The Unbaby Railroad

Hush little baby; don't say a word.

In your dreams, fly free as a bird.

Hush little baby; don't you cry.

Another sad handmaid's lullaby.

In the Republic of Gilead, you would be an Unbaby. And if they catch me, I'll be an Unwoman. But I want to make one thing perfectly clear: You were never, ever Unloved.

I've loved you from the moment you opened your one blue eye. In place of the other eye, only soft, smooth skin had formed, but nevermind that. Your gaze surrounded me like calming ocean waves from The Time Before. Your right hand was misshapen, with only a thumb and forefinger. All the same, as you gripped my finger, I smiled for the first time in years.

Five days old, and already you're a criminal, just for being alive. I shake my head every time the thought refreshes. If they were to get ahold of you, they would-- Oh, forget it. No sense in detailing their barbarism. Suffice it to say, I've witnessed the near-end of the world through radiation, mutation, war, bloodshed, and the thought of what they do to Unbabies still chills me to the core.

"Unbabies are born to die," Aunt Sally had explained to the handmaids, her pale face holding its usual lack of expression, rigid neck jutting from the starched collar of an ugly dress. "Better to end their suffering."

Now, as I cradle you in my lap, I know. This was a lie. The regime of Gilead is like a scared little boy, a coward frightened by change. Unbabies represent the Unknown, a challenge unforeseen in Scripture.

Look at you, sweet baby. You have two arms and two legs. You are plump and rosy pink, and you have a mouth for eating... but that mouth, it also cries. And we cannot risk being heard. We've been hiding in the same place for too long.

My perfect one, in whom nobody sees perfection but me, I must put you on the Unbaby Railroad. No need for fear, though. The railroad is on our side.

We were brought here, to this safehouse on the outskirts of town, by the Underground Femaleroad. The Eyes of Gilead are everywhere, watching. A pregnant fugitive wouldn't make it far.

Now, sadly, we must go our separate ways, but when we meet again, it will be in freedom.

You will travel inside a warm, safe chamber designed to look like a refrigerator, in a vehicle painted to look like a food truck. The chamber is padded, and it's set up to pump oxygen. They tell me fifteen Unbabies have made it across the border this way.

Why, then, can I not stop crying?

I, too, have a disguise, a way out. I'll see you on the other side. This is our escape. I love you.

Hush little baby; don't say a word.

Two black sheep run away from the herd.

Hush little baby; don't you pout.

The Unbaby Railroad will carry you out.