Veracity Read Free

making me shrink into my chair. "That isn't for little boys and girls to worry about. Okay?"
    I would nod quickly. Okay.
    After the lesson, I would think about what he'd said. What did he mean by, 'It isn't for us to worry about'? I wasn't worrying about it - I just wanted to know. It seemed like such a simple question to me, why wasn't there a simple answer? And with the answer that he did give me, was I to understand that when I was older I would worry about it? And if so, what was it? What could be out there or around us that was so scary that we were going to have to spend the latter part of our lives 'worrying' about it?
    I don't think the Elders handled these questions very wisely, because by completely barring them from discussion, they weren't creating a wall, they were putting a hole in one. It only impelled me to ask more questions, watch more carefully, listen more fanatically; they, of all people, should have known how much carefully spoken words echo.
    And once I started to look, the discrepancies were everywhere. There were books that we couldn't read, and of the books we could read, there were pages we couldn't see, buildings we couldn't enter, rooms that sometimes had many people inside but the doors were closed and locked, hushed voices behind them, the Elders' movements being projected as shafts of shadow stirring along the line of candlelight that fanned out from the doorsill.
    Until eventually, I noticed that I wasn't the only one asking questions; there were others, just as curious as I. Though, soon after realizing this, a community announcement was made, which was intended to wipe such curiosity out before it could get out of hand. They asked that all of the children of the island - which were a definitive group, as we were all about the same age - respect the fact that some of our questions would not be answered, nor would we be allowed to hear certain conversations, or enter the Great Hall at any time. However, there was a right of passage that would be known, henceforth, as Coming of Age, at which point in time we would be told everything on an individual basis, and, rest assured, would come to understand exactly why it was so important that several things be kept undisclosed until we were old enough. We were told that instead of worrying about the serious duties of the Elders, we should concentrate on our education; that, and enjoying the blissful life of a child. Nothing more. Nothing less.
    But a secret isn't sacred information, it's just information. The only difference between it and other information is that a person is expected to use a quiet voice to pass it on - and that's all - because it moves through a community just as readily, in fact, often even more so. By the evening after the announcement, there was a whispered rumour being passed from cupped ear to cupped ear. Apparently, what we were going to find out when we Came of Age was that something very bad had happened in the world, but that, somehow, we were going to fix it. We, the island, were going to make everything right again.
    The children looked around at each other, nodding their heads, the hands that they'd used to help hear the whispers lowering sombrely to their laps. It suddenly all made sense. No wonder they didn't want to tell us, this was a taxing thing to think about. Hmm. Well. I guess they were right. We shouldn't worry. Instead, we should be playing. Come on, I figured out a way to make a slingshot. And they all ran into the forest in groups of three.
    I remember that after that day, it was as if the children had moved back a step. They stopped asking difficult questions, stopped listening against the doors, stopped wondering; I think they actually believed that, for the time being, they knew enough.
    Whereas I was stuck thinking about the different Elders I'd watched without their knowing, standing beside tables, their fists tight, eyes closed, lips pursed. Those people weren't thinking about saving the world, and