“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 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."
