The Giver, Gathering Blue, Messenger, Son

Jonas cheered, and put his homework folder down. He had been about to leave for school. School was less important to him now; and before much more time passed, his formal schooling would end. But still, for Twelves, though they had begun their adult training, there were the endless lists of rules to be memorised and the newest technology to be mastered.

He wished his parents, sister and Gabe a happy day, and rode down the bicycle path, looking for Asher.

He had not taken the pills, now, for four weeks. The Stirrings had returned, and he felt a little guilty and embarrassed about the pleasurable dreams that came to him as he slept. But he knew he couldn’t go back to the world of no feelings that he had lived in so long.

And his new, heightened feelings permeated a greater realm than simply his sleep. Though he knew that his failure to take the pills accounted for some of it, he thought that the feelings came also from the memories. Now he could see all of the colours; and he could keep them, too, so that the trees and grass and bushes stayed green in his vision. Gabriel’s rosy cheeks stayed pink, even when he slept. And apples were always, always red.

Now, through the memories, he had seen oceans and mountain lakes and streams that gurgled through woods; and now he saw the familiar wide river beside the path differently. He saw all of the light and colour and history it contained and carried in its slow-moving water; and he knew that there was an Elsewhere from which it came, and an Elsewhere to which it was going.

On this unexpected, casual holiday he felt happy, as he always had on holidays; but with a deeper happiness than ever before. Thinking, as he always did, about precision of language, Jonas realised that it was a new depth of feelings that he was experiencing. Somehow they were not at all the same as the feelings that every evening, in every dwelling, every citizen analysed with endless talk.

“I felt angry because someone broke the play area rules,” Lily had said once, making a fist with her small hand to indicate her fury. Her family – Jonas among them – had talked about the possible reasons for rule-breaking, and the need for understanding and patience, until Lily’s fist had relaxed and her anger was gone.

But Lily had not felt anger, Jonas realised now. Shallow impatience and exasperation, that was all Lily had felt. He knew that with certainty because now he knew what anger was. Now he had, in the memories, experienced injustice and cruelty, and he had reacted with rage that welled up so passionately inside him that the thought of discussing it calmly at the evening meal was unthinkable.

“I felt sad today,” he had heard his mother say, and they had comforted her.

But now Jonas had experienced real sadness. He had felt grief. He knew that there was no quick comfort for emotions like those.

These were deeper and they did not need to be told. They were felt.

Today, he felt happiness.

“Asher!” He spied his friend’s bicycle leaning against a tree at the edge of the playing field. Nearby, other bikes were strewn about on the ground. On a holiday the usual rules of order could be disregarded.

He skidded to a stop and dropped his own bike beside the others. “Hey, Ash!” he shouted, looking around. There seemed to be no one in the play area. “Where are you?”

“Psssheeewwww!” A child’s voice, coming from behind a nearby bush, made the sound. “Pow! Pow! Pow!”

A female Eleven named Tanya staggered forward from where she had been hiding. Dramatically she clutched her stomach and stumbled about in a zig-zag pattern, groaning. “You got me!” she called, and fell to the ground, grinning.

“Blam!”

Jonas, standing on the side of the playing field, recognised Asher’s voice. He saw his friend, aiming an imaginary weapon in his hand, dart from behind one tree to another. “Blam! You’re in my line of ambush, Jonas! Watch out!”

Jonas stepped back. He moved behind Asher’s bike and knelt so that he was out of sight. It was a game he had often played with the other children, a game of good guys and bad guys, a harmless pastime that used up their contained energy and ended only when they all lay posed in freakish postures on the ground.

He had never recognised it before as a game of war.

“Attack!” The shout came from behind the small storehouse where play equipment was kept. Three children dashed forward, their imaginary weapons in firing position.

From the opposite side of the field came an opposing shout: “Counter-attack!” From their hiding places a horde of children – Jonas recognised Fiona in the group – emerged, running in a crouched position, firing across the field. Several of them stopped, grabbed their own shoulders and chests with exaggerated gestures, and pretended to be hit. They dropped to the ground and lay suppressing giggles.

Feelings surged within Jonas. He found himself walking forward into the field.

“You’re hit, Jonas!” Asher yelled from behind the tree. “Pow! You’re hit again!”

Jonas stood alone in the centre of the field. Several of the children raised their heads and looked at him uneasily. The attacking armies slowed, emerged from their crouched positions, and watched to see what he was doing.

In his mind, Jonas saw again the face of the boy who had lain dying on a field and had begged him for water. He had a sudden choking feeling, as if it were difficult to breathe.

One of the children raised an imaginary rifle and made an attempt to destroy him with a firing noise. “Pssheeew!” Then they were all silent, standing awkwardly, and the only sound was the sound of Jonas’s shuddering breaths. He was struggling not to cry.

Gradually, when nothing happened, nothing changed, the children looked at each other nervously and went away. He heard the sounds as they righted their bicycles and began to ride down the path that led from the field.

Only Asher and Fiona remained.

“What’s wrong, Jonas? It was only a game,” Fiona said.

“You ruined it,” Asher said in an irritated voice.

“Don’t play it any more,” Jonas pleaded.

“I’m the one who’s training for Assistant Recreation Director,” Asher pointed out angrily. “Games aren’t your area of expertness.”

“Expertise,” Jonas corrected him automatically.

“Whatever. You can’t say what we play, even if you are going to be the new Receiver.” Asher looked warily at him. “I apologise for not paying you the respect you deserve,” he mumbled.

“Asher,” Jonas said. He was trying to speak carefully, and with kindness, to say exactly what he wanted to say. “You had no way of knowing this. I didn’t know it myself until recently. But it’s a cruel game. In the past, there have—”

“I said I apologise, Jonas.”

Jonas sighed. It was no use. Of course Asher couldn’t understand. “I accept your apology, Asher,” he said wearily.

“Do you want to go for a ride along the river, Jonas?” Fiona asked, biting her lip with nervousness.

Jonas looked at her. She was so lovely. For a fleeting instant he thought he would like nothing better than to ride peacefully along the river path, laughing and talking with his gentle female friend. But he knew that such times had been taken from him now. He shook his head. After a moment his two friends turned and went to their bikes. He watched as they rode away.

Jonas trudged to the bench beside the Storehouse and sat down, overwhelmed with feelings of loss. His childhood, his friendships, his carefree sense of security – all of these things seemed to be slipping away. With his new, heightened feelings, he was overwhelmed by sadness at the way the others had laughed and shouted, playing at war. But he knew that they could not understand why, without the memories. He felt such love for Asher and for Fiona. But they could not feel it back, without the memories. And he could not give them those. Jonas knew with certainty that he could change nothing.

Back in their dwelling, that evening, Lily chattered merrily about the wonderful holiday she had had, playing with her friends, having her midday meal out of doors, and (she confessed) sneaking a very short try on her father’s bicycle.

“I can’t wait till I get my very own bicycle next month. Father’s is too big for me. I fell,” she explained matter-of-factly. “Good thing Gabe wasn’t in the child seat!”

“A very good thing,” Mother agreed, frowning at the idea of it. Gabriel waved his arms at the mention of himself. He had begun to walk just the week before. The first steps of a newchild were always the occasion for celebration at the Nurturing Centre, Father said, but also for the introduction of a discipline wand. Now Father brought the slender instrument home with him each night, in case Gabriel misbehaved.

But he was a happy and easygoing toddler. Now he moved unsteadily across the room, laughing. “Gay!” he chirped. “Gay!” It was the way he said his own name.

Jonas brightened. It had been a depressing day for him, after such a bright start. But he set his glum thoughts aside. He thought about starting to teach Lily to ride so that she could speed off proudly after her Ceremony of Nine, which would be coming soon. It was hard to believe that it was almost December again, that almost a year had passed since he had become a Twelve.

He smiled as he watched the newchild plant one small foot carefully before the other, grinning with glee at his own steps as he tried them out.

“I want to get to sleep early tonight,” Father said. “Tomorrow’s a busy day for me. The twins are being born tomorrow, and the test results show that they’re identical.”

“One for here, one for Elsewhere,” Lily chanted. “One for here, one for Else—”

“Do you actually take it Elsewhere, Father?” Jonas asked.

“No, I just have to make the selection. I weigh them, hand the larger over to a Nurturer who’s standing by, waiting, and then I get the smaller one all cleaned up and comfy. Then I perform a small Ceremony of Release and …” He glanced down, grinning at Gabriel. “Then I wave bye-bye,” he said, in the special sweet voice he used when he spoke to the newchild. He waved his hand in the familiar gesture.

Gabriel giggled and waved bye-bye back to him.

“And somebody else comes to get him? Somebody from Elsewhere?”

“That’s right, Jonas-bonus.”

Jonas rolled his eyes in embarrassment that his father had used the silly pet name.

Lily was deep in thought. “What if they give the little twin a name Elsewhere, a name like, oh, maybe Jonathan? And here, in our community, at his naming, the twin that we kept here is given the name Jonathan, and then there would be two children with the same name, and they would look exactly the same, and someday, maybe when they were a Six, one group of Sixes would go to visit another community on a bus, and there in the other community, in the other group of Sixes, would be a Jonathan who was exactly the same as the other Jonathan, and then maybe they would get mixed up and take the wrong Jonathan home, and maybe his parents wouldn’t notice, and then—”

She paused for breath.

“Lily,” Mother said, “I have a wonderful idea. Maybe when you become a Twelve, they’ll give you the Assignment of Storyteller! I don’t think we’ve had a Storyteller in the community for a long time. But if I were on the Committee, I would definitely choose you for that job!”

Lily grinned. “I have a better idea for one more story,” she announced. “What if actually we were all twins and didn’t know it, and so Elsewhere there would be another Lily, and another Jonas, and another Father, and another Asher, and another Chief Elder, and another—”

Father groaned. “Lily,” he said. “It’s bedtime.”

“GIVERR,” JONAS ASKED the next afternoon, “do you ever think about release?”

“Do you mean my own release, or just the general topic of release?”

“Both, I guess. I apologi— I mean I should have been more precise. But I don’t know exactly what I meant.”

“Sit back up. No need to lie down while we’re talking.” Jonas, who had already been stretched out on the bed when the question came to his mind, sat back up.

“I guess I do think about it occasionally,” the Giver said. “I think about my own release when I’m in an awful lot of pain. I wish I could put in a request for it, sometimes. But I’m not permitted to do that until the new Receiver is trained.”

“Me,” Jonas said in a dejected voice. He was not looking forward to the end of the training, when he would become the new Receiver. It was clear to him what a terribly difficult and lonely life it was, despite the honour.

“I can’t request release either,” Jonas pointed out. “It was in my rules.”

The Giver laughed harshly. “I know that. They hammered out those rules after the failure ten years ago.”

Jonas had heard again and again now, reference to the previous failure. But he still did not know what had happened ten years before. “Giver,” he said, “tell me what happened. Please.”

The Giver shrugged. “On the surface, it was quite simple. A Receiver-to-be was selected, the way you were. The selection went smoothly enough. The Ceremony was held, and the selection was made. The crowd cheered, as they did for you. The new Receiver was puzzled and a little frightened, as you were.”

“My parents told me it was a female.”

The Giver nodded.

Jonas thought of his favourite female, Fiona, and shivered. He wouldn’t want his gentle friend to suffer the way he had, taking on the memories. “What was she like?” he asked the Giver.

The Giver looked sad, thinking about it. “She was a remarkable young woman. Very self-possessed and serene. Intelligent, eager to learn.” He shook his head and drew a deep breath. “You know, Jonas, when she came to me in this room, when she presented herself to begin her training—”

Jonas interrupted him with a question. “Can you tell me her name? My parents said that it wasn’t to be spoken again in the community. But couldn’t you say it just to me?”

The Giver hesitated painfully, as if saying the name aloud might be excruciating. “Her name was Rosemary,” he told Jonas, finally.

“Rosemary. I like that name.”

The Giver went on. “When she came to me for the first time, she sat there in the chair where you sat on your first day. She was eager and excited and a little scared. We talked. I tried to explain things as well as I could.”

“The way you did to me.”

The Giver chuckled ruefully. “The explanations are difficult. The whole thing is so beyond one’s experience. But I tried. And she listened carefully. Her eyes were very luminous, I remember.”

He looked up suddenly. “Jonas, I gave you a memory that I told you was my favourite. I still have a shred of it left. The room, with the family, and grandparents?”

Jonas nodded. Of course he remembered. “Yes,” he said. “It had that wonderful feeling with it. You told me it was love.”

“You can understand, then, that that’s what I felt for Rosemary,” the Giver explained. “I loved her.

“I feel it for you, too,” he added.

“What happened to her?” Jonas asked.

“Her training began. She received well, as you do. She was so enthusiastic. So delighted to experience new things. I remember her laughter …”

His voice faltered and trailed off.

“What happened?” Jonas asked again, after a moment. “Please tell me.”

The Giver closed his eyes. “It broke my heart, Jonas, to transfer pain to her. But it was my job. It was what I had to do, the way I’ve had to do it to you.”

The room was silent. Jonas waited. Finally the Giver continued.

“Five weeks. That was all. I gave her happy memories: a ride on a merry-go-round; a kitten to play with; a picnic. Sometimes I chose one just because I knew it would make her laugh, and I so treasured the sound of that laughter in this room that had always been so silent.

“But she was like you, Jonas. She wanted to experience everything. She knew that it was her responsibility. And so she asked me for more difficult memories.”

Jonas held his breath for a moment. “You didn’t give her war, did you? Not after just five weeks?”

The Giver shook his head and sighed. “No. And I didn’t give her physical pain. But I gave her loneliness. And I gave her loss. I transferred a memory of a child taken from its parents. That was the first one. She appeared stunned at its end.”

Jonas swallowed. Rosemary, and her laughter, had begun to seem real to him, and he pictured her looking up from the bed of memories, shocked.

The Giver continued. “I backed off, gave her more little delights. But everything changed, once she knew about pain. I could see it in her eyes.”

“She wasn’t brave enough?” Jonas suggested.

The Giver didn’t respond to the question. “She insisted that I continue, that I not spare her. She said it was her duty. And I knew, of course, that she was correct.

“I couldn’t bring myself to inflict physical pain on her. But I gave her anguish of many kinds. Poverty, and hunger, and terror.

“I had to, Jonas. It was my job. And she had been chosen.” The Giver looked at him imploringly. Jonas stroked his hand.

“Finally one afternoon, we finished for the day. It had been a hard session. I tried to finish – as I do with you – by transferring something happy and cheerful. But the times of laughter were gone by then. She stood up very silently, frowning, as if she were making a decision. Then she came over to me and put her arms around me. She kissed my cheek.” As Jonas watched, the Giver stroked his own cheek, recalling the touch of Rosemary’s lips ten years before.

“She left here that day, left this room, and did not go back to her dwelling. I was notified by the Speaker that she had gone directly to the Chief Elder and asked to be released.”

“But it’s against the rules! The Receiver-in-training can’t apply for rel—”

“It’s in your rules, Jonas. But it wasn’t in hers. She asked for release, and they had to give it to her. I never saw her again.”

So that was the failure, Jonas thought. It was obvious that it saddened the Giver very deeply. But it didn’t seem such a terrible thing, after all. And he, Jonas, would never have done it – never have requested release, no matter how difficult his training became. The Giver needed a successor, and he had been chosen.

A thought occurred to Jonas. Rosemary had been released very early in her training. What if something happened to him, Jonas? He had a whole year’s worth of memories now.

“Giver,” he asked, “I can’t request release, I know that. But what if something happened: an accident? What if I fell into the river like the little Four, Caleb, did? Well, that doesn’t make sense because I’m a good swimmer. But what if I couldn’t swim, and fell into the river and was lost? Then there wouldn’t be a new Receiver, but you would already have given away an awful lot of important memories, so even though they would select a new Receiver, the memories would be gone except for the shreds that you have left of them? And then what if—”

He started to laugh, suddenly. “I sound like my sister, Lily,” he said, amused at himself.

The Giver looked at him gravely. “You just stay away from the river, my friend,” he said. “The community lost Rosemary after five weeks and it was a disaster for them. I don’t know what the community would do if they lost you.”

“Why was it a disaster?”

“I think I mentioned to you once,” the Giver reminded him, “that when she was gone, the memories came back to the people. If you were to be lost in the river, Jonas, your memories would not be lost with you. Memories are forever.

“Rosemary had only those five weeks’ worth, and most of them were good ones. But there were those few terrible memories, the ones that had overwhelmed her. For a while they overwhelmed the community. All those feelings! They’d never experienced that before.

“I was so devastated by my own grief at her loss, and my own feeling of failure, that I didn’t even try to help them through it. I was angry, too.”

The Giver was quiet for a moment, obviously thinking. “You know,” he said, finally, “if they lost you, with all the training you’ve had now, they’d have all those memories again themselves.”

Jonas made a face. “They’d hate that.”

“They certainly would. They wouldn’t know how to deal with it at all.”

“The only way I deal with it is by having you there to help me,” Jonas pointed out with a sigh.

The Giver nodded. “I suppose,” he said slowly, “that I could …”

“You could what?”

The Giver was still deep in thought. After a moment, he said, “If you floated off in the river, I suppose I could help the whole community the way I’ve helped you. It’s an interesting concept. I need to think about it some more. Maybe we’ll talk about it again sometime. But not now.

“I’m glad you’re a good swimmer, Jonas. But stay away from the river.” He laughed a little, but the laughter was not lighthearted. His thoughts seemed to be elsewhere, and his eyes were very troubled.

JONAS GLANCED AT the clock. There was so much work to be done, always, that he and the Giver seldom simply sat and talked, the way they just had.

“I’m sorry that I wasted so much time with my questions,” Jonas said. “I was only asking about release because my father is releasing a newchild today. A twin. He has to select one and release the other one. They do it by weight.” Jonas glanced at the clock. “Actually, I suppose he’s already finished. I think it was this morning.”

The Giver’s face took on a solemn look. “I wish they wouldn’t do that,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

“Well, they can’t have two identical people around! Think how confusing it would be!” Jonas chuckled.

“I wish I could watch,” he added, as an afterthought. He liked the thought of seeing his father perform the ceremony, and making the little twin clean and comfy. His father was such a gentle man.

“You can watch,” the Giver said.

“No,” Jonas told him. “They never let children watch. It’s very private.”

“Jonas,” the Giver told him, “I know that you read your training instructions very carefully. Don’t you remember that you are allowed to ask anyone anything?”

Jonas nodded. “Yes, but—”

“Jonas, when you and I have finished our time together, you will be the new Receiver. You can read the books; you’ll have the memories. You have access to everything. It’s part of your training. If you want to watch a release, you have simply to ask.”

Jonas shrugged. “Well, maybe I will, then. But it’s too late for this one. I’m sure it was this morning.”

The Giver told him, then, something he had not known. “All private ceremonies are recorded. They’re in the Hall of Closed Records. Do you want to see this morning’s release?”

Jonas hesitated. He was afraid that his father wouldn’t like it, if he watched something so private.

“I think you should,” the Giver told him firmly.

“All right, then,” Jonas said. “Tell me how.”

The Giver rose from his chair, went to the speaker on the wall, and clicked the switch from OFF to ON.

The voice spoke immediately. “Yes, Receiver. How may I help you?”

“I would like to see this morning’s release of the twin.”

“One moment, Receiver. Thank you for your instructions.”

Jonas watched the video screen above the row of switches. Its blank face began to flicker with zig-zag lines; then some numbers appeared, followed by the date and time. He was astonished and delighted that this was available to him, and surprised that he had not known.