five Red Centre file folders, opened them and fanned them out in front of us. Eleanor was getting uneasy, and worse - talkative. I suggested that she go upstairs and rest, which is what she did.

I apologized to Aunt Lydia, but she told me to think nothing of it. Handmaid business involved the Wife, she said, but this was my home. I'd be deciding anyways.

For me, it was an easy choice. I pointed to one of the files simply by what I could scan on the front sheets of each file. Aunt Lydia said, "Ah. Ofroy. Troubled girl. Ofroy's Commander died in the act of the Ceremony. Then again, Gilead has been good to her, beyond any reasonable measure of mercy. Just returned from the colonies."

I asked, "Can I read the file?" She picked it up, removed half the pages then passed it to me. This was the one. For me and Eleanor. A gender traitor, a lesbian. Married in the before times, has a son. Wife and son in Canada. Had once been in Commander Glen Deeds house, indeed if it had not been for this girl's adulterous affair with a martha, the next Ofglen would not have been there - the one who'd bombed the Rachel and Leah Centre. On such things does history turn.

But she'd be good for us. She would not be interested, at all, in The Ceremony. Neither were we. (It only occurred to me later, much later, that perhaps few - if any - Handmaids were wild about their lot.) Me, I'm part of Gilead, but even I was taken aback by the cliterectomy. Gilead tore women apart with dogs, but a cliterectomy? Really? That only made the arrangement more desirable.

I closed and put the file down. Going for all the authority I could in front of this particular Aunt, I said, "I want this one."

Aunt Lydia assessed me with her look, said, "without even looking at the others?" I repeated, "This is the one I want." She said, "I'm not sure 'want' is good enough. There are many considerations in making a happy home. One conducive to prosperous child-rearing."

I assured Aunt Lydia that that was the highest consideration for myself and Eleanor. I hoped I was a better liar with the Aunts than I had been with my Eye-guy.

You know what stood out for me, though? Disbelieve me if you want. This one came from the university. A professor of cellular biology no less. A Ph.D., like me. Was she ever tenured? It didn't say. If she called me Dr. Commander, I'd call her Dr. Handmaid. She was probably one of those lesbian feminists who chanted slogans at me from outside my office window. It would be nice to have debates with her.

Then again, this woman had been sent to the colonies. Was a recall. She had spunk, ran over a Guardian after stealing his SUV. Hopefully here at the Lawrence's we could keep that stuff to a minimum.

Of course, none of this line of thought was shared with Aunt Lydia. To her I reiterated, "We all have to do our bit for Gilead." She then made her goodbyes and said, "We'll see how it all works out." Then she was gone. Then I relaxed.

THAT GIRL WAS PACKING

Remember what I wrote about returnees from the colonies? That they have issues?

We'd skipped the Ceremony. Good thing, too. That girl was packing. Other households have daily inventories of things like kitchen knives. Not the Lawrence household, no sirree Bob.

We'd never got to know one another. Ofjoseph #3 turned out to be a handful.

Truly, the only real issue I'd had with the knife attack on Aunt Lydia was that if the old bat had survived, she might turn on our household. She may have had feelings about being attacked here. I mean, I would have. You don't want an Aunt against you. Not any Aunt. Certainly not Lydia.

Cora had locked Ofjoseph into the unused room at the back, the one intended (but never used) as a nursery. The way the rest of the day played out depended on her ability to keep quiet. You know what, let's just call her Emily. Forget the patronymic. I mean that was her name, Dr. Emily Halek, Ph.D. May as well show her some grudging respect - I may need her on my side one day.

I had just come in from the Chancery as Aunt Lydia had arrived. I told her that last night's Ceremony had been fantastic. I lied. There never was one, hence the knife did not end up in my back. During Lydia's visit I was in my office, she'd gone upstairs to check on Ofj… Emily. Then there was a great thumping, like a sack of potatoes falling from a height. I heard Cora calling my name, and found her crouching beside Aunt Lydia, herself lying unconscious at the bottom of our decorative stairs. By the look of her, it had been obvious that she'd fallen down the last half of them. Bodies don't crumple like that otherwise. Then there was the gaping wound on Lydia's back, where Cora was applying pressure.

I was surprised how unpanicked I was. I said to Cora, "What happened?" Cora looked up and said, "It wasn't me!" I snapped at her that I hadn't accused her, but repeated my question. She said, "We have about 5 minutes to call a doctor, or else you may as well not. Call 911. Go: go tell Lydia's people in the van outside that Emily has escaped. Do it fast!"

PANICKED CALL FOR A TRUCK

This one I could not walk away from, not like the time when there was a horde of illegal marthas and handmaids in my basement. I ran out and there was a Guardian and driver in the van. The Guardian radio'ed in the emergency. As he and I rushed back in, I lied, "I think it was our Handmaid who'd attacked Aunt Lydia. But the handmaid is now nowhere to be seen." When we got inside, the Guardian insisted on at least searching the basement, which I allowed. When he was gone, I asked Cora, "Can you get a truck?" She nodded. I added, "One that goes all the way to Canada." She shook her head, no. She then said, "That's not how it works."

I then said, "How soon can it be here?" She glowered at me, continuing with the pressure on Lydia's back. "Commander, that's not how it works. It doesn't come here. I need a secure line to Jezebels. I need it now." The Guardian returned, looking for other places to search. I said to him, "Look, you go outside. Show in the EMT people when they get here." Which is what he did, which is why I am even able to write this account now. The Guardian stayed outside at our door, and the driver came in - gasped when he saw Lydia's prone body. The driver said that the Guardian had just been called to a security situation in the city - a commander's house was on fire. They would need to leave. Which is what happened.

At that, Eleanor came down the stairs. Eleanor said as calmly as could be, "My oh my." Cora grabbed one of Eleanor's hands, pulled it down on top of the towel which had, so far, successfully staunched the bleeding. Cora then stood, told me to follow her and we went into my office.

I called 911. They said that EMT would be here shortly. Cora then mentioned the name of an Eye of God, a name I recognized - but which will not appear here. She said that I needed to call Jezebels and ask for him. She said that as an Eye, that the call would then be secure. Jezebel's was known for its discretion. Unless they'd changed the protocol. Jeez, not even I had known that.

The guy would not be at Jezebels, so such a call would be redirected to Beth in the kitchen. If he was ever later asked if he'd received such a call, he would answer in the affirmative. Cora assured me that this was fool-proof. Either that or we'd find out very quickly.