In Memory of Aaron ע״ה

An Empty Afternoon

Instantly, obediently, Jonas had dropped his bike on its side on the path behind his family's dwelling. He had run indoors and stayed there alone. His parents were both at work, and his little sister Lily was at the child care center where she spent her after-school hours. Looking through the front window, he had seen no people. None of the busy afternoon crew of street cleaners, landscape workers, and food delivery people who usually populated the community at that time of day. He saw only the abandoned bikes here and there, on their sides. An upturned wheel on one was still revolving slowly. He had been frightened then. The sense of his own community, silent, waiting, had made his stomach turn. He had trembled.

Within minutes the speakers had crackled again, and the voice, reassuring now and less urgent, had explained that a pilot in training had misread his navigational instructions and made a wrong turn. Desperately, the pilot had been trying to make his way back before his error was noticed. "Needless to say, he will be released," the voice had said, followed by silence. There was an ironic tone to that message, as if the speaker found it amusing. And Jonas had smiled a little, though he knew what a grim statement it had been.

Understanding Release

For a contributing citizen to be released from the community was a final decision, a terrible punishment, an overwhelming statement of failure. Even the children were scolded if they used the term lightly at play, jeering at a teammate who missed a catch or stumbled in a race. Jonas had done it once—had shouted out to his best friend, "That's it, Asher, you're released!" when Asher's clumsy error had lost the match for his team. He had been taken aside for a brief and serious talk by the coach, had hung his head with guilt and embarrassment, and apologized to Asher after the game.

Searching for the Right Word

Now thinking about the feeling of fear as he pedaled home along the river path, he remembered that moment of palpable stomach-sinking terror when the aircraft had streaked above. It was not what he was feeling now with December approaching. He searched for the right word to describe his own feeling. Jonas was careful about language, not like his friend Asher, who talked too fast and mixed things up, scrambling words and phrases until they were barely recognizable and often very funny. Jonas grinned, remembering the morning that Asher had dashed into the classroom, late as usual, arriving breathlessly in the middle of the chanting of the morning anthem. When the class took their seats at the conclusion of the patriotic hymn, Asher remained standing to make his public apology as was required.

"I apologize for inconveniencing my learning community." Asher ran through the standard apology phrase rapidly, still catching his breath. The instructor in class waited patiently for his explanation. The students had all been grinning because they had listened to Asher's explanation so many times before. "I left home at the correct time, but when I was riding along near the hatchery, the crew was separating some salmon. I guess I just got distraught watching them. I apologize to my classmates," Asher concluded. He smoothed his rumpled tunic and sat down. "We accept your apology, Asher," the class recited the standard response in unison. Many of the students were biting their lips to keep from laughing. "I accept your apology, Asher," the instructor said. He was smiling. "And I thank you, because once again you have provided an opportunity for a lesson in language. Distraught is too strong an adjective to describe salmon viewing." He turned and wrote distraught on the instructional board. Beside it he wrote distracted.

Jonas, nearing his home now, smiled at the recollection. Thinking still as he wheeled his bike into its narrow port beside the door, he realized that "frightened" was the wrong word to describe his feelings. Now that December was almost here, it was too strong an adjective. He had waited a long time for this special December. Now that it was almost upon him, he wasn't frightened, but he was eager, he decided. He was eager for it to come, and he was excited, certainly. All of the Elevens were excited about the event that would be coming so soon. But there was a little shudder of nervousness when he thought about it, about what might happen. "Apprehensive," Jonas decided. "That's what I am."

The Evening Feelings Ritual

"Who wants to be the first tonight? For feelings?" Jonas's father asked at the conclusion of their evening meal. It was one of the rituals, the evening telling of feelings. Sometimes Jonas and his sister Lily argued over turns, over who would get to go first. Their parents, of course, were part of the ritual. They, too, told their feelings each evening. But like all parents, all adults, they didn't fight and wheedle for their turn. Nor did Jonas tonight. His feelings were too complicated this evening. He wanted to share them, but he wasn't eager to begin the process of sifting through his own complicated emotions, even with the help that he knew his parents could give. "You go, Lily," he said, seeing his sister, who was much younger, only a Seven, wiggling with impatience in her chair.

Lily's Outburst

"I felt very angry this afternoon," Lily announced. "My child-care group was at the play area, and we had a visiting group of Sevens, and they didn't obey the rules at all. One of them, a male, I don't know his name, kept going right to the front of the line for the slide, even though the rest of us were all waiting. I felt so angry at him. I made my hand like a fist, like this." She held up a clenched fist, and the rest of the family smiled at her small, defiant gesture. "Why do you think the visitors didn't obey the rules?" Mother asked. Lily considered and shook her head. "I don't know. They acted like... like..." "Animals?" Jonas suggested. He laughed. "That's right," Lily said. "Like animals." Neither child knew what the word meant exactly, but it was often used to describe someone uneducated or clumsy, someone who didn't fit in.

Visitors from Elsewhere

"Where were the visitors from?" Father asked. Lily frowned, trying to remember. "Our leader told us when he made the welcome speech, but I can't remember. I guess I wasn't paying attention. It was from another community. They had to leave very early, and they had their midday meal on the bus." Lily nodded. "Do you think it's possible that their rules may be different, and so they simply didn't know what your play-area rules were?" Lily shrugged and nodded. "I suppose." "You visited other communities, haven't you?" Jonas asked. "My group has, often." Lily nodded again. "When we were Sixes, we went and shared a whole school day with a group of Sixes in their community." "How did you feel when you were there?" Lily frowned. "I felt strange, because their methods were different. They were learning usages that my group hadn't learned yet, so we felt stupid." Father was listening with interest. "I'm thinking, Lily," he said, "about the boy who didn't obey the rules today. Do you think it's possible that he felt strange and stupid being in a new place with rules that he didn't know about?" Lily pondered that. "Yes," she said finally. "I feel a little sorry for him," Jonas said, "even though I don't even know him. I feel sorry for anyone who is in a place where he feels strange and stupid." "How do you feel now, Lily?" Father asked. "Still angry?" "I guess not," Lily decided. "I guess I feel a little sorry for him, and sorry I made a fist." She grinned. Jonas smiled back at his sister. Lily's feelings were always straightforward, fairly simple, usually easy to resolve. He guessed that his own had been too when he was a Seven.

Father's Concern for Gabriel

He listened politely, though not very attentively, while his father took his turn, describing a feeling of worry that he'd had that day at work, a concern about one of the new children who wasn't doing well. Jonas's father's title was Nurturer. He and the other Nurturers were responsible for all the physical and emotional needs of every new child during its earliest life. It was a very important job, Jonas knew, but it wasn't one that interested him much. "What gender is it?" Lily asked. "Male," Father said. "He's a sweet little male with a lovely disposition, but he isn't growing as fast as he should, and he doesn't sleep soundly. We have him in the extra-care section for supplementary nurturing, but the committee's beginning to talk about releasing him." "Oh, no," Mother murmured sympathetically. "I know how sad that must make you feel." Jonas and Lily both nodded sympathetically as well.

Release of new children was always sad because they hadn't had a chance to enjoy life within the community yet, and they hadn't done anything wrong. There were only two occasions of release which were not punishment: release of the elderly, which was a time of celebration for a life well and fully lived, and release of a new child, which always brought a sense of what could we have done? This was especially troubling for the Nurturers, like Father, who felt they had failed somehow. But it happened very rarely. "Well," Father said, "I'm going to keep trying. I may ask the committee for permission to bring him here at night, if you don't mind. You know what the Night Crew Nurturers are like. I think this little guy needs something extra." "Of course," Mother said, and Jonas and Lily nodded. They had heard Father complain about the Night Crew before. It was a lesser job, night-crew nurturing, assigned to those who lacked the interest or skills or insight for the more vital jobs of the daytime hours. Most of the people on the night crew had not even been given spouses because they lacked, somehow, the essential capacity to connect to others, which was required for the creation of a family unit.

Rules, Release, and Empathy

"Maybe we could even keep him," Lily suggested sweetly, trying to look innocent. The look was fake; Jonas knew. They all knew. "Lily," Mother reminded her, smiling, "you know the rules. Two children, one male, one female, to each family unit. It was written very clearly in the rules." Lily giggled. "Well," she said, "I thought maybe just this once." Next, Mother, who held a prominent position at the Department of Justice, talked about her feelings. Today a repeat offender had been brought before her, someone who had broken the rules before, someone who she hoped had been adequately and fairly punished, and who had been restored to his place, to his job, his family, his family unit. To see him brought before her a second time caused her overwhelming feelings of frustration and anger, and even guilt, that she hadn't made a difference in his life. "I feel frightened too, for him," she confessed. "You know that there's no third chance. The rules say that if there's a third transgression, he simply has to be released." Jonas shivered. He knew it happened. There was even a boy in his group of Elevens whose father had been released years before. No one ever mentioned it. The disgrace was unspeakable.

It was hard to imagine. Lily stood up and went to her mother. She stroked her mother's arm. From his place at the table, Father reached over and took her hand. Jonas reached for the other. One by one, they comforted her. Soon she smiled, thanked them, and murmured that she felt soothed. The ritual continued. "Jonas?" Father asked. "You're late. You're last tonight." Jonas sighed. This evening he almost would have preferred to keep his feelings hidden, but it was, of course, against the rules. "I'm feeling apprehensive," he confessed, glad that the appropriate descriptive word had finally come to him. "Why is that, son?" His father looked concerned. "I know there's really nothing to worry about," Jonas explained, "and that every adult has been through it. I know you have, Father, and you too, Mother, but it's the ceremony that I'm apprehensive about. It's almost December." "The ceremony of..." Lily whispered in an awed voice. Even the smallest children, Lily's age and younger, knew that it lay in the future for each of them.

Preparing for December

"I'm glad you told us of your feelings," Father said. "Lily," Mother said, beckoning to the little girl, "go on now and get into your nightclothes. Father and I are going to stay here and talk to Jonas for a while." Lily sighed, but obediently she got down from her chair. "Privately?" she asked. Mother nodded. "Yes," she said. "This talk will be a private one with Jonas." Jonas watched as his father poured a fresh cup of coffee. He waited. "You know," his father finally said, "every December was exciting to me when I was young. And it has been for you and Lily too, I'm sure. Each December brings such changes." Jonas nodded. He could remember the Decembers back to when he had become, well, probably a Four. The earlier ones were lost to him, but he observed them each year and he remembered Lily's earliest Decembers.

Memories of Birthing Ceremonies

He remembered when his family received Lily, the day she was named, the day that she had become a One. The ceremony for the Ones was always noisy and fun. Each December, all the new children born in the previous year turned One, one at a time. There were always fifty in each year's group. If none had been released, they were brought to the stage by the Nurturers who had cared for them since birth. Some were already talking, wobbly on their unsteady legs. Others were no more than a few days old, wrapped in blankets held by their Nurturers. "I enjoy the naming," Jonas said. His mother agreed, smiling. "The year we got Lily, we knew, of course, that we'd receive our female because we'd made our application and been approved. But I'd been wondering and wondering what her name would be."

"I could have sneaked a look at the list prior to the ceremony," Father confided. "The committee always makes the list in advance, and it's right there in the office at the Nurturing Center. As a matter of fact," he went on, "I feel a little guilty about this, but I did go in this afternoon and look to see if this year's naming list had been made yet. It was right there in the office, and I looked up number Thirty-six. That's the little guy I've been concerned about, because it occurred to me that it might enhance his nurturing if I could call him by a name. Just privately, of course, when no one else is around." "Did you find it?" Jonas asked. He was fascinated. It didn't seem a terribly important rule, but the fact that his father had broken a rule at all awed him. He glanced at his mother, the one responsible for adherence to the rules, and was relieved that she was smiling. His father nodded. "His name, if he makes it to the naming without being released, of course, is to be Gabriel. So I whisper that to him when I feed him every four hours and during exercise and playtime, if no one can hear me. I call him Gabe, actually," he said, and grinned.

"Gabe?" Jonas tried it out. A good name, he decided. Though Jonas had only become a Five the year that they acquired Lily and learned her name, he remembered the excitement of the conversations at home, wondering about her, how she would look, who she would be, how she would fit into their established family unit. He remembered climbing the steps to the stage with his parents, his father by his side that year instead of with the Nurturers, since it was the year that he would be given a new child of his own. He remembered his mother taking the new child, his sister, into her arms while the document was read to the assembled family units. "Newchild Twenty-three," the Namer had read. "Lily." He remembered the look of delight that his father had whispered. "She's one of my favorites. I was hoping for her to be the one." The crowd had clapped and Jonas had grinned. He liked his sister's name. Lily, barely awake, had waved her small fist. Then they had stepped out to make room for the next family unit.

Waiting for Assignments

"When I was Eleven," his father said now, "as you are, Jonas, I was very impatient, waiting for the Ceremony of Twelve. It's a long two days. I remember that I enjoyed the Ones, as I always do, but that I didn't pay much attention to the other ceremonies except for my sister's. She became a Nine that year and got her bicycle. I'd been teaching her to ride mine, even though technically I wasn't supposed to." Jonas laughed. It was one of the few rules that was not taken very seriously and was almost always broken. The children all received their bicycles at Nine. They were not supposed to ride bicycles before then, but almost always, the older brothers and sisters taught the younger ones. "Do you remember your own Twelve, Mother?" Jonas asked. "Mine was quite uneventful," she replied with a small smile.

Father continued, "So I watched and cheered when my sister, Katya, became a Nine and removed her hair ribbons and got her bicycle. Then I didn't pay much attention to the Tens and Elevens, and finally, at the end of the second day, which seemed to go on forever, it was my turn. It was the Ceremony of Twelve." Jonas shivered. He pictured his father, who must have been a shy and quiet boy, seated with his group waiting to be called to the stage. The Ceremony of Twelve was the last of the ceremonies, the most important. "I remember how proud my parents looked, and my sister too, even though she wanted to be out riding the bicycle publicly. She stopped fidgeting and was very still and attentive when my turn came. But to be honest, Jonas," his father said, "there was not the element of suspense that there is with your ceremony, because I was already fairly certain of what my assignment was to be."

Assignments and Observations

His mother seemed surprised. "How could you have known?" she asked. His father smiled his gentle smile. "Well, it was clear to me, and my parents later confessed that it had been obvious to them too, what my aptitude was. I had always loved the new children more than anything else. When my friends in my age group were holding bicycle races or building toy vehicles or bridges with their construction sets or all the things I do with my friends," Jonas pointed out, and his mother nodded in agreement, "I always participated, of course, because as children we must experience all of these things. I studied hard in school, as you do, Jonas, but again and again during free time I found myself drawn to the new children. I spent almost all my volunteer hours helping in the Nurturing Center. Of course, the Elders knew that from their observation." Jonas nodded. During the past year, he had been aware of the increasing level of observation.

In school, at recreation time, and during volunteer hours, he had noticed the Elders watching him and the other Elevens. He had seen Elders taking notes. He knew, too, that the Elders were meeting for long hours with all of the instructors that he and the other Elevens had had during their years of school. "So I expected it, and I was pleased, but not at all surprised when my assignment was announced as Nurturer," Father explained. "Did everyone applaud, even though they weren't surprised?" Jonas asked. "Oh, of course. They were happy for me, that my assignment was what I wanted most. I felt very fortunate," his father smiled. "Were any of the Elevens disappointed your year?" Jonas asked. Unlike his father, he had no idea what his assignment would be, but he knew that some would be disappointed, though they would never say it aloud.

Celebrated Assignments

His father thought. "No, I don't think so. Of course, the Elders are so careful in their observations and selections. I think it's probably the most important job in our community," his mother commented. "My friend Yoshiko was surprised by her selection as Doctor," Father said. "She was thrilled. And let's see. There was Andre. I remember that when we were boys, he never wanted to do physical things. He spent all the recreation time he could with his construction set. His volunteer hours were always on building sites. The Elders knew that, of course. Andre was given the assignment of Engineer, and he was delighted." "Andre later designed the bridge that crosses the river to the west of town," Jonas's mother said. "It wasn't there when we were children."

There were very rarely disappointments, Jonas. "I don't think you need to worry about that," his father reassured him. "And if there are, you know there's an appeal process." But they all laughed at that. An appeal went to a committee for study. When something went to a committee for study, the people always joked about it. They said that the committee members would become Elders by the time the rule change was made. Rules were very hard to change. Sometimes, if it was a very important rule, unlike the one governing the age for bicycles, it would have to go eventually to the Receiver for a decision. The Receiver was the most important Elder. Jonas had never even seen him.

Wondering About Asher

"I worry a little bit about Asher's assignment," Jonas confessed. "Asher is such fun, but he doesn't really have any serious interests. He makes a game out of everything." His father chuckled. "You know," he said, "I remember when Asher was a newchild at the Nurturing Center before he was named. He never cried. He giggled and laughed at everything. All of us on the staff enjoyed nurturing Asher."

"What page are we on?" one of them asked softly. "Seventeen," came the answer. "Seventeen."