He drove me to my old school as I’d requested, and talked to the Angels guarding it, and the double gates swung open, and I was driven inside. I told the driver to wait for me: I wouldn’t be long. Then I walked sedately into the school building, which now seemed much smaller than when I’d left it.
It was after hours; I was lucky that Aunt Estée was still there, though again it may not have been luck. She was sitting at her desk in her usual classroom, writing in her notebook. She looked up when I came in.
“Why, Agnes,” she said. “You’re all grown up!”
I hadn’t planned beyond this moment. I wanted to throw myself on the floor in front of her and burst into tears. She’d always been kind to me.
“They’re making me marry a horrible, disgusting ma
n!” I said. “I’ll kill myself first!” Then I really did burst into tears and crumpled onto her desk. It was acting in a way, and probably bad acting, but it was real acting if you see what I mean.
Aunt Estée lifted me up and walked me to a chair. “Sit down, my dear,” she said, “and tell me all about it.”
She asked me the questions she was duty-bound to ask. Had I considered how this marriage might affect my future positively? I told her that I knew about the benefits, but I didn’t care about them because I had no future, not of that kind. What about the other candidates? she asked. Would anyone else be preferable? They were not any better, I said, and anyway Paula had made up her mind about Commander Judd. Was I in earnest about killing myself? I said I was, and that if I didn’t manage it before the wedding I would be sure to do it afterwards, and I would kill Commander Judd the first time he laid a finger on me. I would do it with a knife, I said. I would cut his throat.
I said this with conviction so she would see that I was capable of it, and for that moment I believed I was. I could almost feel the blood as it came pouring out of him. And then my own blood as well. I could almost see it: a haze of red.
Aunt Estée didn’t say I was very wicked, as Aunt Vidala might have done. Instead she said that she understood my distress. “But is there another way you feel you might contribute to the greater good? Have you perhaps had a call?”
I’d forgotten about that part, but now I remembered. “Oh yes,” I said. “Yes I have. I’m called to higher service.”
Aunt Estée gave me a long and searching look. Then she asked me if she could pray silently: she needed guidance about what to do. I watched while she folded her hands, closed her eyes, and bowed her head. I held my breath: Please, God, send her the right message, I prayed in my turn.
Finally she opened her eyes and smiled at me. “I will speak with your parents,” she said. “And with Aunt Lydia.”
“Thank you,” I said. I was beginning to cry again, this time with relief.
“Do you want to come with me?” she said. “To talk with your parents?”
“I can’t,” I said. “They’ll get hold of me and lock me in my room, and then they’ll give me a drug. You know they will.”
She didn’t deny it. “That’s sometimes best,” she said, “but for you, I think not. You can’t stay here at the school, however. I couldn’t stop the Eyes from entering, and removing you, and changing your mind. You don’t want the Eyes doing that. You’d better come with me.”
She must have evaluated Paula, and judged that she’d be capable of anything. I didn’t know then how Aunt Estée had come by this information about Paula, but I know now. The Aunts had their methods, and their informants: no walls were solid for them, no doors locked.
We went outside and she told my driver to let his Commander’s Wife know that she was sorry for having kept Agnes Jemima so long, and she hoped that no undue worry had been caused. Also he should say that she, Aunt Estée, was about to pay Commander Kyle’s Wife a visit, to decide an important matter.
“What about her?” he said, meaning me.
Aunt Estée said she would take responsibility for me, so he need not concern himself. He gave me a reproachful look—actually a filthy look: he knew that I’d tricked him, and that he was now in trouble. But he got into the car and drove out through the gates. The Angels were Vidala School Angels: they obeyed Aunt Estée.
Then Aunt Estée used her pager to call her own Guardian driver, and we got into her car. “I’m taking you to a safe place,” she said. “You must stay there while I talk to your parents. When we get to the safe place, you must promise me you’ll eat something. Promise?”
“I won’t be hungry,” I said. I was still holding back tears.
“You will be, once you settle in,” she said. “A glass of warm milk, at any rate.” She took my hand and squeezed it. “All will be well,” she said. “All manner of things will be well.” Then she let go of my hand and patted it lightly.
This was comforting to me as far as it went, but I was on the verge of crying again. Kindness sometimes has that effect. “How?” I said. “How can it ever be well?”
“I don’t know,” said Aunt Estée. “But it will be. I have faith.” She sighed. “Having faith is hard work sometimes.”
38
The sun was setting. The springtime air was filled with the golden haze that can often appear at that time of year: dust, or pollen. The leaves of the trees had that glossy sheen, so fresh and newly unfolded; as if they were gifts, each one, unwrapping itself, shaken out for the first time. As if God had just made them, Aunt Estée used to tell us during Nature Appreciation, conjuring up a picture of God waving his hand over the dead-looking winter trees, causing them to sprout and unfurl. Every leaf unique, Aunt Estée would add, just like you! It was a beautiful thought.
Aunt Estée and I were driven through the golden streets. Would I ever see these houses, these trees, these sidewalks again? Empty sidewalks, quiet streets. Lights were coming on in the houses; inside there must have been happy people, people who knew where they belonged. Already I felt like an outcast; but I’d cast myself out, so I had no right to feel sorry for myself.
“Where are we going?” I asked Aunt Estée.