Ender in exile

CHAPTER 10

To: PeterWiggin@hegemony.gov/hegemon

From: vwiggin%Colony1@colmin.gov/citizen

Subj: you arrogant bastard

Do you have any idea how much trouble you caused, sending that package with such high priority that it shut down all other ansible communications with our ship? Certain persons thought it was some kind of attack on the ansible link and Ender was almost put into stasis for the duration — and that would have meant there AND back again.

Once we sorted it all out, though, the package itself was very informative. Apparently you were cursed by some pseudo-Confucian to live in interesting times. Please send follow-ups. But make them low enough priority, please, that regular ship's communications can continue. And don't let Graff address it to Ender. It comes to me as a colonist, not to the governor-designate.

Seems to me that you're doing all right. Though that all might have changed between your sending and my reply. Ain't space travel grand?

Has Ender written to the parents yet? I can't ask him (well, I HAVE asked him, but I can't get answers) and I can't ask THEM or they'll know I've been trying to get him to write, which would hurt them all the more if he hasn't written and discount the emotional value of his letters if he has.

Stay smart. They can't take that away from you.

Your former puppet,

Demosthenes

Alessandra was happy when word came that the play reading was back on again. Mother had been devastated, though she showed it only to Alessandra in the privacy of their stateroom. She made a great show of not weeping, which was good, but she stalked around the tiny space, opening and closing things and slamming things and stomping her feet at every opportunity, and now and then emitting some fierce but gnomic statement like:

"Why are we always in the backwash of somebody else's boat?"

Then, in the midst of a game of backgammon: "In the wars of men, women always lose!"

And through the bathroom door: "There is no pleasure so simple that somebody won't take it away just to hurt you!"

In vain did Alessandra try to mollify her. "Mother, this wasn't aimed at you, it was clearly aimed at Ender."

Such responses always triggered a long emotional diatribe in which no amount of logic could cause Mother to change her mind — though moments later, she might have completely adopted Alessandra's point of view after all, acting as if that's how she had felt all along.

Yet if Alessandra didn't answer her mother's epigrammatic observations, the storming about got worse and worse — Mother needed a response the way other people needed air. To ignore her was to smother her. So Alessandra answered, took part in the meaningless but intense conversation, and then ignored her mother's inability to admit that she had changed her mind even though she had.

It never seemed to occur to her mother that Alessandra herself was disappointed, that playing Bianca to Ender's Lucentio had made her feel. what? Not love — she was definitely not in love. Ender was nice enough, but he was exactly as nice to Alessandra as to everyone else, so it was plain she was nothing special to him, and she was not interested in bestowing her affection on someone who had not first bestowed his on her. No, what Alessandra felt was glory. It was reflected, of course, from her mother's quite stunning performance of Kate and from Ender's fame as savior of the human race — and his notoriety as a child-killing monster, which Alessandra did not believe but which certainly added to the fascination.

All disappointment was forgotten the moment the message came through to everyone's desk: The reading was back on for the following night, and the admiral himself would attend.

Alessandra immediately thought: The admiral? There are two admirals on this voyage, and one of them was part of the program from the start. Was this a calculated slight, that the message sounded as if only one officer held that lofty rank? The very fact that Ender had been summoned so peremptorily to see Admiral Morgan was another sign — did Ender really warrant so little respect? It made her a little angry on his behalf.

Then she told herself: I have no bond with Ender Wiggin that should make me protective of his privileges. I've been infected with Mother's disease, of acting as if her plans and dreams were already real. Ender is not in love with me, any more than I am with him. There will be girls on Shakespeare when we get there; by the time he's old enough to marry, what will I be to him?

What have I done, coming on this voyage to a place where there won't be enough people my age to fill a city bus?

Not for the first time, Alessandra envied her mother's ability to make herself cheerful by sheer force of will.

They dressed in their finest for the reading — not that there had been room for much in the way of clothes during the voyage. But they had spent some of their signing bonus buying clothing, before the rest got turned over to Grandmother. Most of the clothing had to meet the description on the list from the Ministry of Colonization — warm clothes for a chilly but not-too-cold winter, light-but-tough clothing for summer work, and at least one long-lasting frock for special occasions. Tonight's reading was such an occasion — and here was where Mother had made sure that a bit of money was spent on gewgaws and accessories. They were over the top, really, and obviously costume jewelry. Then there were Mother's bedazzling scarves, which looked almost ironically extravagant on her, but would look pathetic and needy on Alessandra. Mother was dressed to kill; Alessandra could only strive not to disappear completely in Mother's penumbra.

They arrived just at the moment when the event was supposed to begin. Alessandra immediately rushed to her stool at the front, but Mother made a slow progress, greeting everyone, touching everyone, bestowing her smiles on everyone. Except one.

Admiral Morgan was seated in the second row, with a few officers around him, insulating him from any contact with the public — it was so obvious he considered himself a breed apart and wanted no contact with mere colonists. That was the privilege of rank, and Alessandra did not begrudge it. She rather wished she had the power to create a cordon around herself to keep unwanted persons from intruding into her privacy.

To Alessandra's horror, once Mother got down front, she continued her grand progress by passing along the front row of seats, greeting people there — and in the second row as well. She was going to try to force Admiral Morgan to speak to her!

But no, Mother's plan was even worse. She made a point of introducing herself to — and flirting with — the officers on either side of the admiral. But she did not so much as pause in front of Morgan himself; it was as if he didn't exist. A snub! Of the most powerful man in their little world!

Alessandra could hardly bear to look at Morgan's face, yet could not bring herself to look away, either. At first, he had watched Mother's approach with resignation — he was going to have to speak to this woman. But when Mother passed right over him, his barely contained sneer gave way to consternation and then to seething anger. Mother had indeed made an enemy. What was she thinking? How could this help anything?

But it was time to begin. The leading actors were seated on stools; the rest were on the front row, prepared to stand and face the audience when their parts came. Mother finally made her way to the stool in the center of the stage. Before sitting, she looked out over the audience beneficently and said, "Thank you so much for coming to our little performance. The play is set in Italy, where my daughter and I were born. But it is written in English, which comes to us only as a second language. My daughter is fluent, but I am not. So if I mispronounce, remember that Katharina was Italian, and in English she too would have my same accent."

It was all said with Mother's trademark glow, her light-and-happy air. What had become so annoying to Alessandra that there were times she wanted to scream in rage when she heard it now seemed absolutely charming, and her little speech was answered by the rest of the colonists and crew with chuckles and some applause. And the actor playing Petruchio — who had an obvious crush on Mother, despite his having brought along a wife and four children — even said, "Brava! Brava!"

The play thus began with all eyes on Mother, even though she didn't enter until the second act. Through sidelong glances, Alessandra could see that Mother was in a perfect trance of self-absorption during the scenes in which the men did all the exposition and made their bargain with Petruchio. As the other actors repeatedly mentioned beautiful Bianca and monstrous Katharina, Alessandra could see how Mother's pose was working — as her reputation grew, the audience would keep glancing at her and would find perfect stillness.

But that would not be right for Bianca, thought Alessandra. She remembered something Ender had said during their last rehearsal. "Bianca is perfectly aware of the effect she has on men." So where Katharina should be as still as Mother made her, Bianca's job was to be bright, happy, desirable. So Alessandra smiled and glanced away as the men spoke of beautiful Bianca, as if she were blushing and shy. It did not matter that Alessandra was not beautiful — as Mother always taught her, the plainest of women became movie stars because of how they presented themselves, unashamed of their worst features. What Alessandra could never do in real life — greet the world with an open smile — she could do as Bianca.

Then it dawned on her for the first time. Mother is not able to change her mood by simply deciding to be happy. No, she's an actress. She has always been an actress. She merely acts happy for the audience. I have been her audience all my life. And even when I didn't applaud her show, she put it on for me all the same; and now I see why. Because Mother knew that when she was in her fairy-dancing mode, it was impossible to look at or think about anything else but her.

Now, though, the fairy queen was gone, and in her place just the queen: Mother, regal and still, letting the peons and courtiers talk, for she knew that when she wanted to, she could blow them all off the stage with a breath.

And so it was. It came time for act II, scene i, when Katharina is supposedly dragging Bianca about, her hands tied. Alessandra made herself melting and sweet, pleading with her mother to let her go, swearing that she loved no one, while Mother railed at her, so on fire with inner rage that it really frightened Alessandra, for a moment at least. Even in rehearsal Mother had not been so vehement. Alessandra doubted that Mother had been holding back before — Mother was not skilled at holding back. No, the special fire came because of the audience.

But not the whole audience, it became apparent as the scenes progressed. All of Katharina's lines about the unfairness of her father and the stupidity of men were invariably shot directly at Admiral Morgan! It wasn't just Alessandra's imagination. Everybody could see it, and the audience at first tittered, then laughed outright as barb after barb was directed, not just at the characters in the play, but also at the man sitting in the middle of the second row.

Only Morgan himself seemed oblivious; apparently, with Mother's eyes directly upon him, he merely thought that the performance, not the meaning of the words, was aimed at him.

The play went well. Oh, the Lucentio scenes were as boring as ever — not Ender's fault, really, Lucentio was simply not one of the funny roles. It was a fate that Bianca shared, so Alessandra and Ender were designed only to be a "sweet couple" while the focus of attention — of laughter and of romance — was entirely on Katharina and Petruchio. Which meant, despite the best efforts of a pretty good Petruchio, that all eyes were on Mother. He would be shouting, but it was her face, her reactions that got the laughs. Her hunger, her sleepiness, her despair, and finally her playful acquiescence when Katharina finally understands and begins to play along with Petruchio's mad game, all were fully communicated by Mother's face, her posture, her tone when she spoke.

Mother is brilliant, Alessandra realized. Absolutely brilliant. And she knows it. No wonder she suggested a play reading!

And then another thought: If Mother could do this, why wasn't she an actress? Why didn't she become a star of stage or screen and let us live in wealth?

The answer, she realized, was simple: It was Alessandra's birth when Mother was only fifteen.

Mother conceived me when she was exactly the age I am now, Alessandra realized. She fell in love and gave herself to a man — a boy — and produced a child. It was unbelievable to Alessandra, since she herself had never felt any kind of passion for any of the boys at school.

Father must have been remarkable.

Or Mother must have been desperate to get away from Grandmother. Which was far more likely to be the truth. Instead of waiting a few more years and becoming a great actress, Mother married and set up house-keeping and had this baby — not in that order — and because she had me, she was never able to use this talent to make her way in the world.

We could have been rich!

And now what? Off to a colony, a place of farmers and weavers and builders and scientists, with no time for art. There'll be no leisure in the colony, the way there is on the ship during the voyage. When will Mother ever have a chance to show what she can do?

The play neared the end. Valentine played the widow with surprising wit and verve — she absolutely understood the part, and not for the first time Alessandra wished she could be a genius and a beauty like Valentine. Yet something else overshadowed that wish — for the first time in Alessandra's life, she actually envied her mother, and wished she could be more like her. Unthinkable, yet true.

Mother stepped away from her stool and delivered her soliloquy straight to the front — straight to Admiral Morgan — speaking of the duty a woman owes to a man. Just as all her barbs had been aimed at Morgan, now this speech — this sweet, submissive, graceful, heartfelt, love-filled homily — was spoken straight into Morgan's eyes.

And Morgan was riveted. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes never wavered from full attention on Mother. And when she knelt and said "my hand is ready, may it do him ease," there were tears in Morgan's eyes. Tears!

Petruchio roared his line: "Why there's a wench! Come on and kiss me, Kate!"

Mother rose gracefully to her feet, not attempting to pantomime a kiss, but rather showing the face that a woman shows to her lover when she is about to kiss him — and her eyes, yet again, were directly on Morgan's.

Now Alessandra understood Mother's game. She was making Morgan fall in love with her!

And it worked. When the last lines were spoken and the audience stood and cheered for them all as the readers bowed and curtseyed, Morgan literally stepped onto the first row of seats so that as the applause continued, he walked onto the stage and shook Mother's hand. Shook it? No, seized it and simply would not let it go, while talking to her about how wonderful she was.

Mother's aloofness, her snub of him at the beginning, was all part of the plan. She was the shrew, punishing him for his presumption in canceling their reading; but by the end, she was tamed; she belonged to him completely.

All that evening, as Morgan invited everyone to the officers' mess — where previously he had absolutely forbidden the colonists to go — he hovered around Mother. It was so obvious he was smitten that several of the officers mentioned it, obliquely, to Alessandra. "Your mother seems to have melted the great stone heart," said one. And she overheard two officers speaking to each other, when one of them said, "Am I mistaken, or are his pants already coming off?"

If they thought that would happen, they didn't know Mother. Alessandra had lived through years of Mother's advice about men. Don't let them this, don't let them that — tease, hint, promise, but they get nothing at all until they have made their vows. Mother had done it the other way in her youth, and paid for it the past fifteen years. Now she would surely follow her own sadder-but-wiser advice and seduce this man with words and smiles only. She wanted him besotted, not satisfied.

Oh, Mother, what a game you're playing.

Do you really. is it possible. are you really attracted to him? He's a good-looking man, in military trim. And around you he is not cold at all, not aloof; or if he is, he includes you in his lofty place.

One telling moment: As he was talking to someone else — one of the few officers who had brought a wife along — Morgan's hand came to rest on Mother's shoulder, a light embrace. But Mother instantly reached up, removed the hand, but then turned at the same moment to speak to Morgan with a warm smile, making a little joke of some kind, because everyone laughed. The message was mixed, yet clear: Touch me not, thou mortal, but yes, I will bestow this smile on you.

You are mine, but I am not yet yours.

This is what Mother meant for me to do with Ender Wiggin, my supposed "young man with prospects." But I could no more come to own a man that way than I could fly. I will always be the supplicant, never the seducer; always grateful, never gracious.

Ender came up to her. "Your mother was brilliant tonight," he said.

Of course that's what he said. That's what everyone was saying.

"But I know something they don't know," he said.

"What's that?" asked Alessandra.

"I know that the only reason my performance was good at all was because of you. All of us who played the suitors of Bianca, all that comedy, everything rested on the audience believing that we would yearn for you. And you were so lovely, no one doubted it for a moment."

He smiled at her and then walked away to rejoin his sister.

Leaving Alessandra gasping.