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.

Florea Florentina

Margaret Atwood
 

Povestirea cameristei – Capitolul V
 

Merg pe strada cu sosia mea. Desi nu mai suntem in complexul Comandantului, sunt si aici case mari. In fata uneia dintre ele, un paznic tunde peluza. Peluzele sunt ingrijite, fatadele caselor sunt elegante, bine intretinute; arata ca in pozele pe care le gaseai inainte in paginile revistelor despre case, gradini si decoratiuni interioare. La fel de putini oameni, aceeasi atmosfera adormita. Strada este aproape ca un muzeu, sau ca o strada dintr-o macheta a unui orasel, construita pentru a infatisa cum traiau oamenii odinioara. Ca si in acele poze, muzee sau machete de orasele, nu e nici un copil.
Aceasta este inima Galaadului, unde razboiul nu patrunde decat prin televizor. Nu suntem siguri unde sunt limitele; variaza in functie de atacuri si contraatacuri, dar acesta este centrul, unde nimic nu misca. Republica Galaad, spunea Matusa Lydia, nu cunoaste limite. Galaad este parte din noi.
Odinioara au locuit aici doctori, avocati, profesori universitari. Acum nu mai sunt avocati, iar universitatea este inchisa.
Eu si cu Luke obisnuiam uneori sa ne plimbam pe strazi. Planuiam sa cumparam o casa ca acestea, o casa mare, veche pe care sa o reparam. Am avea o gradina, cu leagane pentru Copii. Vom avea copii. Desi stiam ca era putin probabil sa ne permitem asta vreodata, aveam un subiect de conversatie, un joc de Duminica. O asemenea libertate imi pare acum de nepretuit.
Dam coltul pe o strada principala mai aglomerata. Masinile trec, majoritatea sunt negre, iar unele gri sau maronii. Sunt si alte femei cu cosuri impletite, unele in rosu, altele in verdele sumbru al Marthelor, unele in rochii cu dungi rosii, albastre si verzi, ieftine si stramte, semn ca erau nevestele unor barbati mai saraci. Erau numite econoneveste. Aceste femei nu sunt impartite pe diferite activitati. Trebuie sa faca totul; daca pot. Uneori mai vezi cate o femeie in negru din cap pana-n picioare, o vaduva. Erau mai multe, dar par sa se mai imputineze. Pe sotiile Comandantilor nu le vezi mergand pe trotuar. Doar in masini.
Trotuarele de aici sunt de ciment. Ca un copil, ocolesc crapaturile. Imi amintesc cum paseam pe aceste trotuare odinioara, si cu ce eram incaltata. Uneori cu pantofi sport, cu pernute pe talpi si cu gauri pentru aerisire, si cu stele din material fluorescent care reflecta lumina in intuneric. Desi nu alerg niciodata noaptea; iar ziua doar de-a lungul drumurilor foarte circulate.
Femeile nu erau protejate pe atunci.
Imi amintesc regulile, reguli care nu erau niciodata rostite, dar pe care le stia orice femeie: nu deschide usa unui strain chiar daca spune ca e de la politie. Pune-l sa iti strecoare actul de identitate pe sub usa. Nu te opri sa ajuti pe cineva care pretinde ca a ramas in drum cu masina. Mergi inainte si lasa portierele incuiate. Daca fluiera cineva, nu intoarce capul. Nu te duce singura noaptea intr-o spalatorie cu autoservire.