"What's it to you" asked Quim. "He never did anything to you. You just turned off your eyes and sat there with the headphones on, listening to batuque or Bach or something--"
"Turn off my eyes?" said Olhado. "I never turned off my eyes."
He whirled and walked to the terminal, which was in the corner of the room farthest from the front door. In a few quick movements he had the terminal on, then picked up an interface cable and jammed it in the socket in his right eye. It was only a simple computer linkup, but to Ender it brought back a hideous memory of the eye of a giant, torn open and oozing, as Ender bored deep, penetrated to the brain, and sent it toppling backward to its death. He froze up for a moment before he remembered that his memory was not real, it was of a computer game he had played in the Battle School. Three thousand years ago, but to him a mere twenty-five years, not such a great distance that the memory had lost its power. It was his memories and dreams of the giant's death that the buggers had taken out of his mind and turned into the signal they left for him; eventually it had led him to the hive queen's cocoon.
It was Jane's voice that brought him back to the present moment. She whispered from the jewel, "If it's all the same to you, while he's got that eye linked up I'm going to get a dump of everything else he's got stored away in there."
Then a scene began in the air over the terminal. It was not holographic. Instead the image was like bas-relief, as it would have appeared to a single observer. It was this very room, seen from the spot on the floor where a moment ago Olhado had been sitting--apparently it was his regular spot. In the middle of the floor stood a large man, strong and violent, flinging his arms about as he shouted abuse at Miro, who stood quietly, his head bent, regarding his father without any sign of anger. There was no sound--it was a visual image only. "Have you forgotten?" whispered Olhado. "Have you forgotten what it was like?"
In the scene on the terminal Miro finally turned and left; Marcao following him to the door, shouting after him. Then he turned back into the room and stood there, panting like an animal exhausted from the chase. In the picture Grego ran to his father and clung to his leg, shouting out the door, his face making it plain that he was echoing his father's cruel words to Miro. Marcao pried the child from his leg and walked with determined purpose into the back room.
"There's no sound," said Olhado. "But you can hear it, can't you?"
Ender felt Grego's body trembling on his lap.
"There it is, a blow, a crash--she's falling to the floor, can you feel it in your flesh, the way her body hits the concrete?"
"Shut up, Olhado," said Miro.
The computer-generated scene ended. "I can't believe you saved that," said Ela.
Quim was weeping, making no effort to hide it. "I killed him," he said. "I killed him I killed him I killed him."
"What are you talking about?" said Miro in exasperation. "He had a rotten disease, it was congenital!"
"I prayed for him to die!" screamed Quim. His face was mottled with passion, tears and mucus and spittle mingling around his lips. "I prayed to the Virgin, I prayed to Jesus, I prayed to Grandpa and Grandma, I said I'd go to hell for it if only he'd die, and they did it, and now I'll go to hell and I'm not sorry for it! God forgive me but I'm glad!" Sobbing, he stumbled back out of the room. A door slammed in the distance.
"Well, another certified miracle to the credit of Os Vene
rados," said Miro. "Sainthood is assured."
"Shut up," said Olhado.
"And he's the one who kept telling us that Christ wanted us to forgive the old fart," said Miro.
On Ender's lap, Grego now trembled so violently that Ender grew concerned. He realized that Grego was whispering a word. Ela, too, saw Grego's distress and knelt in front of the boy.
"He's crying, I've never seen him cry like this--"
"Papa, papa, papa," whispered Grego. His trembling had given way to great shudders, almost convulsive in their violence.
"Is he afraid of Father?" asked Olhado. His face showed deep concern for Grego. To Ender's relief, all their faces were full of worry. There was love in this family, and not just the solidarity of living under the rule of the same tyrant for all these years.
"Papa's gone now," said Miro comfortingly. "You don't have to worry now."
Ender shook his head. "Miro," he said, "didn't you watch Olhado's memory? Little boys don't judge their fathers, they love them. Grego was trying as hard as he could to be just like Marcos Ribeira. The rest of you might have been glad to see him gone, but for Grego it was the end of the world."
It had not occurred to any of them. Even now it was a sickening idea; Ender could see them recoil from it. And yet they knew it was true. Now that Ender had pointed it out, it was obvious.
"Deus nos perdoa," murmured Ela. God forgive us.
"The things we've said," whispered Miro.
Ela reached out for Grego. He refused to go to her. Instead he did exactly what Ender expected, what he had prepared for. Grego turned in Ender's relaxed grip, flung his arms around the neck of the speaker for the dead, and wept bitterly, hysterically.
Ender spoke gently to the others, who watched helplessly. "How could he show his grief to you, when he thought you hated him?"
"We never hated Grego," said Olhado.