“It’s all right, you’re safe now,” said Aunt Dove. “Be strong.” Which was the kind of thing the refugee women from Gilead were told at SanctuCare, except that they were going in the other direction.
* * *
—
Aunt Beatrice and Aunt Dove walked very close to me, one on either side, so nobody would bother me, they said.
/> “That young man sold you,” said Aunt Dove with contempt.
“He did?” I asked. Garth hadn’t told me he’d intended to do that.
“All I had to do was ask. That’s how much he valued you. You’re lucky he sold you to us and not some sex ring,” said Aunt Beatrice. “He wanted a lot of money, but I got him down. In the end, he took half.”
“Filthy infidel,” said Aunt Dove.
“He said you were a virgin, which would make your price higher,” said Aunt Beatrice. “But that’s not what you told us, is it?”
I thought fast. “I wanted you to feel sorry for me,” I whispered, “so you would take me with you.”
The two of them glanced at each other, across me. “We understand,” said Aunt Dove. “But from now on you must tell the truth.”
I nodded, and said I would.
* * *
—
They took me back to the condo where they were staying. I wondered whether it was the same condo that the dead Pearl Girl had been found in. But my plan right then was to say as little as possible; I didn’t want to blow it. I also didn’t want to be found attached to a doorknob.
The condo was very modern. It had two bathrooms, each with a bathtub and a shower, and huge glass windows, and a big balcony with real trees growing on it in concrete planters. I soon found out that the door to the balcony was locked.
I was dying to get into the shower: I reeked, of my own layers of dirty skin flakes and sweat and feet in old socks, and the stinky mud under the bridge, and the frying fat smell of the fast-food places. The condo was so clean and filled with citrus air freshener that I thought my smell must really stand out.
When Aunt Beatrice asked if I wanted a shower, I nodded quickly. But I should be careful, said Aunt Dove, because of my arm: I shouldn’t get it wet because the scabs might come off. I must admit I was touched by their concern, phony though it was: they didn’t want to take a festering mess to Gilead instead of a Pearl.
When I came out of the shower, wrapped up in a white fluffy towel, my old clothes were gone—they were so filthy there was no point in even washing them, said Aunt Beatrice—and they’d laid out a silvery grey dress just like theirs.
“I’m supposed to wear this?” I said. “But I’m not a Pearl Girl. I thought the Pearl Girls were you.”
“The ones who gather the Pearls and the Pearls who are gathered are all Pearls,” said Aunt Dove. “You are a precious Pearl. A Pearl of Great Price.”
“That’s why we’ve gone to such risks for you,” said Aunt Beatrice. “We have so many enemies here. But don’t worry, Jade. We’ll keep you safe.”
In any case, she said, even though I wasn’t an official Pearl Girl, I would need to wear the dress in order to get out of Canada because the Canadian authorities were clamping down on the export of underage converts. They were viewing it as human trafficking, which was quite wrong of them, she added.
Then Aunt Dove reminded her that she should not use the word export as girls were not commodities; and Aunt Beatrice apologized and said she had meant to say “the facilitating of cross-border movement.” And they both smiled.
“I’m not underage,” I said. “I’m sixteen.”
“Do you have any identification?” Aunt Beatrice asked. I shook my head no.
“We didn’t think so,” said Aunt Dove. “So we will arrange that for you.”
“But to avoid any problems, you’ll have papers identifying you as Aunt Dove,” said Aunt Beatrice. “The Canadians know she came in, so when you cross the border they’ll think you are her.”
“But I’m a lot younger,” I said. “I don’t look like her.”
“Your papers will have your picture,” said Aunt Beatrice. The real Aunt Dove, she said, would stay in Canada, and leave with the next girl who was gathered, taking the name of an incoming Pearl Girl. They were used to switching around like that.