Speaker for the Dead

That means nothing. That's the way we always begin when we're talking to another tribe. Do you think we're crazy? We'd never kill you! You gave us amaranth, pottery, The Hive Queen and the Hegemon."
      "Tell her to withdraw that threat or we'll never give her anything else."
      "I told you, Speaker, it doesn't mean--"
      "She said the words, and I won't talk to her as long as those words stand."
      Human spoke to her.
      Shouter jumped to her feet and walked all the way around the mothertree, her hands raised high, singing loudly.
      Human leaned to Ender. "She's complaining to the great mother and to all the wives that you're a brother who doesn't know his place. She's saying that you're rude and impossible to deal with."
      Ender nodded. "Yes, that's exactly right. Now we're getting somewhere."
      Again Shouter squatted across from Ender. She spoke in Males' Language.
      "She says she'll never kill any human or let any of the brothers or wives kill any of you. She says for you to remember that you're twice as tall as any of us and you know everything and we know nothing. Now has she humiliated herself enough that you'll talk to her?"
      Shouter watched him, glumly waiting for his response.
      "Yes," said Ender. "Now we can begin."
     
     
     
      Novinha knelt on the floor beside Miro's bed. Quim and Olhado stood behind her. Dom Cristão was putting Quara and Grego to bed in their room. The sound of his off-tune lullaby was barely audible behind the tortured sound of Miro's breathing.
      Miro's eyes opened.
      "Miro," said Novinha.
      Miro groaned.
      "Miro, you're home in bed. You went over the fence while it was on. Now Dr. Navio says that your brain has been damaged. We don't know whether the damage is permanent or not. You may be partially paralyzed. But you're alive, Miro, and Navio says that he can do many things to help you compensate for what you may have lost. Do you understand? I'm telling you the truth. It may be very bad for a while, but it's worth trying."
      He moaned softly. But it was not a sound of pain. It was as if he were trying to talk, and couldn't.
      "Can you move your jaw, Miro?" asked Quim.
      Slowly Miro's mouth opened and closed.
      Olhado held his hand a meter above Miro's head and moved it. "Can you make your eyes follow the movement of my hand?"
      Miro's eyes followed. Novinha squeezed Miro's hand. "Did you feel me squeeze your hand?"
      Miro moaned again.
      "Close your mouth for no ," said Quim, "and open your mouth for yes ."
      Miro closed his mouth and said, "Mm."
      Novinha could not help herself; despite her encouraging words, this was the most terrible thing that had happened to any of her children. She had thought when Lauro lost his eyes and became Olhado-- she hated the nickname, but now used it herself-- that nothing worse could happen. But Miro, paralyzed, helpless, so he couldn't even feel the touch of her hand, that could not be borne. She had felt one kind of grief when Pipo died, and another kind when Libo died, and a terrible regret at Marcão's death. She even remembered the aching emptiness she felt as she watched them lower her mother and father into the ground. But there was no pain worse than to watch her child suffer and be unable to help.
      She stood up to leave. For his sake, she would do her crying silently, and in another room.
      "Mm. Mm. Mm."
      "He doesn't want you to go," said Quim.
      "I'll stay if you want," said Novinha. "But you should sleep again. Navio said that the more you sleep for a while--"
      "Mm. Mm. Mm."
      "Doesn't want to sleep, either," said Quim.
      Novinha stifled her immediate response, to snap at Quim and tell him that she could hear his answers perfectly well for herself. This was no time for quarreling. Besides, it was Quim who had worked out the system that Miro was using to communicate. He had a right to take pride in it, to pretend that he was Miro's voice. It was his way of affirming that he was part of the family. That he was not quitting because of what he learned in the praça today. It was his way of forgiving her, so she held her tongue.
      "Maybe he wants to tell us something," said Olhado.
      "Mm."
      "Or ask a question?" said Quim.
      "Ma. Aa."
      "That's great," said Quim. "If he can't move his hands, he can't write."
      "Sem problema," said Olhado. "Scanning. He can scan. If we bring him in by the terminal, I can make it scan the letters and he just says yes when it hits the