Marthas
The Marthas are the domestic servants of Gilead, a class of women defined by their dull green dresses, which resemble a surgeon's gown from the time before, and by the absence of the white wings and veil that mark the Handmaids. Their faces are visible, and their sleeves may be rolled up for work, but they are no less constrained by the regime's laws. They perform the essential labor of the household—cooking, cleaning, laundry—and are overseen by the Wives, who control the keys to the cupboards where matches and other dangerous items are locked away. The Marthas are not permitted to fraternize with the Handmaids; Rita, the Martha in the Commander's house, makes this prohibition clear by her closed face and pressed lips, and by the way she refuses to let Offred help with the bread. The Marthas know things, however, and they talk among themselves, passing unofficial news from house to house. They listen at doors and see things even with their eyes averted, and Offred has caught whiffs of their private conversations: "Stillborn, it was," or "Stabbed her with a knitting needle, right in the belly." This underground gossip network is one of the few channels of information available to the Handmaids, and the Marthas are its gatekeepers.
Daily Life and Labor
The Marthas' work is relentless and physical. Rita makes bread, kneading and shaping the loaves with her brown arms; she chops carrots with a sharp, bright knife that Offred covets. Cora dusts with lemon oil, runs the bath for the Handmaid, and carries the breakfast tray. They are up before the bell, and their days are filled with the repetitive tasks that keep the household running: shelling peas, tenderizing chicken, washing dishes. The kitchen is their domain, a space where the smell of yeast and the sight of a freshly baked loaf on a cooling rack evoke a nostalgia for the time before, when Offred herself was a mother and had her own kitchen. But the kitchen is not Rita's any more than Offred's room is hers; it is a workspace under the Wife's authority, and the Marthas resent the intrusion of the Ceremony, which forces them to leave their chores and stand behind the kneeling Handmaid in the sitting room. Rita scowls at Offred as if the waste of her time is Offred's fault, and the tension between them is palpable. Yet within the kitchen, the Marthas also find small pleasures: Cora smiles when she hears about a Birth Day, and Rita, despite her grumpiness, offers Offred an ice cube on a hot day, a rare gesture of generosity.
Relationships and Hierarchy
The Marthas occupy a middle rung in the household hierarchy, below the Wives and above the Handmaids, but their status is precarious. They are not allowed to read or write, and they are subject to the same prohibitions as other women: no alcohol, no cigarettes, no unsupervised contact with men. They are also vulnerable to violence; a Martha was shot at a checkpoint when she fumbled for her pass, and the incident was discussed in the kitchen with a mixture of fear and resignation. "Doing their job," Cora said. "Keeping us safe." "Nothing safer than dead," Rita replied angrily. The Marthas envy the Handmaids their daily walks, which offer a brief escape from the house, but they also disapprove of the Handmaids' role. Rita has said she would not "debase herself like that," and she treats Offred with a surly distance, as if the red dress is catching, like a disease. Cora, younger and more hopeful, depends on Offred to provide the baby that will bring a Birth Day to the household, with its guests, food, and presents. She wants a little child to spoil in the kitchen, to iron clothes for, to slip cookies to when no one is watching. This hope makes her more pleasant to Offred, but it also places a burden on the Handmaid, who feels unworthy of such trust.
Knowledge and Resistance
Despite their subordinate position, the Marthas possess a kind of power: they know things. They listen at doors, they see what the Wives and Commanders try to hide, and they pass this information from house to house through a word-of-mouth telegraph. Offred has heard them talking about a Handmaid who was stabbed with a knitting needle, about a woman who used toilet cleaner to poison her husband, about the stillborn babies and the Unbabies. This gossip is not idle; it is a form of resistance, a way of maintaining a shared understanding of the truth in a regime that controls all official information. The Marthas also have their own small acts of defiance. Rita, when asked for a match, unlocks the cupboard and hands one over with a muttered complaint, but she does not report the request. Cora lies about a broken breakfast tray to protect Offred from questions. And when Serena Joy needs a photograph of Offred's daughter, it is a Martha who procures it, evidence of a network that operates beneath the surface of obedience. The Marthas are not revolutionaries, but they are not entirely compliant either; they navigate the system with a pragmatic cunning that allows them to survive and, occasionally, to help others.
Thematic Significance
The Marthas embody the everyday compromises and small solidarities that make life under totalitarianism bearable. They are neither heroes nor villains, but ordinary women trying to get by in an extraordinary situation. Their envy, their grudges, their moments of kindness, and their stubborn adherence to routine all serve to humanize the world of Gilead, reminding the reader that even in the most oppressive systems, people find ways to connect, to share information, and to maintain a sense of self. The Marthas' gossip is a form of storytelling, a way of making sense of the chaos and cruelty around them, and it mirrors Offred's own narrative project: to tell her story, to bear witness, to believe that someone is listening. In the end, the Marthas are not just servants; they are the keepers of the household's secrets, the silent witnesses to the regime's crimes, and the fragile links between the isolated women of Gilead.
