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The same size and shape: a perfect sphere. The same nondescript shade, about the same shade as his own tunic. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about that apple.
He had tossed it back and forth between his hands a few times, then thrown it again to Asher. And again — in the air, for an instant only — it had changed.
It had happened four times. Jonas had blinked, looked around, and then tested his eyesight, squinting at the small print on the identification badge attached to his tunic.
He read his name quite clearly. He could also clearly see Asher at the other end of the throwing area. And he had had no problem catching the apple.
Jonas had been completely mystified. About the apple? So Jonas laughed too, and with his laughter tried to ig- nore his uneasy conviction that something had happened.
But he had taken the apple home, against the recreation area rules. That evening, before his parents and Lily arrived at the dwelling, he had held it in his hands and looked at it carefully.
It was slightly bruised now, because Asher had dropped it several times. But there was nothing at all unusual about the apple.
He had held a magnifying glass to it. He had tossed it several times across the room, watching, and then rolled it around and around on his desktop, waiting for the thing to happen again.
The only thing that happened was the announcement later that evening over the speaker, the an- nouncement that had singled him out without using his name, that had caused both of his parents to glance mean- ingfully at his desk where the apple still lay.
Now, sitting at his desk, staring at his schoolwork as his family hovered over the newchild in its basket, he shook his head, trying to forget the odd incident.
He forced him- self to arrange his papers and try to study a little before the evening meal. The newchild, Gabriel, stirred and whim- pered, and Father spoke softly to Lily, explaining the feed- ing procedure as he opened the container that held the formula and equipment.
The evening proceeded as all evenings did in the family unit, in the dwelling, in the community: quiet, reflective, a time for renewal and preparation for the day to come.
It was different only in the addition to it of the newchild with his pale, solemn, knowing eyes. The freedom to choose where to spend those hours had always seemed a wonderful luxury to Jonas; other hours of the day were so carefully regulated.
He remembered when he had become an Eight, as Lily would do shortly, and had been faced with that freedom of choice.
The Eights always set out on their first volunteer hour a little nervously, giggling and staying in groups of friends. They almost invariably did their hours on Recre- ation Duty first, helping with the younger ones in a place where they still felt comfortable.
But with guidance, as they developed self-confidence and maturity, they moved on to other jobs, gravitating toward those that would suit their own interests and skills.
A male Eleven named Benjamin had done his entire nearly-Four years in the Rehabilitation Center, working with citizens who had been injured.
It was rumored that he was as skilled now as the Rehabilitation Directors themselves, and that he had even developed some ma- chines and methods to hasten rehabilitation.
There was no doubt that Benjamin would receive his Assignment to that field and would probably be permitted to bypass most of the training. Jonas was impressed by the things Benjamin had achieved.
It was a minor rule, rather like rudeness, punishable only by gentle chastisement. But still. Better to steer clear of an occasion governed by a rule which would be so easy to break.
He passed the Childcare Center where Lily stayed after school, and the play areas surrounding it. He rode through the Central Plaza and the large Auditorium where public meetings were held.
Jonas slowed and looked at the nametags on the bicycles lined up outside the Nurturing Center. Then he checked those outside Food Distribution; it was always fun to help with the deliveries, and he hoped he would find his friend there so that they could go together on the daily rounds, carrying the cartons of supplies into the dwellings of the community.
Jonas liked Fiona. He parked his bicycle neatly in the port beside theirs and entered the building. She handed him the sign-up sheet and stamped her own official seal beside his signature.
All of his volunteer hours would be carefully tabulated at the Hall of Open Records. Once, long ago, it was whispered among the children, an Eleven had arrived at the Ceremony of Twelve only to hear a public announcement that he had not completed the required number of volunteer hours and would not, there-fore, be given his Assignment.
He had been permitted an additional month in which to complete the hours, and then given his Assignment privately, with no applause, no celebration: a disgrace that had clouded his entire future.
Asher and Fiona are helping in the bathing room. He glanced into the rooms on either side. The Old were sitting quietly, some visiting and talking with one another, others doing handwork and simple crafts.
A few were asleep. Each room was comfortably furnished, the floors covered with thick carpeting. It was a serene and slow-paced place, unlike the busy centers of manufacture and distribution where the daily work of the community occurred.
Jonas was glad that he had, over the years, chosen to do his hours in a variety of places so that he could experience the differences.
He realized, though, that not focusing on one area meant he was left with not the slightest idea — not even a guess — of what his Assignment would be.
He laughed softly. Thinking about the Ceremony again, Jonas? He teased himself. But he suspected that with the date so near, probably all of his friends were, too.
He passed a Caretaker walking slowly with one of the Old in the hall. The woman beside him, whose arm he held, was hunched over as she shuffled along in her soft slippers.
She looked toward Jonas and smiled, but her dark eyes were clouded and blank. He realized she was blind. He entered the bathing room with its warm moist air and scent of cleansing lotions.
Jonas saw Fiona nearby, at a differ- ent tub. She looked up and smiled at him, but she was busy, gently washing a man who lay in the warm water.
Jonas greeted them and the caretaking attendants at work nearby. Then he went to the row of padded lounging chairs where others of the Old were waiting.
He had worked here before; he knew what to do. The tub would be filled in a minute and the water flow would stop automatically.
He helped the woman from the chair, led her to the tub, removed her robe, and steadied her with his hand on her arm as she stepped in and lowered herself.
She leaned back and sighed with pleasure, her head on a soft cushioned headrest. Jonas squeezed cleansing lotion onto the clean sponge at the edge of the tub and began to wash her frail body.
Last night he had watched as his father bathed the new- child. This was much the same: the fragile skin, the sooth- ing water, the gentle motion of his hand, slippery with soap.
And the nakedness, too. Jonas was glad. From the corner of his eye he could see his friend Fiona help the old man from the tub and tenderly pat his thin, naked body dry with an absorbent cloth.
She helped him into his robe. He was surprised when she spoke, her eyes still closed. He was a very interesting man. Did you know Edna?
But Edna. My goodness. She was a Birthmother, and then she worked in Food Production for years, until she came here.
She never even had a family unit. He rinsed her left arm, laid it back into the water, and began to wash her feet. She murmured 30 31 with pleasure as he massaged her feet with the sponge.
He squeezed the sponge against her back and began to rub her sharp-boned shoulders. That is always first. Then the toast.
We all raised our glasses and cheered. We chanted the anthem. He made a lovely good-bye speech. And several of us made little speeches wishing him well.
You should have seen the look on his face when they let him go. Where exactly did Roberto go? He just bowed to all of us and then walked, like they all do, through the special door in the Releasing Room.
But you should have seen his look. Not enough room, I guess. They should en- large the Releasing Room. He rarely dreamed.
But this morning was different. He had dreamed very vividly the night before. They all listened carefully and discussed with Lily the warning that the dream had given.
Together they agreed that it probably resulted from her feelings when she had reluctantly dealt punishment to the citizen who had broken the major rules a second time.
Father said that he had had no dreams. They all laughed. Dream-telling began with Threes. If newchildren dreamed, no one knew. They always asked, though they knew how rarely Jonas had a dream to tell.
And the real bathing room has rows and rows of them. But the room in the dream was warm and damp. I was perspiring, because it was so warm.
And Fiona was there, the way she was yesterday. Jonas shook his head. It was only me and Fiona, alone in the room, standing beside the tub.
She was laugh- ing. Jonas looked at his plate. He knew he had to tell it all, that it was not only all right but necessary to tell all of a dream.
So he forced himself to relate the part that made him uneasy. I had the sponge in my hand. She kept laughing and saying no. Jonas thought about it.
The details were murky and vague. But the feelings were clear, and flooded him again now as he thought.
But I wanted it so terribly. I could feel the wanting all through me. She glanced at Father. Perhaps they found it as confusing as he had.
He waved to Father and Lily as they left the dwelling, carrying Gabe in his basket. He watched while Mother tidied the remains of the morning meal and placed the tray by the front door for the Collection Crew.
Finally she sat down beside him at the table. It was your first Stirrings. Father and I have been expecting it to happen to you.
It happens to everyone. It happened to Father when he was your age. And it hap- pened to me. It will happen someday to Lily. He had heard the word before.
And now and then the Speaker mentioned it. He ignored, as most citizens did, many of the commands and reminders read by the Speaker.
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