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all those years of his wandering, she'd been at home, so to speak, mothering all
his trillions of children, reporting to him on what they were doing, tending
house."
"And her own works praise her in the gates," said Novinha.
"Yes, the virtuous woman. Like you."
Novinha tossed her head in scorn. "Never me. My own works mocked me in the
gates."
"He chose you and he loved you and he loved your children and he was their
father, those children who had lost two fathers already; and he still is their
father, and he still is your husband, but you don't really need him anymore."
"How can you say that?" demanded Novinha, furious. "How do you know what I
need?"
"You know it yourself. You knew it when you came here. You knew it when Estevão
died in the embrace of that rogue fathertree. Your children were leading their
own lives now and you couldn't protect them and neither could Ender. You still
loved him, he still loved you, but the family part of your life was over. You
didn't really need him anymore."
"He never needed me."
"He needed you desperately," said Valentine. "He needed you so much he gave up
Jane for you."
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"No," said Novinha. "He needed my need for him. He needed to feel like he was
providing for me, protecting me."
"But you don't need his providence or his protection anymore," said Valentine.
Novinha shook her head.
"Wake him up," said Valentine, "and let him go."
Novinha thought at once of all the times she had stood at graveside. She
remembered the funeral of her parents, who died for the sake of saving Milagre
from the descolada during that first terrible outbreak. She thought of Pipo,
tortured to death, flayed alive by the piggies because they thought that if they
did he'd grow a tree, only nothing grew except the ache, the pain in Novinha's
heart -- it was something she discovered that sent him to the pequeninos that
night. And then Libo, tortured to death the same way as his father, and again
because of her, but this time because of what she didn't tell him. And Marcão,
whose life was all the more painful because of her before he finally died of the
disease that had been killing him since he was a child. And Estevão, who let his
mad faith lead him into martyrdom, so he could become a venerado like her
parents, and no doubt someday a saint as they would be saints. "I'm sick of
letting people go," said Novinha bitterly.
"I don't see how you could be," said Valentine. "There's not a one of all the
people who have died on you that you can honestly say you 'let go.' You clung to
them tooth and nail."
"What if I did? Everyone I love has died and left me!"
"That's such a weak excuse," said Valentine. "Everyone dies. Everyone leaves.
What matters is the things you build together before they go. What matters is
the part of them that continues in you when they're gone. You continued your
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parents' work, and Pipo's, and Libo's -- and you raised Libo's children, didn't
you? And they were partly Marcão's children, weren't they? Something of him
remained in them, and not all bad. As for Estevão, he built something rather
fine out of his death, I think, but instead of letting him go you still resent
him for it. You resent him for building something more valuable to him than life
itself. For loving God and the pequeninos more than you. You still hang on to
all of them. You don't let anybody go."
"Why do you hate me for that?" said Novinha. "Maybe it's true, but that's my
life, to lose and lose and lose."
"Just this once," said Valentine, "why don't you set the bird free instead of
holding it in the cage until it dies?"
"You make me sound like a monster!" cried Novinha. "How dare you judge me!"
"If you were a monster Ender couldn't have loved you," said Valentine, answering
rage with mildness. "You've been a great woman, Novinha, a tragic woman with
many accomplishments and much suffering and I'm sure your story will make a
moving saga when you die. But wouldn't it be nice if you learned something
instead of acting out the same tragedy at the end?"
"I don't want another one I love to die before me!" cried Novinha.
"Who said anything about death?" said Valentine.
The door to the room swung open. Plikt stood in the doorway. "I heard," she
said. "What's happening?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]