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.

Ciocan Elena Stefania

Margaret Atwood
 

Povestirea servitoarei – Capitolul V
 

Insotita, pasesc pe strada. Desi nu ne mai aflam in cladirea comandantilor, sunt si aici case cuprinzatoare, spatioase. In fata uneia dintre ele un paznic tunde gazonul. Peluzele au un aspect ingrijit, fatadele cladirilor sunt “gratioase”, in buna conditie; arata precum fotografiile acelea placute pe care obisnuiau sa le publice in revistele despre case, gradini si amenajari interioare. Aceeasi lipsa a oamenilor, aceeasi atmosfera amortita, adormita. Strada pare a fi aproape un muzeu, sau o strada intr-un oras-macheta pentru a arata modul in care oamenii obisnuiau sa traiasca. La fel ca in acele poze, acele muzee, acele orase-model, nu sunt copiii.
Acesta este nucleul orasului Galaad, unde razboiul nu poate patrunde decat prin cale televizata. Unde se afla periferia nu stim sigur, ea variaza, potrivit atacurilor si contraatacurilor; dar acesta este centrul orasului, unde nimic nu misca. Republica Galaad, spunea matusa Lydia, nu cunoaste limite. Galaad se afla in interiorul tau.
Medici au trait aici candva, avocati, profesori universitari. Acum nu mai sunt avocati, iar universitatea este inchisa.
Eu si Luke obisnuiam sa umblam impreuna, uneori, de-a lungul acestor strazi. Obisnuiam sa visam ca ne vom cumpara o casa precum oricare dintre acestea, o casa mare invechita pe care sa o reparam. Urma sa avem o gradina cu leagane pentru copii. Aveam de gand sa avem copii. Desi stiam ca era prea putin probabil sa ne putem permite vreodata toate acestea, era totusi un subiect de discutie, un “joc” de duminica. Asemenea libertate pare acum imponderabila.
Dam coltul pentru a patrunde pe o strada principala, unde traficul este mai intens. Masinile trec pe langa noi, majoritatea negre, unele gri si maro. Sunt si alte femei cu cosuri, unele in rosu, unele in verdele mat apartinand clanului Martelor, altele in rochii vargate, rosii, albastre, verzi, ieftine si ponosite care marcau femeile barbatilor mai saraci. Sotii economice, asa sunt denumite. Aceste femei nu sunt impartite pe functii. Ele trebuie sa faca totul, asta daca pot. Cateodata apare cate o femeie imbracata pe de-a intregul in negru, o vaduva. Obisnuiau sa fie mai multe, dar se pare ca numarul lor este in descrestere. Pe sotiile comandantilor nu le poti vedea pe trotuare. Doar in masini.
Trotuarele aici sunt cimentate. Precum un copil, evit sa pasesc pe crapaturi. Imi amintesc de picioarele mele pasind pe aceste trotuare, in trecut, si cu ce obisnuiam sa fiu incaltata. Cateodata purtam pantofi pentru jogging, cu amortizoare pentru talpa, gauri menite sa lase piciorul sa respire si stelute fosforescente ce luminau in intuneric. Cu toate acestea, nu obisnuiam sa alerg niciodata noapte, doar in timpul zilei si doar pe strazile frecventate.
Femeile nu erau protejate pe atunci.
Imi amintesc regulile, reguli care nu erau niciodata rostite dar pe care fiecare femeie le stia: Nu deschide usa unui strain, chiar daca iti spune ca este de la politie. Pune-l sa strecoare legitimatia pe sub usa. Nu te opri pe strada sa ajuti un calator ce pretinde a fi in incurcatura. Pastreaza privirea dreapta si vezi-ti de drum. Daca cineva fluiera, nu te intoarce sa te uiti. Nu intra intr-o spalatorie, de una singura, noaptea.