Chapter 1
It was almost December, and Jonas was beginning to be frightened. No. Wrong word, Jonas thought. Frightened meant that deep, sickening feeling of something terrible about to happen. Frightened was the way he had felt a year ago when an unidentified aircraft had overflown the community twice. He had seen it both times. Squinting toward the sky, he had seen the sleek jet, almost a blur at its high speed, go past, and a second later heard the blast of sound that followed. Then one more time, a moment later, from the opposite direction, the same plane.
At first, he had been only fascinated. He had never seen aircraft so close, for it was against the rules for Pilots to fly over the community. Occasionally, when supplies were delivered by cargo planes to the landing field across the river, the children rode their bicycles to the riverbank and watched, intrigued, the unloading and then the takeoff directed to the west, always away from the community.
But the aircraft a year ago had been different. It was not a squat, fat-bellied cargo plane but a needle-nosed single-pilot jet. Jonas, looking around anxiously, had seen others — adults as well as children — stop what they were doing and wait, confused, for an explanation of the frightening event.
Then all of the citizens had been ordered to go into the nearest building and stay there. IMMEDIATELY, the rasping voice through the speakers had said. LEAVE YOUR BICYCLES WHERE THEY ARE.
Instantly, obediently, Jonas had dropped his bike on its side on the path behind his family's dwelling. He had run indoors and stayed there, alone. His parents were both at work, and his little sister, Lily, was at the Childcare Center where she spent her after-school hours.
Looking through the front window, he had seen no people: none of the busy afternoon crew of Street Cleaners, Landscape Workers, and Food Delivery people who usually populated the community at that time of day. He saw only the abandoned bikes here and there on their sides; an upturned wheel on one was still revolving slowly.
He had been frightened then. The sense of his own community silent, waiting, had made his stomach churn. He had trembled.
But it had been nothing. Within minutes the speakers had crackled again, and the voice, reassuring now and less urgent, had explained that a Pilot-in-Training had misread his navigational instructions and made a wrong turn. Desperately the Pilot had been trying to make his way back before his error was noticed.
NEEDLESS TO SAY, HE WILL BE RELEASED, the voice had said, followed by silence. There was an ironic tone to that final message, as if the Speaker found it amusing; and Jonas had smiled a little, though he knew what a grim statement it had been. For a contributing citizen to be released from the community was a final decision, a terrible punishment, an overwhelming statement of failure.
Even the children were scolded if they used the term lightly at play, jeering at a teammate who missed a catch or stumbled in a race. Jonas had done it once, had shouted at his best friend, "That's it, Asher! You're released!" when Asher's clumsy error had lost a match for his team. He had been taken aside for a brief and serious talk by the coach, had hung his head with guilt and embarrassment, and apologized to Asher after the game.
Now, thinking about the feeling of fear as he pedaled home along the river path, he remembered that moment of palpable, stomach-sinking terror when the aircraft had streaked above. It was not what he was feeling now with December approaching. He searched for the right word to describe his own feeling.
Jonas was careful about language. Not like his friend, Asher, who talked too fast and mixed things up, scrambling words and phrases until they were barely recognizable and often very funny.
Jonas grinned, remembering the morning that Asher had dashed into the classroom, late as usual, arriving breathlessly in the middle of the chanting of the morning anthem. When the class took their seats at the conclusion of the patriotic hymn, Asher remained standing to make his public apology as was required.
"I apologize for inconveniencing my learning community." Asher ran through the standard apology phrase rapidly, still catching his breath. The Instructor and class waited patiently for his explanation. The students had all been grinning, because they had listened to Asher's explanations so many times before.
"I left home at the correct time but when I was riding along near the hatchery, the crew was separating some salmon. I guess I just got distraught, watching them.
"I apologize to my classmates," Asher concluded. He smoothed his rumpled tunic and sat down.
"We accept your apology, Asher." The class recited the standard response in unison. Many of the students were biting their lips to keep from laughing.
"I accept your apology, Asher," the Instructor said. He was smiling. "And I thank you, because once again you have provided an opportunity for a lesson in language. "Distraught' is too strong an adjective to describe salmon-viewing." He turned and wrote "distraught" on the instructional board. Beside it he wrote "distracted."
Jonas, nearing his home now, smiled at the recollection. Thinking, still, as he wheeled his bike into its narrow port beside the door, he realized that frightened was the wrong word to describe his feelings, now that December was almost here. It was too strong an adjective.
He had waited a long time for this special December. Now that it was almost upon him, he wasn't frightened, but he was ... eager, he decided. He was eager for it to come. And he was excited, certainly. All of the Elevens were excited about the event that would be coming so soon.
But there was a little shudder of nervousness when he thought about it, about what might happen.
Apprehensive, Jonas decided. That's what I am.
"Who wants to be the first tonight, for feelings?" Jonas's father asked, at the conclusion of their evening meal.
It was one of the rituals, the evening telling of feelings.
Sometimes Jonas and his sister, Lily, argued over turns, over who would get to go first. Their parents, of course, were part of the ritual; they, too, told their feelings each evening. But like all parents — all adults — they didn't fight and wheedle for their turn.
Nor did Jonas, tonight. His feelings were too complicated this evening. He wanted to share them, but he wasn't eager to begin the process of sifting through his own complicated emotions, even with the help that he knew his parents could give.
"You go, Lily," he said, seeing his sister, who was much younger — only a Seven — wiggling with impatience in her chair.
"I felt very angry this afternoon," Lily announced. "My Childcare group was at the play area, and we had a visiting group of Sevens, and they didn't obey the rules at all. One of them — a male; I don't know his name — kept going right to the front of the line for the slide, even though the rest of us were all waiting. I felt so angry at him. I made my hand into a fist, like this." She held up a clenched fist and the rest of the family smiled at her small defiant gesture.
"Why do you think the visitors didn't obey the rules?" Mother asked.
Lily considered, and shook her head. "I don't know. They acted like...like..."
"Animals?" Jonas suggested. He laughed.
"That's right," Lily said, laughing too. "Like animals." Neither child knew what the word meant, exactly, but it was often used to describe someone uneducated or clumsy, someone who didn't fit in.
"Where were the visitors from?" Father asked.
Lily frowned, trying to remember. "Our leader told us, when he made the welcome speech, but I can't remember. I guess I wasn't paying attention. It was from another community. They had to leave very early, and they had their midday meal on the bus."
Mother nodded. "Do you think it's possible that their rules may be different? And so they simply didn't know what your play area rules were?"
Lily shrugged, and nodded. "I suppose."
"You've visited other communities, haven't you?" Jonas asked. "My group has, often."
Lily nodded again. "When we were Sixes, we went and shared a whole school day with a group of Sixes in their community."
"How did you feel when you were there?"
Lily frowned. "I felt strange. Because their methods were different. They were learning usages that my group hadn't learned yet, so we felt stupid."
Father was listening with interest. "I'm thinking, Lily," he said, "about the boy who didn't obey the rules today. Do you think it's possible that he felt strange and stupid, being in a new place with rules that he didn't know about?"
Lily pondered that. "Yes," she said, finally.
"I feel a little sorry for him," Jonas said, "even though I don't even know him. I feel sorry for anyone who is in a place where he feels strange and stupid."
"How do you feel now, Lily?" Father asked. "Still angry?"
"I guess not," Lily decided. "I guess I feel a little sorry for him. And sorry I made a fist." She grinned.
Jonas smiled back at his sister. Lily's feelings were always straightforward, fairly simple, usually easy to resolve. He guessed that his own had been, too, when he was a Seven.
He listened politely, though not very attentively, while his father took his turn, describing a feeling of worry that he'd had that day at work: a concern about one of the new children who wasn't doing well. Jonas's father's title was Nurturer. He and the other Nurturers were responsible for all the physical and emotional needs of every new child during its earliest life. It was a very important job, Jonas knew, but it wasn't one that interested him much.
"What gender is it?" Lily asked.
"Male," Father said. "He's a sweet little male with a lovely disposition. But he isn't growing as fast as he should, and he doesn't sleep soundly. We have him in the extra care section for supplementary nurturing, but the committee's beginning to talk about releasing him."
"Oh, no," Mother murmured sympathetically. "I know how sad that must make you feel."
Jonas and Lily both nodded sympathetically as well. Release of new children was always sad, because they hadn't had a chance to enjoy life within the community yet. And they hadn't done anything wrong.
There were only two occasions of release which were not punishment. Release of the elderly, which was a time of celebration for a life well and fully lived; and release of a new child which always brought a sense of what-could-we-have-done. This was especially troubling for the Nurturers, like Father, who felt they had failed somehow. But it happened very rarely.
"Well," Father said, "I'm going to keep trying. I may ask the committee for permission to bring him here at night, if you don't mind. You know what the night-crew Nurturers are like. I think this little guy needs something extra."
"Of course," Mother said, and Jonas and Lily nodded. They had heard Father complain about the night crew before. It was a lesser job, night-crew nurturing, assigned to those who lacked the interest or skills or insight for the more vital jobs of the daytime hours. Most of the people on the night crew had not even been given spouses because they lacked, somehow, the essential capacity to connect to others, which was required for the creation of a family unit.
"Maybe we could even keep him," Lily suggested sweetly, trying to look innocent. The look was fake, Jonas knew; they all knew.
"Lily," Mother reminded her, smiling, "you know the rules."
Two children — one male, one female — to each family unit. It was written very clearly in the rules.
Lily giggled. "Well," she said, "I thought maybe just this once."
Next, Mother, who held a prominent position at the Department of Justice, talked about her feelings. Today a repeat offender had been brought before her, someone who had broken the rules before. Someone who she hoped had been adequately and fairly punished, and who had been restored to his place: to his job, his home, his family unit. To see him brought before her a second time caused her overwhelming feelings of frustration and anger. And even guilt, that she hadn't made a difference in his life.
"I feel frightened, too, for him," she confessed. "You know that there's no third chance. The rules say that if there's a third transgression, he simply has to be released." Jonas shivered. He knew it happened. There was even a boy in his group of Elevens whose father had been released years before. No one ever mentioned it; the disgrace was unspeakable. It was hard to imagine.
Lily stood up and went to her mother. She stroked her mother's arm.
From his place at the table, Father reached over and took her hand. Jonas reached for the other.
One by one, they comforted her. Soon she smiled, thanked them, and murmured that she felt soothed.
The ritual continued. "Jonas?" Father asked. "You're last, tonight."
Jonas sighed. This evening he almost would have preferred to keep his feelings hidden. But it was, of course, against the rules.
"I'm feeling apprehensive," he confessed, glad that the appropriate descriptive word had finally come to him.
"Why is that, son?" His father looked concerned.
"I know there's really nothing to worry about," Jonas explained, "and that every adult has been through it. I know you have, Father, and you too, Mother. But it's the Ceremony that I'm apprehensive about. It's almost December."
Lily looked up, her eyes wide. "The Ceremony of Twelve," she whispered in an awed voice. Even the smallest children — Lily's age and younger — knew that it lay in the future for each of them.
"I'm glad you told us of your feelings," Father said.
"Lily," Mother said, beckoning to the little girl, "go on now and get into your nightclothes. Father and I are going to stay here and talk to Jonas for a while."
Lily sighed, but obediently she got down from her chair. "Privately?" she asked.
Mother nodded. "Yes," she said, "this talk will be a private one with Jonas."
十二月就要到了，乔纳思开始感到恐惧。不对，不是恐惧，乔纳思心里想着，恐惧是指对即将发生的事情深感不安。一年前，一架来路不明的飞机在社区上空盘旋了两圈，当时他确实觉得恐惧。那两次，他都亲眼所见。当时他眯着眼睛望着天空，看见那架外型优美的喷气机快速飞掠而过，飞机的身影远去后，才听到它轰轰的声响。过了一会儿，同样一架飞机，又再次从另一端疾飞而来。
起初，他只是单纯地被吸引，因为平常飞行员飞越社区上空是有违规定的，所以以前从没机会这么近距离打量飞机。有时候飞机载运补给品，横越河面后降落在河对岸，孩子们就会骑着自行车，来到河岸，着迷地看着飞机卸货、起飞，最后朝西方远离社区的地方飞去。
但是，一年前的那架飞机不一样。它不是那种外型矮壮、肚子圆鼓鼓的货机，而是一架机头尖尖、单人驾驶的喷气机。当时乔纳思焦虑地四处张望，看见其他人包括大人和小孩，也跟他一样，通通停下手边的工作，困惑地等待着，不知道会发生什么事。
接着所有的居民接到指令，进入最近的建筑物，不准随意走动。扩音器里传出刺耳的声音：“立刻行动，把自行车留在原地。”
乔纳思不假思索，马上把自行车丢在家后头的小径上，跑进屋子里，独自留在屋内。他的父母都外出工作了，妹妹莉莉那时正在幼儿园消磨她下课以后的时光。
他从前面的窗户看出去，街道上空无一人。平常在这时刻，往来频繁的清道夫、环境美化人员和食品送货员，这会儿都不见了。路边到处是被匆忙扔下的自行车，有辆自行车车轮朝天，还在旋转着。
那时他真的害怕，他强烈地感觉到整个社区剑拔弩张的气氛。他的胃不禁剧烈地翻腾起来，身子也不由自主地跟着发抖。
可是，什么也没发生。几分钟之后，扩音器再度响起，这次语气较缓和、轻松，广播员解释说：有位正在受训的驾驶员读错了航行指示说明，所以转错了弯，飞错了方向。
“不用说，他会被解放的。”扩音器里的播音员在播送最后这条消息时，语气带着嘲讽，仿佛自己都觉得有点儿好笑。虽然乔纳思深深明白这种声明背后的严肃意涵，却也不禁微微一笑。对于在社区中奉献心力的市民来说，解放就是最后的判决，是一种可怕的惩罚，一项令人惊惧的失败声明。
如果孩子们在玩游戏时，用这个词语来嘲笑玩伴接球失误或赛跑时跌跤，是会被大人斥责的。乔纳思以前就有过一次这种经历，那次亚瑟犯下一个不该发生的错误，害得他们球队输了比赛，他对自己最要好的朋友大叫：“就这样，亚瑟！你被解放了！”结果他马上被带到旁边去，教练严厉地批评了他一顿。他低头认错，非常惭愧，赛后还跟亚瑟道歉。
现在，他一边沿着河边小径骑着自行车回家，一边回想起那种恐惧的感觉。
他记得那次飞机在天空快速飞行，带给他一种难忘的、胃痉挛的恐惧，这跟现在十二月缓缓逼近所带给他的感受大不相同。他努力寻找最精确的字眼，好形容自己的感觉。
乔纳思对遣词用字一向小心翼翼。不像他的朋友亚瑟，老是说得太快，又夹七夹八的，单字和词组乱用一气，说到最后，让大家听也听不懂，还很有“果笑”。
乔纳思微微一笑，想起那天早上，亚瑟跟平常一样又迟到了。当他上气不接下气地冲进教室时，大家正在唱颂早晨的《圣歌》。等全班同学唱完最后一段爱国者的赞美诗，回到自己的座位时，亚瑟仍旧杵在那儿，按照规定向大家道歉。
“很抱歉，我给共同学习的班级添了麻烦。”亚瑟一边喘气，一边快速地说了一遍标准道歉语。老师和全班同学都耐心地等待他的解释。有的同学则在窃笑，因为大家已听过太多次亚瑟的解释了。
“我准时出门，但是骑车到养殖场附近，看见工作人员在为鲑鱼分类，我实在忧心如焚，就立在旁边呆呆地看着。”
“我向所有的同学道歉！”最后亚瑟说完，将皱巴巴的袍子抚平，坐了下来。
“亚瑟，我们接受你的道歉！”全班整齐划一地念诵标准答复，许多同学咬住嘴唇，以免笑出声来。
“亚瑟，我接受你的道歉。”老师也微笑着说，“此外，我还要感谢你又提供一个机会，让大家上上语文课。用‘忧心如焚’这个词来形容对鲑鱼分类的担心，太强烈了一点。”他转身在黑板上写下“忧心如焚”四个字，接着又在旁边写出“有些担心”四个字。
乔纳思快到家了。一想起这件事，不禁又笑了起来。他一边想着，一边把自行车停进门边窄窄的停车位。他也知道用“恐惧”这个词来形容自己的感觉是不对的。现在十二月就要到了，这个形容词太强烈了。
这个别具意义的十二月，他期待已久。既然日子就快到了，他也不用再恐惧了。但是他很……急切——没错，就是这个字眼，他急切地希望日子快点到。当然，他也很兴奋，所有十一岁的孩子对未来要做什么，都很兴奋。可是一想到可能发生的状况，他不禁又紧张得哆嗦了一下。
焦虑，乔纳思决定了，用这个字眼来形容自己目前的心境最准确。
“今天晚上谁第一个志愿分享他的感觉？”在晚餐的最后分享时段，乔纳思的爸爸问。
每天晚上分享他人的感觉，是每户人家的例行活动。有时候，乔纳思和妹妹莉莉会为了谁先讲话而起争执。他们的双亲也会在每天晚上说说他们的感觉，不过，就像所有的父母、所有的大人一样，他们不会为了谁先谁后费心思。
乔纳思今晚也不会，今天晚上他的感觉太复杂了。他想跟大家分享这些感觉，但是即使他知道爸妈会给他协助，他也还不急着跟大家述说自己错综复杂的情绪。
“你先，莉莉。”他对妹妹说。莉莉才七岁，还非常小，她正不耐烦地坐在椅子上扭来扭去。
“今天下午，我好生气，”莉莉开始说话，“我们幼儿园这一班原本在游乐场玩，突然来了另一个也都是七岁孩子的班级。他们完全不遵守规则。其中有个不知道叫什么名字的男孩儿，直接插队到最前面去溜滑梯，根本不管我们这些排队等候的人。我很生气，就把手握成拳头，像这样。”
她把手握紧，变成拳头状。家人看她做出这个挑衅的动作，不禁微笑了起来。
“为什么你会觉得那些孩子不守规矩呢？”妈妈问。
莉莉想了一下，摇摇头：“我不知道，他们的行为就像……就像……”
“动物？”乔纳思猜着，然后哈哈笑起来。
“没错，”莉莉也哈哈笑起来，“就像动物。”没有一个孩子确切地知道那是什么意思，不过大家常用这个字眼来形容没有受过教育、笨拙或环境适应能力不良的人。
“那些孩子是从哪里来的？”爸爸问。
莉莉皱皱眉头，努力回想。“老师说过，但是我想不起来。我想我没有很专心听。他们是从另一个社区来的，他们很早就出门，必须在巴士上吃午餐呢。”
妈妈点点头：“你想，会不会是他们的规矩跟我们的不一样？所以不知道你们游乐场的规矩？”
莉莉耸耸肩，点点头：“可能是吧。”
“你们不是也拜访过其他社区吗？”乔纳思问，“我们班上常有这种活动。”
莉莉又点点头：“我们六岁时，曾经去另一个社区参观，一整天都跟他们六岁的班级一起生活。”
“在那里你有什么感觉？”
莉莉皱皱眉头：“我觉得很奇怪，因为他们的方法跟我们很不一样。他们学习一些我们还没学过的习俗，所以我们觉得自己像笨瓜。”
爸爸兴味十足地听着。“我想，莉莉，”他说，“那个男孩儿为什么不守规矩，你看，那个男孩子来到一个新地方，完全不懂这里的规矩，他会不会也觉得很奇怪，觉得自己像笨瓜？”
莉莉想了一会儿，最后说：“会。”
乔纳思说：“我觉得他蛮可怜的，虽然我不认识他，但是想到有人到了一个陌生的地方，对什么都好奇，又时时觉得自己很笨，我就为他感到难过。”
“你现在有什么感觉呢，莉莉？”爸爸问，“还在生气吗？”
“不生气了，”莉莉肯定地说，“我想他的确很可怜。很抱歉我曾经气得握拳头。”她微微一笑。
乔纳思也对妹妹笑了笑。莉莉的感觉非常直接、单纯，也非常容易解决。回想自己七岁的时候，应该也是同样的状况吧！
接下来轮到爸爸说话了，虽然乔纳思不够专心，但仍礼貌地表现出聆听的模样。爸爸解释当天因为有位新生儿成长得不太顺利，让他十分担心。乔纳思的爸爸是个养育师，每位新生儿在生命初期，不管是身体或情绪上的需求，都由像他这样的养育师来负责照顾。这是一份非常重要的工作，但乔纳思很清楚，他对这项工作始终不感兴趣。
“小宝宝是男生还是女生？”莉莉问。
“男生。”爸爸说，“长得很讨人喜欢，性情也很好。但是他的成长速度跟不上同龄的孩子，又睡得不安稳。我们把他转到特别看护区，给他补充更多的营养和照顾。但是，委员会已经在考虑要将他解放。”
“天哪！不会吧！”妈妈同情地叫了起来，“我知道你一定会很难过的。”
乔纳思和莉莉也同情地点点头。解放新生儿总是伤感，因为他没犯什么错，就丧失了享受社区生活的机会。
“解放”通常用来惩罚，只有两种情况例外：
一个是对老年人的解放庆典，欢庆一生丰足圆满；另一个就是新生儿的解放仪式，让人有万般无奈的感觉。对于养育师，比如像爸爸这样的人来说，那无异于是宣称自己的任务失败了，幸好这种情况很少发生。
“不过”，爸爸说，“我会加把劲儿努力改善的。我想要求委员会允许我晚上带他回家过夜，希望你们能同意。你们也知道那些夜班养育师的水准，我认为这个小家伙需要特别的照顾。”
“当然没问题。”妈妈说，乔纳思和莉莉也点点头。他们以前就听过爸爸抱怨晚班工作人员的素质不佳。由于要求不严，所以晚班的养育工作都由一些缺乏兴趣、技术较差或无法胜任白天工作的人来担任。也因为这样，有许多晚班的工作，是由申请不到配偶的人来担任的，偏偏他们天生缺乏跟别人互动的能力，而这却是建立家庭的必备素质。
“也许，我们可以把他留下来。”莉莉露出甜美的笑容，一副天真无邪的模样。乔纳思很清楚，那表情是装出来的，其他家人也都明白。
“莉莉，”妈妈笑着提醒她，“你明明知道规矩。”
两个小孩——一男加一女，这是每个家庭的标准模式。
社区法则里写得清清楚楚。
莉莉咯咯笑了起来。“好吧！”她说，“我还以为可以破例呢。”
接下来轮到妈妈说她的感受。妈妈在司法院地位很高，今天她审判了一位有前科的违规者。她原本希望这个人在上次犯规后，接受了公平的惩罚，会重新开始工作，融入家庭生活，没想到他又被带到她面前。她感到无比地沮丧和愤怒——她竟然对他的人生毫无影响，这一点甚至让她觉得愧疚。
“我很替他忧心，”她倾诉着，“你们也知道，法则上明明白白地规定，没有第三次机会了，如果第三次违规，就只有解放一条道儿了。”乔纳思打了个冷战，这种事发生过。在他十一岁的班上，有个男孩儿的爸爸在很多年前被解放了。
没有人敢提这件事，因为不光彩的事是禁止讨论的。这实在太难想象了。
莉莉站起来，走到妈妈身边，轻抚着妈妈的手臂。爸爸从他的座位上伸出手，握住妈妈的手。乔纳思则握住妈妈的另一只手。
他们一个接一个安慰妈妈，很快地，妈妈重展笑颜，说谢谢大家，自己的心情好多了。
分享的仪式继续进行，爸爸问：“乔纳思，你今天是最后一个喔。”
乔纳思叹了一口气。今晚，他宁可把自己的情绪隐藏起来，不过，当然喽，这是违反规定的。
“我非常地焦虑。”他坦白道，一边心底暗自高兴，终于找到贴切的字眼。
“为什么会这样呢，儿子？”爸爸露出关怀的神情。
“我知道其实没什么好担心的，”乔纳思解释说，“而且每位成年人都通过了这关。我知道爸爸是，妈妈也一样。现在十二月就快到了，一想到典礼我就焦虑不安。”
莉莉睁大眼睛往上看，用敬畏的声音小声说：“十二岁的典礼哇。”即使是小孩，就像莉莉，或比她更小的，也都知道自己未来要经历这道关卡。
“我很高兴你说出自己的感受。”爸爸说。
“莉莉，”妈妈对小女孩招招手说，“去做该做的事，先把睡衣换上。爸爸和我留在这里，跟乔纳思再多谈一会儿。”
莉莉叹了一口气，顺从地爬下椅子：“是个别谈话吗？”她问。
妈妈点点头说：“对，我们要跟乔纳思单独谈一谈。”
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