“Be quiet, Jonas,” The Giver commanded in a strange voice. “Watch.”
Obediently Jonas concentrated on the screen, waiting for what would happen next.
He was especially curious about the ceremony part. His father turned and opened the cupboard.
He took out a syringe and a small bottle. Very carefully he inserted the needle into the bottle and began to fill the syringe with a clear liquid.
Jonas winced sympathetically. He had forgotten that newchildren had to get shots.
He hated shots himself, though he knew that they were necessary.
To his surprise, his father began very carefully to direct the needle into the top of newchild’s forehead,
puncturing the place where the fragile skin pulsed. The newborn squirmed, and wailed faintly.
“Why’s he—” “Shhh,” The Giver said sharply. His father was talking,
and Jonas realized that he was hearing the answer to the question he had started to ask.
Still in the special voice, his father was saying, “I know, I know. It hurts, little guy.
But I have to use a vein, and the veins in your arms are still too teeny-weeny.”
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