Margaret Atwood - The Handmaid's Tale - Chapter 11 lyrics

Yesterday morning I went to the doctor
Was taken, by a Guardian
One of those with the red arm
Bands who are in charge of
Such things we rode
In a red car, him in the front
Me in the back no twin went with
Me on these occasions I'm solitaire
I'm taken to the doctor's once
A month, for tests: urine
Hormones, cancer smear, blood test
The same as before
Except that now it's obligatory
The doctor's office is in
A modern office building
We ridе up in the elevator, silеntly
The Guardian facing me in the
Black-mirror wall of the elevator
I can see the back of his
Head at the office it'self, i
Go in he wait's, outside in the
Hall, with the other Guardians
On one of the chairs placed
There for that purpose
Inside the waiting room there are
Other women, three of them, in
Red: this doctor is a specialist
Covertly we regard each other
Sizing up each other's bellies:
Is anyone lucky? The
Nurse records our names and the numbers from
Our passes on the Compudoc
To see if we are who
We are supposed to be he's six feet tall
About forty
A diagonal scar across his cheek he sit's
Typing, his hands too big for the keyboard
Still wearing his pistol in
The shoulder holster
When I'm called I go through
The doorway into the
Inner room it's white, featureless
Like the outer one, except for the
Folding screen, red cloth stretched
On a frame, a gold Eye
Painted on it, with a snake-twined
Sword upright beneath it
Like a sort of handle the
Snakes and the sword are
Bit's of broken symbolism left over
From the time before
After I've filled the small bottle left
Ready for me in the
Little washroom, I take off my
Clothes, behind the screen
And leave them folded on the
Chair when I'm naked I
Lie down on the examining table
On the sheet of chilly crackling
Disposable paper i pull the
Second sheet, the cloth one, up over my
Body at neck level there's another sheet
Suspended from the ceiling it intersects me
So that the doctor will
Never see my face he deals with a torso only
When I'm arranged I reach my hand out
Fumble for the small lever at the
Right side of the table, pull it
Back somewhere else a bell rings
Unheard by me after a minute the
Door opens, footsteps come in
There is breathing he isn't supposed
To speak to me except
When it's absolutely necessary but
This doctor is talkative
"How are we getting along?" he says
Some tic of speech from
The other time the sheet is
Lifted from my skin, a
Draft pimples me a cold finger, rubber-clad
And jellied, slides into me
I am poked and prodded the
Finger retreats, enters otherwise, withdraws
"Nothing wrong with you, " the doctor says
As if to himself "Any pain
Honey?" He calls me honey "No, " I say
My breasts are fingered in their
Turn, a search for ripeness
Rot the breathing comes nearer i smell old
Smoke, aftershave, tobacco dust on
Hair then the voice
Very soft, close to my head: that's him
Bulging the sheet
"I could help you, " he says whispers
"What?" I say "Shh, " he says "I could
Help you i've helped others"
"Help me?" I say
My voice as low as his "How?" Does
He know something, has he seen
Luke, has he found, can he bring back?
"How do you think?" he says, still barely
Breathing it is that his hand
Sliding up my leg? He's taken off
The glove "The door's locked
No one will come in they'll
Never know it isn't his"
He lifts the sheet the lower part
Of his face is covered
By the white gauze mask, regulation
Two brown eyes, a nose
A head with brown hair on it
His hand is between my
Legs "Most of those old guys
Can't make it anymore
" he says "Or they're sterile"
I almost gasp: he's said
A forbidden word sterile
There is no such thing as a sterile
Man anymore
Not officially there are only women who
Are fruitful and women who are barren
That's the law "Lots of women do it, " he
Goes on "You want a baby, don't you?"
"Yes, " I say it's true, and I don't
Ask why, because I know give me children
Or else I die there's more
Than one meaning to it
"You're soft, " he says "It's time
Today or tomorrow would do it, why waste it?
It'd only take a minute, honey" What he
Called his wife, once maybe still does
But really it's a generic term
We are all honey
I hesitate he's offering himself
To me, his services, at some risk to himself
"I hate to see what they put you
Through, " he murmurs it's genuine
Genuine sympathy and yet he's enjoying this
Sympathy and all his eyes are moist
With compassion, his hand is moving on me
Nervously and with impatience
"It's too dangerous
" I say "No i can't" The penalty
Is death but they have to
Catch you in the act, with two witnesses what
Are the odds, is the room bugged
Who's waiting just outside the door?
His hand stops "Think about it
" he says "I've seen your
Chart you don't have a lot of time left but
It's your life"
"Thank you, " I say i must leave
The impression that I'm not offended
That I'm open to suggestion he takes
His hand away, lazily almost
Lingeringly, this is not the last word
As far as he's concerned
He could fake the tests, report
Me for cancer, for infertility
Have me shipped off to
The Colonies, with the Unwomen none
Of this has been said, but the knowledge
Of his power hangs nevertheless in the
Air as he pats my thigh
Withdrew himself behind the hanging sheet
"Next month, " he says
I put on my clothes again, behind the screen
My hands are shaking why am I frightened?
I've crossed no boundaries
I've given no trust, taken no risk
All is safe
It's the choice that terrifies me a way out
A salvation