Chapter Seventeen

Chapter 181,319 wordsCompleted

Offred returns to her room after dark, slips out of her clothes, puts on a nightgown, and retrieves a pat of butter she had hidden in the toe of her right shoe after dinner. She rubs the butter over her face and hands, noting that hand lotion is forbidden by the Wives and that the buttering ritual was taught at the Red Centre as a way to keep skin soft and maintain a hope of future touch. She lies on her single bed, unable to sleep, and stares at the plaster “eye” on the ceiling. She gets up, goes to the window, watches a thin, obscured moon through the searchlight‑lit sky, and longs for Luke.

Quietly she steps out onto the hallway runner, moves barefoot across the floor, and imagines herself on a forest floor. She considers stealing a knife from the kitchen but decides against it. She reaches the sitting‑room, leaves the door slightly ajar, and notes the smell of old perfume and dust. Light filters in through cracked drapes, revealing mirrors, lamp bases, vases, and a sofa. She decides to take something that won’t be missed and settles on a withered daffodil from a dried arrangement, intending to hide it under the mattress for the next Handmaid.

As she is handling the flowers, a footstep behind her signals another presence. The door clicks shut, and a figure steps into the dim room: Nick, the Guardian who works on the family car. He asks, “What are you doing in here?” Offred does not answer. They stand in a tense, illegal proximity, touch each other’s arms, and share a brief, wordless kiss before pulling away. Nick tells her, “He told me to,” and then says the Commander wants to see her in his office. He whispers that this will happen “tomorrow.” The encounter is charged with fear, desire, and the risk of being caught. After the brief conversation, Nick steps back, and Offred, shaken, finds the door, turns the knob, and opens it, returning to her room as the night continues.