would be sent out into the community.
By the time his bicycle and clothing were found, the Giver would be returning. Jonas, by then, would be on his own, making his journey Elsewhere.
The Giver, on his return, would find the community in a state of confusion and panic. Confronted by a situation which they had never faced before, and having no memories from which to find either solace or wisdom, they would not know what to do and would seek his advice.
He would go to the Auditorium where the people would be gathered, still. He would stride to the stage and command their attention.
He would make the solemn announcement that Jonas had been lost in the river. He would immediately begin the Ceremony of Loss.
“Jonas, Jonas,” they would say loudly, as they had once said the name of Caleb. The Giver would lead the chant. Together they would let Jonas’s presence in their lives fade away as they said his name in unison more slowly, softer and softer, until he was disappearing from them, until he was no more than an occasional murmur and then, by the end of the long day, gone forever, not to be mentioned again.
Their attention would turn to the overwhelming task of bearing the memories themselves. The Giver would help them.
“Yes, I understand that they’ll need you,” Jonas had said at the end of the lengthy discussion and planning. “But I’ll need you, too. Please come with me.” He knew the answer even as he made the final plea.
“My work will be finished,” the Giver had replied gently, “when I have helped the community to change and become whole.
“I’m grateful to you, Jonas, because without you I would never have figured out a way to bring about the change. But your role now is to escape. And my role is to stay.”
“But don’t you want to be with me, Giver?” Jonas asked sadly.
The Giver hugged him. “I love you, Jonas,” he said. “But I have another place to go. When my work here is finished, I want to be with my daughter.”
Jonas had been staring glumly at the floor. Now he looked up, startled. “I didn’t know you had a daughter, Giver! You told me that you’d had a spouse. But I never knew about your daughter.”
The Giver smiled, and nodded. For the first time in their long months together, Jonas saw him look truly happy.
“Her name was Rosemary,” the Giver said.
IT WOULD WORK. They could make it work, Jonas told himself again and again throughout the day.
But that evening everything changed. All of it – all the things they had thought through so meticulously – fell apart.
That night, Jonas was forced to flee. He left the dwelling shortly after the sky became dark and the community still. It was terribly dangerous because some of the work crews were still about, but he moved stealthily and silently, staying in the shadows, making his way past the darkened dwellings and the empty Central Plaza, towards the river. Beyond the Plaza he could see the House of the Old, with the Annexe behind it, outlined against the night sky. But he could not stop there. There was no time. Every minute counted now, and every minute must take him farther from the community.
Now he was on the bridge, hunched over on the bicycle, pedalling steadily. He could see the dark, churning water far below.
He felt, surprisingly, no fear, nor any regret at leaving the community behind. But he felt a very deep sadness that he had left his closest friend behind. He knew that in the danger of his escape he must be absolutely silent; but with his heart and mind, he called back and hoped that with his capacity for hearing-beyond, the Giver would know that Jonas had said goodbye.
It had happened at the evening meal. The family unit was eating together as always: Lily chattering away, Mother and Father making their customary comments (and lies, Jonas knew) about the day. Nearby, Gabriel played happily on the floor, babbling his baby talk, looking with glee now and then towards Jonas, obviously delighted to have him back after the unexpected night away from the dwelling.
Father glanced down towards the toddler. “Enjoy it, little guy,” he said. “This is your last night as visitor.”
“What do you mean?” Jonas asked him.
Father sighed with disappointment. “Well, you know he wasn’t here when you got home this morning because we had him stay overnight at the Nurturing Centre. It seemed like a good opportunity, with you gone, to give it a try. He’d been sleeping so soundly.”
“Didn’t it go well?” Mother asked sympathetically.
Father gave a rueful laugh. “That’s an understatement. It was a disaster. He cried all night, apparently. The night crew couldn’t handle it. They were really frazzled by the time I got to work.”
“Gabe, you naughty thing,” Lily said, with a scolding little cluck towards the grinning toddler on the floor.
“So,” Father went on, “we obviously had to make the decision. Even I voted for Gabriel’s release when we had the meeting this afternoon.”
Jonas put down his fork and stared at his father. “Release?” he asked.
Father nodded. “We certainly gave it our best try, didn’t we?”
“Yes, we did,” Mother agreed emphatically.
Lily nodded in agreement, too.
Jonas worked at keeping his voice absolutely calm. “When?” he asked. “When will he be released?”
“First thing tomorrow morning. We have to start our preparations for the Naming Ceremony, so we thought we’d get this taken care of right away.
“It’s bye-bye to you, Gabe, in the morning,” Father had said, in his sweet, sing-song voice.
Jonas reached the opposite side of the river, stopped briefly, and looked back. The community where his entire life had been lived lay behind him now, sleeping. At dawn, the orderly, disciplined life he had always known would continue again, without him. The life where nothing was ever unexpected. Or inconvenient. Or unusual. The life without colour, pain or past.
He pushed firmly again at the pedal with his foot and continued riding along the road. It was not safe to spend time looking back. He thought of the rules he had broken so far: enough that if he were caught, now, he would be condemned.
First, he had left the dwelling at night. A major transgression.
Second, he had robbed the community of food: a very serious crime, even though what he had taken was leftovers, set out on the dwelling doorsteps for collection.
Third, he had stolen his father’s bicycle. He had hesitated for a moment, standing beside the bikeport in the darkness, not wanting anything of his father’s and uncertain, as well, whether he could comfortably ride the larger bike when he was so accustomed
