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.

Toader Alina

Margaret Atwood
 

Povestea servitoarei – Capitolul V
 

Merg pe strada, insotita. Desi nu mai suntem in preajma cladirilor Comandantului , si aici sunt case mari. In fata uneia dintre ele un gardian tunde gazonul. Peluzele sunt curate, fatadele sunt placute, intr-o conditie buna; sunt ca acele frumoase ilustratii ce obisnuiau sa le tipareasca in revistele despre case si gradini si cele cu decoratiuni interioare. Aici este aceiasi absenta a oamenilor, acelasi aer adormit. Strada este asemanatoare unui muzeu, sau o strada dintr-un oras model construit pentru a arata oamenilor modul in care acestia obisnuiau sa traiasca. Ca si in acele ilustratii, acele muzee, acele orase model, nu exista copii.
Aceasta este inima Galaad-lui, unde razboiul nu poate patrunde decat prin intermediul televizorului. Unde sunt granitele, nu suntem siguri, ele variaza, in functie de atacuri si contra-atacuri; dar acesta este centrul, unde nimic nu se misca. Republica Galaad, spunea matusa Lydia, nu cunoaste vreo limita. Galaad este in tine.
Aici au locuit odata doctori, avocati, profesori universitari. Nu mai sunt nici avocati, iar universitatea este inchisa.
Eu si Luke obisnuiam sa ne plimbam impreuna, uneori, de-alungul acestor strazi. Obisnuiam sa vorbim despre cumpararea unei case ca una dintre acestea, o casa mare si veche, si despre renovarea ei. Am fi avut o gradina, leagane pentru Copii. Am fi avut copii. Chiar daca stiam ca nu era prea probabil ca vreodata sa ne-o putem permite, era ceva despre care vorbeam, un joc de duminica. Atata libertate pare acum aproape neimportanta.
Dam coltul spre o strada principala, unde traficul este mai aglomerat. Masinile trec, majoritatea negre, unele gri si maro. Sunt alte femei cu cosuri, unele in rosu, unele in verdele inchis al Marthelor, unele in rochii in dungi, rosii si albastre si verzi si ieftine si scurte, care evidentiaza ca sunt femeile barbatilor mai saraci. Sunt numite sotii econoame. Aceste femei nu sunt impartite pe functii. Ele trebuie sa faca orice; asta daca pot. Uneori vezi cate o femeie, imbracata de sus pana jos in negru, o vaduva. Oisnuiau sa fie mai multe, dar se pare ca numarul lor de diminueaza. Nu vezi sotiile Comandantilor pe trotuar. Doar in masini.
Aici trotuarele sunt de ciment. Ca un copil, evit sa pasesc pe crapaturi. Imi amintesc pasii mei pe aceste trotuare, din acel timp, si ceea ce obisnuiam sa incalt. Uneori erau pantofi pentru alergat cu talpi cu pernite si gauri pentru aerisire, si stele din material fosforescent ce reflectau lumina in intuneric. Cu toate acestea nu alergam niciodata nopatea; iar in timpul zilei doar pe langa drumurile mai frecventate.
Femeile nu erau protejate in acele vremuri.
Imi amintesc regulile, reguli ce nu au fost niciodata pronuntate, dar pe care fiecare femeie le stia. Nu deschide usa unui strain, chiar daca spune ca este politia. Fa-l sa iti dea pe sub usa legitimatia sa. Nu te opri pe strada pentru a ajuta un automobilist ce pretinde ca are probleme. Tine incuietorile blocate si continua sa mergi. Daca cineva fluiera, nu te intoarce. Nu te duce intr-o spalatorie de rufe automata de una singura, noaptea.