Speaker for the Dead

from beauty to poison in one nasty little joke. Wouldn't you, Dom Cristão?"
      "It's my job to keep you humble."
      "Just as it's my job to keep you chaste," she answered.
      At that, Ender couldn't help looking from one bed to the other.
      "Ah, another one who's curious about our celibate marriage," said the Ceifeiro.
      "No," said Ender. "But I remember San Angelo urging husband and wife to share a single bed."
      "The only way we could do that ," said the Aradora, "is if one of us slept at night and the other in the day."
      "The rules must be adapted to the strength of the Filhos da Mente," the Ceifeiro explained. "No doubt there are some that can share a bed and remain celibate, but my wife is still too beautiful, and the lusts of my flesh too insistent."
      "That was what San Angelo intended. He said that the marriage bed should be the constant test of your love of knowledge. He hoped that every man and woman in the order would, after a time, choose to reproduce themselves in the flesh as well as in the mind."
      "But the moment we do that," said the Ceifeiro, "then we must leave the Filhos."
      "It's the thing our dear San Angelo did not understand, because there was never a true monastery of the order during his life," said the Aradora. "The monastery becomes our family, and to leave it would be as painful as divorce. Once the roots go down, the plant can't come up again without great pain and tearing. So we sleep in separate beds, and we have just enough strength to remain in our beloved order."
      She spoke with such contentment that quite against his will, Ender's eyes welled with tears. She saw it, blushed, looked away. "Don't weep for us, Speaker Andrew. We have far more joy than suffering."
      "You misunderstand," said Ender. "My tears weren't for pity, but for beauty."
      "No," said the Ceifeiro, "even the celibate priests think that our chastity in marriage is, at best, eccentric."
      "But I don't," said Ender. For a moment he wanted to tell them of his long companionship with Valentine, as close and loving as a wife, and yet chaste as a sister. But the thought of her took words away from him. He sat on the Ceifeiro's bed and put his face in his hands.
      "Is something wrong?" asked the Aradora. At the same time, the Ceifeiro's hand rested gently on his head.
      Ender lifted his head, trying to shake off the sudden attack of love and longing for Valentine. "I'm afraid that this voyage has cost me more than any other. I left behind my sister, who traveled with me for many years. She married in Reykjavik. To me, it seems only a week or so since I left her, but I find that I miss her more than I expected. The two of you--"
      "Are you telling us that you are also celibate?" asked the Ceifeiro.
      "And widowed now as well," whispered the Aradora.
      It did not seem at all incongruous to Ender to have his loss of Valentine put in those terms.
      Jane murmured in his ear. "If this is part of some master plan of yours, Ender, I admit it's much too deep for me."
      But of course it wasn't part of a plan at all. It frightened Ender to feel himself losing control like this. Last night in the Ribeira house he was the master of the situation; now he felt himself surrendering to these married monks with as much abandonment as either Quara or Grego had shown.
      "I think," said the Ceifeiro, "that you came here seeking answers to more questions than you knew."
      "You must be so lonely," said the Aradora. "Your sister has found her resting place. Are you looking for one, too?"
      "I don't think so," said Ender. "I'm afraid I've imposed on your hospitality too much. Unordained monks aren't supposed to hear confessions."
      The Aradora laughed aloud. "Oh, any Catholic can hear the confession of an infidel."
      The Ceifeiro did not laugh, however. "Speaker Andrew, you have obviously given us more trust than you ever planned, but I can assure you that we deserve that trust. And in the process, my friend, I have come to believe that I can trust you . The Bishop is afraid of you, and I admit I had my own misgivings, but not anymore. I'll help you if I can, because I believe you will not knowingly cause harm to our little village."
      "Ah," whispered Jane, "I see it now. A very clever maneuver on your part, Ender. You're much better at playacting than I ever knew."
      Her gibing made Ender feel cynical and cheap, and he did what he had never done before. He reached up to the jewel, found the