Free Messenger by Lois Lowry Page B

had a Gaming Machine for quite a while, and so a trade had been made in the past. Matty looked carefully at his friend’s family. He had not seen Ramon since the day recently when he had suggested a fishing expedition and been told that Ramon was not well.
    Ramon glanced at Matty and smiled. But Matty held his breath for a moment, dismayed to see that indeed his friend was ill. Ramon’s face was no longer tanned and rosy-cheeked but instead seemed thin and gray. Beside him, his little sister seemed sick, too; her eyes were sunken and Matty could hear her cough.
    Once, he knew, her mother would have leaned down to tend the little girl at the sound of such a cough. Now, while Matty watched, the woman simply shook the child roughly by a shoulder and said, “Shhhh.”
    One by one the people spoke, and one by one Matty identified those who had traded. Some of those who had been among the most industrious, the kindest, and the most stalwart citizens of Village now went to the platform and shouted out their wish that the border be closed so that “we” (Matty shuddered at the use of “we”) would not have to share the resources anymore.
    We need all the fish for ourselves.
    Our school is not big enough to teach their children, too; only our own.
    They can’t even speak right. We can’t understand them.
    They have too many needs. We don’t want to take care of them.
    And finally:
We’ve done it long enough.
    Now and then a lone citizen, untouched by trade, would go to the platform and try to speak. They spoke of the history of Village, how each of them there had fled poverty and cruelty and been welcomed at this new place that had taken them in.
    The blind man spoke eloquently of the day he had been brought here half dead and been tended for months by the people of Village until, though he was still without sight, it had become his true home. Matty had been wondering whether he, too, would go up and speak. He wanted to, for surely Village had also become his true home, and saved him, but he felt a little shy. Then he heard the blind man begin to speak on his behalf:
    â€œMy boy came here six years ago as a child. Many of you remember the Matty he was then. He fought and swore and stole.”
    Matty liked the sound of the phrase “my boy,” which he had never heard the blind man use before. But he was embarrassed to see people turn and look at him.
    â€œVillage changed him and made him what he is now,” the blind man said. “He will receive his true name soon.”
    For a moment Matty hoped that Leader, who was still standing on the platform, would hold up his hand to call for silence, would call Matty, place his hand on Matty’s forehead, then announce the true name. It happened that way, sometimes.
    Messenger.
Matty held his breath, hoping for that.
    But instead he heard another voice, not Leader’s.
    â€œI remember what he was like! If we close the border, we won’t have to do that anymore! We won’t have to deal with thieves and braggarts and people who have lice in their hair, the way Matty did then, when he came!”
    Matty turned to look. It was a woman. He was stunned, as if someone had slapped him. It was his own neighbor, the very woman who had made clothes for him when he came. He remembered standing there in his rags while she measured him and then put on her thimble to stitch the clothing for him. She had a soft voice then, and talked gently to him while she sewed.
    Now she had a sewing machine, a very fancy one, and bolts of fabric with which she created fine clothing. Now the blind man stitched the simple things that he and Matty needed.
    So she, too, had traded, and was turning not only on him, but on all new ones.
    Her voice incited others, and now large numbers of people were calling out, “Close Village! Close the border!”
    Matty had never seen Leader look so sad.
    Â 
    When it was over, and the vote to close Village