Her schoolbooks were requisitioned by the school and would be used for another student the following year. Her clothing was distributed and laundered by the central clothing supply. Relocating from one place to another within the community was not difficult. She was instructed to leave her family dwelling and move to the Birthmothers’ Dormitory. After that year had passed, and part of another, she was deemed ready. Her body had been examined, tested, and prepared for her time here. Special vitamins had been added to her diet.

The teachers paid little attention to her.Ĭourses in nutrition and health had been added to her curriculum, and more time was spent on exercise in the outdoor air. The academic courses―math, science, law―at school became less demanding for her group. Food had been delivered to her family’s dwelling each day.īut when she had been selected Birthmother at twelve, the course of her life had changed. Of course, growing up in the community, she had always been adequately fed. The Vessels were all being meticulously nourished. Food in the Birthmothers’ Dormitory was always plentiful and delicious. But the conversation shifted after the stern warning. The process―their job, their mission―was the thing they had in common. The girl and her companion obediently fell silent then, realizing they had been heard through the microphones embedded in the walls of the dining room. 'Monitor your conversations, please! You know the rules!' 'Vessels? VESSELS!' The voice of the matron, through the speaker, was stern. When she didn’t respond, the girl looked at her quizzically. And now that they were already disobeying the restriction about discussing it―well, why not ask? Still, none of that was the same as hearing it from someone who had already gone through the process. They had had classes, seen diagrams, been given instructions. 'What’s it like?' Even asking it, she knew it was a somewhat foolish question.

'You’ve produced already, right?' she asked her. When you birth it.' The girl pointed to her bulging belly. 'They don’t want you to see the Product when it comes out of you. 'I don’t seem to be able to converse, do I? I keep repeating what you say. 'Blindfold?' she had asked in astonishment, then laughed apologetically. They were not supposed to discuss this among themselves.

'It’s a blindfold, actually.' She was whispering. 'Well, it’s not really a mask,' the young woman seated on her left corrected herself, and took another bite of the crisp salad. 'Mask?' she had asked in surprise, almost chuckling at the strange image. One of the other Vessels had described it to her at lunch a month before. It felt grotesque and unnecessary, but she didn’t object. ONE The young girl cringed when they buckled the eyeless leather mask around the upper half of her face and blinded her.

Son the giver quartet