This was, originally a task for school, but I love it so much that I had to put it up, even if it is a little unpolished. It's supposed to written in a style similar to Atwood's and I'm not sure how well that worked out, but hopefully it worked well! Also, it is written from Nick's POV, and is set during Offred's last day at the Commander's home, so spoilers abound. It also won't make much, if any, sense if you haven't read the book. It doesn't stand alone very well.
The Eye of God
As I do every morning, I go to Frederick's study and knock on the closed door, making sure that my uniform is neat and tidy. His voice beckons me in, and I enter, making sure to close the door behind me, as he asks. I avoid staring in longing at the books that litter the walls.
"I won't be going out today, Nick," he says.
I say nothing in return, as a Guardian should. But we both know that I am not a Guardian. He will make me wait before he lets me go. It is a small price to pay for the things I achieve from here.
"You may go, Nick," he says. "Don't forget to polish the car."
I nod and turn to leave. It is a simple arrangement, what I have with the Commander. I always polish the car without the order, but whenever he tells me to, I skew my cap, or take it off, and wait for Offred to see me polishing the car. He has his entertainment, and in return for not reporting him, he gives me things such as cigarettes and doesn't ask what I do in my time. Not that he needs to know.
As I wait for the morning to pass, I write. First to the Eyes. They demand a report. And then to the others, who depend on information. The bells begin to toll as I leave the house, and I wonder for a brief moment how much longer it will be before they stop. One step at a time. Every step I take is a step closer, but some days it seems so far away.
It is a plain building that I finally enter, but one that serves its purpose, in more ways than one. The Eye at the desk of the room I enter is familiar. When we see each other, I know. They used to call us double agents. Before, the thought would have made me excited. Now I am determined, and glad that they still don't know. I doubt they even suspect.
"The weather is good today," he says. I have an opening. I use it.
"But sometimes I wish for May days," I say. I pass him an envelope with the Eye upon it. He will know that it is my official report.
"May days are always welcome," he says. He waits for the last envelope, the one that will never reach the other Eyes.
I hand it to him, and he smiles. I wonder what it is like to smile.
"Thank you. Good luck," he says. Words that are rarely spoken, even amongst ourselves.
"See you," I say. As always, it is a relief to say them.
By the time I return, it is afternoon. I have not eaten lunch, but it doesn't matter. I retrieve the chamois, and my cigarettes and lighter. I smoke and I polish for a while before removing my cap and running my hand through my hair, like we used to do all the time. I replace my cap, but at an angle, something that would shock some, I know. I roll up my sleeves messily, silently sending a smug grin their way. As I continue to polish the car, I drift.
My lot has improved recently. Most nights she comes to me, even if I've convinced myself that she will come no more. That she has had enough of the risk. Last week, she claimed that she was pregnant.
It's happened, she said. I feel it has. A couple of weeks and I'll be certain.
Neither of us could know for sure, and even if it was true, it wouldn't matter. The child would not be mine, nor hers. She knew as well as I did.
He'll love you to death, I said.
We knew that that was the truth. He probably suspected that he was sterile, but he would never say it. He knew that it was the Handmaid who was barren.
So will she, I said.
That, too, was the truth. She would have child to dote upon. It would fulfil her and give her life some purpose.
But it's yours, she said. It will be yours, really. I want it to be.
I didn't reply and the statement hung between us. I didn't tell say that I wanted it to mine, too. It was the first time, but not the last, that I considered contacting them and getting my child out.
The cigarette is too short now, and I stamp it out. I glance up to see if she's coming, but she still isn't back. I shrug to myself and continue. I whistle a jaunty tune from before. I can imagine the other Eyes staring at me, shock in their faces. I whistle a little louder.
Offred comes back from her shopping, but she doesn't see me. She looks distracted. It is only after Serena calls out to her that I notice her presence. I keep whistling, as if I haven't noticed anything. As a Guardian, it is not my business. I listen, polishing the same spot again. When I glance over and notice the blue cloak she holds behind her, I have to force myself to keep whistling. She storms off, as well as she can. June bends to pick up the cloak. I stop whistling. June moves away and I know that she hasn't seen me.
I casually stop polishing and return to my room above the garage. I drop the chamois on whatever surface I can find. I turn to uncover my stash. Not the one under the bed, but the one beside it, hidden inside the wall. I hesitate for a moment. Serena will not punish her too badly. She, too, wants a child. June will be safe, most likely. But I will not take the risk. All's fair, as they used to say. I use the radio.
"This is Nick," I say. "Extraction needed."
And there's that. From the first time I started read Handmaid's Tale, I found that Nick was a very interesting character. So little is known about him, and this was my way of trying to find out a little more.