The Giver, Gathering Blue, Messenger, Son. Lois Lowry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “My parents told me it was a female.”

      The Giver nodded.

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

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

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

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

      “Rosemary. I like that name.”

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

      “The way you did to me.”

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

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

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

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

      “I feel it for you, too,” he added.

      “What happened to her?” Jonas asked.

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

      His voice faltered and trailed off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

      The Giver shook his head and sighed. “No. СКАЧАТЬ