The Giver - Lois Lowry [38]
It was not enough to assuage the pain that Jonas was beginning, now, to know.
"Why?" Jonas asked him after he had received a torturous memory in which he had been neglected and unfed; the hunger had caused excruciating spasms in his empty, distended stomach. He lay on the bed, aching. "Why do you and I have to hold these memories?"
"It gives us wisdom," The Giver replied. "Without wisdom I could not fulfill my function of advising the Committee of Elders when they call upon me."
"But what wisdom do you get from hunger?" Jonas groaned. His stomach still hurt, though the memory had ended.
"Some years ago," The Giver told him, "before your birth, a lot of citizens petitioned the Committee of Elders. They wanted to increase the rate of births. They wanted each Birthmother to be assigned four births instead of three, so that the population would increase and there would be more Laborers available."
Jonas nodded, listening. "That makes sense."
"The idea was that certain family units could accommodate an additional child."
Jonas nodded again. "Mine could," he pointed out. "We have Gabriel this year, and it's fun, having a third child."
"The Committee of Elders sought my advice," The Giver said. "It made sense to them, too, but it was a new idea, and they came to me for wisdom."
"And you used your memories?"
The Giver said yes. "And the strongest memory that came was hunger. It came from many generations back. Centuries back. The population had gotten so big that hunger was everywhere. Excruciating hunger and starvation. It was followed by warfare."
Warfare? It was a concept Jonas did not know. But hunger was familiar to him now. Unconsciously he rubbed his own abdomen, recalling the pain of its unfulfilled needs. "So you described that to them?"
"They don't want to hear about pain. They just seek the advice. I simply advised them against increasing the population."
"But you said that that was before my birth. They hardly ever come to you for advice. Only when they—what was it you said? When they have a problem they've never faced before. When did it happen last?"
"Do you remember the day when the plane flew over the community?"
"Yes. I was scared."
"So were they. They prepared to shoot it down. But they sought my advice. I told them to wait."
"But how did you know? How did you know the pilot was lost?"
"I didn't. I used my wisdom, from the memories. I knew that there had been times in the past—terrible times—when people had destroyed others in haste, in fear, and had brought about their own destruction."
Jonas realized something. "That means," he said slowly, "that you have memories of destruction. And you have to give them to me, too, because I have to get the wisdom."
The Giver nodded.
"But it will hurt," Jonas said. It wasn't a question.
"It will hurt terribly," The Giver agreed.
"But why can't everyone have the memories? I think it would seem a little easier if the memories were shared. You and I wouldn't have to bear so much by ourselves, if everybody took a part."
The Giver sighed. "You're right," he said. "But then everyone would be burdened and pained. They don't want that. And that's the real reason The Receiver is so vital to them, and so honored. They selected me—and you—to lift that burden from themselves."
"When did they decide that?" Jonas asked angrily. "It wasn't fair. Let's change it!"
"How do you suggest we do that? I've never been able to think of a way, and I'm supposed to be the one with all the wisdom."
"But there are two of us now," Jonas said eagerly. "Together we can think of something!"
The Giver watched him with a wry smile.
"Why can't we just apply for a change of rules?" Jonas suggested.
The Giver laughed; then Jonas, too, chuckled reluctantly.
"The decision was made long before my time or yours," The Giver said, "and before the previous Receiver, and—" He waited.
"Back and back and back." Jonas repeated the familiar phrase. Sometimes it had seemed humorous to him. Sometimes it had seemed meaningful and important.
Now it was ominous.