"You're getting libidinous," she said.
"It happens whenever women attack me and kiss me in the forest."
"Cool your shorts, Miro, it's still a long way off." She took him by the belt, pulled him close, kissed him again. "Two more years until we can marry without your mother's consent."
Miro did not even try to argue. He did not care much about the priestly proscription of fornication, but he did understand how vital it was in a fragile community like Milagre for marriage customs to be strictly adhered to. Large and stable communities could absorb a reasonable amount of unsanctioned coupling; Milagre was far too small. What Ouanda did from faith, Miro did from rational thought--despite a thousand opportunities, they were as celibate as monks. Though if Miro thought for one moment that they would ever have to live the same vows of chastity in marriage that were required in the Filhos' monastery, Ouanda's virginity would be in grave and immediate danger.
"This speaker," said Ouanda. "You know how I feel about bringing him out here."
"That's your Catholicism speaking, not rational inquiry." He tried to kiss her, but she lowered her face at the last moment and he got a mouthful of nose. He kissed it passionately until she laughed and pushed him away.
"You are messy and offensive, Miro." She wiped her nose on her sleeve. "We already shot the scientific method all to hell when we started helping them raise their standard of living. We have ten or twenty years before the satellites start showing obvious results. By then maybe we'll have been able to make a permanent difference. But we've got no chance if we let a stranger in on the project. He'll tell somebody."
"Maybe he will and maybe he won't. I was a stranger once, you know."
"Strange, but never a stranger."
"You had to see him last night, Ouanda. With Grego first, and then when Quara woke up crying--"
"Desperate, lonely children--what does that prove?"
"And Ela. Laughing. And Olhado, actually taking part in the family."
"Quim?"
"At least he stopped yelling for the infidel to go home."
"I'm glad for your family, Miro. I hope he can heal them permanently, I really do--I can see the difference in you, too, you're more hopeful than I've seen you in a long time. But don't bring him out here."
Miro chewed on the side of his cheek for a moment, then walked away. Ouanda ran after him, caught him by the arm. They were in the open, but Rooter's tree was between them and the gate. "Don't leave me like that!" she said fiercely. "Don't just walk away from me!"
"I know you're right," Miro said. "But I can't help how I feel. When he was in our house, it was like--it was as if Libo had come there."
"Father hated your mother, Miro--he would never have gone there."
"But if he had. In our house this speaker was the way Libo always was in the Station. Do you see?"
"Do you? He comes in and acts the way your father should have but never did, and every single one of you rolls over belly-up like a puppy dog."
The contempt on her face wa
s infuriating. Miro wanted to hit her. Instead he walked over and slapped his hand against Rooter's tree. In only a quarter of a century it had grown to almost eighty centimeters in diameter, and the bark was rough and painful on his hand.
She came up behind him. "I'm sorry, Miro, I didn't mean--"
"You meant it, but it was stupid and selfish--"
"Yes, it was, I--"
"Just because my father was scum doesn't mean I go belly-up for the first nice man who pats my head--"
Her hand stroked his hair, his shoulder, his waist. "I know, I know, I know--"
"Because I know what a good man is--not just a father, a good man. I knew Libo, didn't I? And when I tell you that this speaker, this Andrew Wiggin is like Libo, then you listen to me and don't dismiss it like the whimpering of a cao!"
"I do listen. I want to meet him, Miro."
Miro surprised himself. He was crying. It was all part of what this speaker could do, even when he wasn't present. He had loosened all the tight places in Miro's heart, and now Miro couldn't stop anything from coming out.