"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.
Chapter 10
“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。
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."
