by Lois Lowry
Page 12
He ran through it in his mind. It was clearly beginning to happen more often. First, the apple a few weeks before. The next time had been the faces in the audience at the Auditorium, just two days ago. Now, today, Fionas hair.
Frowning, Jonas walked toward the Annex. I will ask The Giver, he decided.
The old man looked up, smiling, when Jonas entered the room. He was already seated beside the bed, and he seemed more energetic today, slightly renewed, and glad to see Jonas.
"Welcome," he said. "We must get started. Youre one minute late. "
"I apologi—" Jonas began, and then stopped, flustered, remembering there were to be no apologies.
He removed his tunic and went to the bed. "Im one minute late because something happened," he explained. "And Id like to ask you about it, if you dont mind. "
"You may ask me anything. "
Jonas tried to sort it out in his mind so that he could explain it clearly. "I think its what you call seeing-beyond," he said.
The Giver nodded. "Describe it," he said.
Jonas told him about the experience with the apple. Then the moment on the stage, when he had looked out and seen the same phenomenon in the faces of the crowd.
"Then today, just now, outside, it happened with my friend Fiona. She herself didnt change, exactly. But something about her changed for a second. Her hair looked different; but not in its shape, not in its length. I cant quite—" Jonas paused, frustrated by his inability to grasp and describe exactly what had occurred.
Finally he simply said, "It changed. I dont know how, or why.
"Thats why I was one minute late," he concluded, and looked questioningly at The Giver.
To his surprise, the old man asked him a question which seemed unrelated to the seeing-beyond. "When I gave you the memory yesterday, the first one, the ride on the sled, did you look around?"
Jonas nodded. "Yes," he said, "but the stuff—I mean the snow—in the air made it hard to see anything. "
"Did you look at the sled?"
Jonas thought back. "No. I only felt it under me. I dreamed of it last night, too. But I dont remember seeing the sled in my dream, either. Just feeling it. "
The Giver seemed to be thinking.
"When I was observing you, before the selection, I perceived that you probably had the capacity, and what you describe confirms that. It happened somewhat differently to me," The Giver told him. "When I was just your age—about to become the new Receiver—I began to experience it, though it took a different form. With me it was . . . well, I wont describe that now; you wouldnt understand it yet.
"But I think I can guess how its happening with you. Let me just make a little test, to confirm my guess. Lie down. "
Jonas lay on the bed again with his hands at his sides. He felt comfortable here now. He closed his eyes and waited for the familiar feel of The Givers hands on his back.
But it didnt come. Instead, The Giver instructed him, "Call back the memory of the ride on the sled. Just the beginning of it, where youre at the top of the hill, before the slide starts. And this time, look down at the sled. "
Jonas was puzzled. He opened his eyes. "Excuse me," he asked politely, "but dont you have to give me the memory?"
"Its your memory, now, Its not mine to experience any longer. I gave it away. "
"But how can I call it back?"
"You can remember last year, or the year that you were a Seven, or a Five, cant you?"
"Of course. "
"Its much the same. Everyone in the community has one-generation memories like those. But now you will be able to go back farther. Try. Just concentrate. "
Jonas closed his eyes again. He took a deep breath and sought the sled and the hill and the snow in his consciousness.
There they were, with no effort. He was again sitting in that whirling world of snowflakes, atop the hill.
Jonas grinned with delight, and blew his own steamy breath into view. Then, as he had been instructed, he looked down. He saw his own hands, furred again with snow, holding the tope. He saw his legs, and moved them aside for a glimpse of the sled beneath.
Dumbfounded, he stared at it. This time it was not a fleeting impression. This time the sled had—and continued to have, as he blinked, and stared at it again—that same mysterious quality that the apple had had so briefly. And Fionas hair. The sled did not change. It simply was—whatever the thing was.
Jonas opened his eyes and was still on the bed. The Giver was watching him curiously.
"Yes," Jonas said slowly. "I saw it, in the sled. "
"Let me try one more thing. Look over there, to the bookcase. Do you see the very top row of books, the ones behind the table, on the top shelf?"
Jonas sought them with his eyes. He stared at them, and they changed. But the change was fleeting. It slipped away the next instant.
"It happened," Jonas said. "It happened to the books, but it went away again. "
"Im right, then," The Giver said. "Youre beginning to see the color red. "
"The what?"
The Giver sighed. "How to explain this? Once, back in the time of the memories, everything had a shape and size, the way things still do, but they also had a quality called color.
"There were a lot of colors, and one of them was called red. Thats the one you are starting to see. Your friend Fiona has red hair—quite distinctive, actually; Ive noticed it before. When you mentioned Fionas hair, it was the clue that told me you were probably beginning to see the color red. "
"And the faces of people? The ones I saw at the Ceremony?"
The Giver shook his head. "No, flesh isnt red. But it has red tones in it. There was a time, actually—youll see this in the memories later—when flesh was many different colors. That was before we went to Sameness. Today flesh is all the same, and what you saw was the red tones. Probably when you saw the faces take on color it wasnt as deep or vibrant as the apple, or your friends hair. "
The Giver chuckled, suddenly. "Weve never completely mastered Sameness. I suppose the genetic scientists are still hard at work trying to work the kinks out. Hair like Fionas must drive them crazy. "
Jonas listened, trying hard to comprehend. "And the sled?" he said. "It had that same thing: the color red. But it didnt change, Giver. It just was. "
"Because its a memory from the time when color was. "
"It was so—oh, I wish language were more precise! The red was so beautiful!"
The Giver nodded. "It is. "
"Do you see it all the time?"
"I see all of them. All the colors. "
"Will I?"
"Of course. When you receive the memories. You have the capacity to see beyond. Youll gain wisdom, then, along with colors. And lots more. "
Jonas wasnt interested, just then, in wisdom. It was the colors that fascinated him. "Why cant everyone see them? Why did colors disappear?"
The Giver shrugged. "Our people made that choice, the choice to go to Sameness. Before my time, before the previous time, back and back and back. We relinquished color when we relinquished sunshine and did away with differences. " He thought for a moment. "We gained control of many things. But we had to let go of others. "
"We shouldnt have!" Jonas said fiercely.
The Giver looked startled at the certainty of Jonass reaction. Then he smiled wryly. "Youve come very quickly to that conclusion," he said. "It took me many years. Maybe your wisdom will come much more quickly than mine. "
He glanced at the wall clock. "Lie back down, now. We have so much to do. "
"Giver," Jonas asked as he arranged himself again on the bed, "how did it happen to you when you were becoming The Receiver? You said that the seeing-beyond happened to you, but not the same way. "
The hands came to his back. "Another day," The Giver said gently. "Ill tell you another day. Now we must work. And Ive thought of a way to help you with the concept of color.
"Close your eyes and be still, now. I
m going to give you a memory of a rainbow. "
13
Days went by, and weeks. Jonas learned, through the memories, the names of colors; and now he began to see them all, in his ordinary life (though he knew it was ordinary no longer, and would never be again). But they didnt last. There would be a glimpse of green—the landscaped lawn around the Central Plaza; a bush on the riverbank. The bright orange of pumpkins being trucked in from the agricultural fields beyond the community boundary—seen in an instant, the flash of brilliant color, but gone again, returning to their flat and hueless shade.
The Giver told him that it would be a very long time before he had the colors to keep.
"But I want them!" Jonas said angrily. "It isnt fair that nothing has color!"
"Not fair?" The Giver looked at Jonas curiously. "Explain what you mean. "
"Well. . . "Jonas had to stop and think it through. "If everythings the same, then there arent any choices! I want to wake up in the morning and decide things! A blue tunic, or a red one?"
He looked down at himself, at the colorless fabric of his clothing. "But its all the same, always. "
Then he laughed a little. "I know its not important, what you wear. It doesnt matter. But—"
"Its the choosing thats important, isnt it?" The Giver asked him.
Jonas nodded. "My little brother—" he began, and then corrected himself. "No, thats inaccurate. Hes not my brother, not really. But this newchild that my family takes care of—his names Gabriel?"
"Yes, I know about Gabriel. "
"Well, hes right at the age where hes learning so much. He grabs toys when we hold them in front of him—my father says hes learning small-muscle control. And hes really cute. "
The Giver nodded.
"But now that I can see colors, at least sometimes, I was just thinking: what if we could hold up things that were bright red, or bright yellow, and he could choose? Instead of the Sameness. "
"He might make wrong choices. "
"Oh. " Jonas was silent for a minute. "Oh, I see what you mean. It wouldnt matter for a newchilds toy. But later it does matter, doesnt it? We dont dare to let people make choices of their own. "
"Not safe?" The Giver suggested.
"Definitely not safe," Jonas said with certainty. "What if they were allowed to choose their own mate? And chose wrong?
"Or what if," he went on, almost laughing at the absurdity, "they chose their own jobs?"
"Frightening, isnt it?" The Giver said.
Jonas chuckled. "Very frightening. I cant even imagine it. We really have to protect people from wrong choices. "
"Its safer. "
"Yes," Jonas agreed. "Much safer. "
But when the conversation turned to other things, Jonas was left, still, with a feeling of frustration that he didnt understand.
He found that he was often angry, now: irrationally angry at his groupmates, that they were satisfied with their lives which had none of the vibrance his own was taking on. And he was angry at himself, that he could not change that for them.