Enders In Exile

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