在他十二年的成长岁月中，乔纳思首次体悟到什么叫做隔离和与众不同。他记得首席长老说过：他的训练是在隔离的状况下，单独进行的。
虽然训练尚未展开，但是在离开大礼堂时，他已经领略到被分隔开来的滋味。他握着资料夹，穿过人群，寻找家人和亚瑟。大家纷纷让路给他，注视着他，并低声耳语。
“亚瑟！”他在停车场看见朋友，赶紧大叫，“我们一起骑回家吗？”
“当然啦！”亚瑟的笑容一如往昔，亲切又熟悉，但乔纳思隐隐觉得亚瑟好像迟疑了一下。
“恭喜啦！”亚瑟说。
“我才要恭喜你呢！”乔纳思回答，“当她提起‘打打’这件往事时，真是有趣儿，你获得的掌声比谁都多。”
刚晋升为十二岁的孩子这时也聚集过来，小心翼翼地把资料夹放入自行车后的提篮里，准备回家后再拿出来研读。过去这几年，孩子们晚上都得背诵学校功课，总是一边背，一边无聊地打哈欠。今晚可就不同了，他们是用期待的心情来背诵未来的工作规则。
“恭喜你，亚瑟！”有人大叫，同样又迟疑了一下才说,“也恭喜你，乔纳思！”
乔纳思和亚瑟也礼貌地恭贺对方。乔纳思看见爸爸和妈妈在自行车旁，远远地望着他。莉莉已经坐上后座，系好安全带了。
他挥挥手，他们也笑着挥挥手。他注意到莉莉表情很严肃，大拇指含在嘴里。
在回家的路上，他跟亚瑟的交流只是几个小笑话和一些无关紧要的话。
他在家门口下车，对亚瑟大叫：“明天早上见，娱乐中心主任助理！”
亚瑟继续往前骑：“好的，再见！”
亚瑟大声响应的瞬间，他再一次感觉到他们长期建立的友谊，似乎有些走调。也许是他多虑了，跟亚瑟在一起，不可能有什么改变的。
那天的晚餐静得出奇，只有莉莉叽叽喳喳，提出一大堆有关未来义工生涯的规划。她说她要先到育婴中心服务，因为她已经是喂加波吃饭的专家啦。
“我知道，”当爸爸对她投来警告的眼光时，她立刻补充说，“我不会提他名字的，我会假装自己不知道。我等不及了，好希望明天赶快来呢！”她快乐地说。
乔纳思不安地叹了一口气：“我可以等！”他喃喃自语。
“大家都很尊敬你的工作，”妈妈说，“爸爸和我为你感到骄傲。”
“那是我们社区最重要的工作。”爸爸说。
“但是几天前，你说指派的工作是最重要的工作！”
妈妈点点头：“这不一样。这不是工作，真的。我想都没想过，也没想到……”妈妈停顿了一下，“因为向来只有一个记忆传承人。”
“但是，首席长老说十年前做过一次遴选，结果失败了。
她指的是什么？”
爸爸和妈妈迟疑了半晌，最后爸爸叙说了上一次的遴选结果：“上次的情况跟今天很像——同样充满悬疑，乔纳思。
当所有的十一岁孩子都获得指派的工作后，他们才宣布那位被选中的人……”
乔纳思插嘴问：“他叫什么名字？”
妈妈回答，“是一个女生，不是男生。但是我们不能再提她的名字，也不能再用这个名字为新生儿命名。”
乔纳思很震惊。如果有哪个名字“再也不能提起”，那可是奇耻大辱啊。
“她怎么了？”他紧张地问。
爸爸妈妈面有难色。“我们不清楚，”爸爸很不自在地说，“我们再也没见过她。”
屋子里静悄悄的，他们只是默默地彼此望着。最后妈妈站了起来，说：“你获得了最尊贵的荣耀，乔纳思，最尊贵的荣耀。”
乔纳思独自在卧室里，铺好床，打开了自己的资料夹。
他注意到有些同学的资料夹好大一沓，上头印满了字。他猜想班上那位科学家——本杰明，一定是轻松地读着一页又一页的规则和说明。他也想象得到，费欧娜一定是带着微笑，看着单子上所列的未来该学的方法和该尽的义务。
但是他的资料夹只有薄薄的一张，他读了两遍：
乔纳思
记忆传承人
一、每天下课后，直接到养老院后面的安尼斯入口处报到。
二、每天训练结束后，立刻回家。
三、从现在开始可不受规则约束，有权向任何一位市民发问，并保证获得答案。
四、禁止谈论训练内容，包括双亲和长老会在内。
五、从现在开始，不再跟别人分享梦境。
六、除非疾病或伤势与训练无关，否则禁止申请任何药物。
七、不得申请解放。
八、可以说谎。
乔纳思愣住了。他跟朋友的友谊怎么维持？他那些不花脑筋的球类游戏呢？沿着河岸骑自行车散心呢？对他来说，那是一段既快乐又重要的时光。他们为什么要剥夺呢？这些简单、合乎逻辑的指示，他可以理解，因为每个十二岁的孩子都一定会被告知：到哪里、如何去以及何时接受训练。但是他还是有一点失望，很明显的，在他的课表里，完全没有任何休闲时间。
可以不受规则约束这条也令他相当吃惊。不过，再读一次后，他知道并不是强迫他违规，只是允许他有更大的选择权。他很确定，他永远也不会利用这条来为所欲为。他早已习惯遵循社区的规则，一想到要探人隐私，他就浑身不自在。
至于不再分享梦境这条，倒不成问题。他很少做梦，分享梦境对他来说本来就不容易，他很高兴可以免除这项义务。只是以后早餐时该怎么办呢？如果他做梦了，是否跟过去一样，只要告诉家人他没做梦就好？这就是说谎了。还有，最后一条规则说……哎，这最后一条规则他还没准备好去理它呢。
对于药物的限制，他感到很为难。居民用药一向非常便利，就连孩子都可通过双亲拿到。上次他的手指头被门压伤，他赶紧忍痛通过广播通知妈妈。她一要求止痛药，药物马上送到。几乎是在同一时间，他手上的剧痛立即消除，只剩轻微的颤动，现在只能靠回忆才能唤起上次的体验。
再读一次第六条规则，他了解压伤手指可归类为“跟训练无关”的伤势。虽然打从那次意外后，他就对厚重的大门特别留意，也很确定不会再旧事重演。可是如果真的再度发生，他还是可以申请药物治疗。
现在每天早上所吃的药丸，也跟训练无关，所以他还是继续吃。
可是一想到首席长老说训练过程必须承受很大的痛楚，他就打从心里不安。她还说那是难以形容的痛楚。
乔纳思用力吞了一下口水，实在很难想象那会是怎样的痛楚，而且还不能服药。这实在超出他的理解。
他对第七条规则毫无异议，因为他从未想过要申请解放。
他强迫自己再读一次最后一条规则。打从启蒙开始接受教育，打从开始学习使用语言，他就没说过谎。这是学习正确用语不可或缺的环节。他四岁时，有一次在学校午餐前说了一句：“我饿死了。”
结果马上被带到旁边，上了一堂精确使用语言的课程。
在课堂上他学懂了他不是“饿死了”，而是“肚子很饿”。在社区里没人会饿死。过去也从来没人饿死，未来更不可能有人会饿死。说“饿死了”，就等于是在说谎。当然，这是一个不经意地说谎。要大家精确地使用语言，就是希望大家不会不经意地说谎。他了解这一点吗？他们问他。他果然了解。
在他的记忆里，他再也不敢说谎。亚瑟不会说谎，莉莉不会说谎，爸爸妈妈不会说谎，没有人会说谎，除非……
一个念头突然浮现乔纳思的脑海里，连他自己都吓了一大跳：是否其他人——大人——在晋升为十二岁时，都收到同样可怕的指令呢？
是否他们都被指示：可以说谎。
他的内心受到很大的冲击。现在，他有权向任何人提问——而且一定会有答案——就用想象的吧（虽然还是很难想象），他可以问某个大人，也许就问爸爸：“你说谎吗？”
不过，他也无从知道他所获得的答案是不是真的。
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.
