“I know,” she said in her vibrant, gracious voice, “that you are all concerned. That you feel I have made a mistake.”
She smiled. The community, relieved from its discomfort very slightly by her benign statement, seemed to breathe more easily.
It was very silent. Jonas looked up. “I have caused you anxiety,” she said. “I apologize to my community.”
Her voice flowed over the assembled crowd. “We accept your apology,” they all uttered together.
“Jonas,” she said, looking down at him, “I apologize to you in particular. I caused you anguish.”
“I accept your apology,” Jonas replied shakily. “Please come to the stage now.”
Earlier that day, dressing in his own dwelling, he had practiced the kind of jaunty, self-assured walk
that he hoped he could make to the stage when his turn came.
All of that was forgotten now. He simply willed himself to stand, to move his feet that felt weighted and clumsy,
to go forward, up the steps and across the platform until he stood at her side.
Reassuringly she placed her arm across his tense shoulders. “Jonas has not been assigned,” she informed the crowd, and his heart sank.
Then she went on. “Jonas has been selected.” He blinked. What did that mean?
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