The Giver - Lois Lowry [52]
"And love," Jonas added, remembering the family scene that had so affected him. "And pain." He thought again of the soldier.
"The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared."
"I've started to share them with you," Jonas said, trying to cheer him.
"That's true. And having you here with me over the past year has made me realize that things must change. For years I've felt that they should, but it seemed so hopeless.
"Now for the first time I think there might be a way," The Giver said slowly. "And you brought it to my attention, barely—" He glanced at the clock, "two hours ago."
Jonas watched him, and listened.
It was late at night, now. They had talked and talked. Jonas sat wrapped in a robe belonging to The Giver, the long robe that only Elders wore.
It was possible, what they had planned. Barely possible. If it failed, he would very likely be killed.
But what did that matter? If he stayed, his life was no longer worth living.
"Yes," he told The Giver. "I'll do it. I think I can do it. I'll try, anyway. But I want you to come with me."
The Giver shook his head. "Jonas," he said, "the community has depended, all these generations, back and back and back, on a resident Receiver to hold their memories for them. I've turned over many of them to you in the past year. And I can't take them back. There's no way for me to get them back if I have given them.
"So if you escape, once you are gone—and, Jonas, you know that you can never return—"
Jonas nodded solemnly. It was the terrifying part. "Yes," he said, "I know. But if you come with me—"
The Giver shook his head and made a gesture to silence him. He continued. "If you get away, if you get beyond, if you get to Elsewhere, it will mean that the community has to bear the burden themselves, of the memories you had been holding for them.
"I think that they can, and that they will acquire some wisdom. But it will be desperately hard for them. When we lost Rosemary ten years ago, and her memories returned to the people, they panicked. And those were such few memories, compared to yours. When your memories return, they'll need help. Remember how I helped you in the beginning, when the receiving of memories was new to you?"
Jonas nodded. "It was scary at first. And it hurt a lot."
"You needed me then. And now they will."
"It's no use. They'll find someone to take my place. They'll choose a new Receiver."
"There's no one ready for training, not right away. Oh, they'll speed up the selection, of course. But I can't think of another child who has the right qualities—"
"There's a little female with pale eyes. But she's only a Six."
"That's correct. I know the one you mean. Her name is Katharine. But she's too young. So they will be forced to bear those memories."
"I want you to come, Giver," Jonas pleaded.
"No. I have to stay here," The Giver said firmly. "I want to, Jonas. If I go with you, and together we take away all their protection from the memories, Jonas, the community will be left with no one to help them. They'll be thrown into chaos. They'll destroy themselves. I can't go."
"Giver," Jonas suggested, "you and I don't need to care about the rest of them."
The Giver looked at him with a questioning smile. Jonas hung his head. Of course they needed to care. It was the meaning of everything.
"And in any case, Jonas," The Giver sighed, "I wouldn't make it. I'm very weakened now. Do you know that I no longer see colors?"
Jonas's heart broke. He reached for The Giver's hand.
"You have the colors," The Giver told him. "And you have the courage. I will help you to have the strength."
"A year ago," Jonas reminded him, "when I had just become a Twelve, when I began to see the first color, you told me that the beginning had been different for you. But that I wouldn't understand."
The Giver brightened. "That's true. And do you know, Jonas, that with all your knowledge now, with all your memories, with all you've learned—still