He didn’t have it, the whatever-she-had-said. He didn’t know what it is.
Now was the moment when he would have to confess, to say, “No, I don’t. I can’t,”
and throw himself on their mercy, ask their forgiveness,
to explain that he had been wrongly chosen, that he was not the right one at all.
But when he looked out across the crowd, the sea of faces, the thing happened again. The thing that had happened with the apple.
They changed. He blinked, and it was gone. His shoulders straightened slightly.
Briefly he felt a tiny sliver of sureness for the first time. She was still watching him. They all were.
“I think it’s true,” he told the Chief Elder and the community. “I don’t understand it yet. I don’t know what it is.
But sometimes I see something. And maybe it’s beyond.” She took her arm from his shoulders.
“Jonas,” she said, speaking not to him alone but to the entire community of which he was a part,
“you will be trained to be our next Receiver of Memory.
We thank you for your childhood.” Then she turned and left the stage, left him there alone,
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