Ender in Exile (Ender's Saga 1.20)

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.