Giver Trilogy 01 - The Giver by Lois Lowry Page B

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."
    "I don't know why they even
need
a Receiver, then, if they never call upon him," Jonas commented.
    "They need me. And you," The Giver said, but didn't explain. "They were reminded of that ten years ago."
    "What happened ten years ago?" Jonas asked. "Oh, I know. You tried to train a successor and it failed. Why? Why did that remind them?"
    The Giver smiled grimly. "When the new Receiver failed, the memories that she had received were released. They didn't come back to me. They went..."
    He paused, and seemed to be struggling with the concept. "I don't know, exactly. They went to the place where memories once existed before Receivers were created. Someplace out
there
—" He gestured vaguely with his arm. "And then the people had access to them. Apparently that's the way it was, once. Everyone had access to memories.
    "It was chaos," he said. "They really suffered for a while. Finally it subsided as the memories were assimilated. But it certainly made them aware of how they need a Receiver to contain all that pain. And knowledge."
    "But you have to suffer like that all the time," Jonas pointed out.
    The Giver nodded. "And you will. It's my life. It will be yours."
    Jonas thought about it, about what it would be like for him. "Along with walking and eating and—" He looked around the walls of books. "Reading? That's it?"
    The Giver shook his head. "Those are simply the things that I
do.
My
life
is here."
    "In this room?"
    The Giver shook his head. He put his hands to his own face, to his chest. "No. Here, in my being. Where the memories are."
    "My Instructors in science and technology have taught
us about how the brain works," Jonas told him eagerly. "It's full of electrical impulses. It's like a computer. If you stimulate one part of the brain with an electrode, it—" He stopped talking. He could see an odd look on The Giver's face.
    "They know nothing," The Giver said bitterly.
    Jonas was shocked. Since the first day in the Annex room, they had together disregarded the rules about rudeness, and Jonas felt comfortable with that now. But this was different, and far beyond rude. This was a terrible accusation. What if someone had heard?
    He glanced quickly at the wall speaker, terrified that the Committee might be listening as they could at any time. But, as always during their sessions together, the switch had been turned to OFF.
    "Nothing?" Jonas whispered nervously. "But my instructors—"
    The Giver flicked his hand as if brushing something aside. "Oh, your instructors are well trained. They know their scientific facts.
Everyone
is well trained for his job.
    "It's just that ... without the memories it's all meaningless. They gave that burden to me. And to the previous Receiver. And the one before him."
    "And back and back and back," Jonas said, knowing the phrase that always came.
    The Giver smiled, though his smile was oddly harsh. "That's right. And next it will be you. A great honor."
    "Yes, sir. They told me that at the Ceremony. The very highest honor."

    Some afternoons The Giver sent him away without training. Jonas knew, on days when he arrived to find The
Giver hunched over, rocking his body slightly back and forth, his face pale, that he would be sent away.
    "Go," The Giver would