For the next several days, Jonas received nothing but memories of music. The Giver decided to give him a break from painful memories and instead focus on music. Each day Jonas received memories of pianos, of violins, of recorders; of symphonies, of solos, of orchestras; and of ballads, hymns, and lullabies. His head hurt at times, when he thought so hard about the new spectrum of sound he experienced. And again, he found himself angry at his family unit and friends, again and again, that they were content with their empty lives.
A week after receiving his first memory of music, he entered the bathroom to clean his teeth and found Lily giving Gabe his evening bath by herself. He reminded her, "You should have an adult with you when you bathe Gabriel."
Lily giggled. "Father said I'm responsible now, so I can bathe Gabriel alone. But he told me to yell if anything bad happens, and that I won't have to give an apology for using my voice too loudly."
He nodded, and she chattered on. "I'm doing all of my volunteer hours in the Nurturing Center. I can feed the newchildren, and I'm even allowed to feed some of them myself—the older ones, because they're more cooperative, and—Jonas, are you listening?"
Jonas had been gazing away, lost in his thoughts. Impatiently, Lily grabbed his shoulder with a wet hand and shook him. Jolted out of his thoughts, he shouted, "Lily!" as she sent water and soap flying into his face.
Lily withdrew her hand, horrified by what she'd done. Jonas grabbed a towel and dried himself as best as he could. "Lily, you got my tunic wet," he said resentfully.
"I'm sorry," she said contritely. "It's just that you weren't listening to me."
Jonas nodded. "I apologize for not listening to you."
"And I apologize for getting your tunic wet."
"I accept your apology," they said in union, then laughed. Gabriel, even though he couldn't understand what was going on, laughed and clapped his hands, spraying them both again with water. "Gabe!" Lily scolded him, although she and Jonas were both laughing.
Lily continued bathing Gabriel as Jonas watched. "Lily?" He said suddenly.
"Hmm?" She said, scrubbing Gabe's toes and tickling his feet.
"What if Gabriel was our little brother?"
Lily rolled her eyes. "Jonas, the rules say that each family unit may have only two children. One male, one female."
"Yes… but what if the rules were changed? What if family units could have three children? Then Gabriel could be our third child, our brother."
Lily pondered this. "Yes, I think that would be nice. But the rules don't say so, Jonas."
"Well, he feels like our brother to me."
His sister gave him a withering look. "He's not our brother, Jonas. And I apologize for my rudeness, but I think you're being a little silly."
"I accept your apology," Jonas mumbled. "But it's just—I mean, we bathe him, just like I remember Father used to bathe you, when you were a newchild, and he eats at the table with us, just like you did. And we talk about him, and we worry about him and it's just—it's like he's our brother."
Lily contemplated this. Her hands stopped scrubbing Gabriel and she stood for a few minutes in silence. Gabe looked up at the Eight in deep thought. Finally Lily sighed and began scrubbing Gabriel again. "I agree with your comparison, Jonas, but just because he's like our brother doesn't mean he is our brother."
Jonas sighed. How could he make anyone understand? In the time of the memories, families had been organized not according to assigned children but instead by sharing the same Birthparents. And even then it wasn't blood that dictated family bonds, but love. Love was what he felt for Gabriel, and as far as he was concerned, Gabe was as much his younger sibling as Lily was.
Their father came in at that moment to check on Gabriel. Lily announced, "Father, I know it's disrespectful to speak badly about my elder sibling, but I think Jonas is being very silly."
"Can you describe for me how he has been silly?" Father inquired, helping her towel Gabe dry.
"He says that he feels like Gabriel is our brother. But Gabriel is not our brother."
Father fixed Jonas with a critical eye. He instructed Lily to put the newchild in his crib. Then he turned to Jonas. "Jonas, I think we need to have a little talk."
Jonas was bewildered as his father led him to the dining table and they sat down. Father cleared his throat. "Jonas, do you remember what the pledge that we all signed said when we received Gabriel?"
"It said that the newchild was only a temporary guest and that we could not become attached to him or keep him after a year had concluded."
"That's right." His father continued to stare at him, making Jonas uncomfortable. Finally, his father asked him a question. "Do you think you've been following the pledge that you signed?"
The direct question took Jonas aback. No, he had not been following the pledge, not at all. He wasn't willing to share that with his father, but he also wasn't willing to lie, even if it was in his rules. He instead avoided answering the question. "I'm not sure, Father."
His father leaned back in his chair. "I think you've become too attached to Gabriel, Jonas. Remember that he's just a guest. If you begin to think of him as an addition to our family unit, it'll be hard for you to let go of him when he leaves at the end of the year."
"But what's wrong with that, Father?"
"What's wrong with that? The rules of the community say that each family unit has two children. Not three. And you can't think that Gabriel is your little brother. That would be a lie, right?"
"But Father," Jonas argued, struggling to find words to make his point. "I know I signed the pledge, but how can rules control our feelings? And also—what's wrong with my feelings? I just care for Gabriel, the same way that I have always cared for Lily, ever since she was added to our family unit."
"If you're having trouble with your feelings, Jonas, you can talk about it at the evening ritual. We can help you with them. That's why we share our feelings every night," His father smiled, as though that settled the matter.
"But—but—but—" Jonas was appalled at the way his father waved away feelings, as though they were mere banalities. Then he reminded himself that that was the way that everyone in the community handled feelings. He instead tried a different angle to make his father see. Jonas was hesitant, knowing that it would mean breaking yet another rule. Then he threw caution to the winds, seeing as he had broken just about every rule he had ever known.
"But Father—in the course of my training, the Giv—the Receiver of Memory shared with me some history from several years ago. You might remember it, but I don't, because it was before my birth. A lot of citizens came to the Committee of Elders with the plan that each Birthmother would have four children instead of three, so that our population is larger and we have more Laborers."
His father laughed. "That plan sounds wonderful, but it would mean a one-third increase in my work each day. And where would all those extra children go?"
"Another part of the plan said that certain families would take care of a third child."
His father grew contemplative for a moment. "That plan makes sense… But why was it not passed?"
Jonas paused. He realized that there was no way he could explain why without going into the details of the memories, so instead he lied, "The Receiver didn't specify the reason why. But it's certainly an interesting idea, don't you think?"
His father got up. "I agree that it's an interesting idea, but it wouldn't have been a practical idea, for whatever reason it wasn't passed."
Jonas watched his father leave the room, feeling more and more dismayed. No one understood. No one had the memories, and no one would ever understand.
The next afternoon in the Annex, The Giver again introduced a new topic from the memories. As Jonas sat down, The Giver asked him, "Do you recall the game of Creative Comparisons?"
Jonas nodded. Creative Comparisons had been a game he played many years ago when he was a Six or a Seven. In the game, each member of the group had to come up with a comparison between two things that did not seem to be alike. One person was the judge and decided who had come up with the most creative comparison.
The game had been mostly discouraged, because creative comparisons used too many words when there was always a more precise word. Sometimes in their speech people would turn to creative comparisons to describe something, but for the most part citizens of the community preferred to use more concise and precise language. The children, being young, had also quickly grown tired of a game that was mostly about words.
The Giver said, "This memory has to do with creative comparisons. That's only a small part of the memory, but I'll let it explain itself."
With that he transmitted the memory.
Jonas found himself in a classroom full of Nines—fourth –graders, the word used in the time of memories to refer to Nines in a school setting. The instructor ordered the students to take a sheet of blank white paper and fold it into fourths.
"Children, today we are going to learn about figurative language."
The lesson went on, as the children learned about many different kinds of figurative language: similes, metaphors, personification, alliteration, idioms, hyperbole, and onomatopoeia. Similes and metaphors were both forms of creative comparisons, but the other kinds were very different.
The memory ended, but Jonas remained inert on the bed, trying to absorb the memory. When finally he spoke, it was one word. "Why?"
"Why what?" The Giver queried interestedly.
"Why did they have to remove figurative language? It's such a wonderful thing! It encourages creativity!"
A crease appeared between the old man's eyebrows, taken aback by the Receiver's vehemence. Jonas continued, "I don't understand why they never liked the game of Creative Comparisons either. It was always so much fun."
"Jonas."
The Giver forced Jonas to look him squarely in the eye. "Listen to me, son. I agree with you that many of the things in the memories are fun, and interesting, and possibly even harmless. But there's a reason for everything, isn't there? There was a reason for the removal of each and every one of these things. And don't you think we're much better off without them?"
Jonas couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't even blink. All that he could say was through the betrayal in his eyes. Even The Giver did not understand. Not a single soul except for Jonas understood the truth.
Author's Note: I don't know if anyone is reading this, but I always noticed how little figurative language there is in The Giver. This is undoubtedly because of the whole precision of language thing. Toward the end, however, Jonas begins to think less literally, most notably in the part where he realizes that although he's starving now, the right choice was to leave the community because there he would have been starving for a life of vibrancy. In my personal headcanon, as he became more and more invested in the memories and grew further away from the community's ideals of austerity and simplicity, Jonas's use of figurative language became more and more profuse. Please review!