the checkpoint
The checkpoint is a fortified barrier that marks the boundary between the Commander's compound and the rest of Gilead, serving as a site of surveillance, ritualized passage, and the constant threat of violence. It is the first obstacle Offred and her shopping partner Ofglen encounter on their daily walks, a place where the regime's power is made visible and where small acts of defiance become possible.
Structure and Guardians
The checkpoint consists of a wooden crisscross barrier painted in yellow and black stripes, a red hexagon reading "Stop," and a narrow pedestrian gateway. On either side stand pillboxes manned by Guardians of the Faith, who carry machine guns. Floodlights are attached to telephone poles for emergencies, though Offred cannot see them directly because of the white wings framing her face; she knows they are there. The Guardians are not real soldiers but are used for routine policing and menial functions; they are either stupid, older, disabled, very young, or Eyes incognito. The two Guardians Offred encounters are very young—one with a sparse mustache, one with a blotchy face—and their youth makes them the most dangerous, the most fanatical, the jumpiest with their guns, because they have not yet learned about existence through time.
Ritual of Passage
When Offred and Ofglen reach the barrier, the Guardians salute them, raising three fingers to the rims of their berets as a token of respect for the nature of their service. The women produce their passes from the zippered pockets in their wide sleeves; the passes are inspected and stamped, and one Guardian goes into the right-hand pillbox to punch their numbers into the Compuchek. The process is mechanical and impersonal, but it carries the weight of life and death: last week, a Martha was shot at this very spot when she fumbled in her robe for her pass and the Guardians thought she was hunting for a bomb. Rita and Cora discussed the incident in the kitchen, with Cora saying the Guardians were "doing their job" and Rita angrily retorting, "Nothing safer than dead."
A Moment of Defiance
When returning Offred's pass, the Guardian with the peach-colored mustache bends his head to try to get a look at her face. Offred raises her head a little to help him, and he sees her eyes and she sees his; he blushes. His face is long and mournful, like a sheep's, but with the large full eyes of a dog, spaniel not terrier. His skin is pale and looks unwholesomely tender, like the skin under a scab. Nevertheless, Offred thinks of placing her hand on this exposed face. It is the Guardian who turns away. Offred reflects that this small defiance of rule, so small as to be undetectable, is an event, a reward she holds out for herself like the candy she hoarded as a child. Such moments are possibilities, tiny peepholes.
The Power of the Gaze
As Offred and Ofglen walk away through the pedestrian gate, Offred knows the two young Guardians are watching them. These men are not yet permitted to touch women, so they touch with their eyes instead. Offred moves her hips a little, feeling the full red skirt sway around her, and is ashamed of herself for doing it because none of this is the fault of these men—they are too young. Then she finds she is not ashamed after all; she enjoys the power, the power of a dog bone, passive but there. She hopes they get hard at the sight of her and have to rub themselves against the painted barriers, suffering later at night in their regimented beds, with no outlets now except themselves, and that is a sacrilege. There are no more magazines, no more films, no more substitutes; only Offred and her shadow, walking away from the two men who stand at attention, stiffly, by a roadblock, watching their retreating shapes.
