MARGARET ATWOOD

The Handmaid’s Tale
 

Doubled, I walk the street. Though we are no longer in the Commanders' compound, there are large houses here also. In front of one of them a Guardian is mowing the lawn. The lawns are tidy, the facades are gracious, in good repair; they're like the beautiful pictures they used to print in the magazines about homes and gardens and interior decoration. There is the same absence of people, the same air of being asleep. The street is almost like a museum, or a street in a model town constructed to show the way people used to live. As in those pictures, those museums, those model towns, there are no children. This is the heart of Gilead, where the war cannot intrude except on television. Where the edges are we aren't sure, they vary, according to the attacks and counterattacks; but this is the center, where nothing moves. The Republic of Gilead, said Aunt Lydia, knows no bounds. Gilead is within you.Doctors lived here once, lawyers, university professors. There are no lawyers anymore, and the university is closed. Luke and I used to walk together, sometimes, along these streets. We used to talk about buying a house like one of these, an old big house, fixing it up. We would have a garden, swings for the Children. We would have children. Although we knew it wasn't too likely we could ever afford it, it was something to talk about, a game for Sundays. Such freedom now seems almost weightless. We turn the corner onto a main street, where there's more traffic. Cars go by, black most of them, some gray and brown. There are other women with baskets, some in red, some in the dull green of the Marthas, some in the striped dresses, red and blue and green and cheap and skimpy, that mark the women of the poorer men. Econowives, they're called. These women are not divided into functions. They have to do everything; if they can. Sometimes there is a woman all in black, a widow. There used to be more of them, but they seem to be diminishing. You don't see the Commanders' Wives on the sidewalks. Only in cars.The sidewalks here are cement. Like a child, I avoid stepping on the cracks. I'm remembering my feet on these sidewalks, in the time before, and what I used to wear on them. Sometimes it was shoes for running, with cushioned soles and breathing holes, and stars of fluorescent fabric that reflected light in the darkness. Though I never ran at night; and in the daytime, only beside well-frequented roads.Women were not protected then.I remember the rules, rules that were never spelled out but that every woman knew: Don't open your door to a stranger, even if he says he is the police. Make him slide his ID under the door. Don't stop on the road to help a motorist pretending to be in trouble. Keep the locks on and keep going. If anyone whistles, don't turn to look. Don't go into a laundromat, by yourself, at night.

Fratiman Isabella

Margaret Atwood
 

Povestea slujnicei – Capitolul V
 

Secondata, merg pe strada. Desi nu mai suntem in sectorul Comandantilor, si aici sunt case mari. In fata uneia dintre ele, un Gardian tunde gazonul. Pajistile sunt ingrijite, fatadele sunt gratioase, in buna stare; sunt la fel ca fotografiile frumoase pe care obisnuiau sa le publice in revistele despre case si gradini si decoratiuni interioare. Este aceeasi absenta a oamenilor, aceeasi impresie de somnolenta. Strada este aproape ca un muzeu, sau o strada dintr-un oras model pentru a arata felul in care obisnuiau oamenii sa traiasca. Ca in fotografiile acelea, in muzeele acelea, in orasele acelea model, nu sunt copii.
Aceasta este inima Galaadului, unde razboiul nu poate deranja decat prin intermediul televiziunii. Nu suntem siguri unde sunt marginile, ele variaza, in functie de atacuri si de contraatacuri ; dar aceasta este centrul, unde nimic nu misca. Republica Galaad, a spus matusa Lydia, nu cunoaste limite. Galaad este in tine.
Doctori au locuit aici odata, avocati, profesori universitari. Nu mai sunt avocati, iar universitatea este inchisa.
Eu si Luke ne plimbam impreuna pe strazile acestea cateodata. Obisnuiam sa vorbim despre cumpararea unei case ca aceasta, o casa mare si veche, pe care sa o aranjam. Am fi avut o gradina, leagane pentru Copii. Am fi avut copii. Desi stiam ca era putin probabil sa ne-o putem permite vreodata, era doar ceva despre care sa vorbim, un joc de duminica. O asemenea libertate pare acum aproape intangibila.
Dam coltul pe o strada principala, unde este mai mult trafic. Masinile trec pe langa noi, negre cele mai multe dintre ele, unele gri si maro. Sunt si alte femei cu cosuri, unele in rosu, altele in verdele plictisitor al Marthelor, unele in rochii dungate, rosii, albastre si verzi si ieftine si insuficiente, care marcheaza femeile barbatilor mai saraci. Econosotii se numesc. Aceste femei nu sunt impartite pe functii. Trebuie sa faca totul ; daca pot. Uneori este o femeie toata in negru, o vaduva. Inainte erau mai multe dar acum par sa dispara. Nu le vezi pe sotiile Comandantilor pe trotuare. Numai in masini.
Trotuarele aici sunt din ciment. Ca un copil, evit sa pasesc pe crapaturi. Imi amintesc picioarele mele pe trotuarele acestea, pe timpurile dinainte, si ce obisnuiam sa port pe ele. Uneori erau pantofi pentru alergat, cu talpi speciale si gauri care lasau piciorul sa respire, si stele din material fosforescent ce reflectau lumina in intuneric. Desi nu alergam niciodata noaptea ; si ziua, numai pe drumuri frecventate.
Femeile nu erau protejate pe atunci.
Imi amintesc regulile, reguli care nu erau niciodata spuse, dar pe care fiecare femeie le stia : Nu deschide usa unui strain, chiar daca spune ca e de la politie. Fa-l sa-si strecoare legitimatia pe sub usa. Nu te opri pe drum sa ajunti un sofer ce pretinde ca are probleme. Tine usile incuiate is mergi mai departe. Daca cineva fluiera, nu te intoarce sa te uiti. Nu intra intr-o spalatorie , singura, noaptea.