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

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      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 – all 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, towards the river. Beyond the Plaza he could see the House of the Old, with the Annexe 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, pedalling 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 towards Jonas, obviously delighted to have him back after the unexpected night away from the dwelling.

      Father glanced down towards 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 Centre. 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 towards 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 colour, 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 bikeport 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 СКАЧАТЬ