The Martha [A Handmaid's Tale]

The Martha

The Martha thanked whatever God might have been listening every morning as she began her chores.

She thanked Him for delivering her a son. She thanked Him for giving her husband a quick, nearly painless death when the family was separated. She thanked Him for the somehow incorrect lab results that proclaimed her infertile. She thanked Him for landing her a position in a Commander's household, one that didn't require being his wife or personal whore.

Diana declined her head as the newest handmaid passed. The woman had dark bags under her eyes, and she was far too thin - and yet she had been in the household a mere week. Soon, Diana knew, the unfortunate girl would be impregnated. Diana had only been around for three years, but she knew the routine. This household already had two beautiful baby boys under another handmaid.

That was another thing she thanked God for. Making the babies boys rather than girls. Their lives would be easy. They wouldn't have to fear infertility or hate members of their own gender because of their child-bearing abilities.

Diana bent, placing her bucket of frothy water on the floor next to her and dipping the rag in it so she could begin cleaning the windows. She felt a shadow fall over her and looked up to find the handmaid watching her, having doubled back from her pointless rounds around the property.

"Hello," Diana said as cheerily as possible. She had made a vow to herself long ago - her life was a fairytale compared to the handmaids'; she could at least make their existences a little more pleasant.

"Why were you so lucky as to be infertile?" the handmaid hissed.

Taken aback, Diana stuttered, fishing for an answer that would suffice until the handmaid sighed and, tears gathering in her eyes, turned and hurried down the hall.

Shaken, Diana threw herself fully into her chores. Infertile indeed. She tried not to think of her son far away, awaiting her in Canada. She had been stealing things from around the house and hiding them under her bed for the last three years. Cutlery, maps, clothing, matches...within the year, she would be able to escape.

And yet that poor woman would be trapped here, forced to bear child after child until she grew too old or killed herself.

Did she have a child, too, Diana wondered? Or had she always been compliant with the government and their rules? She assumed not, from the woman's angry, sleep-deprived state.

Shaking her head mournfully, the Martha continued her chores, resolving to put the handmaid out of her mind and focus on getting to her son. He would be fourteen by now.

This is not a fair world we live in, she thought somberly, but there is nothing we can do about it. Best to just keep our heads down and do our duties.

And soon, sure enough, two children became three.

Diana, the Martha, was not around to see the fourth.