Atwood utilizes nature imagery for multiple purposes. The passage of time is obvious by what is in bloom—tulips and daffodils of spring give place to the irises, peonies, pinks, and carnations of May. Serena Joy, kneeling in her garden, snips off seedpods, which, if left on the stem, sap the strength of the next crop of blossoms. Later, the fragrance of overripe flowers signals the end of their season. These metaphors of dismemberment, procreative power, and decay reflect the quandary of Offred, who must soon conceive or suffer dire consequences, possibly as an Unwoman in the Colonies. Amid full-plumed willows, spring turf, and birdcalls, Offred ponders goddesses and desire and fears for the safety of her melon-like ripeness, which caused a barrier guard a moment’s giddiness.
The clandestine evening meetings with the Commander take on a peculiarly sensual atmosphere. Like a voyeur, he watches Offred page through a copy of a high-fashion magazine and observes her as she smoothes her hands and face with lotion. These non-sexual intimacies worsen the burden of the Ceremony, which suddenly seems “indecorous, an embarrassing breach of propriety.” The Commander, too, loses his objectivity and nearly caresses Offred during their ritual copulation, an unseemly act that could cause her deportation to the Colonies and certain death from radioactive debris. In a moment of ambivalence toward human warmth in a cold, passionless state, Offred acknowledges that becoming the Commander’s mistress has advanced her to a status that is more than “a useable body.” She concludes, “To him I am not merely empty.”
