[table=800,#000000,#000000,1][tr][td] [color=#ffffff]《记忆传授人》是一部科幻小说，2014年科幻电影。描写的故事发生在一个乌托邦世界里。在这个世界里一切事情都在控制之中，人们安居乐业，衣食无忧，也没有战争或痛苦的感觉．大家所要做的事情早在一开始就被确定好，没有改变的可能。孩子们都在规定好的统一模式里长大。当12岁的乔纳思成为新任的“记忆传授人”之后，他却突然发现支撑这个社会的不过是谎言，而人们也在这样的环境下变得越来越冷漠，越来越残酷。于是他决定要改变一切……这是一本颇富创意、鼓励青少年自主思考与行动的优秀少年读物。
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作者简介
洛伊丝·劳里，1937年3月出生于夏威夷，父亲在军中担任牙医，他们一家人也随着军队迁移世界各地。二次大战期间，她住在外祖父母位于宾州的老家，十一岁到上高中之前，则在日本度过。后来她进布朗大学就读，但只修完两年课程便结婚了，直到生完四个孩子后才重拾学业，从南缅因大学毕业。
洛伊丝·劳里的写作生涯起步较晚，四十岁时才尝试完成小时候的梦想——当一名作家。结果却一鸣惊人，如今她不但是世界知名的作家，还获得两次纽伯瑞金牌奖的肯定。除了写作儿童小说、短篇故事，她也撰写评论、专业的论文。
她的写作素材非常广泛，风格多样，有生活幽默小说《阿纳斯塔西亚 克鲁布尼克》（Anastasia Krupnik）、谈战争与屠杀的《数星星》（Number the stars）、描写未来乌托邦社会的《记忆传授人》（The Giver），此外还有涉及收养、精神疾病、癌症等议题的二十多本著作，堪称是一位多才、多变的作家。
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评价
最后的生存逃亡是不可避免的。节奏明快的情节、栩栩如生的角色，将久久萦绕在读者脑际。 ——美国《学校图书期刊》
劳里再一次的巅峰之作，一则引人入胜的冒险故事。 ——美国《出版人周刊》
一本雷霆万钧、易引起共鸣的小说。 ——美国《纽约时报》[/color]
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好厉害

我们课上要用，有了中文对照，幸福多了，非常感谢分享！！！！

谢谢哦

没看过

Chapter 23 Jonas felt more and more certain that the destination lay ahead of him, very near now in the night that was approaching. None of his senses confirmed it. He saw nothing ahead except the endless ribbon of road unfolding in twisting narrow curves. He heard no sound ahead. Yet he felt it: felt that Elsewhere was not far away. But he had little hope left that he would be able to reach it. His hope diminished further when the sharp, cold air began to blur and thicken with swirling white. Gabriel, wrapped in his inadequate blanket, was hunched, shivering, and silent in his little seat. Jonas stopped the bike wearily, lifted the child down, and realized with heartbreak how cold and weak Gabe had become. Standing in the freezing mound that was thickening around his numb feet, Jonas opened his own tunic, held Gabriel to his bare chest, and tied the torn and dirty blanket around them both. Gabriel moved feebly against him and whimpered briefly into the silence that surrounded them. Dimly, from a nearly forgotten perception as blurred as the substance itself, Jonas recalled what the whiteness was. "It's called snow, Gabe," Jonas whispered. "Snowflakes. They fall down from the sky, and they're very beautiful." There was no response from the child who had once been so curious and alert. Jonas looked down through the dusk at the little head against his chest. Gabriel's curly hair was matted and filthy, and there were tearstains outlined in dirt on his pale cheeks. His eyes were closed. As Jonas watched, a snowflake drifted down and was caught briefly for a moment's sparkle in the tiny fluttering eyelashes. Wearily he remounted the bicycle. A steep hill loomed ahead. In the best of conditions, the hill would have been a difficult, demanding ride. But now the rapidly deepening snow obscured the narrow road and made the ride impossible. His front wheel moved forward imperceptibly as he pushed on the pedals with his numb, exhausted legs. But the bicycle stopped. It would not move. He got off and let it drop sideways into the snow. For a moment he thought how easy it would be to drop beside it himself, to let himself and Gabriel slide into the softness of snow, the darkness of night, the warm comfort of sleep. But he had come this far. He must try to go on. The memories had fallen behind him now, escaping from his protection to return to the people of his community. Were there any left at all? Could he hold on to a last bit of warmth? Did he still have the strength to Give? Could Gabriel still Receive? He pressed his hands into Gabriel's back and tried to remember sunshine. For a moment it seemed that nothing came to him, that his power was completely gone. Then it flickered suddenly, and he felt tiny tongues of heat begin to creep across and into his frozen feet and legs. He felt his face begin to glow and the tense, cold skin of his arms and hands relax. For a fleeting second he felt that he wanted to keep it for himself, to let himself bathe in sunlight, unburdened by anything or anyone else. But the moment passed and was followed by an urge, a need, a passionate yearning to share the warmth with the one person left for him to love. Aching from the effort, he forced the memory of warmth into the thin, shivering body in his arms. Gabriel stirred. For a moment they both were bathed in warmth and renewed strength as they stood hugging each other in the blinding snow. Jonas began to walk up the hill. The memory was agonizingly brief. He had trudged no more than a few yards through the night when it was gone and they were cold again. But his mind was alert now. Warming himself ever so briefly had shaken away the lethargy and resignation and restored his will to survive. He began to walk faster on feet that he could no longer feel. But the hill was treacherously steep; he was impeded by the snow and his own lack of strength. He didn't make it very far before he stumbled and fell forward. On his knees, unable to rise, Jonas tried a second time. His consciousness grasped at a wisp of another warm memory, and tried desperately to hold it there, to enlarge it and pass it into Gabriel. His spirits and strength lifted with the momentary warmth and he stood. Again, Gabriel stirred against him as he began to climb. But the memory faded, leaving him colder than before. If only he had had time to receive more warmth from The Giver before he escaped! Maybe there would be more left for him now. But there was no purpose in if-onlys. His entire concentration now had to be on moving his feet, warming Gabriel and himself, and going forward. He climbed, stopped, and warmed them both briefly again, with a tiny scrap of memory that seemed certainly to be all he had left. The top of the hill seemed so far away, and he did not know what lay beyond. But there was nothing left to do but continue. He trudged upward. As he approached the summit of the hill at last, something began to happen. He was not warmer; if anything, he felt more numb and more cold. He was not less exhausted; on the contrary, his steps were leaden, and he could barely move his freezing, tired legs. But he began, suddenly, to feel happy. He began to recall happy times. He remembered his parents and his sister. He remembered his friends, Asher and Fiona. He remembered The Giver. Memories of joy flooded through him suddenly. He reached the place where the hill crested and he could feel the ground under his snow-covered feet become level. It would not be uphill anymore. "We're almost there, Gabriel," he whispered, feeling quite certain without knowing why. "I remember this place, Gabe." And it was true. But it was not a grasping of a thin and burdensome recollection; this was different. This was something that he could keep. It was a memory of his own. He hugged Gabriel and rubbed him briskly, warming him, to keep him alive. The wind was bitterly cold. The snow swirled, blurring his vision. But somewhere ahead, through the blinding storm, he knew there was warmth and light. Using his final strength, and a special knowledge that was deep inside him, Jonas found the sled that was waiting for them at the top of the hill. Numbly his hands fumbled for the rope. He settled himself on the sled and hugged Gabe close. The hill was steep but the snow was powdery and soft, and he knew that this time there would be no ice, no fall, no pain. Inside his freezing body, his heart surged with hope. They started down. Jonas felt himself losing consciousness and with his whole being willed himself to stay upright atop the sled, clutching Gabriel, keeping him safe. The runners sliced through the snow and the wind whipped at his face as they sped in a straight line through an incision that seemed to lead to the final destination, the place that he had always felt was waiting, the Elsewhere that held their future and their past. He forced his eyes open as they went downward, downward, sliding, and all at once he could see lights, and he recognized them now. He knew they were shining through the windows of rooms, that they were the red, blue, and yellow lights that twinkled from trees in places where families created and kept memories, where they celebrated love. Downward, downward, faster and faster. Suddenly he was aware with certainty and joy that below, ahead, they were waiting for him; and that they were waiting, too, for the baby. For the first time, he heard something that he knew to be music. He heard people singing. Behind him, across vast distances of space and time, from the place he had left, he thought he heard music too. But perhaps it was only an echo. The End 黑夜慢慢地笼罩下来，乔纳思越来越肯定，目的地就在前方不远处。只是，没有任何感官支持他的感觉。除了无数条迂回交叉展开在前面的狭窄道路，他什么都看不见，什么都听不见。 他感觉得到“别处”就在不远的地方，却不确定自己是否到得了。冰冷的空中开始飘下无数回旋的小白点，模糊了他的视线，他的希望也更加渺茫了。 加波身上只裹着薄薄的毯子，他弓起身子发抖，却仍乖乖地坐在后座上，不做声。乔纳思担心地停下自行车，将孩子抱下来，心疼地发觉加波的身子非常冰冷、虚弱。 现在他们站在寒冷的山丘上，双脚快要瘫软了。乔纳思打开上衣，将加波搂进赤裸的怀里，再将那条破烂、肮脏的毯子盖在两人身上。加波抵着他，无力地蠕动着，发出微弱的呜咽声，四周再度恢复到无边的沉静之中。 那模糊视线的小东西，突然触动了乔纳思久已遗忘的记忆，他想起这小白点是什么了。 “这叫做雪，加波！”乔纳思轻声说，“雪花从天空飘下来，好美啊！快看！” 这个好奇、机警的小孩现在没有反应了。乔纳思在夜色中看见他小小的脸蛋靠在自己的胸膛上，原本鬈曲的头发早已黯淡无光、污秽不堪，苍白的脸颊上留着两道小泪痕。他双眼紧闭，一片雪花正好落在他轻轻颤动的眼帘上，带来瞬间的闪光。 他再度蹬着自行车用力往前踩，一段陡哨的山丘赫然耸立眼前。即使是大晴天，想骑上这座山丘都非常困难，更何况现在雪越下越急、越下越大，遮蔽了整条狭窄的道路。乔纳思用麻木、疲惫不堪的双脚努力蹬着踏板，但是前轮几乎没有在转动。最后自行车停了下来，再也无法前进了。 乔纳思下车，任由自行车翻倒在雪地上。他好想也倒在自行车旁，和加波一起投进大雪柔软的怀抱，贴向夜晚阴暗的胸膛，沉入温暖舒适的梦乡。 但是已经走这么长的路了，他一定要继续走下去。 原有的记忆已经被他抛得远远的了，脱离他的保护，重新回流到社区人的头脑里。他还保有什么记忆吗？他还拥有最后一丝的暖意吗？他还有力气去传送记忆吗？加波能不能接收得到？ 他将双手放在加波的背上，试着去回想阳光。一开始，似乎什么反应也没有，就在他的能量快耗尽的当儿，突然有一丝细微的热感爬上他冻僵的双脚和腿上。他的脸庞开始发红，手上原本紧绷、冰寒的肌肤，也开始放松了。他多么想保留这股热气，让自己曝晒在阳光下，不再忍受寒冷的痛苦。 但这念头稍纵即逝,他迫切地想把这股暖意跟怀中的小人儿分享。传送的过程让他痛苦万分，他还是尽力把温暖的记忆转移到他手上那瘦弱、颤抖的身躯上。 加波抖动了一下。好一会儿，他们就这样拥抱着彼此。 虽然身边依然是令人目眩的白雪，却感觉自己在温暖中获得重生的力量。 乔纳思开始步上山丘。 记忆短暂得令人扼腕。在黑夜中，他没走几步，暖意就消失了，他们再度回到冰冷的天地中。 但是他的内心已经警醒了。即使他只被温暖了片刻，却足以赶走所有的倦意和沮丧，重拾求生的意志。他移动没有知觉的双脚，快步前行。这座山丘故意刁难似的特别陡峭，白雪和疲惫还是阻碍他的前进。他没走多远，就绊倒在地。 膝盖是那样沉重，他再试一次。他的意识又捕捉到另一个温暖的记忆，他赶紧留住它，让它扩大，再传送给加波。 通过这短暂的温暖，他的精神和力气又提振起来，他站了起来，继续往上爬，怀里的加波也跟着动了一下。 但是记忆很快又消退了，只留给他更冰冷的现实。 要是他在逃跑前，从传授人那边接收到更多温暖的记忆就好了！不过，现在想象这些假设的状况已于事无补，当务之急是专心移动脚步，让加波和自己能保持温暖，继续前进。 他往上爬，停下来，再利用片断的记忆，让两个人重获温暖，那段记忆很有可能是仅存的了。 山顶看起来如此的遥远，他也不清楚山后头是什么，但眼前别无选择。他迈着沉重的步伐继续往上走。 快接近山顶的时候，情况有了转变。他不再获得温暖，感觉上更虚弱、更寒冷。同时他并非不再感到举步维艰，一双冻僵的脚、累极了的双腿，就快要抬不起来了。 但是，突然间，他觉得好快乐。他回想起快乐的时光，他想起自己的爸爸妈妈，想起妹妹。他想起朋友，亚瑟和费欧娜。他想起传授人。 欢乐的回忆在他全身弥漫开来。 他抵达山顶了。他可以感觉到覆满白雪的双脚现在是踩在平坦的土地上了，再也不用往上爬了。 “我们快要到了，加波。”他轻声地说，内心涌出莫名的信心。“我记得这个地方，加波。”这是真的！这不是一个微弱、模糊的回忆，这次不一样。这是一个他可以永远保留的记忆，一个属于他自己的记忆。 他抱紧加波，轻快地抚摩他，给他温暖，让他继续活下去。寒风凜冽，大雪依然纷飞，模糊了他的视线。但是某个地方就在眼前，只要穿越这层眩目的风雪，他们就可以寻到温暖和光亮。 乔纳思运用最后一丝力气，以及内在那种奇特的知识，找到了山顶上那架久候他们的雪橇。他用麻木的双手摸索着绳索。 他们开始往下滑。 乔纳思觉得自己正逐渐失去意识，他集中意志力让自己在雪橇上坐正，手里紧护住加波。滑板迅速地滑过雪地，风儿扑向他的脸庞，当他们笔直地滑过一个路口时，目的地似乎已经在望，那是一个他等候已久、包括了他们的未来和过去的所在。 在下滑的路程中，他强迫自己睁开眼睛。他看见灯光了，他终于认出那是什么，他知道那是从窗口透出来的灯光，在屋里有棵大树，树上悬挂着红灯、蓝灯和黄灯，一家人正在欢庆爱的喜悦，共创美好的回忆。 雪橇一路下滑，再下滑，速度越来越快。突然间，他很肯定，欢乐已在前方和下头等着他，也在等着小宝宝。头一次，他听见了美妙的音乐，也听见了人们的歌声。 穿越广大的时空，乔纳思仿佛听见他远离的那个地方也响起了美妙的音乐，不过，也许那只是回音罢了！ 附录  认识洛伊丝·劳里 洛伊丝·劳里，1937年3月出生于夏威夷，父亲在军中担任牙医，他们一家人也随着军队迁移世界各地。二次大战期间，她住在外祖父母位于宾州的老家，十一岁到上高中之前，则在日本度过。后来她进布朗大学就读，但只修完两年课程便结婚了，直到生完四个孩子后才重拾学业，从南缅因大学毕业。 洛伊丝·劳里的写作生涯起步较晚，四十岁时才尝试完成小时候的梦想——当一名作家。结果却一鸣惊人，如今她不但是世界知名的作家，还获得两次纽伯瑞金牌奖的肯定。除了写作儿童小说、短篇故事，她也撰写评论、专业的论文。 她的写作素材非常广泛，风格多样，有生活幽默小说《阿纳斯塔西亚·克鲁布尼克》(AnastasiaKrupnik）、谈战争与屠杀的《数星星》(Number theStars）、描写未来乌托邦社会的《记忆传授人》（The Giver），此外还有涉及收养、精神疾病、癌症等议题的二十多本著作，堪称是一位多才、多变的作家。 其实她本身就是一位很懂得过生活的人，她好学不倦，博览群书，闲暇时喜好编织、桥牌和园艺。此外，她还是烹饪高手，收藏了各式各样的食谱书。除了作家头衔外，她还是一位专业摄影师，通过作家独具的慧眼，构思出一帧帧颇具深度的影像。 《记忆传授人》是洛伊丝·劳里第二本获纽伯瑞奖的科幻小说，灵感来自小时候居住在日本的经验。那段日子里，由于父母的刻意保护，不论衣、食、教育，她都过着和在美国时一模一样的生活。这样的生活虽然安逸、舒适，但相对地也少了接触异国文化的刺激与惊喜。所以成年后的她一直在思索，是否住在一切都控制良好、生活无忧的环境中，就能够获得幸福？ 洛伊丝·劳里试图在书中让读者和主角一起思索这个问题，而关注青少年所面对的各种不完美的人生、人际关系，正是她成功的地方。

Chapter 22 Now the landscape was changing. It was a subtle change, hard to identify at first. The road was narrower, and bumpy, apparently no longer tended by road crews. It was harder, suddenly, to balance on the bike, as the front wheel wobbled over stones and ruts. One night Jonas fell, when the bike jolted to a sudden stop against a rock. He grabbed instinctively for Gabriel; and the new child strapped tightly in his seat, was uninjured, only frightened when the bike fell to its side. But Jonas's ankle was twisted, and his knees were scraped and raw, blood seeping through his torn trousers. Painfully he righted himself and the bike, and reassured Gabe. Tentatively he began to ride in daylight. He had forgotten the fear of the searchers, who seemed to have diminished into the past. But now there were new fears; the unfamiliar landscape held hidden, unknown perils. Trees became more numerous, and the forests beside the road were dark and thick with mystery. They saw streams more frequently now and stopped often to drink. Jonas carefully washed his injured knees, wincing as he rubbed at the raw flesh. The constant ache of his swollen ankle was eased when he soaked it occasionally in the cold water that rushed through roadside gullies. He was newly aware that Gabriel's safety depended entirely upon his own continued strength. They saw their first waterfall, and for the first time wildlife. "Plane! Plane!" Gabriel called, and Jonas turned swiftly into the trees, though he had not seen planes in days, and he did not hear an aircraft engine now. When he stopped the bicycle in the shrubbery and turned to grab Gabe, he saw the small chubby arm pointing toward the sky. Terrified, he looked up, but it was not a plane at all. Though he had never seen one before, he identified it from his fading memories, for The Giver had given them to him often. It was a bird. Soon there were many birds along the way, soaring overhead, calling. They saw deer; and once, beside the road, looking at them curious and unafraid, a small reddish-brown creature with a thick tail, whose name Jonas did not know. He slowed the bike and they stared at one another until the creature turned away and disappeared into the woods. All of it was new to him. After a life of Sameness and predictability, he was awed by the surprises that lay beyond each curve of the road. He slowed the bike again and again to look with wonder at wildflowers, to enjoy the throaty warble of a new bird nearby, or merely to watch the way wind shifted the leaves in the trees. During his twelve years in the community, he had never felt such simple moments of exquisite happiness. But there were desperate fears building in him now as well. The most relentless of his new fears was that they would starve. Now that they had left the cultivated fields behind them, it was almost impossible to find food. They finished the meager store of potatoes and carrots they had saved from the last agricultural area, and now they were always hungry. Jonas knelt by a stream and tried without success to catch a fish with his hands. Frustrated, he threw rocks into the water, knowing even as he did so that it was useless. Finally, in desperation, he fashioned a makeshift net, looping the strands of Gabriel's blanket around a curved stick. After countless tries, the net yielded two flopping silvery fish. Methodically Jonas hacked them to pieces with a sharp rock and fed the raw shreds to himself and to Gabriel. They ate some berries, and tried without success to catch a bird. At night, while Gabriel slept beside him, Jonas lay awake, tortured by hunger, and remembered his life in the community where meals were delivered to each dwelling every day. He tried to use the flagging power of his memory to recreate meals, and managed brief, tantalizing fragments: banquets with huge roasted meats; birthday parties with thick-frosted cakes; and lush fruits picked and eaten, sun warmed and dripping, from trees. But when the memory glimpses subsided, he was left with the gnawing, painful emptiness. Jonas remembered, suddenly and grimly, the time in his childhood when he had been chastised for misusing a word. The word had been "starving". You have never been starving, he had been told. You will never be starving. Now he was. If he had stayed in the community, he would not be. It was as simple as that. Once he had yearned for choice. Then, when he had had a choice, he had made the wrong one: the choice to leave. And now he was starving. But if he had stayed...His thoughts continued. If he had stayed, he would have starved in other ways. He would have lived a life hungry for feelings, for color, for love. And Gabriel? For Gabriel there would have been no life at all. So there had not really been a choice. It became a struggle to ride the bicycle as Jonas weakened from lack of food, and realized at the same time that he was encountering something he had for a long time yearned to see: hills. His sprained ankle throbbed as he forced the pedal downward in an effort that was almost beyond him. And the weather was changing. It rained for two days. Jonas had never seen rain, though he had experienced it often in the memories. He had liked those rains, enjoyed the new feeling of it, but this was different. He and Gabriel became cold and wet, and it was hard to get dry, even when sunshine occasionally followed. Gabriel had not cried during the long frightening journey. Now he did. He cried because he was hungry and cold and terribly weak. Jonas cried, too, for the same reasons, and another reason as well. He wept because he was afraid now that he could not save Gabriel. He no longer cared about himself. 景观渐渐变了，刚开始很细微，并不容易察觉，只觉得道路窄了，也更崎岖了，很久没有人维修的样子。接下来，骑在自行车上也不容易平衡了，前轮老是辗过一些石子和坑洞。 有一天晚上，乔纳思撞上石头，跌了下来。他赶紧伸手护住加波，幸好小宝宝牢牢地绑在座椅上，没有受伤，只不过在自行车倒地的时候吓了一跳。但是乔纳思的手腕扭到了，膝盖擦伤了，鲜血从他擦破的裤管滴了下来。他痛苦地直起身子，扶起自行车，并仔细检査加波的身体。 他逐渐淡忘了对侦察机队的恐惧，开始在白天上路，但是新的恐惧又出现了，因为不熟悉的景致，隐藏着他难以理解的危险。 树木越来越多，道路边的森林漆黑、浓密又神秘。溪流不时出现，他们也经常停下来喝水。乔纳思小心地洗着受伤的膝盖，碰到擦伤的皮肉时，忍不住缩了一下。原本肿大、疼痛的膝盖，在冷冽的山涧溪流浸泡下，终于慢慢地消肿、不痛了。 他重新体认到，加波的安全全靠他的毅力。 有一天，他们看见从没见过的瀑布，也看见从没见过的野生动物。 “飞机！飞机！”加波大叫。乔纳思虽然已经好几天没有看见飞机，耳边也没听见飞机引擎的声音，他还是不加思索地冲进树林，将自行车停在灌木丛里，然后伸手捉住加波。加波胖胖的小手指向天空。 他惊恐地抬起头来。还好，不是飞机。他从没亲眼见过这样的生物，但透过他那日益消退的记忆，他认出那是经常出现在传授人记忆库中的动物——鸟。 很快，路边出现了很多飞上飞下、啁啾鸣叫的鸟。他们也看到鹿。有一次，看见一只有着红棕色皮毛、一条粗尾巴的小动物，站在路边好奇地看着他们，一点也不害怕。乔纳思不知道叫什么，就放慢自行车的速度。他们彼此好奇地张望着，直到那只小动物转身，跑进森林里不见了踪影。 所有的事物是如此新奇，让他内心充满敬畏。过去的生活单纯到每桩事都可以预期，现在竟然是每转个弯都会遇见令他惊奇的事物。他一次又一次地放慢自行车的速度，充满欣喜地看着路边的野花，欣赏着身旁小鸟婉转的歌唱，或风儿吹动林间树叶的姿态。在社区生活的十三年间，他从未经历过这般生动的幸福与快乐。 但是，他的内心也同时隐藏着绝望的恐惧。最大的恐惧是他们可能挨饿。现在他们远离耕作区，已经不太可能找到食物了。他们上次在最后一个耕种区收集来的马铃薯和胡萝卜，存量不多，吃完以后，就什么都没有了。最近，他们经常饿着肚子。 乔纳思跪在溪边，想用手去抓鱼，但徒劳无功。于是改用石块砸，结果还是无效。他失望极了，但依然绞尽脑汁,利用加波毯子上的绳子，缠住一根根弯弯的枯枝，做出一张代用鱼网。 经过无数次的尝试，这张鱼网竟然捕到两条滑溜溜的小银鱼。乔纳思找了一块尖锐的石头，把鱼切成小段，一些喂加波，自己也吃一些。他们还吃了一些莓子。本来还想捉一只鸟，但是没有成功。 到了晚上，加波安稳地睡在他身边，乔纳思却睡不着，饥饿折磨着他，让他想起以前在社区时，每天每户人家都可以收到餐点。 他试着运用逐渐模糊的记忆，自己创造出一份大餐，还加上短暂的扑鼻香味：陈列着大块烤肉的宴会；摆满了厚厚奶油蛋糕的庆生会，结实累累的水果迎着阳光垂挂在枝头。 但是当记忆退去的那一刻，痛苦、噬咬心田的空洞立即漫上他的心头。乔纳思突然闪过小时候的记忆，他曾经因为用错一个“饿死了”的词，而被严厉地责骂。大家告诉他，你绝不可能饿死。 现在他就快要饿死了。如果他仍留在社区里就不会有这样的遭遇。事情就是这么简单，他曾希望可以选择，但真正面临选择的机会时，他却选错了。他选择离开，所以现在要挨饿。 如果他留下来…… 他继续思考，如果他留下来，他会在其他方面挨饿，也会因为生活中缺乏感觉、色彩和爱而处于精神上的饥饿状态。 加波呢？加波如果还留在那儿，根本连命都没了。所以那里不是选择留下的地方。 吃不饱，让乔纳思骑起自行车来，犹如在打一场硬仗。 他同时体认到他正在翻越长久以来梦寐以求的事物：山丘。 他奋力地蹬着自行车，受伤的膝盖传来阵阵抽痛，但他还是拼命向前。 气候也跟着变了，一连下了两天的雨。乔纳思不曾看过雨，虽然他在记忆中经历过，也很喜欢雨，很享受那冰凉的感受。但现在可不同了，他和加波又冷又湿，衣服一直干不了，就连偶尔露个脸的太阳也无济于事。 在这段漫长、可怕的旅程中，加波都没有哭，直到这一刻，饥寒交迫，身子虚弱，他才哭了出来。乔纳思也哭了，除了和加波相同的理由外，他流泪是因为害怕自己救不了加波！他已经不在乎自己了。

Chapter 21 It would work. They could make it work, Jonas told himself again and again throughout the day. But that evening everything changed. All of it — the things they had thought through so meticulously — fell apart. That night, Jonas was forced to flee. He left the dwelling shortly after the sky became dark and the community still. It was terribly dangerous because some of the work crews were still about, but he moved stealthily and silently, staying in the shadows, making his way past the darkened dwellings and the empty Central Plaza, toward the river. Beyond the Plaza he could see the House of the Old, with the Annex behind it, outlined against the night sky. But he could not stop there. There was no time. Every minute counted now, and every minute must take him farther from the community. Now he was on the bridge, hunched over on the bicycle pedaling steadily. He could see the dark, churning water far below. He felt, surprisingly, no fear, nor any regret at leaving the community behind. But he felt a very deep sadness that he had left his closest friend behind. He knew that in the danger of his escape he must be absolutely silent; but with his heart and mind, he called back and hoped that with his capacity for hearing-beyond, The Giver would know that Jonas had said goodbye. It had happened at the evening meal. The family unit was eating together as always: Lily chattering away, Mother and Father making their customary comments (and lies, Jonas knew) about the day. Nearby, Gabriel played happily on the floor, babbling his baby talk, looking with glee now and then toward Jonas, obviously delighted to have him back after the unexpected night away from the dwelling. Father glanced down toward the toddler. "Enjoy it, little guy," he said. "This is your last night as visitor." "What do you mean?" Jonas asked him. Father sighed with disappointment. "Well, you know he wasn't here when you got home this morning because we had him stay overnight at the Nurturing Center. It seemed like a good opportunity, with you gone, to give it a try. He'd been sleeping so soundly." "Didn't it go well?" Mother asked sympathetically. Father gave a rueful laugh. "That's an understatement. It was a disaster. He cried all night, apparently. The night crew couldn't handle it. They were really frazzled by the time I got to work." "Gabe, you naughty thing," Lily said, with a scolding little cluck toward the grinning toddler on the floor. "So," Father went on, "we obviously had to make the decision. Even I voted for Gabriel's release when we had the meeting this afternoon." Jonas put down his fork and stared at his father. "Release?" he asked. Father nodded. "We certainly gave it our best try, didn't we?" "Yes, we did," Mother agreed emphatically. Lily nodded in agreement, too. Jonas worked at keeping his voice absolutely calm. "When?" he asked. "When will he be released?" "First thing tomorrow morning. We have to start our preparations for the Naming Ceremony, so we thought we'd get this taken care of right away. "It's bye-bye to you, Gabe, in the morning," Father had said, in his sweet, sing-song voice. Jonas reached the opposite side of the river, stopped briefly, and looked back. The community where his entire life had been lived lay behind him now, sleeping. At dawn, the orderly, disciplined life he had always known would continue again, without him. The life where nothing was ever unexpected. Or inconvenient. Or unusual. The life without color, pain, or past. He pushed firmly again at the pedal with his foot and continued riding along the road. It was not safe to spend time looking back. He thought of the rules he had broken so far: enough that if he were caught, now, he would be condemned. First, he had left the dwelling at night. A major transgression. Second, he had robbed the community of food: a very serious crime, even though what he had taken was leftovers, set out on the dwelling doorsteps for collection. Third, he had stolen his father's bicycle. He had hesitated for a moment, standing beside the bike port in the darkness, not wanting anything of his father's and uncertain, as well, whether he could comfortably ride the larger bike when he was so accustomed to his own. But it was necessary because it had the child seat attached to the back. And he had taken Gabriel, too. He could feel the little head nudge his back, bouncing gently against him as he rode. Gabriel was sleeping soundly, strapped into the seat. Before he had left the dwelling, he had laid his hands firmly on Gabe's back and transmitted to him the most soothing memory he could: a slow-swinging hammock under palm trees on an island someplace, at evening, with a rhythmic sound of languid water lapping hypnotically against a beach nearby. As the memory seeped from him into the new child he could feel Gabe's sleep ease and deepen. There had been no stir at all when Jonas lifted him from the crib and placed him gently into the molded seat. He knew that he had the remaining hours of night before they would be aware of his escape. So he rode hard, steadily, willing himself not to tire as the minutes and miles passed. There had been no time to receive the memories he and The Giver had counted on, of strength and courage. So he relied on what he had, and hoped it would be enough. He circled the outlying communities, their dwellings dark. Gradually the distances between communities widened, with longer stretches of empty road. His legs ached at first; then, as time passed, they became numb. At dawn Gabriel began to stir. They were in an isolated place; fields on either side of the road were dotted with thickets of trees here and there. He saw a stream, and made his way to it across a rutted, bumpy meadow; Gabriel, wide awake now, giggled as the bicycle jolted him up and down. Jonas unstrapped Gabe, lifted him from the bike, and watched him investigate the grass and twigs with delight. Carefully he hid the bicycle in thick bushes. "Morning meal, Gabe!" He unwrapped some of the food and fed them both. Then he filled the cup he had brought with water from the stream and held it for Gabriel to drink. He drank thirstily himself, and sat by the stream, watching the new child play. He was exhausted. He knew he must sleep, resting his own muscles and preparing himself for more hours on the bicycle. It would not be safe to travel in daylight. They would be looking for him soon. He found a place deeply hidden in the trees, took the new child there, and lay down, holding Gabriel in his arms. Gabe struggled cheerfully as if it were a wrestling game, the kind they had played back in the dwelling, with tickles and laughter. "Sorry, Gabe," Jonas told him. "I know it's morning, and I know you just woke up. But we have to sleep now." He cuddled the small body close to him, and rubbed the little back. He murmured to Gabriel soothingly. Then he pressed his hands firmly and transmitted a memory of deep, contented exhaustion. Gabriel's head nodded, after a moment, and fell against Jonas's chest. Together the fugitives slept through the first dangerous day. The most terrifying thing was the planes. By now, days had passed; Jonas no longer knew how many. The journey had become automatic: the sleep by day, hidden in underbrush and trees; the finding of water; the careful division of scraps of food, augmented by what he could find in the fields. And the endless, endless miles on the bicycle by night. His leg muscles were taut now. They ached when he settled himself to sleep. But they were stronger, and he stopped now less often to rest. Sometimes he paused and lifted Gabriel down for a brief bit of exercise, running down the road or through a field together in the dark. But always, when he returned, strapped the uncomplaining toddler into the seat again, and remounted, his legs were ready. So he had enough strength of his own, and had not needed what The Giver might have provided, had there been time. But when the planes came, he wished that he could have received the courage. He knew they were search planes. They flew so low that they woke him with the noise of their engines, and sometimes, looking out and up fearfully from the hiding places, he could almost see the faces of the searchers. He knew that they could not see color, and that their flesh, as well as Gabriel's light golden curls, would be no more than smears of gray against the colorless foliage. But he remembered from his science and technology studies at school that the search planes used heat-seeking devices which could identify body warmth and would hone in on two humans huddled in shrubbery. So always, when he heard the aircraft sound, he reached to Gabriel and transmitted memories of snow, keeping some for himself. Together they became cold; and when the planes were gone, they would shiver, holding each other, until sleep came again. Sometimes, urging the memories into Gabriel, Jonas felt that they were more shallow, a little weaker than they had been. It was what he had hoped, and what he and The Giver had planned: that as he moved away from the community, he would shed the memories and leave them behind for the people. But now, when he needed them, when the planes came, he tried hard to cling to what he still had, of cold, and to use it for their survival. Usually the aircraft came by day, when they were hiding. But he was alert at night, too, on the road, always listening intently for the sound of the engines. Even Gabriel listened, and would call out, "Plane! Plane!" sometimes before Jones had heard the terrifying noise. When the aircraft searchers came, as they did occasionally, during the night as they rode, Jonas sped to the nearest tree or bush, dropped to the ground, and made himself and Gabriel cold. But it was sometimes a frighteningly close call. As he pedaled through the nights, through isolated landscape now, with the communities far behind and no sign of human habitation around him or ahead, he was constantly vigilant, looking for the next nearest hiding place should the sound of engines come. But the frequency of the planes diminished. They came less often, and flew, when they did come, less slowly, as if the search had become haphazard and no longer hopeful. Finally there was an entire day and night when they did not come at all. 一定会成功的。经过一整天的思考，乔纳思一遍又一遍地告诉自己，他们一定会成功的。 但是到了晚上，事情发生了变化，整个计划一所有他们精心设计、仔细推敲的细节一都前功尽弃。 那天晚上，乔纳思被迫开始逃亡。当黑幕笼罩大地，整个社区沉寂下来时，他就得赶紧离开住处。这样做相当危险，因为附近有工作人员在走动，他尽量藏身在阴影中，无声无息地移动，穿过漆黑的房子和空荡荡的中央广场，朝河流的方向前进。越过广场，他可以看见养老院和后面的安尼斯矗立在夜空下。但是他不能停下脚步，已经没有时间了，每一分钟都至关重要，只要多争取一分钟，他就能逃离社区越远一点。 他来到桥上，弓着身子，快速地蹬着自行车前进。他可以看见桥下幽暗、翻腾的河水。 将社区远远地拋在后面时，他一点也不害怕或后悔，这点连他自己都很诧异。但是就这样跟亲密的朋友分离，却让他感到无比的哀伤。他知道身处逃亡的险境中，必须保持安静。但是他希望，传授人‘超听觉’的能力，能够听见他发自内心深处的呐喊和道别。 一切的转变就发生在晚餐时刻。他们一家人一如往昔般共进晚餐，莉莉叽叽喳喳说个不停，爸爸、妈妈报告（和说谎，这点乔纳思很清楚）当天的所见所闻。加波很开心地在地板上玩耍，一边咿咿呀呀地儿语，并且不时开心地看看乔纳思。昨晚乔纳思没回来，现在看见乔纳思回来，他显得特别高兴。 爸爸低头望着这个小人儿：“好好玩，小家伙，”他说，“这是你最后一晚在我们家做客。” “您是什么意思？”乔纳思问。 爸爸失望的叹了一口气：“你也知道，今天早上你回来的时候没有看见他，因为昨晚我们让他在养育中心过夜。我本来觉得这是一个好机会，可以趁你不在时，做个测试，因为他最近都睡得很熟。” “测试结果不好吗？”妈妈同情地问。 爸爸苦笑了一下：“你说得太客气了，根本就是一场大灾难。他哭了一整夜，夜班工作人员束手无策。我去上班的时候，大家全累垮了。” “加波，你这个调皮鬼。”莉莉指责地板上笑嘻嘻的小人儿。 “所以啦，”爸爸继续说，“我们必须赶紧做个决定。下午大家开了会，连我都赞成让加波解放。” 乔纳思放下叉子，盯着父亲：“解放？” 爸爸点点头：“我们已经尽力了，不是吗？” “是啊，我们尽力了。”妈妈表示同意。 莉莉也点头赞成。 乔纳思勉强让自己的声音平静下来：“什么时候？他什么时候举行解放？” “明天一早。要开始准备命名大典了，我们得尽快处理这件事。明天早上就要跟你说再见了，加波。”爸爸用他那甜美、歌唱式的声音说。 乔纳思抵达河的对岸，忍不住停下车子，回头张望。养育他十三年的社区，在远远的后头，沉浸在睡梦中。黎明后，他熟悉的那套规律的生活模式，依旧会持续下去，即使没有他，也照样运行不辍。在那里，生活中没有值得惊奇的事物，没有不方便或不寻常，也没有颜色、痛苦和过去。 他继续快速地蹬着自行车，沿着道路前进。已经不能回头了。他严重违反规定，如果被捉住，后果不堪设想。 第一点，他在晚上离开住处。 第二点，他偷拿社区的食物。这是重罪，就算他拿的是放在家门口的剩饭剩菜，也一样。 第三点，他偷了爸爸的自行车。黑暗中，他站在停车处迟疑了一下。本来并不想拿爸爸任何东西，因为他不确定自己会不会骑这辆较大的车子，他一向习惯自己的自行车。但是，没有这辆车不行，因为它的后座有儿童座椅，他把加波带了出来。 后座的小脑袋轻轻抵着他的背，随着车子的跳动，轻轻地起伏。加波被牢牢地绑在座位上，睡得正熟。离家前，他曾将手贴在加波的背上，将最能安抚人心的记忆传送给他：夜晚时分，棕榈树下缓缓摇晃的吊床；慵懒的潮水以催眠式的节奏，轻轻冲刷着附近的海岸……记忆一点一滴渗进小宝宝的心里，让他睡得既安稳又深沉。当乔纳思将他抱到座椅上时，他一点都没受到惊动。 乔纳思知道几个小时后他逃跑的消息就会爆发开来，所以他拼命地、坚决地骑行着，希望自己不会随着时间和里程的增加而感到疲惫。现在没有时间去等待传授人给他记忆，让他产生力量和勇气了。他只能凭借与生俱来的本能，一路支撑下去。 他绕着社区边缘前进，远处的屋舍一片漆黑。他和社区间的距离越拉越大，路面也越来越空荡，他的腿从酸痛到几乎全麻了。 黎明时刻，加波开始扭动。现在他们来到一个隔离的地段，路边树木林立。他经过一片车痕累累、路面颠簸的草地，骑近一条溪流。加波清醒了，随着自行车上下的震动，不断咯咯地笑着。 乔纳思给加波松了绑，把他从自行车上放到草地上，让他开心地在草叶嫩枝间探索，并小心地将自行车藏在隐密的草丛中。 “吃早餐了，加波。”他解开食物包装袋，把两个人喂饱，并用杯子装满溪水来喝，然后坐到溪流边看着小宝宝玩。 他筋疲力尽，知道自己必须睡一觉，让肌肉休息一下，才能在晚上继续骑车。白天赶路，很容易被发现。 他们很快就会出来找他的。 他发现树林深处有个藏身的地方，便带着小宝宝过去，把他抱在怀里，躺下来。加波开心地挣扎着，以为是在玩搏斗游戏，以前他们在家里常玩这种搔痒、嬉乐的游戏。 “对不起，加波，”乔纳思告诉他，“我知道现在是早上，我也知道你才刚醒过来。但是，我们现在得睡觉才行。” 他将小家伙的身体拉向自己，轻抚着他的背，并轻声细语地安抚着，然后再转移一段深沉、满足、耗尽精力的记忆。加波的头垂了下来，过了一会儿，便在乔纳思的胸膛上睡着了。 这两位逃亡者，就这样在睡眠中安度第一个充满危机的日子。 飞机是最叫人害怕的东西。过了好几天了——乔纳思不知道到底是几天——整个旅程开始有了规律的模式：白天躲藏在草丛或树林里，找水，小心分配剩余的食物，在野地上觅食，好补充食物。晚上骑车赶路。一骑好几里的路程，使得他腿部肌肉绷得很紧，一旦安顿好，想睡个觉，就浑身酸痛。不过，他的双腿也因而结实了不少，越来越不需要动不动就休息了。有时候他会把加波放下来，让他做做运动，两人一起沿着马路跑步，或一起在黑暗中穿越原野。每次他回到车边，将这个合作默契、十分顺从的小伙伴放回车上时，他的腿也得到了充分的休息，可以配合上路了。 因此，他靠着自己的体力就足以应付。逃亡前，原本传授人要传给他的那些能量，现在都不需要了。 但是当飞机接近时，他真希望自己接受了“勇气”的训练。 他知道那是飞机侦察队。机队低空飞翔，引擎声嘈杂无比，足以把他从梦中惊醒。有时他惊恐地从藏身处往外望，差一点儿就跟搜索队打上照面。 他知道他们看不见颜色，所以他们的肌肤和加波的淡金色鬈发，隐藏在无色的草丛中，就像个灰色的污点。他记得在科技课程中学过，搜索飞机是利用热感应搜寻器来探索人体温度，如果灌木丛中有两个人抱在一起，搜寻器的感应会更快速。 所以每次一听见侦察机的声音，他就伸手到加波身上，将下雪的记忆转移过去，他自己也保留一些。他们就这样一起让身体变冷。飞机一走，他们冷得发抖，只好紧紧地互相拥抱，直到再度睡着。 乔纳思在转移记忆时，察觉到他的记忆越来越淡，也越来越模糊了。这是他希望的，也是传授人的计划：他离社区越来越远，记忆就会日渐消退，慢慢地回到人们身上。但是，目前他还需要这些记忆，因为侦察机不断出现，他得紧抓着这些有关寒冷的记忆，才能存活下去。 侦察机是白天出动，不过，即使是晚上赶路时，他也依然会警觉地聆听是否有引擎声。有时候乔纳思还没注意到，加波就听见了，马上大叫：“飞机！飞机！”偶尔侦察机群会在晚上他们赶路的时候出现，乔纳思就会加快速度，冲进最近的大树下或草丛中，丢下自行车，让自己和加波降温。它们有时真的飞得好近啊。 他骑着自行车冲过黑暗，冲过隔离地带，将社区远远抛在身后，进入没有标志、无人居住的区域。他依然保持警戒，留意附近可以藏身的地点，以免引擎声一出现，就慌了手脚。 飞机出现的频率渐渐少了，偶尔出现，速度也没放慢，就好像搜索行动只是走走过场，并不抱希望。终于，一整天、一整夜，侦察机不再出现了。

Chapter 20 "I won't! I won't go home! You can't make me!" Jonas sobbed and shouted and pounded the bed with his fists. "Sit up, Jonas," The Giver told him firmly. Jonas obeyed him. Weeping, shuddering, he sat on the edge of the bed. He would not look at The Giver. "You may stay here tonight. I want to talk to you. But you must be quiet now, while I notify your family unit. No one must hear you cry." Jonas looked up wildly. "No one heard that little twin cry, either! No one but my father!" He collapsed in sobs again. The Giver waited silently. Finally Jonas was able to quiet himself and he sat huddled, his shoulders shaking. The Giver went to the wall speaker and clicked the switch to ON. "Yes, Receiver. How may I help you?" "Notify the new Receiver's family unit that he will be staying with me tonight, for additional training." "I will take care of that, sir. Thank you for your instructions," the voice said. "I will take care of that, sir. I will take care of that, sir," Jonas mimicked in a cruel, sarcastic voice. "I will do whatever you like, sir. I will kill people, sir. Old people? Small newborn people? I'd be happy to kill them, sir. Thank you for your instructions, sir. How may I help y — " He couldn't seem to stop. The Giver grasped his shoulders firmly. Jonas fell silent and stared at him. "Listen to me, Jonas. They can't help it. They know nothing." "You said that to me once before." "I said it because it's true. It's the way they live. It's the life that was created for them. It's the same life that you would have, if you had not been chosen as my successor." "But he lied to me!" Jonas wept. "It's what he was told to do, and he knows nothing else." "What about you? Do you lie to me, too?" Jonas almost spat the question at The Giver. "I am empowered to lie. But I have never lied to you." Jonas stared at him. "Release is always like that? For people who break the rules three times? For the Old? Do they kill the Old, too?" "Yes, it's true." "And what about Fiona? She loves the Old! She's in training to care for them. Does she know yet? What will she do when she finds out? How will she feel?" Jonas brushed wetness from his face with the back of one hand. "Fiona is already being trained in the fine art of release," The Giver told him. "She's very efficient at her work, your red-haired friend. Feelings are not part of the life she's learned." Jonas wrapped his arms around himself and rocked his own body back and forth. "What should I do? I can't go back! I can't!" The Giver stood up. "First, I will order our evening meal. Then we will eat." Jonas found himself using the nasty, sarcastic voice again. "Then we'll have a sharing of feelings?" The Giver gave a rueful, anguished, empty laugh. "Jonas, you and I are the only ones who have feelings. We've been sharing them now for almost a year." "I'm sorry, Giver," Jonas said miserably. "I don't mean to be so hateful. Not to you." The Giver rubbed Jonas's hunched shoulders. "And after we eat," he went on, "we'll make a plan." Jonas looked up, puzzled. "A plan for what? There's nothing. There's nothing we can do. It's always been this way. Before me, before you, before the ones who came before you. Back and back and back." His voice trailed the familiar phrase. "Jonas," The Giver said, after a moment, "it's true that it has been this way for what seems forever. But the memories tell us that it has not always been. People felt things once. You and I have been part of that, so we know. We know that they once felt things like pride, and sorrow, and — " "And love," Jonas added, remembering the family scene that had so affected him. "And pain." He thought again of the soldier. "The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared." "I've started to share them with you," Jonas said, trying to cheer him. "That's true. And having you here with me over the past year has made me realize that things must change. For years I've felt that they should, but it seemed so hopeless. "Now for the first time I think there might be a way," The Giver said slowly. "And you brought it to my attention, barely — " he glanced at the clock, "two hours ago." Jonas watched him, and listened. It was late at night, now. They had talked and talked. Jonas sat wrapped in a robe belonging to The Giver, the long robe that only Elders wore. It was possible, what they had planned. Barely possible. If it failed, he would very likely be killed. But what did that matter? If he stayed, his life was no longer worth living. "Yes," he told The Giver. "I'll do it. I think I can do it. I'll try, anyway. But I want you to come with me." The Giver shook his head. "Jonas," he said, "the community has depended, all these generations, back and back and back, on a resident Receiver to hold their memories for them. I've turned over many of them to you in the past year. And I can't take them back. There's no way for me to get them back if I have given them. "So if you escape, once you are gone — and, Jonas, you know that you can never return — " Jonas nodded solemnly. It was the terrifying part. "Yes," he said, "I know. But if you come with me — " The Giver shook his head and made a gesture to silence him. He continued. "If you get away, if you get beyond, if you get to Elsewhere, it will mean that the community has to bear the burden themselves, of the memories you had been holding for them. "I think that they can, and that they will acquire some wisdom. But it will be desperately hard for them. When we lost Rosemary ten years ago, and her memories returned to the people, they panicked. And those were such few memories, compared to yours. When your memories return, they'll need help. Remember how I helped you in the beginning, when the receiving of memories was new to you?" Jonas nodded. "It was scary at first. And it hurt a lot." "You needed me then. And now they will." "It's no use. They'll find someone to take my place. They'll choose a new Receiver." "There's no one ready for training, not right away. Oh, they'll speed up the selection, of course. But I can't think of another child who has the right qualities — " "There's a little female with pale eyes. But she's only a Six." "That's correct. I know the one you mean. Her name is Katharine. But she's too young. So they will be forced to bear those memories." "I want you to come, Giver," Jonas pleaded. "No. I have to stay here," The Giver said firmly. "I want to, Jonas. If I go with you, and together we take away all their protection from the memories, Jonas, the community will be left with no one to help them. They'll be thrown into chaos. They'll destroy themselves. I can't go." "Giver," Jonas suggested, "you and I don't need to care about the rest of them." The Giver looked at him with a questioning smile. Jonas hung his head. Of course they needed to care. It was the meaning of everything. "And in any case, Jonas," The Giver sighed, "I wouldn't make it. I'm very weakened now. Do you know that I no longer see colors?" Jonas's heart broke. He reached for The Giver's hand. "You have the colors," The Giver told him. "And you have the courage. I will help you to have the strength." "A year ago," Jonas reminded him, "when I had just become a Twelve, when I began to see the first color, you told me that the beginning had been different for you. But that I wouldn't understand." The Giver brightened. "That's true. And do you know, Jonas, that with all your knowledge now, with all your memories, with all you've learned — still you won't understand? Because I've been a little selfish. I haven't given any of it to you. I wanted to keep it for myself to the last." "Keep what?" "When I was just a boy, younger than you, it began to come to me. But it wasn't the seeing-beyond for me. It was different. For me, it was hearing-beyond." Jonas frowned, trying to figure that out. "What did you hear?" he asked. "Music," The Giver said, smiling. "I began to hear something truly remarkable, and it is called music. I'll give you some before I go." Jonas shook his head emphatically. "No, Giver," he said. "I want you to keep that, to have with you, when I'm gone." Jonas went home the next morning, cheerfully greeted his parents, and lied easily about what a busy, pleasant night he had had. His father smiled and lied easily, too, about his busy and pleasant day the day before. Throughout the school day, as he did his lessons, Jonas went over the plan in his head. It seemed startlingly simple. Jonas and The Giver had gone over it and over it, late into the night hours. For the next two weeks, as the time for the December Ceremony approached, The Giver would transfer every memory of courage and strength that he could to Jonas. He would need those to help him find the Elsewhere that they were both sure existed. They knew it would be a very difficult journey. Then, in the middle of the night before the Ceremony, Jonas would secretly leave his dwelling. This was probably the most dangerous part, because it was a violation of a major rule for any citizen not on official business to leave a dwelling at night. "I'll leave at midnight," Jonas said. "The Food Collectors will be finished picking up the evening-meal remains by then, and the Path-Maintenance Crews don't start their work that early. So there won't be anyone to see me, unless of course someone is out on emergency business." "I don't know what you should do if you are seen, Jonas," The Giver had said. "I have memories, of course, of all kinds of escapes. People fleeing from terrible things throughout history. But every situation is individual. There is no memory of one like this." "I'll be careful," Jonas said. "No one will see me." "As Receiver-in-training, you're held in very high respect already. So I think you wouldn't be questioned very forcefully." "I'd just say I was on some important errand for the Receiver. I'd say it was all your fault that I was out after hours," Jonas teased. They both laughed a little nervously. But Jonas was certain that he could slip away, unseen, from his house, carrying an extra set of clothing. Silently he would take his bicycle to the riverbank and leave it there hidden in bushes with the clothing folded beside it. Then he would make his way through the darkness, on foot, silently, to the Annex. "There's no nighttime attendant," The Giver explained. "I'll leave the door unlocked. You simply slip into the room. I'll be waiting for you." His parents would discover, when they woke, that he was gone. They would also find a cheerful note from Jonas on his bed, telling them that he was going for an early morning ride along the river; that he would be back for the Ceremony. His parents would be irritated but not alarmed. They would think him inconsiderate and they would plan to chastise him, later. They would wait, with mounting anger, for him; finally they would be forced to go, taking Lily to the Ceremony without him. "They won't say anything to anyone, though," Jonas said, quite certain. "They won't call attention to my rudeness because it would reflect on their parenting. And anyway, everyone is so involved in the Ceremony that they probably won't notice that I'm not there. Now that I'm a Twelve and in training, I don't have to sit with my age group any more. So Asher will think I'm with my parents, or with you — " "And your parents will assume you're with Asher, or with me — " Jonas shrugged. "It will take everyone a while to realize that I'm not there at all." "And you and I will be long on our way by then." In the early morning, The Giver would order a vehicle and driver from the Speaker. He visited the other communities frequently, meeting with their Elders; his responsibilities extended over all the surrounding areas. So this would not be an unusual undertaking. Ordinarily The Giver did not attend the December Ceremony. Last year he had been present because of the occasion of Jonas's selection, in which he was so involved. But his life was usually quite separate from that of the community. No one would comment on his absence, or on the fact that he had chosen this day to be away. When the driver and vehicle arrived, The Giver would send the driver on some brief errand. During his absence, The Giver would help Jonas hide in the storage area of the vehicle. He would have with him a bundle of food which The Giver would save from his own meals during the next two weeks. The Ceremony would begin, with all the community there, and by then Jonas and The Giver would be on their way. By midday Jonas's absence would become apparent, and would be a cause for serious concern. The Ceremony would not be disrupted — such a disruption would be unthinkable. But searchers would be sent out into the community. By the time his bicycle and clothing were found, The Giver would be returning. Jonas, by then, would be on his own, making his journey Elsewhere. The Giver, on his return, would find the community in a state of confusion and panic. Confronted by a situation which they had never faced before, and having no memories from which to find either solace or wisdom, they would not know what to do and would seek his advice. He would go to the Auditorium where the people would be gathered, still. He would stride to the stage and command their attention. He would make the solemn announcement that Jonas had been lost in the river. He would immediately begin the Ceremony of Loss. "Jonas, Jonas," they would say loudly, as they had once said the name of Caleb. The Giver would lead the chant. Together they would let Jonas's presence in their lives fade away as they said his name in unison more slowly, softer and softer, until he was disappearing from them, until he was no more than an occasional murmur and then, by the end of the long day, gone forever, not to be mentioned again. Their attention would turn to the overwhelming task of bearing the memories themselves. The Giver would help them. "Yes, I understand that they'll need you," Jonas had said at the end of the lengthy discussion and planning. "But I'll need you, too. Please come with me." He knew the answer even as he made the final plea. "My work will be finished," The Giver had replied gently, "when I have helped the community to change and become whole. "I'm grateful to you, Jonas, because without you I would never have figured out a way to bring about the change. But your role now is to escape. And my role is to stay." "But don't you want to be with me, Giver?" Jonas asked sadly. The Giver hugged him. "I love you, Jonas," he said. "But I have another place to go. When my work here is finished, I want to be with my daughter." Jonas had been staring glumly at the floor. Now he looked up, startled. "I didn't know you had a daughter, Giver! You told me that you'd had a spouse. But I never knew about your daughter." The Giver smiled, and nodded. For the first time in their long months together, Jonas saw him look truly happy. "Her name was Rosemary," The Giver said. “不！我不要回家！你不能强迫我！”乔纳思又哭又叫的，用拳头捶打着床铺。 “坐起来，乔纳思。”传授人坚定地告诉他。 乔纳思听话地坐在床边，低垂着头，一边擦泪，一边发抖。 “今晚你可以留下来，跟我说话。现在我要通知你的家人，你必须安静下来，不可以让人听见你的哭声。” 乔纳思猛然抬头：“也没人听见小双胞胎在哭！只有我父亲！”说着他又趴下来啜泣。 传授人静静地等待，最后乔纳思终于冷静下来，缩成一团，肩膀仍旧颤动不已。 传授人走到墙边对着对讲机拨开开关。 “您好，记忆传承人，请问有何吩咐？” “请通知新记忆传承人的家人，说他今晚要留在这里加强训练。” “我会照办的，先生。谢谢您的指示。” “我会照办的，先生。我会照办的，先生。”乔纳思用冷酷、挖苦的声音说：“只要你吩咐，我会照办的，先生。我会杀人，先生。老人？或是体重较轻的新生儿？我很乐意杀他们，先生。谢谢您的指示，先生。我可以为您效劳吗……” 他好像停不下来了。 传授人牢牢地抓住他的肩膀，乔纳思猛然停下来，看着他。 “听我说，乔纳思，他们也无能为力，他们什么都不知道。” “以前您也说过这句话。” “我这样说，因为这是事实。这就是他们的生活，特别为他们创造出来的生活。如果你没被选为我的继承人，你的生活也跟他们一样。” “但是，他对我说谎！”乔纳思又哭了。 “别人告诉他要这么做，他什么也不懂。” “你呢？你也对我说谎吗？”乔纳思愤怒地提出这个尖锐的问题。 “我被賦予说谎的权力，但我不曾对你说过谎。” 乔纳思瞪着他：“解放都是这样子吗？只要是违规三次的人？还有那些老人？他们也杀老人吗？” “对，事实如此。” “费欧娜呢？她爱老人啊！她正在接受看护的训练。她知道吗？当她发现她必须这么做的时候，她要怎么办？她会有什么感觉？”乔纳思用手背抹掉脸上的泪。 “费欧娜早就练好解放的技巧了。”传授人告诉他，“你的红头发朋友很能干，工作非常有效率。她的生活里没有‘感觉’这回事。” 乔纳思用手臂环抱住自己，身体前后摇晃：“我该怎么办？我不能回家！我做不到！” 传授人站起来：“首先，我要订我们的晚餐，然后吃饭。” 乔纳思不自觉地用发怒、讽刺的语气说：“再来一段感觉分享？” 传授人发出怜悯、痛苦又空洞的笑声：“乔纳思，只有你和我是拥有感觉的人，过去这一年来，我们彼此分享这些感觉。” “对不起，传授人，”乔纳思悲惨地说，“我没有憎恨您的意思。” 传授人拍拍乔纳思拱起的肩膀：“等吃过饭后，”他说，“我们来定个计划。” 乔纳思困惑地抬起头：“定什么计划？没有用的，我们什么也不能做。长久以来就是这样，在我以前，在您以前，在您前面那一位以前，以前，以前，再以前……”他故意拉长这句熟悉的用句。 “乔纳思，”停了一会儿，传授人说，“没错，这样的状况看起来好像是天经地义了。但是记忆告诉我们，以前并不是这样的。人们也曾经有过感觉。你跟我都经历过，所以我们知道。我们知道他们曾经有过骄傲、悲哀、还有……” “还有爱，”乔纳思补充，他想起那幕令他深深感动的家庭场景，“还有痛苦。”他再度想起那名士兵。 “拥有记忆并不痛苦，真正的痛苦是孤寂，找不到人分享这些记忆。” “我一开始就分享您的记忆。”乔纳思说，试着让他开心起来。 “的确。过去这一年来有你跟我一起共同度过，让我更加确认，事情一定要改变。多年来，我一直有这样的念头，但总觉得改善无望。现在，我头一次想到了可能有转机。”传授人慢慢地说：“是你让我想起这个方法的，就在……”他瞄了时钟一眼，“两个小时之前。” 乔纳思看着他，仔细聆听。 现在，夜深了。他们谈了又谈，谈了又谈。乔纳思身上裹着传授人的罩袍，这种长袍只有长老才有资格穿。 他们的计划有可能成功，只是有可能。如果失败了，他可能被杀。 但是，这又有什么关系？如果留下来，他的生命同样毫无意义。 “好的，”他告诉传授人，“就这么办。我应该做得到。无论如何，我尽力就是了。但是，我希望您跟我一起走。” 传授人摇摇头：“乔纳思，”他说，“过去这些世代，整个社区一直仰赖记忆传授人来为他们保存记忆。过去这一年，我已经把很多记忆转移给你了。我不能再要回来，一旦给出去，就不能再要回来。 所以，如果你逃跑了，成功走掉了——乔纳思，你要知道，你再也不能回来……” 乔纳思严肃地点点头，这是最难的决定，“是的，”他说：“我知道。不过，如果您跟我一起走……” 传授人摇摇头，示意他安静：“如果你走掉了，成功越过边界，你到了别的地方，那么整个社区就要自行背负这个大负担，接受你为大家承担的记忆。 我相信大家有这个能力，也能从中获取一些智能，但是冲击绝对是很大的。十年前我们失去萝丝玛丽时，她的记忆回到大家身上，引起一阵恐慌。那些记忆跟你获得的记忆比起来，实在是小巫见大巫。当你的记忆回到大家身上时，他们会需要帮助。还记得你开始受训时，面对从未有过的经历，我是怎么帮助你的吗？” 乔纳思点点头：“初次面对那些记忆，实在太吓人，伤害也太重了。” “那时候，你需要我；以后，大家也会需要我。” “没有用的，他们会再去物色一个人来代替我，重新立一位新的记忆传承人。” “但没有人能够立刻接受训练。当然，他们会加速遴选，但是我想不出来有谁刚好具备这些特质……” “有个小女生的眼珠子也是淡色的，但是她只有六岁。” “没错，我知道你指的是谁，她叫凯萨林。但是她年纪太小了，所以大家被迫要承受这些记忆。” “我要您跟我一起走，传授人。”乔纳思要求。 “不行，我一定得留在这里。”传授人坚定地说，“我也很想去，乔纳思。但是他们对所有的记忆毫无防备能力，我一走，社区里就没有人可以帮助大家，大灾难就会降临。他们会自我毁灭，所以我不能走。” “传授人，”乔纳思建议，“您和我，不必为其他人想太多。” 传授人带着疑问的笑容看着他，乔纳思困窘地低下头。 他们当然要为其他人着想，这才是这一切计划的真意啊。 “而且，无论情况如何，乔纳思，”传授人叹了一口气，“我都完成不了了。我现在非常虚弱，你知道吗？我已经看不见颜色了。” 乔纳思心碎了，他紧紧握住传授人的手。 “你看得见颜色，”传授人告诉他，“也拥有勇气，我会帮助你获得更多力量。” “一年前，”乔纳思提醒他，“当我刚晋升十二岁，刚开始看见颜色，您告诉我，您开始时的征兆跟我不一样，我到现在还不懂那是什么。” 传授人一听，面色顿时开朗了起来：“没错，你知道吗？ 乔纳思，虽然你现在具备了这么多知识，拥有这么多记忆，学习了这么多东西——结果，为什么你还是不懂？因为我有点自私，还没有转移这方面的记忆给你，我想保留到最后一刻“保留什么呢？” “当我还是个小男孩儿，比你还小的时候，我就开始感受到了。但我不是‘超眼界’，情况和你不相同，我经历的算是‘超听觉’吧。” 乔纳思皱皱眉头，努力想要弄清楚：“您听见的是什么呢？” “音乐。”传授人微笑着说，“我开始听见一些非常奇妙的声音，那叫做‘音乐’，我会在你离开前给你一些。” 乔纳思使劲地摇头：“不要，传授人，我希望您保留下来，在我走了以后可以有音乐陪伴您。” 第二天早上，乔纳思回到家，开心地向父母问好，而且很轻松地撒谎说昨晚有多忙、多愉快。 他的爸爸微笑着，也轻松地说着谎，表示昨天又忙碌又愉快。 在学校，他一边上课，一边在脑海里演练整个计划。昨天他和传授人一遍又一遍地推敲，直到深夜。 距离十二月的典礼还有两个礼拜，传授人会在这段期间，将有关勇气、力量的记忆传授给乔纳思。因为一定要有这两种记忆，他才能在远方生存。他们都知道这是一段艰辛的旅程。 乔纳思准备在典礼前一天的半夜悄悄离家。这可能是计划中最危险的一环，因为违反重大规定：除非公派外出，否则任何社区居民不准在晚上离开住处。 “深夜里，”乔纳思说，“食物回收员收完晚餐的剩菜，道路清洁员又还没开始工作，所以不会有人看见我，除非有人因紧急公务外出。” “万一被人发现，怎么办呢，乔纳思？”传授人问：“我虽然有各种逃跑的记忆，历史上也有很多避难事件，而且每件事的时空背景都不一样，可就偏偏没有跟这次类似的情况。” “我会非常小心的，”乔纳思说，“不会被人发现。” “你是受训中的记忆传承人，地位崇高，我想他们应该不至于太为难你。” “我会说是记忆传授人吩咐我去办一件很重要的事情，所以才这么晚外出，把责任推给你。”乔纳思开玩笑地说。 两个人都紧张地笑了笑。不过乔纳思很确定，他可以带几件衣服，神不知鬼不觉地从家里溜出来，静悄悄地骑上自行车，来到河边，把自行车和叠好的衣服藏在草丛里。 接着，他就步行，无声无息地穿过黑暗，来到安尼斯。 “这里没有晚班的工作人员，”传授人说，“门没上锁，你直接进来就行了，我会等你的。"他的父母醒来后，会发现他已经走了。他们会在乔纳思的床上找到一张纸条，上面写着他沿河骑车散步，会在典礼前回来。 他的父母会有点生气，但不会警觉到出事了。他们会觉得他做事有欠考虑，打算等他回来再数落他。 他们越等越气，最后等不及了，只好先带莉莉去参加典礼。 乔纳思非常肯定地说：“不过，他们不会对任何人提起这件事，免得别人知道了，说他们没把孩子教养好。不管怎样，大家的焦点是典礼，没有人会注意到我的缺席，更何况我已经过了十二岁，正在受训，不用跟同学坐在一起，所以亚瑟会认为我跟父母，或是跟您在一起……” “而你的父母会假设你跟亚瑟，或是跟我在一起……” 乔纳思耸耸肩：“总之要花点时间，大家才会发现我不见了。” 一大早，传授人会请广播员帮他叫一部车和司机。他经常拜访其他社区，跟他们的长老开会：他的活动范围远达附近地区，所以这样的举止一点都不奇怪。 传授人通常不参加十二月的典上一次他所以出席，是因为乔纳思被遴选上，这件事又跟他有密切的关系。至于他平常的生活，本来就跟社区的运作不相干。不会有人对他的缺席有意见，或对他选在这天离开感到突兀。 等到司机和车子抵达后，传授人会找个理由将司机支开，再帮乔纳思躲在车子的行李箱里。传授人会在接下来的这两周从三餐中省下一些食物，让乔纳思带到路上吃。 典礼开始，所有的社区居民都在礼堂里。那时，乔纳思和传授人早已上路了。 快到中午时，乔纳思的缺席才会引起大家的关切。但是典礼不会因此中断——因为这不在计划中。不过他们会派人到社区各处搜寻。 在他们找到他的自行车和衣服之前，传授人已经回来了；而乔纳思在那之前，也已经独自一人踏上旅途了。 传授人回来后，会发现整个社区陷入迷惘和慌乱中。由于从未碰到过这样的事件，没有记忆可供参考，更没有智能判断该怎么做，他们只好向传授人求助。 他会来到人潮聚集的大礼堂，步上台阶，严肃地宣布，乔纳思已经坠河失踪了，并马上举行哀悼仪式。 “乔纳思，乔纳思……”他们先是大声地呼唤，就像上次呼喊凯尔博一样，再慢慢让乔纳思从他们的生活中淡出。 方式是传授人引导大家念诵，通过全体复述他的名字，让声音渐慢、渐柔，直到他仿佛从大家心里消失不见，直到他变成大家口中偶发的一句呢喃。在漫长的一天结束之前，他就永远地消失，再也不会被提起。 大家的注意力会转移到来袭的记忆，传授人会协助大家度过难关。 “当然，我了解他们很需要您。”在经过长时间的讨论和计划后，乔纳思说，“但是，我也很需要您。请跟我一起走。” 即使已经知道答案，他还是不放弃希望。 “当我协助整个社区作出改变，让生活更完整后，我的工作就结束了。“传授人温和地回答。"我非常感激你，乔纳思，如果没有你，我永远也想不出该如何改变。你现在必须扮演好逃跑者的角色，而我的角色就是留下来。” “但是您不想跟我在一起吗，传授人？”乔纳思悲伤地请求着。 传授人抱住他：“我爱你，乔纳思。”他说，“但是我还有别的地方要去。当这里的工作结束后，我想去跟我的女儿在一起。” 乔纳思本来忧郁地盯着地板，听到这里不禁惊讶得抬起头：“我不知道您有女儿，传授人！您只跟我说您有配偶，我从不知道您也有女儿。” 传授人微笑了起来，点点头。相处了这么长一段时间，乔纳思第一次看见他露出真正快乐的笑容。 “她的名字叫萝丝玛丽。”传授人说。

Chapter 19 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 new child 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. Suddenly he could see a small windowless room, empty except for a bed, a table with some equipment on it — Jonas recognized a scale; he had seen them before, when he'd been doing volunteer hours at the Nurturing Center 148 and a cupboard. He could see pale carpeting on the floor. "It's just an ordinary room," he commented. "I thought maybe they'd have it in the Auditorium, so that everybody could come. All the Old go to Ceremonies of Release. But I suppose that when it's just a newborn, they don't — " "Shhh," The Giver said, his eyes on the screen. Jonas's father, wearing his nurturing uniform, entered the room, cradling a tiny new child wrapped in a soft blanket in his arms. A uniformed woman followed through the door, carrying a second new child wrapped in a similar blanket. "That's my father." Jonas found himself whispering, as if he might wake the little ones if he spoke aloud. "And the other Nurturer is his assistant. She's still in training, but she'll be finished soon." The two Nurturers unwrapped the blankets and laid the identical newborns on the bed. They were naked. Jonas could see that they were males. He watched, fascinated, as his father gently lifted one and then the other to the scale and weighed them. He heard his father laugh. "Good," his father said to the woman. "I thought for a moment that they might both be exactly the same. Then we'd have a problem. But this one" — he handed one, after rewrapping it, to his assistant" is six pounds even. So you can clean him up and dress him and take him over to the Center." The woman took the new child and left through the door she had entered. Jonas watched as his father bent over the squirming new child on the bed. "And you, little guy, you're only five pounds ten ounces. A shrimp!" "That's the special voice he uses with Gabriel," Jonas remarked, smiling. "Watch," The Giver said. "Now he cleans him up and makes him comfy," Jonas told him. "He told me." "Be quiet, Jonas," The Giver commanded in a strange voice. "Watch." Obediently Jonas concentrated on the screen, waiting for what would happen next. He was especially curious about the ceremony part. His father turned and opened the cupboard. He took out a syringe and a small bottle. Very carefully he inserted the needle into the bottle and began to fill the syringe with a clear liquid. Jonas winced sympathetically. He had forgotten that new children had to get shots. He hated shots himself, though he knew that they were necessary. To his surprise, his father began very carefully to direct the needle into the top of the new child forehead, puncturing the place where the fragile skin pulsed. The new-born squirmed, and wailed faintly. "Why's he — " "Shhh," The Giver said sharply. His father was talking, and Jonas realized that he was hearing the answer to the question he had started to ask. Still in the special voice, his father was saying, "I know, I know. It hurts, little guy. But I have to use a vein, and the veins in your arms are still too teeny-weeny." He pushed the plunger very slowly, injecting the liquid into the scalp vein until the syringe was empty. "All done. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Jonas heard his father say cheerfully. He turned aside and dropped the syringe into a waste receptacle. Now he cleans him up and makes him comfy, Jonas said to himself, aware that The Giver didn't want to talk during the little ceremony. As he continued to watch, the new child no longer crying, moved his arms and legs in a jerking motion. Then he went limp. He head fell to the side, his eyes half open. Then he was still. With an odd, shocked feeling, Jonas recognized the gestures and posture and expression. They were familiar. He had seen them before. But he couldn't remember where. Jonas stared at the screen, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. The little twin lay motionless. His father was putting things away. Folding the blanket. Closing the cupboard. Once again, as he had on the playing field, he felt the choking sensation. Once again he saw the face of the light-haired, bloodied soldier as life left his eyes. The memory came back. He killed it! My father killed it! Jonas said to himself, stunned at what he was realizing. He continued to stare at the screen numbly. His father tidied the room. Then he picked up a small carton that lay waiting on the floor, set it on the bed, and lifted the limp body into it. He placed the lid on tightly. He picked up the carton and carried it to the other side of the room. He opened a small door in the wall; Jonas could see darkness behind the door. It seemed to be the same sort of chute into which trash was deposited at school. His father loaded the carton containing the body into the chute and gave it a shove. "Bye-bye, little guy," Jonas heard his father say before he left the room. Then the screen went blank. The Giver turned to him. Quite calmly, he related, "When the Speaker notified me that Rosemary had applied for release, they turned on the tape to show me the process. There she was — my last glimpse of that beautiful child — waiting. They brought in the syringe and asked her to roll up her sleeve. "You suggested, Jonas, that perhaps she wasn't brave enough? I don't know about bravery: what it is, what it means. I do know that I sat here numb with horror. Wretched with helplessness. And I listened as Rosemary told them that she would prefer to inject herself. "Then she did so. I didn't watch. I looked away." The Giver turned to him. "Well, there you are, Jonas. You were wondering about release," he said in a bitter voice. Jonas felt a ripping sensation inside himself, the feeling of terrible pain clawing its way forward to emerge in a cry. 乔纳思瞄了一眼时钟，发现时间已经过了大半。要做的事情总是那么多，他和传授人很少像刚才那样单纯聊天。 “很抱歉我问了那么多问题，浪费了时间。”乔纳思说，“因为今天我爸爸要解放一名新生儿，所以我才会问起解放的事。今天有一对双胞胎出生，他必须做个选择，解放其中一个，留下体重较重的宝宝。”乔纳思又瞄了一下时钟，“他应该已经完成了，那是今天早上的事。” 传授人神情非常凝重：“我希望他们不要这样做。”他几乎是自言自语。 “因为社区里不能有两个一模一样的人啊！否则就要天下大乱了！”乔纳思轻声一笑。 “真希望我可以在一旁观看。”他又补上一句。他想看看爸爸怎么举行解放仪式，怎么帮较轻的新生儿清洁、打理一切。爸爸是个体贴的人。 “你可以看。”传授人说。 “不行，”乔纳思告诉他，“小孩不能观看，这是秘密进行的。” “乔纳思，”传授人告诉他，“你不是仔细读过训练规则吗？别忘了，你可以问任何问题。” 乔纳思点点头：“我记得，但是……” “乔纳思，当我们一起工作一段时间后，你就是新的记忆传授人。你可以读书，你会获得所有的记忆，你将接受一切。这是受训的一部分，如果你想看解放仪式，你尽管提出要求。” 乔纳思耸耸肩，“好吧！不过这次太晚了，我确定仪式已在早上举行过了。” 传授人告诉他一些他还不知道的事：“所有秘密进行的仪式都会录像存放在机密档案室里。你想看今天早上的解放仪式吗？” 乔纳思迟疑了，他担心爸爸知道了会不高兴，因为那是秘密仪式。 “我觉得你应该看。”传授人坚定地告诉他。 “好吧，请告诉我怎么做。”乔纳思说。 传授人从椅子上站起来，走到墙上的对讲机旁，“咔哒” 一声，把开关扳到开的位置。 对讲机马上传来声音：“您好，记忆传授人，请问有什么吩咐？” “我想看今天早上双胞胎的解放仪式。” “请稍候，记忆传授人。谢谢您的指示。” 乔纳思望着开关上面的屏幕，原本空白的画面开始闪现锯齿状的线条，接着出现一些数字，接下来是日期和时间。他既震惊又高兴，没想到使用这么方便，自己以前竟然不知道。 突然间，屏幕上出现一个没有窗户的小房间，地板上铺着褪色的地毯，里头只有一张床、一张桌子，还有一个橱柜，桌上放了某种仪器——乔纳思认出那是一个磅秤：他在育婴中心当义工时曾经见过。 “只是一间普通的房间嘛。”他说，“我还以为会在礼堂举行，好让大家都参加，就像所有的老人都去参加解放仪式一样。会不会是因为他才刚出生，不… “嘘！”传授人说，眼睛看着屏幕。 屏幕上，乔纳思的爸爸穿着养育师的制服，进入房间，他的手臂上抱着一个用柔软的毯子包裹着的新生儿。另一个没有穿制服的女孩儿尾随在后，手上用相同的毯子包着另一名新生儿。 “那是我爸爸。”乔纳思自然而然地压低声音，生怕吵醒小家伙似的，“另一个人是他的助手，还在受训，但很快就要完成训练了。” 两位养育师打开毯子，将一模一样的双胞胎放在床上。 他们全身赤裸，一看就知道是男孩儿。 他全神贯注地看着爸爸轻轻地举起其中一个，放到磅秤上量体重，再举起另一个。 他听见爸爸在笑：“很好，”爸爸对助手说：“我还以为他们连体重都一样，那麻烦可就大了。不过这一个，”他将其中一个重新包好，交给助手，“刚好六磅。你把他清洗干净，穿上衣服，带到育婴中心。” 助手抱着新生儿走出门口。 乔纳思看见爸爸弯腰对床上扭着身子的新生儿说：“至于你呢，小家伙，你只有五磅十盎斯，小虾米一只。” “他都是用这种声调跟加波说话的。”乔纳思微笑着说。 “专心看。”传授人说。 “现在帮小宝宝清洗，让他舒舒服服的。”乔纳思说，“爸爸早告诉我了。” “安静，乔纳思。”传授人用怪异的声音下了命令，“注意看。” 乔纳思不再出声，专心看屏幕。他对仪式本身很好奇。 爸爸转身打开橱柜，拿出一支针管和一个小瓶子。他小心翼翼地将针头伸入小瓶子中，不一会儿针管便注满透明的液体。 乔纳思同情地缩了一下身体，他忘了新生儿还得打针。 他自己很讨厌打针，虽然他知道这是必要的。 出乎意料的是，爸爸竟然很小心地将针头插人小宝宝的脑门儿，小宝宝的脉搏在脆弱的肌肤下跳动着，他扭动全身，发出嚶嚶的哭泣声。 “他为什么……” “嘘！”传授人低声制止。 他的爸爸正在说话，乔纳思这才想到，他可以听到他原先提问的答案。爸爸用他那种特殊的音调说：“我知道，我知道，这很痛，小家伙。但是我必须找到静脉，你手上的静脉太细了。” 他以很慢的速度推动针管，将液体注入头皮的静脉，直到注射管完全空了。 “完成了，没有那么糟嘛，不是吗？”乔纳思听见爸爸开心地说，转身将针管丢进垃圾桶。 乔纳思知道传授人不想说话，因此自言自语地说：“原来这就是帮他清洁、让他舒适的方法。” 乔纳思继续观看，小宝宝已经不再哭泣，他的手脚突然抽动了一下，然后瘫软下来。他的头垂向一边，眼睛半闭着，完全静止不动了。 乔纳思的内心涌起怪异、震惊的感受，他看过这样的姿势和表情，那模样是如此熟悉，只是一时想不起来在哪里见过。 乔纳思瞪着屏幕，等着后面事情的发展。但是较小的双胞胎一动也不动地躺着，他的爸爸正在收拾东西，折好毯子，关上橱柜。 他仿佛再度回到战场，空气几乎凝固了。他看见那张披散着金发的脸庞，那个浑身是血、眼神空洞的士兵——那种记忆回来了。 他杀了婴儿！我的爸爸杀了婴儿！乔纳思被自己刚刚了解的真相吓坏了。他麻木地瞪着屏幕。 爸爸将房间收拾干净后，再将地板上的一个小纸箱拿到床上，把软绵绵的尸体放进去，将盖子盖严。 他拿起纸箱，走到房间的另一头，打开墙上的小门，乔纳思看见门后漆黑一片，就跟学校放置垃圾的斜槽一样。 爸爸把装着尸体的纸箱放人斜槽，轻轻一推。 乔纳思听见爸爸在离开房间前说：“再见了，小家伙。” 然后屏幕一片空白。 传授人转身面对他’非常平静地开始叙述：“广播员通知我，萝丝玛丽已经要求解放，他们就将过程放给我看。她就站在那儿等着，那是我最后一次看见那孩子漂亮的身影。 他们带着针管，要她卷起袖子。 乔纳思，你曾问我她是不是不够勇敢？我不了解勇敢，勇敢到底是什么？又有什么特殊含意？我只知道我无力地坐在这里，吓坏了，全身发冷。我听见萝丝玛丽告诉他们，她宁可自己注射。 她真的这样做了，我没有看，我把头转开了。” 传授人看着他：“好啦，乔纳思，这就是你一直想知道的解放。”他的声音充满苦涩。 仿佛有人在撕扯乔纳思的胸腔，巨大的痛楚一波波涌现，最后爆发成撕心裂肺的哭喊声。

Chapter 18 "Giver," 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 honor. "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 favorite 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 favorite. 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. “传授人，”第二天下午，乔纳思问，“您有没有想过解放的事？” “你是指我自己的解放，或是解放这个主题？” “我想两者都有吧！很抱歉，我应该说得更清楚一点，不过我不知道该怎么说。” “坐起来，谈话时你用不着躺着。”乔纳思已经四平八稳地躺在床上，听到这话，马上坐起来。 “我承认我有时会想到这件事。”传授人说，“每次遭受巨大的痛苦时，就会想到解放，也曾兴起申请解放的念头。 不过，新的记忆传承人还没训练完毕，我不能这么做。” “就是我喽！”乔纳思沮丧地说。他一点也不希望训练结束，成为新的记忆传授人。他很清楚未来除了虚幻的荣耀，将会多么艰辛、孤独。 “我也不能申请解放，”乔纳思指出，“给我的规则里写得很清楚。” 传授人苦笑：“我知道，十年前的失败，他们才想出这条预防措施。” 乔纳思再度听到十年前的失败，但直到现在他还不知道十年前究竟发生了什么事。“传授人，”他说，“请告诉我发生了什么事好吗？” 传授人耸耸肩：“表面上很单纯，一位未来的记忆传承人被选上了，过程就跟选你一样，并在典礼中公布遴选结果。观众欢呼喝彩，就跟为你欢呼一样。这位新的记忆传承人又迷惘又有点害怕，也跟你一样。” “我的父母说她是一个女孩儿。” 传授人点点头。 乔纳思想起他最喜欢的女孩费欧娜，不禁打了个寒战。 他不希望费欧娜去承受这种苦，承接记忆的痛苦。“她是怎样的人？”他问传授人。 传授人悲伤地回想着往事：“她是一位非常出色的年轻人，冷静、沉着、聪明、好学。”他摇摇头，深深地吸了一口气，“你也知道，乔纳思，当她来到这个房间，开始接受训练……” 乔纳思打断他的话，问：“可以告诉我她叫什么吗？我父母说社区里禁止提她的名字。您可以只跟我说吗？” 传授人面有难色地迟疑着，好像说出这个名字会引起他极大的痛苦。最后，他还是说了：“她叫萝丝玛丽。” “萝丝玛丽，我喜欢这个名字。” 传授人继续说：“她第一天来找我的时候，就坐在你第一天来坐的位子。她渴望学习，既兴奋又有点儿忐忑。我不断地跟她谈话，尽可能把事情解释清楚。” “就跟你对待我一样。” 传授人悲伤地微笑：“要解释清楚并不容易，因为它超越了我们的体验范围。但我尽力而为。我记得她听得很仔细，眼睛闪闪发亮。” 他突然抬起头来：“乔纳思，我曾将自己最喜欢的记忆转移给你，自己只留着一些小片断。还记得里面的房间、家庭和祖父母吗？” 乔纳思点点头，他当然记得：“这段记忆蕴涵一种很美妙的感觉，您说那是爱。” “那你可以了解我对萝丝玛丽的感觉。”传授人说，“我爱她。” “我对你也有同样的感觉。”他补充说。 “她后来怎么了？”乔纳思问。 “她开始受训了，跟你一样，接收的成效很好。她兴致很高，非常喜悦地去体验这些新事物……我还记得她的笑声……” 他的声音开始颤抖，最后小到听不见。 “发生什么事了？”过了一会儿，乔纳思又问，“请告诉我好吗？” 传授人闭上眼睛：“将痛苦转移给她，真是让我心碎，乔纳思。但是我必须这样做，就像我跟你一起做的一样，这是我的工作。” 房里静悄悄的，乔纳思耐心等着。停了好一会儿，传授人才继续说下去。 “五个星期而已，我给她骑旋转木马、逗小猫咪玩、野餐等快乐的记忆。有时候我会故意选个能让她发笑的记忆，因为这个房间太安静了，她的笑声弥足珍贵。 “但是她跟你一样，乔纳思。她想要经历所有的事物。她知道这是她的责任，所以跟我要求较难承受的记忆。” 乔纳思屏住呼吸：“你没给她战争的体验吧？才五个星期。” 传授人摇摇头，叹了一口气。“没有，我没有让她体会肉体上的折磨，但是我让她体验孤寂、迷失等精神上的痛苦。我将一个小孩被带离父母身边的记忆传给她，那是第一个痛苦的记忆。结束的时候，她整个人都吓呆了。” 乔纳思咽了一下口水，对萝丝玛丽和她的笑声也有了具体的形象。他可以想象她从床上抬起头，一脸惊恐的模样。 传授人继续说：“我之后再给她一些喜悦的经历。但是自从她了解什么是痛苦后，一切就都改观了。我可以从她的眼神看出来。” “她不够勇敢吗？”乔纳思试探地问。 传授人没有正面回答：“她坚持要我继续下去，说我不可以宠坏她，说那是她的义务。当然，我也知道她是对的。” “我不忍心将肉体的痛苦加在她身上，但我让她感受贫穷、饥饿、恐惧等精神上的痛苦。我必须这样做，乔纳思。 这是我的工作，而且她已经被选上了。”传授人以恳求谅解的眼光看着他。乔纳思轻抚他的手。 “一天下午，我们结束当天的训练——那是一段很艰苦的记忆时——我用了跟对待你一样的方法，传送一些快乐、欢欣的回忆。但是欢笑时光已然远离。她非常安静地站起身，皱着眉头，好像正在下什么决定。然后她走向我，双手环抱住我，亲亲我的脸颊。”传授人拍拍自己的脸颊，似乎回想起十年前萝丝玛丽轻轻的一吻。 “那天她离开这里，离开这个房间，却没有回到住处。广播人员通知我，她直接跑去找首席长老，要求解放。” “但那是违反规定的！受训的记忆传承人不可以申请解……” “乔纳思，只有给你的规定才提到这一点，给她的可没有。她要求解放，他们一定得答应。从此我没再见过她。” 乔纳思这才明白，原来当年的失败是这么一回事。很显然的，这件事对传授人的打击非常大。不过，看起来并不怎么可怕啊。自己是绝对不会这么做的，无论未来的训练有多难，他都不会要求解放的。传授人需要一名继承人，而他已经被选上了。 乔纳思突然想到一件事，萝丝玛丽在受训没多久就解放了。如果他发生了什么意外，又会怎么样呢？他已经接受了一整年的记忆了。 “传授人，”他问，“我不能要求解放，但是如果我发生了什么意外，比方如果我也跌到河里去，跟四岁的小凯尔博一样呢？当然，这不是个好比喻，因为我是个游泳好手。但是如果我不会游泳，又跌到河里不见了呢？那就没有新的记忆传承人了，而你又已经把一大堆很重要的记忆都传给我了，即使他们重新选一位记忆传承人，只靠你留下的那少许记忆够吗？如果……” 说着他突然笑了起来：“我怎么讲起话来跟莉莉一样。” 传授人严肃地凝视着他：“离河流远一点，朋友。”他说，“我们在转移记忆五星期后，失去了萝丝玛丽，造成了社区的大灾难。如果这时失去你，我不知道我们社区要怎么办？” “为什么会是大灾难？” “我跟你提过。”传授人提醒他，“她走了以后，记忆回流到人们身上。如果你掉到河里不见了，乔纳思，你的记忆不会跟着你消失，记忆是永恒存在的。 萝丝玛丽只保有五星期的记忆，而且大部分都是很美好的记忆，可是她却被少部分的恐怖记忆击倒了，我们社区也差点被打垮，因为那些感觉是大家从未经历过的！ 当时我完全笼罩在失去她的伤痛、失败以及愤怒的情绪中，甚至没有试着去协助大家度过难关。” 传授人沉思了一会儿，最后说：“你也知道，如果他们现在失去你，所有你接收到的记忆，都会回到大家的身上。” 乔纳思做个鬼脸：“大家一定恨死这样的事情发生。” “这是一定的，大家不知道该怎么对付。” “我也是因为有您在一旁协助，才知道怎么处理的呀。” 乔纳思指出这一点。 传授人点点头，缓缓地说：“假设我可以……” “你可以怎样？” 传授人仍在沉思中，过了半晌才说：“如果你在河里溺毙了，我想我可以用帮助你的方式，来帮助整个社区。这是一个很有趣的概念，我必须再多想想，哪天我们再详谈，现在先打住。 我很高兴你是个游泳好手，乔纳思，不过还是离河远一点。” 他笑了一下，但是笑声并不轻快。他的心思好像已经飘到远方，眼神充满忧虑。

Chapter 17 TODAY IS DECLARED AN UNSCHEDULED HOLIDAY. Jonas, his parents, and Lily all turned in surprise and looked at the wall speaker from which the announcement had come. It happened so rarely, and was such a treat for the entire community when it did. Adults were exempted from the day's work, children from school and training and volunteer hours. The substitute Laborers, who would be given a different holiday, took over all the necessary tasks: nurturing, food delivery, and care of the Old; and the community was free. 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 memorized 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 colors; 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 color 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 realized 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 analyzed 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 realized 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, recognized 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 past time that used up their contained energy and ended only when they all lay posed in freakish postures on the ground. He had never recognized 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 recognized 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 center 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 anymore," 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 apologize 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 apologize, 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 new child were always the occasion for celebration at the Nurturing Center, 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 new child 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 new child 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." 今天全体破例放假一天。听到广播员的宣布，乔纳思、爸爸、妈妈和莉莉都不敢置信地盯着墙上的扩音器。这种事很少发生，像是额外的犒赏。大人不用去工作，孩子不用去上学、受训或当义工，由代班的劳工负责养育孩子、运送食物、照顾老人等必须的工作。整个社区的人都自由了。 正准备出门上学的乔纳思，兴奋地放下手上的作业夹。 现在学校对他已经不那么重要，再过不久他的学校生涯就要结束，开始单纯接受成人的训练，他得记诵数不尽的规则和学习操控最新的技术。 他希望爸爸妈妈、妹妹和加波都能度过快乐的一天。他跨上自行车，沿着车道，出发去找亚瑟。 他已经有四个礼拜没有吃药，内心的激情再度出现。愉快的梦境让他有点罪恶感，不好意思，但他知道他无法再回到过去那种麻木的生活。 强烈的感觉慢慢超越梦境，扩散到他的日常生活中来。 他知道这固然跟没有服用药丸有关，但主要是来自于他所接收的记忆。现在他眼里的世界是缤纷的：树林、草地和树丛碧绿苍翠，加波的小脸蛋如玫瑰般粉红，而苹果也始终红艳欲滴。 经由记忆，他看见了海洋、山里的湖泊以及在山林间潺潺流动的溪水。现在他眼前熟悉的景色，也呈现出截然不同的模样：在缓慢的流水中，他看见了粼粼波光、色彩和过去的历史。他知道河流来自远方，也将流向远方。 每逢假日，他都十分快活，今天意外放假一天比以往更快乐。乔纳思了解，自己正向深沉的感觉迈进。其实，每位居民每天晚上在家进行的谈话分享，就已说明大家的情绪是不尽相同的。 “我很生气，因为有人破坏了游戏区的规则。”莉莉有—次这么说，小拳头握得紧紧的。她的家人——包括乔纳思——耐心地分析别人破坏规则的可能原因，直到莉莉放松拳头，气消为止。 乔纳思现在明了：莉莉的感受不是愤怒，而是轻微的不耐烦和恼怒。他很确定，因为他知道什么才是真正的愤怒。 透过记忆，他体验到不公和残忍，他的愤怒如火山爆发般澎湃，但这些是不可能在平静的晚餐时提出来讨论的。 “今天我很伤心。”妈妈表达了她的情绪，大家就会赶紧安慰她。 而今乔纳思经历过真正的伤心和悲痛，他知道几句安抚的话不可能抚平这样的情绪。 那是一种深层的不能用言语传达的情绪，只能意会。 今天，他觉得好快乐。 “亚瑟！”他瞥见朋友的自行车斜倚着游戏场边的一棵树，附近则满地都是自行车。一放假，规则也被抛到九霄云外了。 他煞住车，随意把它停在别人的车旁。“嗨，亚瑟！”他大叫，一边四处张望。但游戏区里连个人影也没有。“你在哪里？” “啪！啪！”附近草丛传来小孩的声音。“砰！砰！ 砰！” 十一岁的昙雅从藏身的地方踉踉跄跄走出来。她夸张地捧着肚子，一边歪歪扭扭地站不稳，一边呻吟，“我中弹了！”她大叫一声，摔倒在地，嘴角却带着微笑。 “砰！” 乔纳思站在游戏场旁边，认出亚瑟的声音。他看见亚瑟手持假想的武器，迅速从一棵大树后面隐身到另一棵后面。 “砰！你已经中了我的埋伏，乔纳思！小心！” 乔纳思往后退，蹲在亚瑟的自行车后，以免被人看见。 以前他常玩这个游戏，游戏里虽然也分好人和坏人，不过只是无害的消遣，可以消耗孩子过多的精力，最后大家往往精疲力竭，横七竖八的躺在地上。 他以前从没想到这就是战争游戏。 “攻击！”从存放游戏器材的小储藏室后头传出一声大叫，三名小孩往前冲，手上的假想武器已经上膛了。 游戏场的另一边也传来大叫：“回击！” 一大群孩子冒出来——费欧娜也在其中。他们半蹲着跑步，边跑边开火。 有几位停下来，夸张地抓住自己的肩膀和胸膛，假装被击中。他们卧倒在地，强忍住咯咯的笑声。 乔纳思的内心如波涛般汹涌，不知不觉地朝游戏场走去。 “你被打中了，乔纳思！”亚瑟在躲藏的树后喊叫。 “砰！你又中了一熗！” 乔纳思独自站在游戏场中央。几个小孩纷纷探出头来，莫名其妙地看着他。攻击的队伍也慢慢停了下来，从蹲伏的地方站起来，想看看他到底要做什么。 乔纳思仿佛又看见那位垂死战场、跟他要水喝的男孩儿。他突然有一种要窒息的感觉，几乎喘不过气来。 有个小孩举起假想的来复熗，发出放熗的声音，想要摧毁他，“啪！啪！”所有的人都安静下来，尴尬地站着，现场只听见乔纳思颤抖的呼吸声。他强忍住不哭出来。 什么也没发生，什么都没改变，孩子们紧张地面面相觑一会儿，然后相继走开。他听见大家扶正自行车，骑上车道，慢慢远离游戏场。 只有亚瑟和费欧娜留下来。 “怎么啦，乔纳思？只是游戏嘛。”费欧娜说。 “都被你搞砸了。”亚瑟懊恼地说。 “别再玩这种游戏了。”乔纳思恳求。 “接受娱乐中心主任助理训练的人是我，”亚瑟生气地指出，“游戏不是你的专项。” 专长。”乔纳思提出更正。 “不管怎样，你都不应该批评我们玩的游戏，就算你是未来的记忆传授人也不可以。”说完，亚瑟警觉地看着他，“很抱歉，我没有对你表现应有的尊敬。”他嘟嚷着。 “亚瑟，”乔纳思带着温和、小心翼翼的语气措词，试图表达自己的想法，“你没有机会了解这些事，我自己也是最近才明白。这种游戏很残酷，在过去，曾经……” “我道歉了，乔纳思。” 乔纳思叹了一口气，多说无益，亚瑟不可能了解的：“我接受你的道歉，亚瑟。”他沮丧地说。 “你要骑自行车沿着河岸兜风吗？”费欧娜咬着嘴唇，紧张地问。 乔纳思看着她，她实在很可爱。在那一瞬间，他觉得自己只想陪着她，悠闲自在地骑着自行车，沿路边谈、边笑。 但他知道这样的时光已经被剥夺了。他摇了摇头。过了一会儿，他的两个朋友转过身，走向自行车，他一直目送着他们离去的身影。 乔纳思在储藏室旁边的板凳上坐下来，内心有股强烈的失落感。他的童年，他的友谊，他那无忧无虑的生活转眼间消失得无影无踪了。他那崭新的、敏锐的感觉，让他无法忍受其他孩子大叫、嬉笑地玩着战争游戏。不过，他也明白，因为缺少记忆，他们不会懂得他的心情。他很爱他的朋友亚瑟和费欧娜，但是没有那些记忆，他们无法理解他的感觉。 偏偏他又不能提供那些记忆给他们。乔纳思很清楚，他什么也无法改变。 那天晚上回到家，莉莉雀跃地叽叽喳喳，说这个假日有多美好，她跟朋友玩游戏，又在户外吃午餐，然后（她承认）她偷偷骑了一下爸爸的自行车。 “下个月才能得到自行车，我实在等不及了。但是爸爸的自行车太大了，害得我摔了一跤！”她及时说明当时的状况，“幸好加波没有坐在儿童座椅上。” “真的是幸好。”妈妈对她的行动皱了皱眉头。加波听到有人提到他的名字，摇摇手。他在上周学会走路。爸爸说,宝宝迈出第一步是值得庆祝的大事，同时也是接受戒尺教训的开始。现在爸爸每天晚上都带着这根细细的道具回家，以防加波调皮捣蛋。 他现在是一个快乐、自在的学步儿，正在摇摇晃晃地迈着脚步，笑嘻嘻地走过房间。“加！”他兴高采烈地说，“加！” 这是他叫自己名字的方法。 乔纳思的心情又开朗了起来。压抑了一整天，他决定把郁闷抛到一旁。他想他得教莉莉骑自行车了，这样她在九岁典礼后，就可以得意地骑着自行车回家。很难相信十二月又快到了，他成为十二岁快满一年了。 他看着小宝宝努力地迈出步伐，每完成一步，就咧着嘴笑。 “今晚我得早点睡，”爸爸说，“明天会很忙。双胞胎明天出生，测试结果显示他们是同卵双胞胎。” “一个留在这儿，一个送走。”莉莉歌唱似的，“一个留在这儿，一个送走……” “您真的要把其中一个带到别的地方吗，爸爸？”乔纳思问。 “不是，我只是做个选择，帮他们量体重，把比较重的那个交给在一旁的助理养育师，然后帮比较轻的那个清洗、打理，再办理解放仪式，然后……”他往下看，对加波露齿一笑，“然后我就跟他挥手说拜拜……”他的语气就像平常跟小宝宝说话一样甜美，同时挥动双手，做出平常说再见的姿势。 加波咯咯笑，也对他挥手说再见。 “然后就有人来接他吗？从别的地方来的人？” “没错，乔纳思宝贝儿。”（文*冇*人－冇-书－屋－Ｗ－Γ－Ｓ－Ｈ－Ｕ） 听见爸爸用小时候的昵称叫他，乔纳思难为情地白了爸爸一眼。 莉莉陷入沉思中：“如果别的地方的人帮双胞胎弟弟取名为，哦，比方说是强纳生好了。而我们社区的这个双胞胎哥哥，在命名典礼上也被取名为强纳生。那就会有两个名字相同、长相也完全一样的小宝宝。有一天，也许就在他们六岁的时候，其中一班的孩子坐着巴士去拜访另一个社区，遇见另一个一模一样的强纳生，结果大家不小心搞混了，把另一个强纳生接回家，就连他们的父母也分辨不出来，然后……” 她停下来喘口气。 “莉莉，”妈妈说，“我突然有个奇妙的点子，也许等你十二岁的时候，他们会指定你去当说故事的人！我们社区已经好久没有出现说故事的人了。如果我是委员会的一员，一定推荐你担任这项工作！” 莉莉露齿一笑：“我想到另一个更棒的故事，也许我们都是双胞胎，只不过我们自己不知道而已。所以在别的地方，还会有另一个莉莉，另一个乔纳思，另一个爸爸，另一个亚瑟，另一个首席长老，另一个……” 爸爸不耐烦地打断她：“莉莉，睡觉时间到了。”

Chapter 16 Jonas did not want to go back. He didn't want the memories, didn't want the honor, didn't want the wisdom, didn't want the pain. He wanted his childhood again, his scraped knees and ball games. He sat in his dwelling alone, watching through the window, seeing children at play, citizens bicycling home from uneventful days at work, ordinary lives free of anguish because he had been selected, as others before him had, to bear their burden. But the choice was not his. He returned each day to the Annex room. The Giver was gentle with him for many days following the terrible shared memory of war. "There are so many good memories," The Giver reminded Jonas. And it was true. By now Jonas had experienced countless bits of happiness, things he had never known of before. He had seen a birthday party, with one child singled out and celebrated on his day, so that now he understood the joy of being an individual, special and unique and proud. He had visited museums and seen paintings filled with all the colors he could now recognize and name. In one ecstatic memory he had ridden a gleaming brown horse across a field that smelled of damp grass, and had dismounted beside a small stream from which both he and the horse drank cold, clear water. Now he understood about animals; and in the moment that the horse turned from the stream and nudged Jonas's shoulder affectionately with its head, he perceived the bonds between animal and human. He had walked through woods, and sat at night beside a campfire. Although he had through the memories learned about the pain of loss and loneliness, now he gained, too, an understanding of solitude and its joy. "What is your favorite?" Jonas asked The Giver. "You don't have to give it away yet," he added quickly. "Just tell me about it, so I can look forward to it, because I'll have to receive it when your job is done." The Giver smiled. "Lie down," he said. "I'm happy to give it to you." Jonas felt the joy of it as soon as the memory began. Sometimes it took a while for him to get his bearings, to find his place. But this time he fit right in and felt the happiness that pervaded the memory. He was in a room filled with people, and it was warm, with firelight glowing on a hearth. He could see through a window that outside it was night, and snowing. There were colored lights: red and green and yellow, twinkling from a tree which was, oddly, inside the room. On a table, lighted candles stood in a polished golden holder and cast a soft, flickering glow. He could smell things cooking, and he heard soft laughter. A golden-haired dog lay sleeping on the floor. On the floor there were packages wrapped in brightly colored paper and tied with gleaming ribbons. As Jonas watched, a small child began to pick up the packages and pass them around the room: to other children, to adults who were obviously parents, and to an older, quiet couple, man and woman, who sat smiling together on a couch. While Jonas watched, the people began one by one to untie the ribbons on the packages, to unwrap the bright papers, open the boxes and reveal toys and clothing and books. There were cries of delight. They hugged one another. The small child went and sat on the lap of the old woman, and she rocked him and rubbed her cheek against his. Jonas opened his eyes and lay contentedly on the bed, still luxuriating in the warm and comforting memory. It had all been there, all the things he had learned to treasure. "What did you perceive?" The Giver asked. "Warmth," Jonas replied, "and happiness. And — let me think. Family. That it was a celebration of some sort, a holiday. And something else — I can't quite get the word for it." "It will come to you." "Who were the old people? Why were they there?" It had puzzled Jonas, seeing them in the room. The Old of the community did not ever leave their special place, the House of the Old, where they were so well cared for and respected. "They were called Grandparents." "Grand parents?" "Grandparents. It meant parents-of-the-parents, long ago." "Back and back and back?" Jonas began to laugh. "So actually, there could be parents-of-the-parents-of-the-parents-of-the parents?" The Giver laughed, too. "That's right. It's a little like looking at yourself looking in a mirror looking at yourself looking in a mirror." Jonas frowned. "But my parents must have had parents! I never thought about it before. Who are my parents-of-the-parents? Where are they?" "You could go look in the Hall of Open Records. You'd find the names. But think, son. If you apply for children, then who will be their parents-of-the-parents? Who will be their grandparents?" "My mother and father, of course." "And where will they be?" Jonas thought. "Oh," he said slowly. "When I finish my training and become a full adult, I'll be given my own dwelling. And then when Lily does, a few years later, she'll get her own dwelling, and maybe a spouse, and children if she applies for them, and then Mother and Father — " "That's right." "As long as they're still working and contributing to the community, they'll go and live with the other Childless Adults. And they won't be part of my life anymore. "And after that, when the time comes, they'll go to the House of the Old," Jonas went on. He was thinking aloud. "And they'll be well cared for, and respected, and when they're released, there will be a celebration." "Which you won't attend," The Giver pointed out. "No, of course not, because I won't even know about it. By then I'll be so busy with my own life. And Lily will, too. So our children, if we have them, won't know who their parents-of-parents are, either. "It seems to work pretty well that way, doesn't it? The way we do it in our community?" Jonas asked. "I just didn't realize there was any other way, until I received that memory." "It works," The Giver agreed. Jonas hesitated. "I certainly liked the memory, though. I can see why it's your favorite. I couldn't quite get the word for the whole feeling of it, the feeling that was so strong in the room." "Love," The Giver told him. Jonas repeated it. "Love." It was a word and concept new to him. They were both silent for a minute. Then Jonas said, "Giver?" "Yes?" "I feel very foolish saying this. Very, very foolish." "No need. Nothing is foolish here. Trust the memories and how they make you feel." "Well," Jonas said, looking at the floor, "I know you don't have the memory anymore, because you gave it to me, so maybe you won't understand this — " "I will. I am left with a vague wisp of that one; and I have many other memories of families, and holidays, and happiness. Of love." Jonas blurted out what he was feeling. "I was thinking that...well, I can see that it wasn't a very practical way to live, with the Old right there in the same place, where maybe they wouldn't be well taken care of, the way they are now, and that we have a better-arranged way of doing things. But anyway, I was thinking, I mean feeling, actually, that it was kind of nice, then. And that I wish we could be that way, and that you could be my grandparent. The family in the memory seemed a little more — " He faltered, not able to find the word he wanted. "A little more complete," The Giver suggested. Jonas nodded. "I liked the feeling of love," he confessed. He glanced nervously at the speaker on the wall, reassuring himself that no one was listening. "I wish we still had that," he whispered. "Of course," he added quickly, "I do understand that it wouldn't work very well. And that it's much better to be organized the way we are now. I can see that it was a dangerous way to live." "What do you mean?" Jonas hesitated. He wasn't certain, really, what he had meant. He could feel that there was risk involved, though he wasn't sure how. "Well," he said finally, grasping for an explanation, "they had fire right there in that room. There was a fire burning in the fireplace. And there were candles on a table. I can certainly see why those things were outlawed. "Still," he said slowly, almost to himself, "I did like the light they made. And the warmth." "Father? Mother?" Jonas asked tentatively after the evening meal. "I have a question I want to ask you." "What is it, Jonas?" his father asked. He made himself say the words, though he felt flushed with embarrassment. He had rehearsed them in his mind all the way home from the Annex. "Do you love me?" There was an awkward silence for a moment. Then Father gave a little chuckle. "Jonas. You, of all people. Precision of language, please!" "What do you mean?" Jonas asked. Amusement was not at all what he had anticipated. "Your father means that you used a very generalized word, so meaningless that it's become almost obsolete," his mother explained carefully. Jonas stared at them. Meaningless? He had never before felt anything as meaningful as the memory. "And of course our community can't function smoothly if people don't use precise language. You could ask, 'Do you enjoy me?' The answer is 'Yes,'" his mother said. "Or," his father suggested, "'Do you take pride in my accomplishments?' And the answer is wholeheartedly 'Yes.'" "Do you understand why it's inappropriate to use a word like 'love'?" Mother asked. Jonas nodded. "Yes, thank you, I do," he replied slowly. It was his first lie to his parents. "Gabriel?" Jonas whispered that night to the new child. The crib was in his room again. After Gabe had slept soundly in Jonas's room for four nights, his parents had pronounced the experiment a success and Jonas a hero. Gabriel was growing rapidly, now crawling and giggling across the room and pulling himself up to stand. He could be upgraded in the Nurturing Center, Father said happily, now that he slept; he could be officially named and given to his family in December, which was only two months away. But when he was taken away, he stopped sleeping again, and cried in the night. So he was back in Jonas's sleeping room. They would give it a little more time, they decided. Since Gabe seemed to like it in Jonas's room, he would sleep there at night a little longer, until the habit of sound sleep was fully formed. The Nurturers were very optimistic about Gabriel's future. There was no answer to Jonas's whisper. Gabriel was sound asleep. "Things could change, Gabe," Jonas went on. "Things could be different. I don't know how, but there must be some way for things to be different. There could be colors. "And grandparents," he added, staring through the dimness toward the ceiling of his sleeping room, "And everybody would have the memories. "You know about memories," he whispered, turning toward the crib. Gabriel's breathing was even and deep. Jonas liked having him there, though he felt guilty about the secret. Each night he gave memories to Gabriel: memories of boat rides and picnics in the sun; memories of soft rainfall against windowpanes; memories of dancing barefoot on a damp lawn. "Gabe?" The new child stirred slightly in his sleep. Jonas looked over at him. "There could be love," Jonas whispered. The next morning, for the first time, Jonas did not take his pill. Something within him, something that had grown there through the memories, told him to throw the pill away. 乔纳思不想回到过去，他不要这些记忆，他不要这样的荣耀，他不要这样的智能，不要这些痛楚。他想要回到他的童年，那会擦伤的膝盖和充满球赛的童年。他独自一人坐在家里，从窗户看出去，看见孩子在玩游戏，市民忙完一天的工作，正骑着自行车回家。他们的生活是这样平静、没有丝毫痛苦，因为他们的沉痛记忆，都由他和过去的记忆传授人承担了。 但他别无选择，每天依然到安尼斯报到。 在分担了残忍的战争记忆过后，接下来好几天，传授人显得特别仁慈温和。 “有很多记忆是美好的。”传授人提醒乔纳思。这倒是真的，乔纳思体验了无数快乐、甜美的时光，那是他以前不曾体悟过的。 他参加过一次为一个小孩举办的庆生会。乔纳思这才了解身为独立、特殊、单一个体的喜悦和骄傲。 他参观了博物馆，欣赏色彩缤纷的画作，现在他已经知道所有色彩的名称了。 有一次，他骑着一匹浅棕色的骏马，漫步在洋溢着湿润草香的原野上。他在一条小溪流边下马，和马儿共饮冷冽清澈的溪水。现在他对动物有了更深一层的认识。当马儿离开溪边，亲昵地用头轻推他的肩膀时，他很惊讶动物和人之间可以建立如此亲密的关系。 他曾经穿越森林坐在营火边一整夜。虽然他经历过迷失和孤寂的痛苦，但现在，他体会到孤独的喜悦。 “您最喜欢哪段回忆？”有一次他问传授人，“您不必现在就传送给我，”他赶紧补充：“只要告诉我那个情景就行了，好让我心生期待，毕竟等到您的工作结束，我还是一样接收得到。” 传授人微微一笑：“躺下来，”他说，“我很乐意现在就转移给你。” 记忆一激活，乔纳思马上感受到欢乐的气氛。以前，他往往必须花点时间才能找到跟记忆的关连性，了解自己的所在。但是这一回，他立刻融入情境，感受到弥漫在回忆中的幸福与快乐。 屋子里到处都是人，壁炉里燃烧着熊熊火焰，暖烘烘的。窗外，夜幕低垂，大雪纷飞。最奇怪的是，室内布置了一棵树，树上挂满红、绿、黄和各式各样的彩灯。桌上闪亮的金烛台，插满了蜡烛，摇曳着柔和、闪烁的烛光。空气中菜香四溢，欢笑声此起彼落。一只金色卷毛小狗趴在地板上睡着了。 大树下堆满一盒盒用明亮的彩色纸、闪亮的蝴蝶结包扎得漂漂亮亮的东西。一个小孩拿起这一盒盒的东西，递给房间里的其他小孩子和像是父母亲的一对大人，还有安静地坐在沙发上笑吟吟的一对老公公和老婆婆。 乔纳思看着他们拆开包装盒上的蝴蝶结，打开鲜亮的包装纸，掀开盒子，从里头拿出玩具、衣服和书。大家开心地叫着、笑着互相拥抱。 最小的孩子跑过去坐在老婆婆的膝盖上，她轻轻摇晃着他，用脸颊轻磨他的脸蛋。 乔纳思睁开眼睛，心满意足地躺在床上，整个人还沉浸在温暖甜蜜的记忆中。他真想把这些永远珍藏起来。 “你体会到什么？”传授人问他。 “温暖，”乔纳思回答，“还有幸福，还有……让我想一想。家庭，这好像是在庆祝某种假日。还有一些别的东西——我一时也说不上来。” “你一定可以感受到的。” “那两位老人是谁？为什么他们会在那里？”房里有老人，让他十分困惑。社区里的老人从没离开过特别为他们设计的养老院，他们在那儿受到最完善的照顾和礼遇。 “他们叫做祖父母。” “祖父母？” “对，那是很久以前的称呼，就是父母的父母。” “以前，以前，再以前？”乔纳思笑了起来，“所以事实上，还会有父母的父母的父母的父母？” 传授人也笑了：“没错，就好像你如果拿着镜子看镜子，就会看见自己正在照镜子，镜中镜又可看见自己在照镜子。” 乔纳思皱起眉头：“我的父母一定也有他们自己的父母！我以前怎么没想到这一点。我的父母的父母是谁？他们现在在哪里？” “在档案管理中心查得到名字，但是，你不如先想一想，如果你申请孩子，他们的父母的父母会是谁？” “当然是我的爸爸和妈妈。” “那他们会在哪里呢？” 乔纳思想了一下，慢慢地说：“当训练结束，变成真正的大人后，我就会有自己的房子。几年后，等莉莉长大，她也会有自己的房子，也许还会有配偶；如果她提出申请，可能还会有孩子，那时候爸爸和妈妈……” “没错。” “如果他们还在工作，对社区有贡献，就会去跟其他没有孩子的成人一起住，不再出现在我们的生活中。然后，时间到了，他们就住进养老院。”乔纳思把自己的想法大声说出来，“接受最完善的照顾和礼遇，最后是一场解放庆祝仪式。” “你不可能参加那场仪式的。”传授人强调。 “当然不会，我可能连什么时候举行都不清楚。那时，我和莉莉都忙着自己的生活，如果我们有孩子，他们也一样不知道自己的父母的父母是谁。” “这个模式似乎不错，不是吗？我们的社区一直奉为法宝。”乔纳思问：“如果我不接收以前的记忆，我根本不知道还有其他的生活模式。” “它们的确不错。”传授人肯定地说。 乔纳思迟疑了一会儿：“我确实很喜欢这段记忆，我也了解为什么它会是你的最爱。但我就是找不到恰当的字眼来形容我对这段记忆的感受，那弥漫在整个房间的气氛是那样强烈。” “那气氛就是爱！”传授人告诉他。 乔纳思喃喃念了一次：“爱。”这对他来说是一个新概念。 两人沉默了一分钟，接着乔纳思问：“传授人？” “什么事？” “我知道这样说很愚蠢，非常非常愚蠢。” “在这里没有什么话是愚蠢的，信任一切记忆，以及它给你的感受。” “好吧！”乔纳思低头看着地板说：“我知道你已经不再拥有这些记忆了，所以也许您不了解……” “我当然了解，我还残留了一点模糊的印象。而且，我还有很多关于家庭、假日、幸福等爱的记忆。” 乔纳思吞吞吐吐地说出自己的感受：“我在想……虽然这可能不切实际，但是如果可以跟老人住在一起，即使没有办法像现在那么完善地照顾，一切都安排得妥妥当当，但是，我觉得那种住在一起的感受，实在非常美好。我好希望我们仍旧维持以前的家庭方式，好希望您就是我的祖父母，那样的家庭感觉比较……”他找不到恰当的字眼。 “比较完整。”传授人补充。 乔纳思点点头：“我喜欢爱的感觉。”他紧张兮兮地瞄一眼墙上的扩音器，确定没有被任何人听到，"我希望我们仍拥有那些。”他喃喃地说，“当然啦，那样的组织不见得比现在好，我清楚地知道那样的生活方式比较危险。” “你是指什么？” 乔纳思迟疑了一下，他也不确定自己指的是什么。他只感觉到那种生活方式有点冒险，却又说不出个所以然来。 “比方说，”他终于找到一个解释，“他们在房间里生火，壁炉里有熊熊大火，桌子上有蜡烛。火那么危险，怪不得会被禁止。” “不过他慢慢地说，好像在自言自语，“我真的很喜欢他们点亮的火光，还有那股温暖的感觉。” “爸爸妈妈。”晚餐过后，乔纳思说，“我有个问题想问您们。” “什么问题，乔纳思？”爸爸问。 在从安尼斯回家的路上，他已不知道在心里默念过多少次这个字了，可是当他勉强说出来时，还是觉得很难为情。 “你们爱我吗？” 一阵难堪的沉默立刻弥漫开来……爸爸轻声一笑：“乔纳思，请你说准确一点！” “什么意思？”乔纳思问。他不知道这有什么好笑的。 “爸爸是说你用了一个非常笼统的字，那个字没什么意义，几乎已经废弃不用了。”妈妈小心地解释。 乔纳思瞪大了眼睛，没有意义？但这是他记忆中最有意义的一件事。 “如果大家用语不准确，我们的社区就没办法好好运作。 你可以问：‘跟我相处愉快吗？’答案是：‘是的。’”妈妈说。 “或者，”爸爸建议，“‘你以我为荣吗？’答案绝对是：‘是的，我们以你为荣。’” “现在你了解为什么用‘爱’这个字不恰当了吗？”妈妈问。 乔纳思点点头，“是的，我懂，谢谢您。”他慢慢地回答。 这是他第一次对父母说谎。 “加波！”乔纳思轻声呼唤小宝宝。 今晚小床又放到他的房间来了。加波在乔纳思的房间安稳地睡了四个晚上后，爸爸妈妈宣称实验成功，乔纳思实在了不起。现在加波成长得很快，在房间里到处爬，咯咯笑，并试图抓着东西站起来。爸爸高兴地说，只要他睡得安稳，他就可以通过育儿中心的测试，获得升级。等到十二月，他就可以被正式命名，拥有属于他自己的家庭。现在离十二月只剩两个月的时间了。 但是，一旦离开乔纳思的房间，他又不肯睡了，整夜啼哭，只好再送他回乔纳思的房间。 他们决定再多给他一点时间来适应。既然加波喜欢睡在乔纳思的房间，就让他多睡一阵子，直到他养成夜里熟睡的习惯。养育师们对加波的未来非常乐观。 加波对乔纳思的呼唤没有响应，他已经睡着了。 “事情会改变的，加波。”乔纳思继续说，“一定会和现在有所不同。我不知道会怎么变，但是一定有办法让事情变记忆传授人得不一样。以后会有颜色，还会有祖父母。”屋里一片昏暗，他抬头望着天花板，“每个人都会拥有记忆。” “你知道什么是记忆吗？”他一边呢喃，一边转头注视着小床。 加波的呼吸既均匀又深沉。乔纳思很喜欢他留在这里，只是对自己暗中进行的事有点儿罪恶感。每天晚上，他都转移一些记忆给加波，有阳光下驾船或野餐的记忆；有小雨打在玻璃窗上的记忆；有光着脚丫在潮湿草地上跳舞的记忆。 “加波！” 小宝宝在睡眠中轻轻地挪动一下身子，乔纳思低头凝视着他。 “未来还会有爱。”乔纳思轻声低语。 第二天早上，头一回，乔纳思没有吃药。通过记忆的洗礼，他的认知逐渐提高，他知道该把药丸给扔了。

Chapter 15 Jonas entered the Annex room and realized immediately that it was a day when he would be sent away. The Giver was rigid in his chair, his face in his hands. "I'll come back tomorrow, sir," he said quickly. Then he hesitated. "Unless maybe there's something I can do to help." The Giver looked up at him, his face contorted with suffering. "Please," he gasped, "take some of the pain." Jonas helped him to his chair at the side of the bed. Then he quickly removed his tunic and lay face down. "Put your hands on me," he directed, aware that in such anguish The Giver might need reminding. The hands came, and the pain came with them and through them. Jonas braced himself and entered the memory which was torturing The Giver. He was in a confused, noisy, foul-smelling place. It was daylight, early morning, and the air was thick with smoke that hung, yellow and brown, above the ground. Around him, everywhere, far across the expanse of what seemed to be a field, lay groaning men. A wild-eyed horse, its bridle torn and dangling, trotted frantically through the mounds of men, tossing its head, whinnying in panic. It stumbled, finally, then fell, and did not rise. Jonas heard a voice next to him. "Water," the voice said in a parched, croaking whisper. He turned his head toward the voice and looked into the half-closed eyes of a boy who seemed not much older than himself. Dirt streaked the boy's face and his matted blond hair. He lay sprawled, his gray uniform glistening with wet, fresh blood. The colors of the carnage were grotesquely bright: the crimson wetness on the rough and dusty fabric, the ripped shreds of grass, startlingly green, in the boy's yellow hair. The boy stared at him. "Water," he begged again. When he spoke, a new spurt of blood drenched the coarse cloth across his chest and sleeve. One of Jonas's arms was immobilized with pain, and he could see through his own torn sleeve something that looked like ragged flesh and splintery bone. He tried his remaining arm and felt it move. Slowly he reached to his side, felt the metal container there, and removed its cap, stopping the small motion of his hand now and then to wait for the surging pain to ease. Finally, when the container was open, he extended his arm slowly across the blood-soaked earth, inch by inch, and held it to the lips of the boy. Water trickled into the imploring mouth and down the grimy chin. The boy sighed. His head fell back, his lower jaw dropping as if he had been surprised by something. A dull blankness slid slowly across his eyes. He was silent. But the noise continued all around: the cries of the wounded men, the cries begging for water and for Mother and for death. Horses lying on the ground shrieked, raised their heads, and stabbed randomly toward the sky with their hooves. From the distance, Jonas could hear the thud of cannons. Overwhelmed by pain, he lay there in the fearsome stench for hours, listened to the men and animals die, and learned what warfare meant. Finally, when he knew that he could bear it no longer and would welcome death himself, he opened his eyes and was once again on the bed. The Giver looked away, as if he could not bear to see what he had done to Jonas. "Forgive me," he said. 乔纳思一进人安尼斯，就知道这一天他又要先离开了。 传授人僵直地坐在椅子上，脸埋在手里。 “传授人，我明天再来。”说完后，他又迟疑地说，“说不定我可以帮上一点忙。” 传授人抬头看他，一张脸早已扭曲变形：“求求你，”他喘着气说，“帮我分担一些痛苦。” 乔纳思赶紧扶他坐到床边的椅子上，然后迅速脱掉自己的上衣，趴下来。 “把手放到我身上。”他明白传授人现在痛苦不堪，可能需要人提醒。 手贴上了，痛苦也跟着源源而来。乔纳思打起精神，进入传授人痛苦的记忆中。 他来到一个混乱、嘈杂、空气中飘着阵阵恶臭的地方，天空微露曦光，正是黎明时分，四周弥漫着浓浓的黄褐色烟雾。放眼望去，到处躺着人，呻吟声此起彼落。突然一匹惊慌失措的马，拖着破裂的马鞍，在人堆中乱蹿，不时仰起头，凄厉地嘶叫。最后它绊了一跤，跌倒在地，再也没有爬起来。 乔纳思听见身边有个干涩、沙哑的声音在说：“水……” 他循声望去，看到一个半闭着眼睛、跟自己年纪差不多的男孩儿，脸上和枯涩的金发上到处是泥巴。他瘫软在地上，灰色的制服因为被鲜血浸透而闪闪发亮。 屠杀的色彩竟是如此怪异的鲜明：粗糙、蒙灰的布料上，沾满艳红色的血液，衬得男孩儿金发上掺杂的青草，越发鲜绿。 男孩儿看着他，再次恳求：“水。”他一说话就呕出一股鲜血，浸湿了胸膛上的粗布衣和袖口。 乔纳思的一只手也痛得动弹不得，他从撕裂的袖子上，看见手臂已经皮开肉绽、骨头碎裂。他挪动另一只手，慢慢在身边摸索，终于摸到水壶，正想打开壶盖，阵阵疼痛又传来，他不得不停下来，等到疼痛减缓，再慢慢地旋转盖子。 盖子终于打开了，他伸出手臂，一点一点、缓缓地越过那浸染着鲜血的土壤，送到男孩儿嘴边。水滴入男孩儿发出乞求的嘴里，也流过他污秽的下巴。 男孩儿叹了一口气，头部后仰，下巴松松的往下垂，好像被什么东西吓了一跳。一抹阴沉的空洞慢慢蒙上他的双眼，随后他就完全没了声息。 四周嘈杂依旧：受伤的人不断哀号，有的想喝水，有的哭喊母亲，有的哀求死亡，倒地不起的马儿抬起头，尖声嘶鸣，虚弱地朝空中扬蹄。 远方传来阵阵炮轰声。乔纳思躺在地上，被一阵阵的痛苦淹没。这个时刻，他只能听任人们和动物一个个死亡，体认战争残忍的内涵。 他再也受不了这磨人的痛楚，他宁可一死一了百了。他睁开眼睛，发现自己正躺在床上。 传授人转过头去，好像不忍心看见自己加在乔纳思身上的痛苦：“原谅我，乔纳思！”

Chapter 14 It was much the same, this memory, though the hill seemed to be a different one, steeper, and the snow was not falling as thickly as it had before. It was colder, also, Jonas perceived. He could see, as he sat waiting at the top of the hill, that the snow beneath the sled was not thick and soft as it had been before, but hard, and coated with bluish ice. The sled moved forward, and Jonas grinned with delight, looking forward to the breathtaking slide down through the invigorating air. But the runners, this time, couldn't slice through the frozen expanse as they had on the other, snow-cushioned hill. They skittered sideways and the sled gathered speed. Jonas pulled at the rope, trying to steer, but the steepness and speed took control from his hands and he was no longer enjoying the feeling of freedom but instead, terrified, was at the mercy of the wild acceleration downward over the ice. Sideways, spinning, the sled hit a bump in the hill and Jonas was jarred loose and thrown violently into the air. He fell with his leg twisted under him, and could hear the crack of bone. His face scraped along jagged edges of ice and when he came, at last, to a stop, he lay shocked and still, feeling nothing at first but fear. Then, the first wave of pain. He gasped. It was as if a hatchet lay lodged in his leg, slicing through each nerve with a hot blade. In his agony he perceived the word "fire" and felt flames licking at the torn bone and flesh. He tried to move, and could not. The pain grew. He screamed. There was no answer. Sobbing, he turned his head and vomited onto the frozen snow. Blood dripped from his face into the vomit. "Nooooo!" he cried, and the sound disappeared into the empty landscape, into the wind. Then, suddenly, he was in the Annex room again, writhing on the bed. His face was wet with tears. Able to move now, he rocked his own body back and forth, breathing deeply to release the remembered pain. He sat, and looked at his own leg, where it lay straight on the bed, unbroken. The brutal slice of pain was gone. But the leg ached horribly, still, and his face felt raw. "May I have relief-of-pain, please?" he begged. It was always provided in his everyday life for the bruises and wounds, for a mashed finger, a stomach ache, a skinned knee from a fall from a bike. There was always a daub of anesthetic ointment, or a pill; or in severe instances, an injection that brought complete and instantaneous deliverance. But The Giver said no, and looked away. Limping, Jonas walked home, pushing his bicycle, that evening. The sunburn pain had been so small, in comparison, and had not stayed with him. But this ache lingered. It was not unendurable, as the pain on the hill had been. Jonas tried to be brave. He remembered that the Chief Elder had said he was brave. "Is something wrong, Jonas?" his father asked at the evening meal. "You're so quiet tonight. Aren't you feeling well? Would you like some medication?" But Jonas remembered the rules. No medication for anything related to his training. And no discussion of his training. At the time for sharing-of-feelings, he simply said that he felt tired, that his school lessons had been unusually demanding that day. He went to his sleeping room early, and from behind the closed door he could hear his parents and sister laughing as they gave Gabriel his evening bath. They have never known pain, he thought. The realization made him feel desperately lonely, and he rubbed his throbbing leg. He eventually slept. Again and again he dreamed of the anguish and the isolation on the forsaken hill. The daily training continued, and now it always included pain. The agony of the fractured leg began to seem no more than a mild discomfort as The Giver led Jonas firmly, little by little, into the deep and terrible suffering of the past. Each time, in his kindness, The Giver ended the afternoon with a color-filled memory of pleasure: a brisk sail on a blue-green lake; a meadow dotted with yellow wildflowers; an orange sunset behind mountains. It was not enough to assuage the pain that Jonas was beginning, now, to know. "Why?" Jonas asked him after he had received a torturous memory in which he had been neglected and unfed; the hunger had caused excruciating spasms in his empty, distended stomach. He lay on the bed, aching. "Why do you and I have to hold these memories?" "It gives us wisdom," The Giver replied. "Without wisdom I could not fulfill my function of advising the Committee of Elders when they call upon me." "But what wisdom do you get from hunger?" Jonas groaned. His stomach still hurt, though the memory had ended. "Some years ago," The Giver told him, "before your birth, a lot of citizens petitioned the Committee of Elders. They wanted to increase the rate of births. They wanted each Birthmother to be assigned four births instead of three, so that the population would increase and there would be more Laborers available." Jonas nodded, listening. "That makes sense." "The idea was that certain family units could accommodate an additional child." Jonas nodded again. "Mine could," he pointed out. "We have Gabriel this year, and it's fun, having a third child." "The Committee of Elders sought my advice," The Giver said. "It made sense to them, too, but it was a new idea, and they came to me for wisdom." "And you used your memories?" The Giver said yes. "And the strongest memory that came was hunger. It came from many generations back. Centuries back. The population had gotten so big that hunger was everywhere. Excruciating hunger and starvation. It was followed by warfare." Warfare? It was a concept Jonas did not know. But hunger was familiar to him now. Unconsciously he rubbed his own abdomen, recalling the pain of its unfulfilled needs. "So you described that to them?" "They don't want to hear about pain. They just seek the advice. I simply advised them against increasing the population." "But you said that that was before my birth. They hardly ever come to you for advice. Only when they — what was it you said? When they have a problem they've never faced before. When did it happen last?" "Do you remember the day when the plane flew over the community?" "Yes. I was scared." "So were they. They prepared to shoot it down. But they sought my advice. I told them to wait." "But how did you know? How did you know the pilot was lost?" "I didn't. I used my wisdom, from the memories. I knew that there had been times in the past — terrible times — when people had destroyed others in haste, in fear, and had brought about their own destruction." Jonas realized something. "That means," he said slowly, "that you have memories of destruction. And you have to give them to me, too, because I have to get the wisdom." The Giver nodded. "But it will hurt," Jonas said. It wasn't a question. "It will hurt terribly," The Giver agreed. "But why can't everyone have the memories? I think it would seem a little easier if the memories were shared. You and I wouldn't have to bear so much by ourselves, if everybody took a part." The Giver sighed. "You're right," he said. "But then everyone would be burdened and pained. They don't want that. And that's the real reason The Receiver is so vital to them, and so honored. They selected me — and you — to lift that burden from themselves." "When did they decide that?" Jonas asked angrily. "It wasn't fair. Let's change it!" "How do you suggest we do that? I've never been able to think of a way, and I'm supposed to be the one with all the wisdom." "But there are two of us now," Jonas said eagerly. "Together we can think of something!" The Giver watched him with a wry smile. "Why can't we just apply for a change of rules?" Jonas suggested. The Giver laughed; then Jonas, too, chuckled reluctantly. "The decision was made long before my time or yours," The Giver said, "and before the previous Receiver, and — " He waited. "Back and back and back." Jonas repeated the familiar phrase. Sometimes it had seemed humorous to him. Sometimes it had seemed meaningful and important. Now it was ominous. It meant, he knew, that nothing could be changed. The new child Gabriel, was growing, and successfully passed the tests of maturity that the Nurturers gave each month; he could sit alone, now, could reach for and grasp small play objects, and he had six teeth. During the day-time hours, Father reported, he was cheerful and seemed of normal intelligence. But he remained fretful at night, whimpering often, needing frequent attention. "After all this extra time I've put in with him," Father said one evening after Gabriel had been bathed and was lying, for the moment, hugging his hippo placidly in the small crib that had replaced the basket, "I hope they're not going to decide to release him." "Maybe it would be for the best," Mother suggested. "I know you don't mind getting up with him at night. But the lack of sleep is awfully hard for me." "If they release Gabriel, can we get another new child as a visitor?" asked Lily. She was kneeling beside the crib, making funny faces at the little one, who was smiling back at her. Jonas's mother rolled her eyes in dismay. "No," Father said, smiling. He ruffled Lily's hair. "It's very rare, anyway, that a new child status is as uncertain as Gabriel's. It probably won't happen again, for a long time. "Anyway," he sighed, "they won't make the decision for a while. Right now we're all preparing for a release we'll probably have to make very soon. There's a Birth-mother who's expecting twin males next month." "Oh, dear," Mother said, shaking her head. "If they're identical, I hope you're not the one assigned — " "I am. I'm next on the list. I'll have to select the one to be nurtured, and the one to be released. It's usually not hard, though. Usually it's just a matter of birth weight. We release the smaller of the two." Jonas, listening, thought suddenly about the bridge and how, standing there, he had wondered what lay Elsewhere. Was there someone there, waiting, who would receive the tiny released twin? Would it grow up Elsewhere, not knowing, ever, that in this community lived a being who looked exactly the same? For a moment he felt a tiny, fluttering hope that he knew was quite foolish. He hoped that it would be Larissa, waiting. Larissa, the old woman he had bathed. He remembered her sparkling eyes, her soft voice, her low chuckle. Fiona had told him recently that Larissa had been released at a wonderful ceremony. But he knew that the Old were not given children to raise. Larissa's life Elsewhere would be quiet and serene as befit the Old; she would not welcome the responsibility of nurturing a new child who needed feeding and care, and would likely cry at night. "Mother? Father?" he said, the idea coming to him unexpectedly, "why don't we put Gabriel's crib in my room tonight? I know how to feed and comfort him, and it would let you and Father get some sleep." Father looked doubtful. "You sleep so soundly, Jonas. What if his restlessness didn't wake you?" It was Lily who answered that. "If no one goes to tend Gabriel," she pointed out, "he gets very loud. He'd wake all of us, if Jonas slept through it." Father laughed. "You're right, Lily-billy. All right, Jonas, let's try it, just for tonight. I'll take the night off and we'll let Mother get some sleep, too." Gabriel slept soundly for the earliest part of the night. Jonas, in his bed, lay awake for a while; from time to time he raised himself on one elbow, looking over at the crib. The new child was on his stomach, his arms relaxed beside his head, his eyes closed, and his breathing regular and undisturbed. Finally Jonas slept too. Then, as the middle hours of the night approached, the noise of Gabe's restlessness woke Jonas. The new child was turning under his cover, flailing his arms, and beginning to whimper. Jonas rose and went to him. Gently he patted Gabriel's back. Sometimes that was all it took to lull him back to sleep. But the new child still squirmed fretfully under his hand. Still patting rhythmically, Jonas began to remember the wonderful sail that The Giver had given him not long before: a bright, breezy day on a clear turquoise lake, and above him the white sail of the boat billowing as he moved along in the brisk wind. He was not aware of giving the memory; but suddenly he realized that it was becoming dimmer, that it was sliding through his hand into the being of the new child Gabriel became quiet. Startled, Jonas pulled back what was left of the memory with a burst of will. He removed his hand from the little back and stood quietly beside the crib. To himself, he called the memory of the sail forward again. It was still there, but the sky was less blue, the gentle motion of the boat slower, the water of the lake more murky and clouded. He kept it for a while, soothing his own nervousness at what had occurred, then let it go and returned to his bed. Once more, toward dawn, the new child woke and cried out. Again Jonas went to him. This time he quite deliberately placed his hand firmly on Gabriel's back, and released the rest of the calming day on the lake. Again Gabriel slept. But now Jonas lay awake, thinking. He no longer had any more than a wisp of the memory, and he felt a small lack where it had been. He could ask The Giver for another sail, he knew. A sail perhaps on ocean, next time, for Jonas had a memory of ocean, now, and knew what it was; he knew that there were sailboats there, too, in memories yet to be acquired. He wondered, though, if he should confess to The Giver that he had given a memory away. He was not yet qualified to be a Giver himself; nor had Gabriel been selected to be a Receiver. That he had this power frightened him. He decided not to tell. 这次的记忆跟上次很像，但显然不是先前那座山，这里的山势陡峭，雪也没那么大。 乔纳思察觉到天气更冷了。他坐在山顶上等候时，发现雪橇下面的积雪不像以前那么厚、那么松软，而是质地坚硬，上头覆盖着一层浅蓝色的冰。 雪橇向前移动了，乔纳思开心地笑着，期待能在冰凉的空气中开始令人屏息的滑行。 上次的山丘是雪覆大地，所以滑行顺畅；这次却是冰封大地，滑动不易。他一直往旁边溜过去，速度越来越快。乔纳思拉起绳子，想要好好控制雪橇，但是陡峭的山坡、飞快的速度，让他的双手无法招架，他再也没有自由的快感了，取而代之的是狂乱失控的恐惧。 雪橇一路下滑，拐弯，最后“砰”的一声，撞上山崖。 乔纳思被震得离开雪橇，拋向半空中，双脚扭在一起掉落下来，他听见骨头撞裂的声音，脸则被尖锐的冰块边缘刮伤。 终于他停下来了，惊恐地躺着，一动也不能动，除了害怕，什么都感觉不到。 接着，第一波痛苦袭来，他喘了一口气，那痛就像有人拿一把短斧在砍他的腿，将炽热的刀刃慢慢地划入他的神经。在极大的痛楚中，他意识到什么叫做“火”，感觉火焰舔舐着他破裂的骨头和肌肉。他想要移动身体，却做不到，痛苦越来越强烈。 他大声尖叫，却没有任何回应。 他啜泣着转过身，在冰封的雪地上呕吐，鲜血从他脸庞上滴下，跟吐出来的东西混在一起。 “不要！”他大声哭喊着，但是声音被空寂的大地吞没，随风飘逝。 突然之间，他又回到安尼斯房间，整个人蜷缩在床上，脸上沾满了泪水。 现在终于可以移动了，他将身体前后伸展，深深吸了一口气，藉以释放记忆所带来的痛苦。 他坐起来，望着自己好端端的腿，那痛彻心扉的切割感已经远离，但是腿上、脸上依然十分刺痛。 “我可以吃一片止痛药吗？求求你！”平常止痛药随时可得，无论是身体瘀青或受伤、手指压伤、胃痛，或从自行车上摔下来，擦破膝盖，都可以拿到一罐麻醉软膏或一片药；比较严重的，甚至可以马上打一针，把人及时从痛苦中解救出来。 但是传授人说不行，他的眼睛望向远方。 那天傍晚，乔纳思推着自行车，瘸着脚走回家。相比之下，晒伤的痛真的是小巫见大巫，也不会停留在身上。但是这次的疼痛一直持续着。 它不像刚撞上山崖时那般难以忍受，乔纳思试着勇敢一点，他记得首席长老曾经称赞他很勇敢。 “乔纳思，你怎么了？”晚餐时，爸爸问他，“今天晚上你好安静。你哪里不舒服？要不要吃药？” 乔纳思牢记规则，跟训练有关的伤害通通不准服药，也不能跟别人谈论他的训练过程。 到了“分享时间”，他推说自己累了，因为学校的功课非常繁重。 他早早进了卧室，透过紧闭的房门，听见爸妈和妹妹一边帮加波洗澡，一边开心地笑着。 他们从不知道什么是痛苦，这让他感到格外的孤独，不禁开始搓揉疼痛的双腿。最后他睡着了，一次又一次，梦见自己被孤伶伶地遗弃在山丘上。 训练持续进行，每天都免不了痛苦。腿部骨折现在看来还算是温和的，因为在传授人的带领下，乔纳思一点一滴地进入过去更深沉、更恐怖的苦难。每一次，传授人基于不忍，都会好心地用一个充满色彩的欢乐回忆作为结束：也许是在碧绿的湖面上轻快地航行，或是一片开满黄花的草地，或是太阳下山的彩霞。 但是这些美丽的景致并不能减轻他的痛苦。 “为什么？”乔纳思问。他刚刚才又经历了一段磨难，没有人关心他，也没有东西吃，他那空洞、膨胀的胃部因为饥饿而剧烈地痉挛。他苦不堪言地躺在床上，“为什么你和我必须保留这些记忆？” “它带给我们智能。”传授人说，“没有智能，我就不能发挥功能，给长老们提供建议。” “但是您能从饥饿中得到什么智能？”乔纳思忿忿不平地说。虽然经历已经结束，他的胃还在阵阵抽痛。 “许多年前，”传授人告诉他，“在你出生之前，一大堆市民向长老委员会请愿，希望能够提高出生率，而不是只生三个小宝宝，最好是指定每位孕母生四个，这样人口就会增加，也有较多的劳工可以派遣。” 乔纳思一边听，一边点头：“听起来蛮有道理的。” “他们建议，有些家庭可以多容纳一名孩子。” 乔纳思又点点头：“我家就可以。”他指出，“我们今年多了加波。有第三个孩子，很好玩儿。” “长老会征询我的意见，”传授人说，“他们也觉得好像行得通，但这是新措施，所以他们想借助我的智能。” “而你运用了你的记忆？” 传授人承认：“最强烈的记忆来自饥饿。这要回到好几代、好几世纪以前。由于人口过多，到处都有人挨饿。大饥荒饿死了很多人，战争接着就来了。” 战争？这是一个乔纳思从没听过的概念。但是现在他已经对饥饿很熟悉了，他下意识地摸着自己的腹部，回想起挨饿的痛苦，“所以您跟他们描述什么是饥饿？” “他们才不想听痛苦的经验，他们只想听建议，所以我也只是警告他们，反对增加人口。” “不过您说那是在我出生以前的事。他们很少来询问您的意见，除非——您是怎么说的呢？面临了前所未有的状况。上次他们来找您是什么时候呢？” “你记不记得有一天飞机飞过社区的上空？” “记得，我吓坏了。” “他们也一样，他们本来准备把它打下来，但征询我的意见时，我告诉他们不要急，再等等看。” “但是您怎么知道？您怎么知道是驾驶员迷路了？” “我不知道，但是我运用了从记忆中获得的智能。我知道在过去有很多次——实在是太多次了——只要是在匆忙、慌乱和恐惧中摧毁对方，就会为自己带来毁灭。” 乔纳思有点了解了，“那就是说，”他慢慢地说，“您具有毁灭的记忆。而您也会将这个记忆传给我，这样我才能获得智能。” 传授人点点头。 “但过程会很痛苦。”乔纳思已经了然于胸了。 “相当痛苦。”传授人同意道。 “那为什么不让每个人都拥有记忆？如果由大家共同承担，每个人都分得一小部分，您和我也不用承受这么多的痛苦。” 传授人叹了一口气：“你说得没错，”他说，“但是这么一来，每个人都会感受到痛苦，他们就是不要这样。这也是记忆传授人这么重要、地位这么崇高的真正原因。他们选上我——还有你——来为大家挑起这份重担。” “这是什么时候决定的？”乔纳思生气地问，“实在不公平，我们来改变它！” “你认为我们能怎么做？我一直想不出可行的办法，而我还号称是最有智能的人呢！” “现在我们是两个人啦！”乔纳思急切地说，“我们可以一起想出办法的！” 传授人看着乔纳思，露出一丝苦笑。 “我们何不提议修改社区的法规？”乔纳思建议。 传授人大笑，乔纳思也不得不跟着笑。 “这个决定，早在我和你之前很久很久的时代，就已经制定了。”传授人说，“在上一任记忆传承人以前……”他等着。 “以前、以前、再以前。”乔纳思重复这句耳熟能详的话。 有时候这句话很幽默，有时候却又别具意义、重要非凡。 像现在，这句话就不是个好兆头，他知道，这意味着事情是不可能改变的。 小宝宝加波渐渐长大，并且成功地通过了养育师每个月所做的发展测试。现在他可以坐起来，伸手去抓玩具，还长了六颗牙。爸爸向大家报告：加波在白天的时候也很开心，智力表现正常，只是夜间仍会吵闹，经常发出呜呜咽咽的声音，需要特别注意。 现在加波已经不睡婴儿提篮，改睡婴儿床了。有一天，他洗完澡，抱着小河马，乖乖地躺着。爸爸说：“我额外花了这么多的时间照顾他，希望他们到最后不会解放他。” “也许这样最好。”妈妈说，“我知道你不介意半夜起床陪他，但是我长期睡眠不足，已经快支持不下去了。” “如果加波解放了，还会有其他小宝宝来我们家住吗？” 莉莉问。她跪在婴儿床旁边对着小家伙做鬼脸，小宝宝也回她一个微笑。 乔纳思的妈妈无奈地翻翻眼珠。 “不可能的，”爸爸笑着说，他抚抚莉莉的头发，“很少有小宝宝发育像加波这么不稳定。可能要很久以后才会再发生类似的情形。” “反正，”他叹了一口气，“他们不会这么快下决定。因为最近我们正忙着准备另一桩解放工作。有个孕母怀了双胞胎，下个月就要生了。” “哦，亲爱的，”妈妈摇摇头说，“如果他们是同卵双胞胎，我希望你不会被指定去……” “就是我，名单上的下一位就是我。我必须选择一个来养育，把另一个解放掉。做决定并不难，体重是唯一的考量，体重较轻就解放。” 乔纳思听着，突然想到那座桥，不知道河界外的远方是怎样的世界？在那里，是否有个人正等着接收这个较小的被解放的双胞胎？他在那个地方成长，会知道在这个社区有一个跟他长得几乎一模一样的人吗？ 他突然浮现一个有点愚蠢的希望，希望莱莉莎一就是那位他曾经帮她洗澡的老妇人——在远方等着接收这个小婴儿。他还记得她闪闪发亮的眼睛、轻柔的声音、低声的浅笑。 费欧娜最近才告诉他，莱莉莎在一个很棒的解放庆祝会中离开了。 不过他知道老人不可能再养育孩子。莱莉莎在那里的生活会跟这里的老人一样，非常安详、宁静，她不会想再养育小宝宝，白天得忙着喂食、照顾，半夜还要安抚宝宝的哭闹，多累人啊！ “妈妈！爸爸！”他的脑海里突然出现一个点子，“今天晚上何不把加波的小床放在我房间？我知道怎么喂他、安抚他，这样您和妈妈就可以好好地睡一觉。” 爸爸有点迟疑：“你一向睡得很沉，乔纳思，如果他吵不醒你，怎么办？” 莉莉回答了这个问题：“如果没有人理会加波，”她指出，“他就会吵得更大声，把我们通通吵醒。” 爸爸笑了起来：“你说得没错，莉莉小宝贝。好吧，乔纳思，今天晚上我们就先试试看吧。我不当班，也让妈妈好好睡一觉。” 上半夜加波睡得很沉。乔纳思躺在床上睡不着，不时撑起一只手臂，俯看小床上的加波。小宝宝趴着睡，手臂放松地放在头侧，双眼闭上，呼吸平顺、规律。最后乔纳思也睡着了。 接近午夜的时候，加波翻来覆去的声音把乔纳思吵醒了。小宝宝在被单下扭来扭去，两只手臂猛挥，开始呜呜咽咽哭起来了。 乔纳思起身走过去，轻轻拍打加波的背。有时候，这样就可以哄他再睡。但是这会儿他依然烦躁地扭着身子。 乔纳思继续有节奏地拍打着，同时想起传授人不久前转移给他的快乐航行记忆：天色清朗、微风拂面，他驾着白色帆船，倘佯在清澈碧绿的湖面上，乘着清风徐徐而行。 他没有意识到自己正在转移记忆，但是突然间，记忆的影像逐渐黯淡。原来透过他的手，记忆已传给了小宝宝。加波渐渐安静下来了。乔纳思大吃一惊，赶紧运用意志力把残存的记忆拉回来。他将手从小宝宝的背上移开，静静地伫立在小床边。 他再次回想脑海里的航行记忆。意象还在，但是天空没那么蓝了，船行的速度变慢了，湖水也变得朦朦胧胧，好像罩了一层雾。他沉浸在回忆中好一会儿，最后躺回自己的床上，不再想它。 黎明将近时，小宝宝又哭了。乔纳思走过去，毫不迟疑地将手贴在加波背上，将剩下的湖上时光释放出来。加波再度睡着了。 乔纳思躺下来沉思。不再拥有航行的记忆，让他有些怅然若失。他知道自己可以再向传授人要求，也许是在大海上乘风破浪，因为他拥有大海的记忆，知道大海是怎样的景致。他也知道海上有船只，只是尚未获得相关的影像。 他不知道要不要跟传授人坦白他把一段记忆转移出去了。他自己还没有资格当传授人；加波也没有被遴选为记忆传承人。 他很惊奇自己拥有这样的能力，他决定不告诉任何人。

Chapter 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 didn't 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 isn't 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 everything's the same, then there aren't 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 it's all the same, always." Then he laughed a little. "I know it's not important, what you wear. It doesn't matter. But — " "It's the choosing that's important, isn't it?" The Giver asked him. Jonas nodded. "My little brother — " he began, and then corrected himself. "No, that's inaccurate. He's not my brother, not really. But this new child that my family takes care of — his name's Gabriel?" "Yes, I know about Gabriel." "Well, he's right at the age where he's learning so much. He grabs toys when we hold them in front of him — my father says he's learning small-muscle control. And he's 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 wouldn't matter for a new child toy. But later it does matter, doesn't it? We don't 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, isn't it?" The Giver said. Jonas chuckled. "Very frightening. I can't even imagine it. We really have to protect people from wrong choices." "It's 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 didn't understand. He found that he was often angry, now: irrationally angry at his group mates 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. He tried. Without asking permission from The Giver, because he feared — or knew — that it would be denied, he tried to give his new awareness to his friends. "Asher," Jonas said one morning, "look at those flowers very carefully." They were standing beside a bed of geraniums planted near the Hall of Open Records. He put his hands on Asher's shoulders, and concentrated on the red of the petals, trying to hold it as long as he could, and trying at the same time to transmit the awareness of red to his friend. "What's the matter?" Asher asked uneasily. "Is something wrong?" He moved away from Jonas's hands. It was extremely rude for one citizen to touch another outside of family units. "No, nothing. I thought for a minute that they were wilting, and we should let the Gardening Crew know they needed more watering." Jonas sighed, and turned away. One evening he came home from his training weighted with new knowledge. The Giver had chosen a startling and disturbing memory that day. Under the touch of his hands, Jonas had found himself suddenly in a place that was completely alien: hot and windswept under a vast blue sky. There were tufts of sparse grass, a few bushes and rocks, and nearby he could see an area of thicker vegetation: broad, low trees outlined against the sky. He could hear noises: the sharp crack of weapons — he perceived the word guns — and then shouts, and an immense crashing thud as something fell, tearing branches from the trees. He heard voices calling to one another. Peering from the place where he stood hidden behind some shrubbery, he was reminded of what The Giver had told him, that there had been a time when flesh had different colors. Two of these men had dark brown skin; the others were light. Going closer, he watched them hack the tusks from a motionless elephant on the ground and haul them away, spattered with blood. He felt himself overwhelmed with a new perception of the color he knew as red. Then the men were gone, speeding toward the horizon in a vehicle that spit pebbles from its whirling tires. One hit his forehead and stung him there. But the memory continued, though Jonas ached now for it to end. Now he saw another elephant emerge from the place where it had stood hidden in the trees. Very slowly it walked to the mutilated body and looked down. With its sinuous trunk it stroked the huge corpse; then it reached up, broke some leafy branches with a snap, and draped them over the mass of torn thick flesh. Finally it tilted its massive head, raised its trunk, and roared into the empty landscape. Jonas had never heard such a sound. It was a sound of rage and grief and it seemed never to end. He could still hear it when he opened his eyes and lay anguished on the bed where he received the memories. It continued to roar into his consciousness as he pedaled slowly home. "Lily," he asked that evening when his sister took her comfort object, the stuffed elephant, from the shelf, "did you know that once there really were elephants? Live ones?" She glanced down at the ragged comfort object and grinned. "Right," she said, skeptically. "Sure, Jonas." Jonas went and sat beside them while his father untied Lily's hair ribbons and combed her hair. He placed one hand on each of their shoulders. With all of his being he tried to give each of them a piece of the memory: not of the tortured cry of the elephant, but of the being of the elephant, of the towering, immense creature and the meticulous touch with which it had tended its friend at the end. But his father had continued to comb Lily's long hair, and Lily, impatient, had finally wiggled under her brother's touch. "Jonas," she said, "you're hurting me with your hand." "I apologize for hurting you, Lily," Jonas mumbled, and took his hand away. "I accept your apology," Lily responded indifferently, stroking the lifeless elephant. "Giver," Jonas asked once, as they prepared for the day's work, "don't you have a spouse? Aren't you allowed to apply for one?" Although he was exempted from the rules against rudeness, he was aware that this was a rude question. But The Giver had encouraged all of his questions, not seeming to be embarrassed or offended by even the most personal. The Giver chuckled. "No, there's no rule against it. And I did have a spouse. You're forgetting how old I am, Jonas. My former spouse lives now with the Childless Adults." "Oh, of course." Jonas had forgotten The Giver's obvious age. When adults of the community became older, their lives became different. They were no longer needed to create family units. Jonas's own parents, when he and Lily were grown, would go to live with the Childless Adults. "You'll be able to apply for a spouse, Jonas, if you want to. I'll warn you, though, that it will be difficult. Your living arrangements will have to be different from those of most family units, because the books are forbidden to citizens. You and I are the only ones with access to the books." Jonas glanced around at the astonishing array of volumes. From time to time, now, he could see their colors. With their hours together, his and The Giver's, consumed by conversation and by the transmission of memories, Jonas had not yet opened any of the books. But he read the titles here and there, and knew that they contained all of the knowledge of centuries, and that one day they would belong to him. "So if I have a spouse, and maybe children, I will have to hide the books from them?" The Giver nodded. "I wasn't permitted to share the books with my spouse, that's correct. And there are other difficulties, too. You remember the rule that says the new Receiver can't talk about his training?" Jonas nodded. Of course he remembered. It had turned out, by far, to be the most frustrating of the rules he was required to obey. "When you become the official Receiver, when we're finished here, you'll be given a whole new set of rules. Those are the rules that I obey. And it won't surprise you that I am forbidden to talk about my work to anyone except the new Receiver. That's you, of course. "So there will be a whole part of your life which you won't be able to share with a family. It's hard, Jonas. It was hard for me. "You do understand, don't you, that this is my life? The memories?" Jonas nodded again, but he was puzzled. Didn't life consist of the things you did each day? There wasn't anything else, really. "I've seen you taking walks," he said. The Giver sighed. "I walk. I eat at mealtime. And when I am called by the Committee of Elders, I appear before them, to give them counsel and advice." "Do you advise them often?" Jonas was a little frightened at the thought that one day he would be the one to advise the ruling body. But the Giver said no. "Rarely. Only when they are faced with something that they have not experienced before. Then they call upon me to use the memories and advise them. But it very seldom happens. Sometimes I wish they'd ask for my wisdom more often — there are so many things I could tell them; things I wish they would change. But they don't want change. Life here is so orderly, so predictable — so painless. It's what they've chosen." "I don't know why they even need a Receiver, then, if they never call upon him," Jonas commented. "They need me. And you," The Giver said, but didn't explain. "They were reminded of that ten years ago." "What happened ten years ago?" Jonas asked. "Oh, I know. You tried to train a successor and it failed. Why? Why did that remind them?" The Giver smiled grimly. "When the new Receiver failed, the memories that she had received were released. They didn't come back to me. They went..." He paused, and seemed to be struggling with the concept. "I don't know, exactly. They went to the place where memories once existed before Receivers were created. Someplace out there — " He gestured vaguely with his arm. "And then the people had access to them. Apparently that's the way it was, once. Everyone had access to memories. "It was chaos," he said. "They really suffered for a while. Finally it subsided as the memories were assimilated. But it certainly made them aware of how they need a Receiver to contain all that pain. And knowledge." "But you have to suffer like that all the time," Jonas pointed out. The Giver nodded. "And you will. It's my life. It will be yours." Jonas thought about it, about what it would be like for him. "Along with walking and eating and — " He looked around the walls of books. "Reading? That's it?" The Giver shook his head. "Those are simply the things that I do. My life is here." "In this room?" The Giver shook his head. He put his hands to his own face, to his chest. "No. Here, in my being. Where the memories are." "My Instructors in science and technology have taught us about how the brain works," Jonas told him eagerly. "It's full of electrical impulses. It's like a computer. If you stimulate one part of the brain with an electrode, it — " He stopped talking. He could see an odd look on The Giver's face. "They know nothing," The Giver said bitterly. Jonas was shocked. Since the first day in the Annex room, they had together disregarded the rules about rudeness, and Jonas felt comfortable with that now. But this was different, and far beyond rude. This was a terrible accusation. What if someone had heard? He glanced quickly at the wall speaker, terrified that the Committee might be listening as they could at any time. But, as always during their sessions together, the switch had been turned to OFF. "Nothing?" Jonas whispered nervously. "But my instructors — " The Giver flicked his hand as if brushing something aside. "Oh, your instructors are well trained. They know their scientific facts. Everyone is well trained for his job. "It's just that...without the memories it's all meaningless. They gave that burden to me. And to the previous Receiver. And the one before him." "And back and back and back," Jonas said, knowing the phrase that always came. The Giver smiled, though his smile was oddly harsh. "That's right. And next it will be you. A great honor." "Yes, sir. They told me that at the Ceremony. The very highest honor." Some afternoons The Giver sent him away without training. Jonas knew, on days when he arrived to find The Giver hunched over, rocking his body slightly back and forth, his face pale, that he would be sent away. "Go," The Giver would tell him tensely. "I'm in pain today. Come back tomorrow." On those days, worried and disappointed, Jonas would walk alone beside the river. The paths were empty of people except for the few Delivery Crews and Landscape Workers here and there. Small children were all at the Childcare Center after school, and the older ones busy with volunteer hours or training. By himself, he tested his own developing memory. He watched the landscape for glimpses of the green that he knew was embedded in the shrubbery; when it came flickering into his consciousness, he focused upon it, keeping it there, darkening it, holding it in his vision as long as possible until his head hurt and he let it fade away. He stared at the flat, colorless sky, bringing blue from it, and remembered sunshine until finally, for an instant, he could feel warmth. He stood at the foot of the bridge that spanned the river, the bridge that citizens were allowed to cross only on official business. Jonas had crossed it on school trips, visiting the outlying communities, and he knew that the land beyond the bridge was much the same, flat and well ordered, with fields for agriculture. The other communities he had seen on visits were essentially the same as his own, the only differences were slightly altered styles of dwellings, slightly different schedules in the schools. He wondered what lay in the far distance where he had never gone. The land didn't end beyond those nearby communities. Were there hills Elsewhere? Were there vast wind-torn areas like the place he had seen in memory, the place where the elephant died? "Giver," he asked one afternoon following a day when he had been sent away, "what causes you pain?" When the Giver was silent, Jonas continued. "The Chief Elder told me, at the beginning, that the receiving of memory causes terrible pain. And you described for me that the failure of the last new Receiver released painful memories to the community. "But I haven't suffered, Giver. Not really." Jonas smiled. "Oh, I remember the sunburn you gave me on the very first day. But that wasn't so terrible. What is it that makes you suffer so much? If you gave some of it to me, maybe your pain would be less." The Giver nodded. "Lie down," he said. "It's time, I suppose. I can't shield you forever. You'll have to take it all on eventually. "Let me think," he went on, when Jonas was on the bed, waiting, a little fearful. "All right," The Giver said after a moment, "I've decided. We'll start with something familiar. Let's go once again to a hill, and a sled." He placed his hands on Jonas's back. 日子一天又一天、一周又一周地过去。通过记忆的传授，乔纳思认识了各种色彩，甚至开始在平常生活中看见各种色彩（他的生活再也不平常，也无法恢复平常了），只不过他的色感总是无法持久。比如他曾在中央广场的草地以及河边的草丛中，瞥见一抹绿意，还看见卡车运载着边界外农场的橙色南瓜，即使隔得老远，他还是看见刹那间闪耀出的鲜亮色彩。但都一闪即逝，随即恢复平淡无奇的外表。 传授人告诉他，要花很长一段时间才能学会保留这些色彩。 “我好想早点儿永久留住色彩！”乔纳思生气地说，“什么东西都没有颜色，实在不公平！” “不公平？”传授人好奇地望着乔纳思，“解释一下你的想法。” “嗯……”乔纳思必须停下来好好思考，“如果什么东西都一样，就没有选择的机会了。我很想一早醒来就可以做选择，比如穿蓝色上衣或红色上衣。” 他低头望着自己没有任何色彩的衣服：“但是，所有的衣服都一样，永远如此。”〖贼吧Ｚei8。Ｃom电子书下载：Zei8.com 贼吧电子书〗 说着他微笑了起来：“我知道穿什么衣服并不重要，关系也不大，但是……” “重要的是选择权，对不对？”传授人问。 乔纳思点点头，“我的弟弟……”他赶紧修正：“不，他不是我弟弟，他只是接受我们家特别照顾的小宝宝，他的名字叫加波。” “哦，我知道加波。” “就他的年纪来看，他学得很快。如果把玩具放在前面，他就会去抓——我爸爸说他正在学习控制小肌肉——他真的好可爱。” 传授人点点头。 “但是，现在我看得见颜色，至少有时候看得见啦。我就会想：如果我拿出的是鲜红色、鲜黄色的玩具，不知他会选择哪样？” “他可能会选错。” “噢，”乔纳思沉默了一秒钟，“我了解你的意思。小宝宝选什么玩具还无所谓，但是以后就至关重要了，对不对？ 所以我们不敢让人们自己做选择。” “不安全？”传授人提示。 “绝对不安全。”乔纳思很肯定地说，“如果他们可以自己选配偶，却选错了呢？” “又如果，”他继续说，觉得自己的想法很荒谬、很可笑，“他们可以自己选择工作呢？” “好可怕，不是吗？”传授人说。 乔纳思轻声低笑：“非常可怕，也很难想象。我们一定要保护大家，避免错误的选择。” “这样安全多了。” “对，”乔纳思同意，“安全多了。” 当话题转移后，乔纳思感到一种莫名的沮丧。 近来他常生气：对同学的安于现状生气，为何大家无法像他一样去享受色彩呢？他也对自己生气，生气他无法为大家带来改变。 他曾瞒着传授人——因为他担心会被拒绝——偷偷地将自己崭新的知觉告诉朋友。 “亚瑟，”有一天早上他说，“你仔细看这些花。”那时他们站在档案管理中心附近的一座天竺葵花圃边，他把手搭在亚瑟的肩膀上，专注地想着红色的花瓣，并尽可能将时间拉长，希望能把红色的知觉转移给这位朋友。 “怎么回事？”亚瑟不自在地问：“哪里不对劲？”他把乔纳思的手推开。因为伸手碰触别人，是非常鲁莽的行为。 “没事。我只是在想这些花快枯萎了，我们应该通知园丁多浇一点水。”乔纳思叹了一口气，转身离开。 有一天晚上，他做完训练回家，脑海里塞满了新知识。 那天传授人选择了一段令人既惊骇又焦虑的记忆。在他双手的触摸下，乔纳思发现自己置身在一个完全陌生的环境里，那里非常炎热、狂风呼啸、蓝天如洗，周围有几束稀稀落落的青草、几丛灌木和几块岩石，不远处是一片宽阔、低矮的树林。他听见嘈杂音，一阵武器爆裂声让他意识到“熗”这个字；喊叫声四起，不知什么东西倒下来，发出轰然巨响，还将大树的枝干给压断了。 呼喊声此起彼落，他躲在灌木丛后面偷看，想起传授人曾告诉他：以前的人肤色不一样。在这群人中就有两位肤色是深褐色的，其他人则是浅色。他靠得更近，看见地上躺着一头大象，动也不动，这些人砍下它的长牙，鲜血四溅。他不知所措地呆立着，体悟到红色的另一个象征。 这些人走了，坐上车子，加速往地平线的方向驶去，旋转的车轮弹起小石子，其中一颗击中他的前额，猛地一阵刺痛。但是记忆继续向前，乔纳思只得忍痛跟到底。 这时他看见另一头大象从躲藏的树丛中走出来，慢慢踱到那只遇害的大象身旁，低头凝视，用蜷曲的鼻子抚摩那巨大的尸身；然后它抬起鼻子，扯下一些树叶，覆盖在那伤痕累累的身躯上。 最后它抬起头，举起象牙，对着空旷的大地怒吼。吼声中有无尽的愤怒和忧伤，乔纳思从未听过这样的声音。 他张开眼睛，痛苦地躺在接收记忆的床上，那声音犹在耳际萦绕。就连骑车回家的路上,怒吼声依然充塞他的心田。 “莉莉那天晚上，当莉莉从柜子上拿下她的填充大象玩具时，他问她：“你知道以前有活生生的大象吗？” 她看着手上破旧的玩具，露齿一笑：“当然有啦，乔纳思。” 爸爸帮莉莉解开蝴蝶结，梳理她的头发。乔纳思走过去，将手搭在他们两个人的肩膀上。他费力地想将一小段大象过去的形象，例如它们的躯体如何的雄伟硕大，以及它在朋友临终前体贴地抚触和照顾等记忆传送给他们。 爸爸只是继续梳着莉莉的长头发，莉莉却对哥哥的触摸感到不耐烦，拼命扭着身子。“乔纳思，”她说，“你弄痛我了。” “很抱歉，莉莉。”乔纳思喃喃说着，将手移开。 “我接受你的道歉。”莉莉满不在乎地回答，一边轻抚着手上那只没有生命的大象。 “传授人，”有一次在准备工作时，乔纳思问，“您有没有配偶？您不是可以申请一位吗？”虽然在这里可以不受礼教约束，他还是觉得这个问题有些唐突。但是传授人向来鼓励他发问，就连最私密的问题都不觉得受窘或被冒犯。 传授人微微一笑：“没错，没有规定说我不能申请配偶。 我也的确有配偶。你忘了我已经多老了，乔纳思。我以前的配偶现在跟其他没有孩子的成人住在一起。” “哦，当然了。”乔纳思忘了传授人已经上了年纪。社区里的成人一旦老了，生活形态就不一样了，他们不用再去维系一个家庭。所以等到乔纳思和莉莉长大成人，他们的爸妈就会去跟没有孩子的成人一起住。 “乔纳思，如果你想要，以后也可以申请配偶。不过我要先警告你，你的生活方式跟一般家庭不一样，因为这些书禁止一般居民阅读，你跟我是唯一可以翻阅的人，所以你的婚姻生活难度很高。” 乔纳思望着林林总总的书册。在一次又一次的记忆传承后，现在他已经可以看见颜色，不过还没有机会打开任何一本书。他读过墙上每本书的书名，知道里头蕴藏着过去几世纪以来的知识，总有一天，这些书籍会通通属于他。 “如果我有配偶，也许还有孩子，我必须把书藏起来，不让他们看见吗？” 传授人点点头：“我必须严格遵守这项规定。此外，我也不准跟配偶分享这些书。你记不记得规则里说：不准跟别人提起训练的内容？” 乔纳思点点头，他当然记得，现在这已变成最令他沮丧的规则。 “当这里的训练结束，你成为正式的记忆传授人之后，就得面临另一套全新的规则，也就是我现在遵循的规则，其中有一条你会猜得到——就是不准跟任何人谈论工作内容，除了新的记忆传授人以外。当然，对我而言，那个人就是你啦。 所以你的生命完全无法跟家人共享，这很困难，乔纳思，对我来说很困难。记忆就是我的生活，我的生命，你很了解，不是吗？” 乔纳思又点点头，但他很迷惑，生命不是由每天做的事建构起来的吗，除此之外还有什么呢？“我看过您散步。”他说。 传授人叹了一口气，“我散步，用餐时间用餐，长老会找我的时候，就出现在他们面前，给他们提供意见或建议。” “您经常提供意见吗？”乔纳思有点害怕，担心有朝一日他得单独给管理统治阶层提供建议。 传授人摇摇头：“很少，只有面临突发事件时，他们才会传唤我，要我用记忆提供建议，但这种状况少之又少。有时候，我真希望他们能多找我，多运用我的智能，在很多事情上我都可以提供建议。我希望他们能有所改变，但是他们不想改变。生命在这里是这样平常、规律、乏味，这就是他们的选择。” “那我就不明白了，如果他们不找记忆传授人，为什么还要设这个职位呢？”乔纳思提出看法。 “他们需要我，也需要你。”传授人说，但是没有多加解释，“十年前发生的那件事更提醒了他们这一点。” “十年前发生了什么事？”乔纳思问，“哦，我知道了，您想要训练一名记忆传授人，结果失败了。为什么？为什么这件事会提醒他们？” 传授人深沉地苦笑了一下：“当新记忆传承人的训练失败时，原本由她接收的记忆便释放出来，这些记忆没有回到我身上，它们……” 他停下来，好像在跟那概念抗争：“我不是很确定，那些记忆回到创造记忆传授人之前的某个地方……”他含糊地打了一个手势，“然后被人们接收到了。很明显的，有一阵子每个人都获得那些记忆。” “那真是一场大灾难。”他说，“他们真的苦恼了一阵子。最后记忆被吸收完，事情才平静下来。这件事让他们体会到，他们确实需要一位记忆传授人来接收所有的痛苦和知识。” “但你却得无时无刻不在受苦。”乔纳思指出。 传授人点点头：“将来你也一样，这就是我的生命，也是你以后的生命。” 乔纳思想象自己的未来：“散步、吃饭，还有……”他环视墙上的书，“阅读？就这样？” 传授人摇摇头，“那些只是我平常做的事，我的生命在这里。” “在这个房间里？” 传授人又摇摇头，将手放在自己的脸上、胸膛上：“不，这里，在我身上，这个装载记忆的地方。” “科学工程老师告诉过我们大脑是怎么运作的。”乔纳思急切地说：“我们的大脑里有好多电子脉冲，就像计算机，如果你用电极刺激某部分的大脑，它就会……”他住口不说，因为传授人脸上出现了怪异的表情。 “他们什么也不懂。”传授人苦涩地说。 乔纳思很震惊。打从受训第一天开始，他们就不受规则约束，乔纳思对这一点感到非常自在。但是这句话不一样，比违反规则更加严重，这已是一种指责，如果被别人听到了怎么办？ 他飞快地看了一眼墙上的扩音器，生怕长老会跟平常一样监听别人谈话。还好，跟他们每次一起工作时一样，开关是关着的。 “什么都不懂？”乔纳思紧张的嘀咕着，“但是我的老师……” 传授人甩甩手，就好像要把东西拂到旁边：“哦，你的老师受到很好的训练，了解他们知道的科学真相，每个人都接受了完整的职业训练。只不过……没有记忆，所有的东西都没有意义。他们把记忆的重担加在我身上，我的前一任记忆传承人，以及他以前的记忆传承人身上。” “以及以前、以前、再以前的……”乔纳思很了解地接着说。 传授人笑了，但笑声有些刺耳：“没错，下一个就是你了，真是天大的荣耀。” “是的，先生。在典礼中他们跟我说过了，至高无上的荣耀。 有几个下午，传授人没有训练他就让他离开。乔纳思发现只要他抵达时看见传授人弓起身子，轻微的前后摇晃，脸色苍白，那他很快就会被打发走。 “走吧！”传授人紧绷着脸告诉他，“今天我很痛苦，明天再来。” 在那样的日子里，乔纳思只能怀着担心和失望的心情，沿着河岸骑回家。路上只偶尔见到几位送货员和正在工作的园丁。小一点的孩子下课后都留在育儿中心，大一点的则忙着当义工或受训。 他想测试发展中的记忆，于是望着路边的草丛，想找出绿色；当绿色跃现时，他马上专注捕捉，加深它的形象，并尽可能将它保留在自己的视觉中，直到头痛了，才让记忆飘走。 他凝视着平坦、毫无色彩的天空，将蓝色的记忆引出来，最后终于回想起阳光，并感觉到短暂的温暖。 他站在跨越河面的桥墩下，望着这座只有外出处理公务方可穿越的桥梁。乔纳思曾经在学校旅行中，跨过这座桥去拜访外界的社区。河界以外的地区和这里大同小异，一样都是平坦、井然有序的农田。沿途所见的社区也跟自己的社区差不多，只有房屋样式跟学校的课程略有不同而已。 他很好奇：在更远的、那些他没去过的地方，会是什么景致？邻近的社区外面有着广大的土地，山丘是不是就坐落在那里？有没有他记忆中看见的那个刮着风沙、大象死亡的地方？ 有一次，在他被打发走的第二天下午，他问传授人；“是什么让您如此痛苦？” 传授人沉默不语，乔纳思继续说：“首席长老一开始就告诉我，接收记忆会带来无比的痛苦。您也跟我描述过，上一位记忆传承人在失败后将痛苦的记忆释放出来。但是，我没有受过苦，真的还没受过苦。”乔纳思笑了，“哦，您在第一天让我感受到日晒的痛，但那并不严重。是什么让您如此痛苦？如果您转移一点给我，也许就可以减轻您的痛苦。” 传授人点点头：“躺下来，”他说，“我想，时候到了，我不可能永远保护你。你最后还是得承受一切。” “让我想想。”他继续说。乔纳思躺在床上，内心不由得忐忑起来。 “好吧！”过了一会儿，传授人说，“我决定了，我们就从较熟悉的事物开始，让我们再次回到山丘和雪橇上。” 他将双手放在乔纳思的背上。

Chapter 12 "You slept soundly, Jonas?" his mother asked at the morning meal. "No dreams?" Jonas simply smiled and nodded, not ready to lie, not willing to tell the truth. "I slept very soundly," he said. "I wish this one would," his father said, leaning down from his chair to touch Gabriel's waving fist. The basket was on the floor beside him; in its corner, beside Gabriel's head, the stuffed hippo sat staring with its blank eyes. "So do I," Mother said, rolling her eyes. "He's so fretful at night." Jonas had not heard the new child during the night because as always, he had slept soundly. But it was not true that he had no dreams. Again and again, as he slept, he had slid down that snow-covered hill. Always, in the dream, it seemed as if there were a destination: a something — he could not grasp what — that lay beyond the place where the thickness of snow brought the sled to a stop. He was left, upon awakening, with the feeling that he wanted, even somehow needed, to reach the something that waited in the distance. The feeling that it was good. That it was welcoming. That it was significant. But he did not know how to get there. He tried to shed the leftover dream, gathering his schoolwork and preparing for the day. School seemed a little different today. The classes were the same: language and communications; commerce and industry; science and technology; civil procedures and government. But during the breaks for recreation periods and the midday meal, the other new Twelves were abuzz with descriptions of their first day of training. All of them talked at once, interrupting each other, hastily making the required apology for interrupting, then forgetting again in the excitement of describing the new experiences. Jonas listened. He was very aware of his own admonition not to discuss his training. But it would have been impossible, anyway. There was no way to describe to his friends what he had experienced there in the Annex room. How could you describe a sled without describing a hill and snow; and how could you describe a hill and snow to someone who had never felt height or wind or that feathery, magical cold? Even trained for years as they all had been in precision of language, what words could you use which would give another the experience of sunshine? So it was easy for Jonas to be still and to listen. After school hours he rode again beside Fiona to the House of the Old. "I looked for you yesterday," she told him, "so we could ride home together. Your bike was still there, and I waited for a little while. But it was getting late, so I went on home." "I apologize for making you wait," Jonas said. "I accept your apology," she replied automatically. "I stayed a little longer than I expected," Jonas explained. She pedaled forward silently, and he knew that she expected him to tell her why. She expected him to describe his first day of training. But to ask would have fallen into the category of rudeness. "You've been doing so many volunteer hours with the Old," Jonas said, changing the subject. "There won't be much that you don't already know." "Oh, there's lots to learn," Fiona replied. "There's administrative work, and the dietary rules, and punishment for disobedience — did you know that they use a discipline wand on the Old, the same as for small children? And there's occupational therapy, and recreational activities, and medications, and — " They reached the building and braked their bikes. "I really think I'll like it better than school," Fiona confessed. "Me too," Jonas agreed, wheeling his bike into its place. She waited for a second, as if, again, she expected him to go on. Then she looked at her watch, waved, and hurried toward the entrance. Jonas stood for a moment beside his bike, startled. It had happened again: the thing that he thought of now as "seeing beyond." This time it had been Fiona who had undergone that fleeting indescribable change. As he looked up and toward her going through the door, it happened; she changed. Actually, Jonas thought, trying to recreate it in his mind, it wasn't Fiona in her entirety. It seemed to be just her hair. And just for that flickering instant. 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, Fiona's 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. You're 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. "I'm one minute late because something happened," he explained. "And I'd like to ask you about it, if you don't mind." "You may ask me anything." Jonas tried to sort it out in his mind so that he could explain it clearly. "I think it's 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 didn't change, exactly. But something about her changed for a second. Her hair looked different; but not in its shape, not in its length. I can't quite — " Jonas paused, frustrated by his inability to grasp and describe exactly what had occurred. Finally he simply said, "It changed. I don't know how, or why. "That's 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 don't 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 won't describe that now; you wouldn't understand it yet. "But I think I can guess how it's 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 Giver's hands on his back. But it didn't come. Instead, The Giver instructed him, "Call back the memory of the ride on the sled. Just the beginning of it, where you're 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 don't you have to give me the memory?" "It's your memory, now. It's 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, can't you?" "Of course." "It's 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 rope. 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 Fiona's 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," Jones said. "It happened to the books, but it went away again." "I'm right, then," The Giver said. "You're 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. That's the one you are starting to see. Your friend Fiona has red hair — quite distinctive, actually; I've noticed it before. When you mentioned Fiona's 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 isn't red. But it has red tones in it. There was a time, actually — you'll 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 wasn't as deep or vibrant as the apple, or your friend's hair." The Giver chuckled, suddenly. "We've never completely mastered Sameness. I suppose the genetic scientists are still hard at work trying to work the kinks out. Hair like Fiona's 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 didn't change, Giver. It just was." "Because it's 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. You'll gain wisdom, then, along with colors. And lots more." Jonas wasn't interested, just then, in wisdom. It was the colors that fascinated him. "Why can't 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 shouldn't have!" Jonas said fiercely. The Giver looked startled at the certainty of Jonas's reaction. Then he smiled wryly. "You've 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. "I'll tell you another day. Now we must work. And I've 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." “你睡得好熟，是不是，乔纳思？”第二天吃早餐的时候，妈妈问，“没有做梦吗？” 乔纳思微微一笑，点点头，他还没准备好该怎样说谎，又不想说出真相。“我睡得很熟。”他说。 “真希望他也可以。”爸爸坐在椅子上，弯下腰逗弄加波挥动的小拳头。婴儿篮就放在他脚边的地板上。加波头旁边的角落放着的填充河马，睁着空洞无神的眼睛看着这一幕。 “我也希望妈妈看了加波一眼，“他晚上好吵喔。” 乔纳思整晚都没有听到小宝宝的哭声，因为他真的睡得很沉。不过他说没做梦，却不是真的。 在梦中，他一次又一次地驾着雪橇滑过冰雪覆盖的山丘。在梦里，好像都有目的地，只不过他弄不清到底要去哪里，只知道雪橇被强烈的风雪挡在某处。 醒来后，他内心仍然充满渴望，希望到达远处，找到那个正在等待他的东西。那种感觉很美妙，很让人欢喜，回味无穷。 但是他不知道怎样抵达那个地方。 他努力摆脱残存的梦境，收拾好功课，准备上学。 学校今天看起来有点儿不一样。课程没变：语言与沟通、贸易与工业、科学技术、民事法则和管理。但在休息时间和午餐时，刚晋升为十二岁的孩子们，叽叽喳喳地谈论着自己第一天的受训情形。大家同时开口，抢着说话，再迟疑地为自己的插嘴道歉；接着在描绘新体验的兴奋中，又忘情地再度插嘴。 乔纳思只是聆听。他牢记着不能跟别人谈论他的训练内容的规则。反正也无从谈起，因为在安尼斯的经历根本无法描述。谈到雪橇，就不能不提到山丘和雪，但是对于从没有经历过高度、风或如羽毛般雪花的人，又从何体会山丘和雪呢？ 即使已经受过那么多年的精确语言训练,他也实在不知道要用什么字眼来形容阳光。 所以乔纳思的最佳选择就是安静、聆听。 下课后，他依然和费欧娜一起骑车到养老院。 “昨天本来想跟你一起回家的。”她告诉他，“你的自行车还在，我等了好一会儿，后来时间不早了，我就自己回家了。” “很抱歉让你久等。”乔纳思说。 “我接受你的道歉。”她公式化地回答。 “我多留了一会儿。”乔纳思解释。 她默默地蹬着自行车。他知道她正在等他告诉她原因，并告诉她第一天受训的情形。她不能主动发问，不然就显得莽撞无礼了。 “你在养老院当过那么久的义工，”乔纳思试着转移话题，“不懂的事应该不多了吧？” “哦，要学的还多着呢！”费欧娜回答，“有行政管理、饮食规则、违规处分……你知道吗？老年人也有戒尺呢，就跟幼儿一样。还有职业伤害治疗、娱乐活动、药剂学……” 目的地到了，他们停下自行车。 “比起学校，我更喜欢这儿。”费欧娜坦言道。 “我也是。”乔纳思附和，把自行车推进车位。 她停下来站立一会儿，好像是希望他再往下说。接着她看看表，挥挥手，朝入口处走去。 乔纳思在自行车旁站了一会儿，突然愣住了。“超眼界”的现象再度出现。这次是发生在费欧娜身上。刚才他看着她的背影，发现她发生了变化。乔纳思努力在心中重现刚才那一幕，发现费欧娜不是整个人，而是只有头发起变化，而且只一瞬间。 他快速想了一下，现在这种现象越来越常发生了。第一次是发生在几周前的一个苹果上；第二次是发生在大礼堂观众的脸上，这不过是两天前的事；然后就是今天，现在，费欧娜的头发上。 乔纳思皱皱眉头，走向安尼斯。zei8.com他决定去问传授人。 乔纳思一进门，老人就抬起头来，微微一笑。他已经坐在床边，看起来有活力多了，好像刚充过电。 “欢迎光临。”他说，“我们得开始了，你迟到一分钟。” “很抱歉……”乔纳思立即住口，一张脸涨得通红，他想起在这里是不用说抱歉的。 他脱掉上衣，走到床边：“因为发生了一件事，所以我迟到了。” 有什么问题你就问。 乔纳思先在心中想清楚，以便说个明白：“我想那就是您所谓的‘超眼界’。”他说。 传授人点点头：“你说说看。” 乔纳思向他报告苹果事件，以及看到观众的脸瞬间起变化的情形。 “然后就是今天，刚刚在外面，发生在我朋友费欧娜的身上。准确地说，她本人没有变化，但是她身上有样东西起了一秒钟的变化。她的头发看起来不一样，不过跟形状、长度无关，怎么说1……”乔纳思犹豫了半晌，觉得很沮丧，自己竟然形容不出到底发生了什么事。 最后，他只能说：“我不知道它是怎么发生的，又为什么会变化。这就是我迟到一分钟的原因。”说完，他一脸茫然地看着传授人。 出乎意料的，老人问他一个好像跟“超眼界”无关的问题：“昨天，当我将驾雪橇的记忆传送给你的时候，你有没有四处张望？” 乔纳思点点头，“有啊！但是因为半空中有飘落的雪花，所以不太容易看见其他东西。” “你有没有仔细瞧瞧雪橇？” 乔纳思回想了一下，“没有，我只知道它在我身体下面。 昨晚我也梦见了。不过，只感觉到它的存在，不记得是否看见了。” 传授人陷入沉思。 “遴选之前，我观察过你，察觉到你可能具有这项能力，而你的描述也证实了这一点。只不过，你的情况跟我不同。” 传授人告诉他：“当我像你这么大——即将成为新的记忆传承人时——我开始经历这些现象，不过形式跟你有点不同。 对我来说……算了，现在先不提，因为你还无法了解。 不过，我可以想象你所看见的变化。让我来做个小实验，证实我的猜测。躺下来吧！” 乔纳思再度趴在床上，双手放在身体两侧。现在他已经觉得很自在了。他闭上眼睛，等着传授人那双熟悉的手放到他背上。 但是，这回传授人改用语言引导他：“回想一下你坐在雪橇上的情形，就在开始，你坐在山丘顶端，准备滑行之前。 就是这个时刻，低头看看雪橇。” 乔纳思困惑地睁开眼睛：“对不起，”他很有礼貌地问，您不给我这段记忆吗? “现在它是你的记忆了，再也不属于我了。我已经把它传送出去了。” “那我怎样唤起这段记忆？” “你可以回想去年或者是你七岁、五岁的时候吧，对不对？” “当然可以。” “方法一样。社区里的每个人都有他自己这一代的记忆，但是现在你可以回到更久远的过去。试试看，集中精力。” 乔纳思重新闭上眼睛，并深深地吸一口气，在意识底层搜寻雪橇、山丘和雪的记忆。 他一下子就找到了，根本没费多少力气。他再度坐在山丘的顶端，置身大雪纷飞的世界。 乔纳思笑得合不拢嘴，吐出像蒸气般的呼吸。他想起先前接受的引导，便低头往下看。他看见自己握着绳索的一双手飘满了雪花。接着他看见腿，便把腿移向旁边，好看看下头的雪橇。 他怔住了，眼睛瞪得好大。这次不再是匆匆一瞥的印象，而是持续的画面。他眨眨眼，再度瞪视着雪橇——它跟苹果、费欧娜的头发在一瞬间所产生的幻象，具有相同的神秘的特质。可是雪橇没有起变化，它从头到尾都是那个样子。 乔纳思张开眼睛，他还是躺在床上。传授人好奇地望着他。 “没错，”乔纳思慢慢地说，“就是我在雪橇上看见的东西。” “让我再做个试验。看书柜那边。你有没有看见桌子后面，柜子顶端最上面那一排书？” 乔纳思用眼睛搜寻，他望着那些书，书果然起了变化。 但变化一闪而过，在下一秒钟又恢复正常了。 “又发生了，”乔纳思说，“书也起变化了，但是稍纵即逝“我的猜测没错，”传授人说，“你开始看见红色。” “那是什么？” 传授人叹了一口气：“怎么解释呢？曾经，在大家都拥有记忆的年代，每个东西除了现在保留的形状和大小，另外还有一项叫做‘颜色’的特质。 颜色的种类非常多样，红色就是其中的一种。那也就是你现在开始看见的色彩。你的朋友费欧娜拥有一头红发，这很罕见，以前我就注意到了。所以你提到费欧娜的头发时，提供给我一个线索，推测你可能开始看见红色了。” “那我在大礼堂看见的那些脸呢？” 传授人摇摇头：“不，肌肉不是红色的，但含有红色调。 事实上，从前有段时间，人们的肌肤有很多种颜色，这点以后你在记忆中会发现。后来我们走向同化，所有的肌肤就只有一个颜色了。你看见的就是红色调。苹果或你朋友的发色应该比较深或鲜明，至于人的脸色应该比较淡。” 传授人突然低声轻笑：“我们还无法完全掌控‘同化’，遗传专家一直在努力解开这个结。我想象费欧娜这样的红头发一定会把他们搞疯。” 乔纳思专心聆听，努力消化、理解。“那雪橇呢？”他问：“它同样是红色的，却不会起变化。传授人，它自始至终都是红色的。” “因为它是来自过去的一段记忆，那时候颜色是存在的。” “它好……噢，真希望有更贴切的词来形容！红色好漂亮！” 传授人点点头：“是很漂亮。 “你看得见颜色吗？” “什么颜色都看得见，所有的颜色。” “以后我也可以吗？” “当然，在你接收了记忆以后。你已经拥有超眼界的能力，接着你就会获得智能，了解颜色以及其他更多的事情。” 乔纳思现在对智能还不感兴趣。现在吸引他的是颜色。 “为什么其他人看不见？为什么颜色会消失呢？” 传授人耸耸肩：“是我们的人做了这样的选择，选择同化。这已经是我之前很久、很久、很久以前的事了。我们放弃阳光的同时，也放弃了颜色和差异性。”他想了一下，“我们因此控制了很多事物，但也放弃了很多事物。” “我们不应该这么做！”乔纳思愤怒地说。 传授人很惊讶乔纳思的反应这样激烈，他苦笑了一下：“你的推论下得很快。我花了好几年才想通这一点，也许你会比我早开窍。” 他瞄了一眼墙上的时钟：“现在躺下来吧，我们还有很多事要做。” “传授人，”乔纳思一边问，一边挪动身体，“在您成为记忆传承人的过程中，您的情况是怎样呢？您说您也有超眼界的现象，只是方式跟我不同。” 那双手来到他的背部：“改天吧，”传授人温和的说，“改天再告诉你。现在我们得工作了。我已经想到帮你建立色彩概念的方法了。现在闭上眼睛，不要动，我要给你彩虹的记忆。”

Chapter 11 Jonas felt nothing unusual at first. He felt only the light touch of the old man's hands on his back. He tried to relax, to breathe evenly. The room was absolutely silent, and for a moment Jonas feared that he might disgrace himself now, on the first day of his training, by falling asleep. Then he shivered. He realized that the touch of the hands felt, suddenly, cold. At the same instant, breathing in, he felt the air change, and his very breath was cold. He licked his lips, and in doing so, his tongue touched the suddenly chilled air. It was very startling; but he was not at all frightened, now. He was filled with energy, and he breathed again, feeling the sharp intake of frigid air. Now, too, he could feel cold air swirling around his entire body. He felt it blow against his hands where they lay at his sides, and over his back. The touch of the man's hands seemed to have disappeared. Now he became aware of an entirely new sensation: pinpricks? No, because they were soft and without pain. Tiny, cold, feather like feelings peppered his body and face. He put out his tongue again, and caught one of the dots of cold upon it. It disappeared from his awareness instantly; but he caught another, and another. The sensation made him smile. One part of his consciousness knew that he was still lying there, on the bed, in the Annex room. Yet another, separate part of his being was upright now, in a sitting position, and beneath him he could feel that he was not on the soft decorated bed covering at all, but rather seated on a flat, hard surface. His hands now held (though at the same time they were still motionless at his sides) a rough, damp rope. And he could see, though his eyes were closed. He could see a bright, whirling torrent of crystals in the air around him, and he could see them gather on the backs of his hands, like cold fur. His breath was visible. Beyond, through the swirl of what he now, somehow, perceived was the thing the old man had spoken of — snow — he could look out and down a great distance. He was up high someplace. The ground was thick with the furry snow, but he sat slightly above it on a hard, flat object. Sled, he knew abruptly. He was sitting on a thing called sled. And the sled itself seemed to be poised at the top of a long, extended mound that rose from the very land where he was. Even as he thought the word "mound," his new consciousness told him hill. Then the sled, with Jonas himself upon it, began to move through the snowfall, and he understood instantly that now he was going downhill. No voice made an explanation. The experience explained itself to him. His face cut through the frigid air as he began the descent, moving through the substance called snow on the vehicle called sled, which propelled itself on what he now knew without doubt to be runners. Comprehending all of those things as he sped downward, he was free to enjoy the breathless glee that overwhelmed him: the speed, the clear cold air, the total silence, the feeling of balance and excitement and peace. Then, as the angle of incline lessened, as the mound — the hill — flattened, nearing the bottom, the sled's forward motion slowed. The snow was piled now around it, and he pushed with his body, moving it forward, not wanting the exhilarating ride to end. Finally the obstruction of the piled snow was too much for the thin runners of the sled, and he came to a stop. He sat there for a moment, panting, holding the rope in his cold hands. Tentatively he opened his eyes — not his snow-hill-sled eyes, for they had been open throughout the strange ride. He opened his ordinary eyes, and saw that he was still on the bed, that he had not moved at all. The old man, still beside the bed, was watching him. "How do you feel?" he asked. Jonas sat up and tried to answer honestly. "Surprised," he said, after a moment. The old man wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Whew," he said. "It was exhausting. But you know, even transmitting that tiny memory to you — I think it lightened me just a little." "Do you mean — you did say I could ask questions?" The man nodded, encouraging his question. "Do you mean that now you don't have the memory of it — of that ride on the sled — anymore?" "That's right. A little weight off this old body." "But it was such fun! And now you don't have it anymore! I took it from you!" But the old man laughed. "All I gave you was one ride, on one sled, in one snow, on one hill. I have a whole world of them in my memory. I could give them to you one by one, a thousand times, and there would still be more." "Are you saying that I — I mean we — could do it again?" Jonas asked. "I'd really like to. I think I could steer, by pulling the rope. I didn't try this time, because it was so new." The old man, laughing, shook his head. "Maybe another day, for a treat. But there's no time, really, just to play. I only wanted to begin by showing you how it works. "Now," he said, turning businesslike, "lie back down. I want to — " Jonas did. He was eager for whatever experience would come next. But he had, suddenly, so many questions. "Why don't we have snow, and sleds, and hills?" he asked. "And when did we, in the past? Did my parents have sleds when they were young? Did you?" The old man shrugged and gave a short laugh. "No," he told Jonas. "It's a very distant memory. That's why it was so exhausting — I had to tug it forward from many generations back. It was given to me when I was a new Receiver, and the previous Receiver had to pull it through a long time period, too." "But what happened to those things? Snow, and the rest of it?" "Climate Control. Snow made growing food difficult, limited the agricultural periods. And unpredictable weather made transportation almost impossible at times. It wasn't a practical thing, so it became obsolete when we went to Sameness. "And hills, too," he added. "They made conveyance of goods unwieldy. Trucks; buses. Slowed them down. So — " He waved his hand, as if a gesture had caused hills to disappear. "Sameness," he concluded. Jonas frowned. "I wish we had those things, still. Just now and then." The old man smiled. "So do I," he said. "But that choice is not ours." "But sir," Jonas suggested, "since you have so much power — " The man corrected him. "Honor," he said firmly. "I have great honor. So will you. But you will find that that is not the same as power. "Lie quietly now. Since we've entered into the topic of climate, let me give you something else. And this time I'm not going to tell you the name of it, because I want to test the receiving. You should be able to perceive the name without being told. I gave away snow and sled and downhill and runners by telling them to you in advance." Without being instructed, Jonas closed his eyes again. He felt the hands on his back again. He waited. Now it came more quickly, the feelings. This time the hands didn't become cold, but instead began to feel warm on his body. They moistened a little. The warmth spread, extending across his shoulders, up his neck, onto the side of his face. He could feel it through his clothed parts, too: a pleasant, all-over sensation; and when he licked his lips this time, the air was hot and heavy. He didn't move. There was no sled. His posture didn't change. He was simply alone someplace, out of doors, lying down, and the warmth came from far above. It was not as exciting as the ride through the snowy air; but it was pleasurable and comforting. Suddenly he perceived the word for it: sunshine. He perceived that it came from the sky. Then it ended. "Sunshine," he said aloud, opening his eyes. "Good. You did get the word. That makes my job easier. Not so much explaining." "And it came from the sky." "That's right," the old man said. "Just the way it used to." "Before Sameness. Before Climate Control," Jonas added. The man laughed. "You receive well, and learn quickly. I'm very pleased with you. That's enough for today, I think. We're off to a good start." There was a question bothering Jonas. "Sir," he said, "The Chief Elder told me — she told everyone — and you told me, too, that it would be painful. So I was a little scared. But it didn't hurt at all. I really enjoyed it." He looked quizzically at the old man. The man sighed. "I started you with memories of pleasure. My previous failure gave me the wisdom to do that." He took a few deep breaths. "Jonas," he said, "it will be painful. But it need not be painful yet." "I'm brave. I really am." Jonas sat up a little straighter. The old man looked at him for a moment. He smiled. "I can see that," he said. "Well, since you asked the question — I think I have enough energy for one more transmission. "Lie down once more. This will be the last today." Jonas obeyed cheerfully. He closed his eyes, waiting, and felt the hands again; then he felt the warmth again, the sunshine again, coming from the sky of this other consciousness that was so new to him. This time, as he lay basking in the wonderful warmth, he felt the passage of time. His real self was aware that it was only a minute or two; but his other, memory-receiving self felt hours pass in the sun. His skin began to sting. Restlessly he moved one arm, bending it, and felt a sharp pain in the crease of his inner arm at the elbow. "Ouch," he said loudly, and shifted on the bed. "Owwww," he said, wincing at the shift, and even moving his mouth to speak made his face hurt. He knew there was a word, but the pain kept him from grasping it. Then it ended. He opened his eyes, wincing with discomfort. "It hurt," he told the man, "and I couldn't get the word for it." "It was sunburn," the old man told him. "It hurt a lot," Jonas said, "but I'm glad you gave it to me. It was interesting. And now I understand better, what it meant, that there would be pain." The man didn't respond. He sat silently for a second. Finally he said, "Get up, now. It's time for you to go home." They both walked to the center of the room. Jonas put his tunic back on. "Goodbye, sir," he said. "Thank you for my first day." The old man nodded to him. He looked drained, and a little sad. "Sir?" Jonas said shyly. "Yes? Do you have a question?" "It's just that I don't know your name. I thought you were The Receiver, but you say that now I'm The Receiver. So I don't know what to call you." The man had sat back down in the comfortable upholstered chair. He moved his shoulders around as if to ease away an aching sensation. He seemed terribly weary. "Call me The Giver," he told Jonas. 起初乔纳思不觉得有什么特别，只感觉到老人的手轻轻地触摸他的背。 他尽量放松，保持规律的呼吸。整个房间静悄悄的，乔纳思有点担心自己会在受训的第一天就出丑,因为他快要睡着了。 就在这时，他哆嗦了一下。他知道是触摸他的那只手突然间变冷了。在这同时，他发现吸入的空气也变得很冷。他舔舔嘴唇，感觉舌头一阵冰凉。 他大吃一惊，却一点也不害怕，反而觉得全身上下充满活力，他再吸一大口气，让冰凉的空气流窜到身体各处。现在，他感觉得到寒冷的空气在周遭回绕，拂在他的手上，笼罩在他的背上。 老人的触摸似乎不见了。 现在他有了一种全新的感觉。是针扎吗？不，针扎不会这样柔软又没有痛楚。细小的、冰冷的、羽毛般的触感，落在他的身上和脸上。他再伸出舌头，捕捉一次次寒冷的接触。那种感觉很快就消失，但很快地又一个接一个从不同的地方冒出来。他不禁笑了起来。 他知道自己躺在床上，躺在安尼斯的房间里，却又觉得自己端坐在某个地方，身体下不是柔软华丽的床单，而是平坦又坚硬的地面。他的手虽然一动也不动地放在身边，却感觉到是握着一根粗糙、潮湿的绳子。 虽然眼睛闭着，他却看得见景象。他看见四周白茫茫一片，晶莹、旋转的结晶体自空中缓缓飘落，聚积在他的手背上，好像一层冰冷的软毛。 他的呼吸清晰可见。 现在他终于了解老人所说的“雪”是什么东西了。穿透层层雪花，他可以眺望到极远的地方。他现在身在高处，地上是厚厚的积雪，他因为坐在一个坚硬、平坦的物体上，才能突出雪地。 雪橇，他突然明白了，他正坐在一部雪橇上。他的脚下是蜿蜒地势的最高点，但雪橇却安稳地停在上头。最先闪现在他脑海的是“土堆”这个词，但是新的知觉告诉他这叫“山丘”。 然后，雪橇载着他穿越纷纷飘落的雪花，往前滑行。乔纳思立刻明白自己正在下坡。没有任何说明，完全是他亲身体验出来的。 当雪橇开始急速下降、冰冷的空气拂过他的脸庞时，他穿越的物质叫做雪，他脚下的工具叫做雪橇，而推动雪橇前进的就是滑板。他终于完全了解了。他整个人沉浸在喜悦中：速度、清新的冷空气、完全的静谧，还有平衡、兴奋、祥和的感受。 下降的速度慢慢趋缓，在接近土堆——不对，应是山丘——的底端时，雪橇前进的速度变慢了，上面也堆满了雪花。他用身体推动雪橇前进，不想这么快结束这段刺激的旅程。 但是积雪挡住去路，雪橇上的薄滑板再也前进不了了，他停了下来。他坐了一会儿，冰冷的手握着绳子，喘着气。 他试探性地张开眼睛——不是坐雪橇时的眼睛——看见自己躺在床上，动也没动过。 老人依然坐在床边打量他：“怎么样？”他问。 乔纳思坐起身子，试着说出真实的感受，好一会儿才回答：“不可异议。” 老人用袖口抹去额头的汗水，“哎，”他说，“真累啊。不过，希望你明白，即使只传送你这样小的经历，我也觉得负担减轻了。” “您的意思是……我可以问问题吗？” 老人点点头，鼓励他发问。 “您的意思是您现在已经没有那段记忆了——那段坐雪橇的经历——再也没有了？” “没错，所以我这副臭皮囊稍微变轻些了。” “但是那段经历很有趣啊！现在您完全没有了，被我拿走了！” 老人笑了笑：“我只是给你一趟在某个山丘上、某次下雪的时候、驾一辆雪橇的旅程记忆。在我的记忆库里，有全世界各地的滑雪经历。我可以一个一个地传送给你，即使传送上千次，我还会剩下一大堆。” “您是说，我——我是指我们——还可以再来一次？” 乔纳思问，“我非常乐意。我想我应该会拉绳子操控雪橇。这次我没试，因为这次的经历对我来说太新奇了。” 老人边笑边摇头：“也许改天再来玩吧！时间所剩不多了，不能只顾着玩。我只是想让你了解如何转移记忆。” “现在，”他换了副严肃的表情，“再躺下来，我想要……” 乔纳思照做，他渴望再获得一点新的感受。但就在这当儿，脑海里突然涌现出许多疑问。 “为什么现在没有雪、雪橇和山丘了呢？”他问，“以前有吗？我爸妈年轻的时候玩过雪橇吗？您呢？” 老人耸耸肩，勉强一笑：“没有，”他告诉乔纳思，“那是非常古老的记忆，这也是我这么费劲的原因——我必须回到好几代以前把这段记忆拉回来。在我刚晋升为记忆传承人时，前一任的记忆传承人也是回到古代才把这段记忆拉回来传送给我。” “为什么雪和其他东西通通不见了呢？” “因为气候受到控制的缘故。雪会妨碍农作物生长，限制耕作时间。它那飘忽不定、难以预测的动向还会影响交通，非常不实用，所以在建立同化社区的时候，就被废除了。” “山丘也是一样，”他补充说，“搬运物品的时候，爬山越岭非常不便，还会减慢卡车、公共汽车的速度，所以他一挥手，好像这样就可以让山丘消失：“也被同化了。”他下个结论。 乔纳思惋惜地说：“真希望那些东西一直都在。” 老人微微一笑：“我也这么想，”他说，“但是我们无法选择。” “但是，先生，”乔纳思建议，“既然您拥有那么大的权力……” 老人纠正他：“是荣耀，”他坚定地说，“我获得很大的荣耀。未来你也一样。但是你会发现那跟权力是两码事。 现在安静地趴下来。既然谈到气候，我就再给你一些这方面的经历。为了测试你的接收程度，这一次，我不事先说明，看你能不能自己领悟这个名词。刚才我已经事先告诉了你雪、雪橇、下坡和滑板。” 用不着指示，乔纳思主动闭上眼睛。他再度感觉到背上那双手。他等着。 感觉来得好快。这一次那双手不再发冷，而是释放出略带潮湿的暖意。暖和的感觉慢慢扩散，先横越肩膀，往上到达脖子，再漫延到脸庞。即使是穿着衣服的部位，也可以领略到那愉快、满布全身的温暖。他舔舔嘴唇，感觉到空气又热又潮。 他没有移动，这里没有雪橇，所以他的姿势维持不变。他独自一个人，躺在户外的地上，暖意来自遥远的上方。虽然不像上次驾雪橇那般刺激，但是感觉非常愉快、舒服。 突然，他领悟到用来形容这种感觉的字眼：阳光。他还察觉到是来自天空。 就在这时，感觉消失了。 “阳光！”他大喊，一边张开眼睛。 “很好，你确实领受到这个字眼了。这样我的工作就轻松多了，不必多做解释。” “而且它来自天上。” “没错，”老人说：“以前就是这样。” “在同化之前，在气候控制之前。”乔纳思补充。 老人笑了起来：“你的接收力很强，学得又快。真高兴跟你一起工作。我想今天就到这里为止，我们有个很好的开始。” 乔纳思却有些困惑：“先生，”他说，“首席长老告诉我——她也告诉了每一个人——而您也跟我提过，受训的过程非常痛苦：所以我被吓到了。但是它一点也不痛啊，我还觉得很享受呢。”他带着调皮的神情看着老人。 老人叹了一口气：“我特意选择愉快的经历开始。上一次的失败教训让我获得智能，知道应该这么做比较好。”他深深地吸了几口气，“乔纳思，训练的确很痛苦，但现在还不是时候。” “我很勇敢，真的很勇敢。”乔纳思坐得更加挺直。 老人定定地望了他好一会儿，微笑着说：“我看得出来。 好吧，既然你问了这个问题——我想我也还有体力再做一次传送。” “再躺下来，这是今天最后一次了。” 乔纳思很开心地服从指示。他闭上眼睛，等着，再度感觉到那双手。接着，他又感觉到那股暖意，感觉到阳光从天空泼洒而下。这一次，他躺在舒适无比的暖意下，慢慢地感觉到时光的流逝。他知道真实的自己只不过是过了一、两分钟，但是他那正在接收记忆的另一部分，却已经在太阳底下待了好几个小时。他的皮肤开始觉得刺痛，他忍耐不住，挪动了一下手臂，才稍微弯曲，手肘内侧立刻传来一阵灼痛。 “哎呦！”他大叫一声，在床上换个姿势。“哎呦呦！喔喔……”他缩起身子，就连张嘴说话脸部都疼痛不堪。 他知道有适当的字可以形容这种感觉，但是他被痛苦淹没了，说不出来。 突然，痛苦结束了。他张开眼睛，不舒服地蜷缩着身子。 “好痛。”他告诉老人，“我掌握不到那个词。” “这就是晒伤。”老人告诉他。 “好痛！”乔纳思说，“但是我很高兴您把它转移给我。 真的很有趣。现在我比较有概念了，知道为什么它会带来痛苦。” 老人没有回答，沉默地坐了一秒钟才说：“起来吧，你该回家了。” 他们两人一起走到房间中央。乔纳思穿上衣服。“再见了，先生。”他说，“谢谢您给我上了第一课。” 老人点点头，看起来很疲惫，还有一点感伤。 “先生？”乔纳思怯生生的说。 “什么事？你还有问题吗？” “我还不知道您的大名呢。我本来认为您是记忆传承人,但是您又说我现在才是记忆传承人。所以我不知道该怎么称呼您。” 老人坐回椅子，动了动肩膀，好像要藉此消除身体的疲惫。他似乎筋疲力尽了。 “就叫我传授人好了。”

好牛，楼主厉害！有资源要看看

Chapter 10 "I go in here, Jonas," Fiona told him when they reached the front door of the House of the Old after parking their bicycles in the designated area. "I don't know why I'm nervous," she confessed. "I've been here so often before." She turned her folder over in her hands. "Well, everything's different now," Jonas reminded her. "Even the nameplates on our bikes," Fiona laughed. During the night the nameplate of each new Twelve had been removed by the Maintenance Crew and replaced with the style that indicated citizen-in-training. "I don't want to be late," she said hastily, and started up the steps. "If we finish at the same time, I'll ride home with you." Jonas nodded, waved to her, and headed around the building toward the Annex, a small wing attached to the back. He certainly didn't want to be late for his first day of training, either. The Annex was very ordinary, its door unremarkable. He reached for the heavy handle, then noticed a buzzer on the wall. So he buzzed instead. "Yes?" The voice came through a small speaker above the buzzer. "It's, uh, Jonas. I'm the new — I mean — " "Come in." A click indicated that the door had been unlatched. The lobby was very small and contained only a desk at which a female Attendant sat working on some papers. She looked up when he entered; then, to his surprise, she stood. It was a small thing, the standing; but no one had ever stood automatically to acknowledge Jonas's presence before. "Welcome, Receiver of Memory," she said respectfully. "Oh, please," he replied uncomfortably. "Call me Jonas." She smiled, pushed a button, and he heard a click that unlocked the door to her left. "You may go right on in," she told him. Then she seemed to notice his discomfort and to realize its origin. No doors in the community were locked, ever. None that Jonas knew of, anyway. "The locks are simply to insure The Receiver's privacy because he needs concentration," she explained. "It would be difficult if citizens wandered in, looking for the Department of Bicycle Repair, or something." Jonas laughed, relaxing a little. The woman seemed very friendly, and it was true — in fact it was a joke throughout the community — that the Department of Bicycle Repair, an unimportant little office, was relocated so often that no one ever knew where it was. "There is nothing dangerous here," she told him. "But," she added, glancing at the wall clock, "he doesn't like to be kept waiting." Jonas hurried through the door and found himself in a comfortably furnished living area. It was not unlike his own family unit's dwelling. Furniture was standard throughout the community: practical, sturdy, the function of each piece clearly defined. A bed for sleeping. A table for eating. A desk for studying. All of those things were in this spacious room, though each was slightly different from those in his own dwelling. The fabrics on the upholstered chairs and sofa were slightly thicker and more luxurious; the table legs were not straight like those at home, but slender and curved, with a small carved decoration at the foot. The bed, in an alcove at the far end of the room, was draped with a splendid cloth embroidered over its entire surface with intricate designs. But the most conspicuous difference was the books. In his own dwelling, there were the necessary reference volumes that each household contained: a dictionary, and the thick community volume which contained descriptions of every office, factory, building, and committee. And the Book of Rules, of course. The books in his own dwelling were the only books that Jonas had ever seen. He had never known that other books existed. But this room's walls were completely covered by bookcases, filled, which reached to the ceiling. There must have been hundreds — perhaps thousands — of books, their titles embossed in shiny letters. Jonas stared at them. He couldn't imagine what the thousands of pages contained. Could there be rules beyond the rules that governed the community? Could there be more descriptions of offices and factories and committees? He had only a second to look around because he was aware that the man sitting in a chair beside the table was watching him. Hastily he moved forward, stood before the man, bowed slightly, and said, "I'm Jonas." "I know. Welcome, Receiver of Memory." Jonas recognized the man. He was the Elder who had seemed separate from the others at the Ceremony, though he was dressed in the same special clothing that only Elders wore. Jonas looked self-consciously into the pale eyes that mirrored his own. "Sir, I apologize for my lack of understanding..." He waited, but the man did not give the standard accepting-of-apology response. After a moment, Jonas went on, "But I thought — I mean I think," he corrected, reminding himself that if precision of language were ever to be important, it was certainly important now, in the presence of this man, "that you are the Receiver of Memory. I'm only, well, I was only assigned, I mean selected, yesterday. I'm not anything at all. Not yet." The man looked at him thoughtfully, silently. It was a look that combined interest, curiosity, concern, and perhaps a little sympathy as well. Finally he spoke. "Beginning today, this moment, at least to me, you are the Receiver. "I have been the Receiver for a long time. A very, very long time. You can see that, can't you?" Jonas nodded. The man was wrinkled, and his eyes, though piercing in their unusual lightness, seemed tired. The flesh around them was darkened into shadowed circles. "I can see that you are very old," Jonas responded with respect. The Old were always given the highest respect. The man smiled. He touched the sagging flesh on his own face with amusement. "I am not, actually, as old as I look," he told Jonas. "This job has aged me. I know I look as if I should be scheduled for release very soon. But actually I have a good deal of time left. "I was pleased, though, when you were selected. It took them a long time. The failure of the previous selection was ten years ago, and my energy is starting to diminish. I need what strength I have remaining for your training. We have hard and painful work to do, you and I. "Please sit down," he said, and gestured toward the nearby chair. Jonas lowered himself onto the soft cushioned seat. The man closed his eyes and continued speaking. "When I became a Twelve, I was selected, as you were. I was frightened, as I'm sure you are." He opened his eyes for a moment and peered at Jonas, who nodded. The eyes closed again. "I came to this very room to begin my training. It was such a long time ago. "The previous Receiver seemed just as old to me as I do to you. He was just as tired as I am today." He sat forward suddenly, opened his eyes, and said, "You may ask questions. I have so little experience in describing this process. It is forbidden to talk of it." "I know, sir. I have read the instructions," Jonas said. "So I may neglect to make things as clear as I should." The man chuckled. "My job is important and has enormous honor. But that does not mean I am perfect, and when I tried before to train a successor, I failed. Please ask any questions that will help you." In his mind, Jonas had questions. A thousand. A million questions. As many questions as there were books lining the walls. But he did not ask one, not yet. The man sighed, seeming to put his thoughts in order. Then he spoke again. "Simply stated," he said, "although it's not really simple at all, my job is to transmit to you all the memories I have within me. Memories of the past." "Sir," Jonas said tentatively, "I would be very interested to hear the story of your life, and to listen to your memories. "I apologize for interrupting," he added quickly. The man waved his hand impatiently. "No apologies in this room. We haven't time." "Well," Jonas went on, uncomfortably aware that he might be interrupting again, "I am really interested, I don't mean that I'm not. But I don't exactly understand why it's so important. I could do some adult job in the community, and in my recreation time I could come and listen to the stories from your childhood. I'd like that. Actually," he added, "I've done that already, in the House of the Old. The Old like to tell about their childhoods, and it's always fun to listen." The man shook his head. "No, no," he said. "I'm not being clear. It's not my past, not my childhood that I must transmit to you." He leaned back, resting his head against the back of the upholstered chair. "It's the memories of the whole world," he said with a sigh. "Before you, before me, before the previous Receiver, and generations before him." Jonas frowned. "The whole world?" he asked. "I don't understand. Do you mean not just us? Not just the community? Do you mean Elsewhere, too?" He tried, in his mind, to grasp the concept. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't understand exactly. Maybe I'm not smart enough. I don't know what you mean when you say 'the whole world' or 'generations before him." I thought there was only us. I thought there was only now." "There's much more. There's all that goes beyond — all that is Elsewhere — and all that goes back, and back, and back. I received all of those, when I was selected. And here in this room, all alone, I re-experience them again and again. It is how wisdom comes. And how we shape our future." He rested for a moment, breathing deeply. "I am so weighted with them," he said. Jonas felt a terrible concern for the man, suddenly. "It's as if..." The man paused, seeming to search his mind for the right words of description. "It's like going downhill through deep snow on a sled," he said, finally. "At first it's exhilarating: the speed; the sharp, clear air; but then the snow accumulates, builds up on the runners, and you slow, you have to push hard to keep going, and — " He shook his head suddenly, and peered at Jonas. "That meant nothing to you, did it?" he asked. Jonas was confused. "I didn't understand it, sir." "Of course you didn't. You don't know what snow is, do you?" Jonas shook his head. "Or a sled? Runners?" "No, sir," Jonas said. "Downhill? The term means nothing to you?" "Nothing, sir." "Well, it's a place to start. I'd been wondering how to begin. Move to the bed, and lie face down. Remove your tunic first." Jonas did so, a little apprehensively. Beneath his bare chest, he felt the soft folds of the magnificent cloth that covered the bed. He watched as the man rose and moved first to the wall where the speaker was. It was the same sort of speaker that occupied a place in every dwelling, but one thing about it was different. This one had a switch, which the man deftly snapped to the end that said OFF. Jonas almost gasped aloud. To have the power to turn the speaker off? It was an astonishing thing. Then the man moved with surprising quickness to the corner where the bed was. He sat on a chair beside Jonas, who was motionless, waiting for what would happen next. "Close your eyes. Relax. This will not be painful." Jonas remembered that he was allowed, that he had even been encouraged, to ask questions. "What are you going to do, sir?" he asked, hoping that his voice didn't betray his nervousness. "I am going to transmit the memory of snow," the old man said, and placed his hands on Jonas's bare back. “我从这里进去，乔纳思。”他们把自行车停在画好停车位的区域，走到养老院门口时，费欧娜说。 “不知道为什么，我竟然觉得紧张。”她说，“我以前常到这里啊。”她把玩着手上的资料夹。 “嗯，现在不一样了。”乔纳思提醒她。 “连自行车上的名牌都不一样。”费欧娜笑了起来。维护人员趁着半夜，帮每位十二岁的孩子换上新名牌，上头标示着：受训中的居民。 “我不想迟到。”她一边迈上台阶，一边迟疑地说，“如果我们同时结束，我就和你一起骑车回家。” 乔纳思点点头，挥挥手，便绕过建筑物，朝安尼斯走去，那是一栋附在建筑物背后的小侧楼。他也跟她一样，不想在受训的第一天就迟到。 安尼斯的外观毫不起眼，门口也很寻常。他握住厚重的门把手，这才注意到墙上有个蜂音器，于是他改为按铃。 “什么事？”声音从蜂音器上方小小的扩音器传出来。 “我是，嗯，乔纳思。我是新的……我是说……” “请进！”“咔嚓”一声，门开了。 接待室很小，只有一张桌子，一位女接待员正忙着处理文件，抬头看到他进来，竟然站了起来。这个举动着实令他大吃一惊。以前从没有人因为他的出现而主动起立致意。 “欢迎，记忆传承人。”她很恭敬地说。 “哦，”他很不自在地回答，“叫我乔纳思就好了。” 她微微一笑，按下一个钮，他听见她左边的门“咔嚓” 一声开了。“您可以进去了。”她告诉他。 她好像注意到他的不自在，也了解他不自在的原因。因为社区里的门都不上锁；至少乔纳思知道的门就都不上锁。 “上锁是为了维护记忆传承人的隐私，因为他需要全神贯注。”她解释着，“以防万一有居民闲逛到这边来找自行车修理部之类的。” 乔纳思笑了笑，稍微松了一口气。这位女士看起来很友善，事实上也的确很友善。社区里流传这样的笑话：自行车维修部门是个不太重要的小单位，经常搬家，大家常常搞不清楚它到底在哪里。 “这里一点也不危险。”她告诉他。 “但是，”她对墙上的时钟瞥了一眼，“它不喜欢等人喔。” 乔纳思赶紧打开门，发现自己来到一间装潢典雅、舒适的起居室，就跟他自己家里的形式很像。社区里每户人家的家具都是规格化的：实用、结实，每个物件都有特定的功能——张睡觉的床，一张吃饭用的桌子，一张念书用的书桌。 在这间宽敞的房间里，该有的家具样样不缺，只不过每件家具都跟他家里的略有不同：椅子和沙发的坐垫比较厚也比较豪华；桌脚不像家里的那么直挺挺的，而是较为纤细、略有弧度，并且雕饰了小花纹：床铺位于房间另一端的凹室，上头罩着一条华丽的床单，上面绣满精细的图案。 最显著的不同是书。在他家里，只有家家必备的几套书： 一本字典，以及厚厚的社区说明手册，详列每间办公室、工厂、建筑物和委员会的介绍。当然，还有社区的法则大全。 家里那些书是乔纳思唯一看过的书，他从不知道还有其他的书。 这个房间的墙壁却完全被书架覆盖，从墙脚到天花板，满满的都是。这里一定有几百本、甚至几千本的书，每本书的书名都用闪亮的印刷字体装饰得光亮耀眼。 乔纳思注视着这些书，他想象不出内容会是什么？是超越管理社区的其他法则吗？是对办公室、工厂和委员会更多的描述吗？ 他只敢花一秒钟的时间张望，因为桌子旁边的椅子上，坐着一个人，正打量着他。 他迟疑地往前移动，站在这位先生前面，略微鞠个躬，然后说：“我是乔纳思。” “我知道，欢迎，记忆传承人。” 乔纳思认得他。在典礼中，他虽然也身着长老服饰，却与其他长老大不相同。 乔纳思怯生生地望着那双灰色眼珠中自己的影像。 “先生，很抱歉，我不太了解您的意思……” 他等着，但是老人并未说出标准响应语——我接受你的道歉。 过了一会儿，乔纳思继续说：“但是我认为……我是说我想，”他更正自己的用语，一边提醒自己：精准的语言很重要，在这位先生面前更要谨慎。“您才是记忆传承人，我只是，嗯，我刚被指定，我是说，昨天才被选上的。我还不是记忆传承人。” 老人若有所思地望着他，眼神中有感兴趣、好奇、关心、或许还带有一点同情的意味。 最后他终于说话了，“至少在我认为，从今天这一刻开始，你就是记忆传承人。我担任记忆传承人这份工作已经很久了，这是一段漫长的岁月，你也看得出来，不是吗？” 乔纳思点点头。老人满脸皱纹，眼睛虽然闪现犀利的光芒，却掩不住疲惫，眼周围镶着黑眼圈。 “我看得出来，您年纪很大了。”乔纳思尊敬地说。大家对长老总是推崇备至。 老人微微一笑，摸摸自己脸上松垮的肌肉：“事实上，我没有外表看起来那么老。”他告诉乔纳思，“这份工作让我加速老化。我知道我看起来好像很快就会被解放，但是事实上，我还有好长一段人生要走哩。 不过，当你被选上时，我非常高兴。他们花了很长时间来进行这一次遴选。距离上一次的遴选失败已经十年了，我的能量正逐渐耗弱，我必须保留气力来训练你。未来的工作很艰辛、痛苦，而且只有你跟我。” “请坐下。”他指了指身边。 乔纳思坐到柔软的加垫的座位上。 老人闭上眼睛，继续说：“当我十二岁时，跟你一样被分派了这一职务。当时我很害怕，我相信你现在也一样。”他张开眼睛，盯着乔纳思，乔纳思点点头。 那双眼睛再度闭上：“我来到这个房间，开始接受训练，那已经是好遥远以前的事了。我觉得当时的记忆传承人好老，就跟你现在对我的感觉一样，他也跟我现在一样疲惫不堪。” 他突然坐直了身子，又张开眼睛：“你可以随便发问。 因为平常禁止谈论，所以我不擅长描述这些过程。” “我了解，先生，我看过指导说明了。”乔纳思说。 “那我就不再详细叙述了。”老人低声轻笑，“我的工作很重要，地位崇高，但这并不代表我是完美的，要不然上次训练接班人就不会失败了。请尽量发问，好帮助你进人状态。” 乔纳思的内心有成千上万个疑问，就跟墙壁上的书籍一样多，但他一个也提不出来。 老人叹了一口气，好像要先整理一下思绪，接着才又开口： “训练过程很复杂，不过我先简单说好了，我的工作就是要把我所有的记忆都转移给你，所有过去的记忆。” “先生，”乔纳思迟疑地说，“我很乐意聆听您一生的故事和您的记忆。”赶紧又补充说：“很抱歉，我插嘴了。” 老人不耐烦地摇摇手，“在这里用不着说抱歉，我们没有时间了。” “是的，”乔纳思继续说，很不自在地发现自己又插嘴了，“我真的很感兴趣，我只是不明白这件事有这么重要吗？我可以在社区里工作，再利用休闲时间来拜访您，听您诉说您的童年啊。我很喜欢这样，事实上，我在养老院做义工时就这么做了，那些老人都很喜欢说自己的童年，听起来非常有趣。” 老人摇摇头：“不，不是这样。”他说，“我说得不够清楚。我要传输给你的不是我自己的过去，不是我的童年。” 他往后靠，将头枕在有软垫的椅背上：“我要给你的是整个世界的记忆。”他叹了一口气，“在你之前，在我之前，在上一任记忆传承人之前，在他好几代之前的所有记忆。” 乔纳思的眉头皱了起来：“整个世界？”他问，“我不懂，您是说这个世界上不是只有我们？不是只有这个社区？您是说还包括其他的地区？”他试着在内心捕捉这样的概念，“很抱歉，先生，我还是不明白。也许我不够聪明，您说的‘全世界’跟‘在他好几代之前’，是指什么？我以为这个世界只有我们，我以为只有现在。” “还有很多很多远远超出这个范围的其他地方，超出现在，再往前推、往前推、一直往前推更多的记忆。在我被选上之后，我接收了所有的记忆。在这个房间，我一个人一遍又一遍地重复经历那些过往事件，这就是智能的来源，也是我们塑造未来的依据。” 他停了停，深深地吸了一口气：“这担子好重。” 乔纳思不由得对老人产生了深切的同情。 “就好像……”老人沉吟了一下，好像正在寻找最恰当的字眼来描述，“就好像驾着雪橇在大雪中下坡一样，”最后他终于说：“起初因为速度加上冷峻清新的空气，让人觉得刺激兴奋，但是雪越下越大，不断堆积，覆盖在滑板上，慢慢的，你越来越难前进，而且……” 他突然摇摇头，瞧了乔纳思一眼：“你对这些毫无概念,对不对？” 乔纳思一脸困惑：“先生，我完全不懂。” “你当然不懂。你不知道什么是雪，对不对？” 乔纳思摇摇头。 “雪橇？滑板？” “不知道，先生。”乔纳思说。 “下坡？这些名词你都不知道？” “都不知道，先生。” “那么，就从这里开始好了。我还在想该从哪里开始比较恰当呢。到床上来，把上衣脱掉，脸朝下肌着。” 乔纳思不安地照做。他可以感觉到赤裸的胸膛紧贴着柔软、华丽的床单。老人站起来，走到墙边的扩音器旁。社区里的每户人家都装有这种扩音器，只不过这个房间的扩音器竟然多了一个“开关”，老人灵巧地一扳，啪的一声，开关就“关”上了。 乔纳思差点儿停止呼吸，老人竟然有“关掉”扩音器的权力！他这一惊非同小可。 接着老人飞快地走到床边，坐在乔纳思身旁的椅子上。 乔纳思一动也不动，等着即将发生的事。 “闭上眼睛，放松，不会痛的。” 乔纳思想起自己可以多发问：“先生，请问您要做什么？”他希望自己的声音没有泄露内心的紧张。 “我要将雪的记忆传送给你。”老人说完，就将双手放在乔纳思赤裸的背上。