Shadow of the Giant (33 page)

So the two who bore the names of the children she grieved for most were sharing a room. She had courage enough to face this. She went there first.

Nothing about these babies reminded her of the ones who were gone. They were so big. Toddlers, not babies now. And, true to reputation, Andrew’s eyes were already open. He turned to look at her.

She smiled at him.

He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

Well, let him retreat and decide what he thinks of me. I’m not going to demand that they love me when they don’t even know me.

She walked to Bella’s crib. She was sleeping hard, her black curls tight and wet against her head. The Delphiki genetic heritage was
so
complicated. Bella really showed Bean’s African roots. Whereas Andrew looked Armenian, period.

She touched one of Bella’s curls and the girl didn’t stir. Her cheek was hot and damp.

She’s mine, thought Petra.

She turned and saw that Andrew was sitting up in bed, regarding her soberly. “Hello, Mama,” he said.

It took her breath away.

“How did you know me?”

“Picture,” he said.

“Do you want to get up?”

He looked at the clock on the top of the dresser. “Not time.”

These were
normal
children?

How would Mrs. Delphiki know what normal was, anyway? Nikolai wasn’t exactly stupid.

Though they weren’t
so
brilliant. They were both wearing diapers.

Petra walked over to Andrew and held out her hand. What do I think he is, a dog that I give my hand to sniff?

Andrew took hold of a couple of her fingers, just for a moment, as if to make sure she was real. “Hello, Mama.”

“May I kiss you?”

He lifted his face and puckered up. She leaned down and kissed him.

The touch of his hands. The feel of his little kiss. The curl on Bella’s cheek. What had she been waiting for? Why had she been afraid? Fool. I’m a fool.

Andrew lay back down and closed his eyes. As Mrs. Delphiki had warned, it was completely unbelievable. She could see the whites of his eyes through the partly-open slits.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“Loveyoutoo,” murmured Andrew.

Petra was glad that someone had said those words to him so often that the answer came by rote.

She crossed the hall into the other room. It was much darker. She couldn’t see well enough to dare to cross the room. It took a few moments for her eyes to grow used to the dark and make out the three beds.

Would she know Ramón when she saw him?

Someone moved to her left. She was startled, and she was a soldier. In a moment she was in a defensive crouch, ready to spring.

“Only me,” whispered Peter Wiggin.

“You didn’t have to come and—”

He held a finger to his lips. He walked over to the farthest crib. “Ramón,” he whispered.

She came and stood over the crib.

Peter reached down and flipped something. A paper.

“What is it?” she asked. In a whisper.

He shrugged.

If he didn’t know what it was, why had he pointed it out to her?

She pulled it out from under Ramón. It was an envelope, but it didn’t contain much.

Peter took her gently by the elbow and guided her out the door. Once they were in the hall, he said softly, “You can’t read in that light. And when Ramón wakes up, he’s going to look for it and be very upset if it isn’t there.”

“What is it?”

“Ramón’s paper,” said Peter. “Petra, Bean put it there before he left. I mean, not
there.
It was in Rotterdam. But he tucked it under Ramón’s diaper as he was lying asleep in bed. He meant you to find it there. So it’s been there every night of his life. It’s only been peed on twice.”

“From Bean.”

The emotion she could deal with best was anger. “You knew he had written this and—”

Peter kept the both of them moving out of the hall and into the parlor. “He didn’t give it to me or anyone else to deliver. Unless you count Ramón. He gave it to Ramón’s butt.”

“But to make me wait a year before—”

“Nobody thought it would be a year, Petra.” He said it very gently, but the truth of it stung. He always had the power to sting her, and yet he never shrank from doing it.

“I’ll leave you alone to read it,” he said.

“You mean you didn’t come here for my homecoming so you could find out what was in it?”

“Petra.” Mrs. Delphiki stood in the doorway to the parlor. She looked mildly shocked. “Peter didn’t come here for
you
. He’s here all the time.”

Petra looked at Peter and then back and Mrs. Delphiki. “Why?”

“They climb all over him. And he puts them down for their nap. They obey him a
lot
better than me.”

The thought of the Hegemon of Earth coming over to play with her children seemed freakish to her. And then it seemed worse than freakish. It seemed completely unfair. She pushed him. “You came to
my
house and played with
my
children?”

He didn’t show any reaction; he also stood his ground. “They’re great kids.”

“Let me find that out, will you? Let me find it out for myself!”

“Nobody’s stopping you.”

“
You
were stopping me! I was doing your work in Moscow, and you were
here
playing with my kids!”

“I offered to bring them to you.”

“I didn’t want them in Moscow, I was busy.”

“I offered you leave to come home. Time after time.”

“And let the work fall apart?”

“Petra,” said Mrs. Delphiki. “Peter has been very good to your children. And to me. And you’re behaving very badly.”

“No, Mrs. Delphiki,” said Peter. “This is only
slightly
badly. Petra’s a trained soldier and the fact that I’m still standing—”

“Don’t tease me out of this.” Petra burst into tears. “I’ve lost a year of my babies’ lives and it was my own fault, do you think I don’t know that?”

There was a crying sound from one of the bedrooms.

Mrs. Delphiki rolled her eyes and went down the hall to rescue whoever it was that needed rescuing.

“You did what you had to do,” said Peter. “Nobody’s criticizing you.”

“But
you
could take time for my children.”

“I don’t have any of my own,” said Peter.

“Is that my fault?”

“I’m just saying I had time. And…I owed it to Bean.”

“You owe more than that.”

“But this is what I can do.”

She didn’t want Peter Wiggin to be the father figure in her children’s lives.

“Petra, I’ll stop if you want. They’ll wonder why I don’t come, and then they’ll forget. If you don’t want me here, I’ll understand. This is yours and Bean’s, and I don’t want to intrude. And yes, I did want to be here when you opened that.”

“What’s in it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t have one of your guys steam it open for you?”

Peter just looked a little irritated.

Mrs. Delphiki came into the room carrying Ramón, who was whimpering and saying, “My paper.”

“I should have known,” said Peter.

Petra held up the envelope. “Here it is,” she said.

Ramón reached for it insistently. Petra handed it to him.

“You’re spoiling him,” said Peter.

“This is your mama, Ramón,” said Mrs. Delphiki. “She nursed you when you were little.”

“He was the only one that wasn’t biting me by the time…” She couldn’t think of a way to finish the sentence that wouldn’t involve speaking of Bean or the other two children, the ones that had to go on solid food because they got teeth so incredibly young.

Mrs. Delphiki wasn’t giving up. “Let your mama see the paper, Ramón.”

Ramón clutched it tighter. Sharing was not yet on his agenda.

Peter reached out, snagged the envelope, and held it out to Petra. Ramón immediately began to wail.

“Give it back to him,” said Petra. “I’ve waited this long.”

Peter got his finger under the corner, tore it open, and extracted a single sheet of paper. “If you let them get their way just because they cry, you’ll raise a bunch of whiny brats that nobody can stand.” He handed her the paper, and gave the envelope back to Ramón, who immediately quieted down and started examining the transformed object.

Petra held the paper and was surprised to see that it was shaking. Which meant her hand was shaking. She didn’t
feel
like she was trembling.

And then suddenly Peter was holding her by her upper arms and helping her to the sofa and her legs weren’t working very well. “Come on, sit here, it’s a shock, that’s all.”

“I’ve got your snack all ready,” said Mrs. Delphiki to Ramón, who was trying to get his whole forearm inside the envelope.

“Are you all right?” Peter asked.

Petra nodded.

“Want me to go now so you can read this?”

She nodded again.

Peter was in the kitchen saying good-bye to Ramón and Mrs. Delphiki as Andrew padded down the hall. He stopped in the archway of the parlor and said, “Time.”

“Yes, it’s time, Andrew,” said Petra.

She watched him toddle on toward the kitchen. And then a moment later she heard his voice. “Mama,” he announced.

“That’s right,” said Mrs. Delphiki. “Mama’s home.”

“Bye, Mrs. Delphiki,” Peter said. A moment later, Petra heard the door open.

“Wait a minute, Peter!” she called.

He came back inside. He closed the door. As he came back into the parlor she held the paper out to him. “I can’t read it.”

Peter didn’t ask why. Any fool could see the tears in her eyes. “You want me to read it to you?”

“Maybe I can get through it if it isn’t his voice I hear,” she said.

Peter opened it. “It isn’t long.”

“I know.”

He started reading aloud, softly so only she could hear.

“I love you,” he said. “There’s one thing we forgot to decide. We can’t have two pairs of children with the same name. So I’ve decided that I’m going to call the Andrew that’s with me ‘Ender,’ because that’s the name we called him when he was born. And I’ll think of the Andrew that’s with you as ‘Andrew.’”

The tears were streaming down Petra’s face now and she could hardly keep herself from sobbing. For some reason it tore her apart to realize that Bean was thinking about such things before he left.

“Want me to go on?” asked Peter.

She nodded.

“And the Bella that’s with you, we’ll call Bella. Because the one that’s with me, I’ve decided to call her ‘Carlotta.’”

She lost it. Feelings she’d had pent up inside her for a year, feelings that her underlings had begun to think she didn’t have, burst out of her now.

But only for a minute. She got control of herself, and then waved to him to continue.

“And even though she isn’t with me, the little girl we named after you, when I tell the kids about her, I’m going to call her ‘Poke’ so they don’t get her confused with you. You don’t have to call her that, but it’s because you’re the only Petra I actually know, and Poke ought to have somebody named after her.”

Petra broke down. She clung to Peter and he held her like a friend, like a father.

Peter didn’t say anything. No “It’s all right” or “I understand,” maybe because it wasn’t all right and he was smart enough to know he couldn’t understand.

When he did speak, it was after she was much calmer and quieter and another of the children had walked past the archway and loudly proclaimed, “Lady crying.”

Petra sat up and patted Peter’s arm and said, “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“I wish his letter had been longer,” said Peter. “It was obviously just a last-minute thought.”

“It was perfect,” said Petra.

“He didn’t even sign it.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“But he was thinking of you and the children. Making sure you and he would think of all the children by the same names.”

She nodded, afraid of starting again.

“I’m going to go now,” said Peter. “I won’t come back till you invite me.”

“Come back when you usually do,” she said. “I don’t want my homecoming to cost the children somebody they love.”

“Thanks,” he said.

She nodded. She wanted to thank him for reading it to her and being so decent about her crying all over his shirt, but she didn’t trust herself to speak so she just sort of waved.

It was a good thing she had cried herself out. When she went into the kitchen and washed her face and listened to little Petra—to Poke—say, “Lady crying” again, she was able to be very calm and say, “I was crying because I’m so happy to see you. I’ve missed you. You don’t remember me, but I’m your mama.”

“We show them your picture every morning and night,” said Mrs. Delphiki, “and they kiss the picture.”

“Thank you.”

“The nurses started it before I came,” she said.

“Now I get to kiss my boys and girls myself,” she said. “Will that be all right? No more kissing the picture?”

It was too much for them to understand. And if they wanted to keep kissing the picture for a while, that would be fine with her, too. Just like Ramón’s envelope. No reason to take away from them something that they valued.

By your father’s age, Petra said silently, he was on his own, trying not to starve to death in Rotterdam.

But you’re all going to catch up with him and pass him by. When you’re in your twenties and out of college and getting married, he’ll still be sixteen years old, crawling through time as his starship races through space. When you bury me, he’ll not have turned seventeen yet. And your brothers and sister will still be babies. Not as old as you are. It will be as if they never change.

Which means it’s exactly as if they had died. Loved ones who die never change, either. They’re always the same age in memory.

So what I’m going through isn’t something so different. How many women became widows in the war? How many mothers have buried babies that they hardly had time to hold? I’m just part of the same sentimental comedy as everyone else, the sad parts always followed by laughter, the laughter always by tears.

It wasn’t until later, when she was alone in her bed, the children asleep for the night, Mrs. Delphiki gone next door—or, rather, to the other wing of the same house—that she was able to bring herself to read Bean’s note again. It was in his handwriting. He had done it in a hurry and in spots it was barely legible. And the paper was stained—Peter hadn’t been joking about Ramón peeing on the envelope a couple of times.