Chapter 2: Never Again is Now
Just a single bed with a single pillow, but it was comfortable. Janine pulled the duvet up to her chin and luxuriated for a few more moments, eyes closed. She felt safe. Safe and warm. The couple who'd taken her in the previous night—the first econopeople Janine had ever met—seemed nice so far. Ordinary middle-class people with ordinary American speech, not like the pretentious, ultra-religious Commanders, Wives, and Aunts that she'd become accustomed to. It was jarring after six years to hear plain English, without a single praise be.
Time to get up, Janine told herself firmly. The sun was out, and she could hear her hosts puttering around the apartment. Still in the same white nightgown she'd been arrested in, Janine stumbled into the narrow hallway, then the bathroom, and finally entered their sunny kitchen. The couple was making sandwiches at the counter, standing right next each other in intimate silence. She cleared her throat to warn them before speaking. "Blessed morning," she announced brightly.
"Hi," said the woman warily. Her dark eyes looked hooded.
The man, more polite than his wife, smiled. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"
"Very, very well. Thank you." Janine glanced around, looking for the time. They had an old-fashioned stove—no digital clock there. No microwave, either. Gilead considered them 'unsuitable.' Women should cook from scratch. "What time is it?"
"Past noon."
"Really?" Handmaids did not sleep in, nor sleep well, in Gilead. She hadn't slept this long since…Janine couldn't actually remember when. Since before Caleb was born.
The female host was unsurprised. "All the women like you, the ones that come to us, they all sleep like the dead on the first night." She glanced at Janine's eartag. "You're a handmaid?"
Janine nodded. "Yes, I am." She amended quickly, "I was. Til yesterday, I guess."
The older woman winced. "I'm sorry for everything you've gone through. I can't even imagine your pain. Uh, my name's Maya." She pointed at the man. Forties, graying hair, kind eyes. "This is my husband, Jonathan. Jon."
"I'm Susie." Nick had suggested she use an alias, since she'd just escaped Guardian custody. Handmaids were valuable property; they'd come looking.
"Nice to meet you, Susie. Would you like a sandwich? We've got tuna salad. Or grilled cheese."
Janine shrugged easily. "They both sound good. Whatever you're making for yourselves."
I talk too damned much, Janine chided herself. It was one of her worst faults. Even in school, she'd been considered a chatterbox. She could see a long line of exasperated teacher ghosts, telling her to please be quiet. When she first arrived at the Red Center, her smart mouth had immediately gotten her into trouble. The loss of her eye was the punishment that day. It had taken weeks before she dared speak up again. But she'd always trusted handmaids. Nowadays, as a mentor to the new girls in the Red Center, Janine had taken more of a leadership role, and her verbosity had returned.
She'd chatted all through lunch with Jon and Maya, telling them about her life since Gilead's founding, even mentioning her handmaid friends and her trip to the Colonies, as well as the son and daughter that had been taken away from her. No names, no specifics, but still…too much information.
Her hosts had listened intently but had offered almost nothing about themselves other than their ages (44 and 42) and their jobs. Jon had worked for the Philadelphia mayor's office before the Revolution, trying to make the city eco-friendlier. Maya had been a nurse. After the fall of the US, they'd left Philadelphia and driven straight up I-95, finally landing in the small town of Lexington, Massachusetts, where they had friends. Now Jon worked in a dry cleaner, while Maya was a janitor in the local hospital. Econos, both men and women, were required to work menial or manual jobs. If they had a child, or became informants for the state (by turning Janine in, for instance), their employment status would improve. Not before. But Jon and Maya weren't lucky enough to create a healthy baby, and they weren't snitches. Their status therefore remained low, but their heads were held high.
After lunch, Janine returned to her guest room to change into the wardrobe of an econowoman. In the light of day, she realized her room was—or was supposed to be—a nursery. The walls were painted a calm pale blue. Teddy bears sat lonely on a shelf in the closet where baby clothes hung. She stared at the empty crib in the corner of the room. Above the crib, a mobile with brightly-colored birds rotated gently as the door opened, moving the air.
"We've had two stillborns. Both boys." Maya's tone was flat. "Along with a couple of miscarriages, starting on the day after the Revolution. I blame Gilead for that one—I was so shocked by what happened in Washington, I lost the baby. But we keep trying."
It's not like you have any choice about trying, Janine thought. No birth control in this country. "So," she said instead, "you guys were married before Gilead? You're, like, an actual couple?"
"Yeah, we've been married for ten years. Almost eleven. Econopeople usually get to keep the marriages they had before Gilead." Maya slammed the right side of the closet shut, hiding the baby clothes from view. Then she opened the left door, removing a grey outfit for Janine. "This should fit you," she said briskly. "Jon and I have got to go on our afternoon walk now. Sunday afternoons, everyone goes walking or hiking when the weather's nice. They'd notice if we weren't outside. We'll be back by five or so. Stay away from the windows, obviously. Help yourself to anything in the fridge."
"May I please take a shower?" The Red Center had communal showers with lukewarm water. Commanders' houses had bathtubs for the handmaids, but no privacy there either—a Martha had to watch, to make sure the girl didn't drown herself. Janine was hoping for an actual shower, maybe even hot water.
"Yeah, of course. Knock yourself out. The green towel's yours."
Janine grinned happily and resisted the impulse to say praise be. For six years, she'd stayed (relatively) sane by focusing on the small things, the tiny details that made life bearable. A new dress. A hot shower. Tuna fish. No men pawing her.
"Help myself to anything in the fridge," Janine murmured aloud to herself, just to break the unbearable silence of the empty apartment. She poked around in the refrigerator. Chicken thighs wrapped in brown paper; she recognized the picture well. Vegetables: red peppers, scallions, carrots. Garlic, onion, ginger. Some spices on the countertop, all in identical little shakers. "How the fuck are you supposed to know what's what, without labels?" she grumbled. No soy sauce, but she could improvise. "If we've got rice, it's stir-fry day." She checked the cabinets, finding a few canned fruits and vegetables, condensed milk, a pound of dried pasta, and… "A-ha, there you are, Mr. Basmati! Namaste!" Ten pounds of long grain rice in a canister.
She was eager to cook a surprise dinner, a token of her appreciation to Jon and Maya. Besides, no Martha had let her anywhere near a kitchen in six years, and she actually missed cooking. By the time the couple returned from their prescribed hike, the kitchen smelled like Janine's old house in Boston and she was enjoying herself thoroughly. If she only had music to dance to, or "The Bachelor" on a laptop, she could forget she was living in a murderous theocracy.
"What the hell happened here?" Maya said, dismayed. The counter was covered by vegetable peelings, rice grains littered on the floor. A happy chaos.
"I…" Janine faltered, realizing the kitchen was sort of a mess. "I made you a chicken stir-fry." She hunched her shoulders and moved her hands in front of her body, making herself as small as possible. It was a pose she'd often taken in Gilead.
"With the entire week's rations?" Maya's voice had risen in pitch and volume as she surveyed the scene. "How rich do you think we are? This isn't a Commander's house, where we get more food than we can handle."
That fact had honestly not occurred to Janine. As a handmaid, she went shopping every single day, procuring as much food as the household wanted. The wife always had more ration cards than needed. Janine never thought about the financial situation of econofamilies. "I'm sorry," she squeaked. "You said to help yourself…I didn't really think-"
"Obviously."
"Maya," Jon argued gently, "she didn't know. Besides, it smells delicious. Nobody's ever cooked for us before—what a nice treat." He gave his wife a pointed look. She sighed, and without further commentary set the table.
Janine ignored the politeness as she sat. "Well, it's a stir fry. We can stretch it out to two or even three meals by just adding more rice. And I'm not very hungry." She took a serving of white rice and a spoonful of vegetables. "They stuff us like Thanksgiving turkeys at the Red Center."
Maya flattened her lips, eying her guest's skinny frame. "No, Susie, please eat. I'm sorry."
She shook her head, watching the couple take their portions and start eating. "We're not going to say grace?" All Commander households prayed before meals, even before a snack.
Jon and Maya exchanged another look.
"I mean, we don't have to," Janine backtracked. "It's your house. Whatever you want."
"We will if you want to," Maya told her.
"No, whatever. Fuck it," she decided. Fuck Gilead traditional bullshit.
Unexpectedly, that made Maya laugh. "I didn't think handmaids cursed."
"Oh, yeah, we curse. At least with each other, when the Guardians and Aunts aren't listening in. We have a lot to curse about."
"I can imagine."
"Once I told a teenage Guardian to suck my dick."
Jon choked on his food. "How'd he take that?"
"Oh, not too well. He hit me in the face with his rifle butt. It was really satisfying until that point, though."
Maya took another slow bite before attempting an apology. "This really is good, Susie. Thanks for making us dinner. It's been a minute since that happened. And you're right, we can eat leftovers tomorrow, just by adding more rice."
The next day was Monday, so Jon and Maya left for their jobs along with everyone else in the apartment building, silent identically-clad automatons walking to the train station. Everyone had become accustomed to the ever-present Guardians waving them on, weapons held at low-ready. Even the sight of civilians hanged from wooden posts didn't make anyone flinch. Jon snuck a glance at the two bodies displayed this morning, checking to see if he knew them. He didn't. Gender traitors, not rebels, according to the scrawled pictures on their chests.
Janine, meanwhile, took another hot shower and dressed in her econo greys. She'd told Maya she'd 'earn her keep' by taking over the housework, so she proceeded to wash the breakfast dishes and make the beds before deciding to dust the whole house. No more chemical aerosols, of course; she mixed vinegar and water in a bucket like Maya had suggested.
In the master bedroom, she dusted a particularly lovely dresser and matching night-table. Cherry wood, with tiny mother-of-pearl decorations. Something Janine's grandparents might have had. Although she knew she shouldn't be snooping, she risked a look in the night table drawer. Jon and Maya seemed like the type to hide books. Maybe she could find something to read?
No books, but what she did find made Janine gasp. "Holy shit," she murmured. The drawer was full of weapons: hand grenades, two small machine pistols, a coil of wire, a switchblade, boxes of ammunition. Not exactly dry cleaner's normal goods. In the back of the closet, she found four longer weapons—military-style, she didn't know what type, with formidable-looking magazines and scopes. There was also a cotton laundry bag filled with clothes, some black Guardian wear, some military camouflage. One camo jacket with a colorful patch and writing in an unfamiliar alphabet. "What country is this from?" she wondered aloud. Another jacket was adorned with an American flag on one sleeve, a bald eagle the other. Airborne, the eagle said. She read the name on the chest: Ridley. Jon's last name, or a friend's? Maybe the uniforms belonged to some dead strangers and Mayday had stolen them. Is this what her hosts did in their free time? Janine had so many questions but knew better than to ask. The less she knew, the better.
She carefully put the rifles and uniforms back in their hiding place before returning to dusting.
She had been staying in the apartment for almost a month before the chance to go outside finally presented itself. Just in time: Janine was beginning to go a little stir-crazy. Even as a handmaid, she'd been allowed to take a daily walk. But here, despite her nondescript clothing, it was impossible. Too risky, Maya insisted. She claimed everyone knew every face in the neighborhood, and she was certain Janine would be recognized as a stranger. The eye patch alone would certainly draw attention. Econopeople didn't often get mutilated.
On Friday nights, the couple splurged a little on dinner. Tonight's menu was a beef brisket, asparagus, and a fresh loaf of bread baked by Janine, who was finally getting good at breadmaking after several disastrous attempts. They had to eat in near-darkness; the electricity was out again. It got cut off a few evenings each month, ostensibly to divert power to the 'vital resources' like hospitals and Chancelleries, although Jon said it was more likely due to sabotage.
Whatever the reason, the lack of electric lights didn't bother them too much this evening. Jon lit a fire in the living room, brushing playfully against his wife when he returned to the dining area. "Getting kind of romantic in here," he said suggestively.
Maya smiled back at him, caressing his cheek with a finger. "Nothing to do but go to bed early, if the power's out." Janine busied herself with setting the table and folding the napkins. She hated disturbing their cherished private time, but at the same time, it had been so long since she'd seen a normal, loving couple together, and she found it hugely comforting.
Maya brought out candlesticks in pretty silver holders for the dinner table. As she lit the candles, her face was illuminated, and Janine saw her lips move in a silent prayer.
"Hey, are you Jewish?" Janine blurted out.
Both of her hosts stared at her mutely, their affectionate looks suddenly replaced by nervousness. There was only one legal religion in Gilead, and Judaism was definitely not it.
"I just ask," the handmaid added hastily, "because I had a Jewish friend growing up, my best friend, really, and her mom used to light candles on Friday nights just like that, standing over them, saying a little prayer. Whenever I had a sleepover there on the weekend, Lucy tried to teach me the Hebrew. All I remember was baruch anah…yeah, that's about it."
The couple exchanged a smile despite themselves; their guest's enthusiasm was too cute. "Baruch atah, with a T," Maya corrected gently. "But close enough."
Janine grinned. "Aha, I knew it! It's almost reflexive, right? You can't light Shabbat candles without the prayer." Maya shrugged and nodded at that, so she went on. "Well, finish the prayers. Since I made you a challah, I mean, more or less, although it's not very eggy." She looked critically at her bread. "I'll braid it next week, and add more eggs if we have enough." She put down her fork, folded her hands on the table. "Baruch…" she prompted them, aware that she was probably committing some kind of felony.
"You don't mind?" Jon asked softly. "The authorities would call it blasphemous."
"Oh, please. Gilead is the least godly place on this planet," Janine said. "C'mon, it'll remind me of dinners at Lucy's house. Good times."
"Okay, then." Jon nodded at his wife. They proceeded to bless the candles, the wine (just apple juice, but close enough), and the bread, before finishing a leisurely dinner. Encouraged by this new bit of openness, Janine decided to bring up the guns in the closet, and asked Jon about their purpose.
Jon chewed thoughtfully. "Have you ever heard of Miklat, Susie?"
"No."
"It's Hebrew for 'refuge' or 'sanctuary.' It's an offshoot of the Israeli army, the IDF, designed to help Jewish Americans fight back. Miklat smuggles weapons from Israel to Canada and Mexico, then into Gilead. Weapons in, Jews out."
"So it's part of Mayday, then?"
"Not formally, no, though we work with them sometimes. You know, different groups have different goals. Mayday basically just collects and exchanges information. They're spies, who buy information by trading drugs and other illegal stuff, or who get into positions of power and act as double-agents. The Underground Femaleroad—Maya and I work with them, they're the ones who brought you to us—they move people from safehouse to safehouse until they get abroad. The Martha Network is kind of a combination of those two groups. Miklat, though, its aim isn't to escape, although they do smuggle some people out: Jewish children, the elderly, and so on. But our main goal is to stay here and fight Gilead from within."
"You're terrorists," Janine concluded, thinking of the rebels she'd met in Chicago. Miklat sounded like the Nighthawks to her.
"Freedom fighters," he corrected.
"What's the difference?"
"We don't target civilians," Maya chimed in. "Only Gilead's military men and infrastructure. Like, we blow up highways and bridges so they can't move their equipment to the front, or we sabotage munitions factories so they can't make more guns to kill our people. We're trying to take America back."
"And sometimes, most times, we end up killing people. Not bystanders. People who deserve it," Jon added. "Mayday doesn't believe in murder, at least not the members we know. But they have no problem telling us which Commanders and Aunts are particularly savage, knowing we'll get our snipers to go after them. A couple of the snipers are Israelis, who then trained some of us."
"Can you believe that," Maya said. "They snuck their way into Gilead, just to help us win a war."
"That's nuts." Who in their right mind would volunteer to move to Gilead, Janine thought.
"I know. But a lot of them had American friends and relatives, so they're in it for revenge. Gilead killed every Jew they could find, you know. We were betrayed by our next-door neighbors in Philadelphia; that's why we took off and moved here. Changed our names, hid our backgrounds."
"Why would your neighbors rat you out?"
"Oh, the usual. Power or money. I think the man got promoted from econo to Angel, just for informing the Eyes that there were Jews around."
"That's…fucked up," Janine muttered. She thought briefly of her childhood friend Lucy: where was she now? What had happened to her family? She shook her head. She'd decided a long time ago that thinking of the past would make her bonkers. She changed the subject. "So, what's your next mission?"
"Well," Jon said, "the Guardians have been sending a lot of trains recently to the northern front in Vermont and Maine. Soldiers, supplies, portable missile launchers, tanks. We're gonna help us our brothers and sisters up there by blowing up some train tracks."
"But if the train stops, won't the Guardians just run after you?"
"They'll try, sure. But once the train derails or stops, we attack, shoot the soldiers, and take their weapons."
"What about those Guardians who aren't really bad people? They're just innocent kids, drafted at sixteen or eighteen. And they're Americans, or they used to be. They don't deserve to die. I mean, they should be in high school."
"If we don't kill those sixteen-year-olds, they'll kill us. They're brainwashed to think we're evil, Susie, and they're not innocents."
"Some of them are."
"Every death is a tragedy," Maya cut in. "Absolutely. But Gilead started this civil war. We didn't start it. The day Gilead collapses, we'll be at peace. And after we win, we'll start the hard work of deprogramming the youth and rebuilding some kind of trust between our citizens. After we win. Until then, we fight."
Janine stared at them with her round blue eye, a doe's gentle eye. "I believe in fighting. Just not killing teenagers."
"How are you still so sweet?" Maya asked wonderingly. "After six years in this hell, all you've been through?"
She shrugged. "God has a plan for me. He's kept me safe all this time."
"God doesn't keep people safe," she said bitterly. "But He gives us strong bodies and sharp minds, and free will, so we can keep ourselves safe."
"You don't believe God protects us, Maya?"
"How could you possibly believe that, after seeing how many millions of good people have died here in Gilead? In wars, in natural disasters, in Auschwitz? Or do you think they all deserved it somehow? That they weren't good enough for God?"
"No, of course they didn't deserve it." Janine was suddenly confused with her own beliefs. "And I don't think I'm more worthy than anyone else.…" She trailed off.
"Maya, let her have her faith," Jon suggested to his wife. "This is just what we believe, Susie. Whatever works for you, that's great."
She came to an abrupt decision. "Can I come with you, the next time you do a mission?" Janine wasn't a soldier, but she trusted Jon and Maya, and wouldn't mind getting a little therapy by blowing some shit up. Train tracks, not people. Besides, she was desperate for fresh air.
Two weeks later, in the dead of night, all three of them donned the black jackets, pants, and hats from the closet, and got picked up by a young man driving a Commander's black Mercedes.
Janine inspected the pistol Jon had given her from his night table cache. Jericho 941, the barrel said. Israel Military Industries. It was a fairly heavy gun for its size, he'd told her, but with very low recoil, so it was a good beginner's pistol. Safety off, point and shoot.
In contrast, he and Maya had wicked-looking long guns and a backpack full of hand grenades and extra magazines. Jon had draped an ammunition belt around his wife's neck before getting into the car. "I got you a necklace," he joked.
"It's beautiful, love."
"No diamonds, but…"
"That's okay," Maya assured him. "I'm proud of it."
Nobody talked in the car, and after a while, the silence was making Janine uncomfortable. "Anyone seen any good movies lately?" she quipped, just to say something.
"Is she gonna be a liability?" the driver huffed humorlessly to Jon, who was riding in the passenger seat.
"No, she'll be fine," Jon murmured. He always backed her.
Janine, however, had really had it with misogynists. "Hey, is your micropenis gonna be a liability?" she said hotly. The driver glared at her through the rearview mirror.
Next to her, Maya laughed loudly, the first genuine laugh Janine had ever heard from her host. She reached over and took Janine's hand, squeezed it. "Everything's going to be okay," she whispered gently.
Two hours later, Janine looked around in anguish. Several train cars were in flames. Her cheeks felt sunburned by the superheated wind, while embers crackled around her. Corpses of Guardians and rebels lay scattered on the ground, riddled with bullet holes, their mingled blood soaking the forest floor. Miklat had won the battle, if one could call significant losses a win. Gleeful survivors were going from body to body, removing weapons, holsters, ammo, boots, even dog tags. Other rebels brought handfuls of munitions out of the remaining train cars and loaded them into their waiting SUVs.
Janine dragged Maya's mangled body over to Jon's, placing her alongside her husband. They looked peaceful in death, side by side. Janine moved his right hand so that it covered Maya's left hand, and leaned his head against her shoulder. He liked to nuzzle his wife's ear or neck, Janine remembered with a pang of grief. She repositioned Jon, letting his lips touch Maya's ear. On a whim, she removed their matching wedding bands and put them carefully in her pocket. Maybe, if she ever got to Canada, she could look up their relatives and give the rings to a family member. She knew there were probably much more important things to be worrying about at the moment, but she just couldn't stand the thought of some scavenger coming along and stealing those little tokens of their love and commitment.
A middle-aged woman tapped Janine on the shoulder. "Hey, are you Susie?"
"Uh-huh."
"Okay, I'm your next safehouse. You're coming with me." She glanced at the two bodies. "You knew them?"
"Yeah," Janine whispered.
"Sorry about that. But let's roll."
Janine stood up and lifted her chin. "Okay."