Free The Memory of Earth by Orson Scott Card

idea that had seemed so clever and fresh to Nafai—apprenticing himself in an art to earn his independence—had long since occurred to Mebbekew, and he was
doing
it. In a way it was encouraging—if Mebbekew can do it, why can’t I?—but it was also discouraging to think that of all people, Nafai had happened to choose Mebbekew to emulate. Meb, the brother who had hated him all his life instead of coming to hate him more recently, like Elya. Is this what I was born for? To become a second Mebbekew?
    Then came the nastiest thought of all. Wouldn’t it be funny if I entered the acting profession, years after Meb, and got a job with a serious company right away? Itwould be deliciously humiliating; Meb would be suicidal.
    Well, maybe not. Meb was far more likely to turn murderous.
    Nafai was drawn out of his spiteful little daydream by the scene on the stage. The old potion-seller was trying to persuade a reluctant young woman to buy an herb from him.
     
    Put the leaves in his tea
Put the flower in your bed
And by half past three
He’ll be dead—I beg your pardon,
Just a slip of the tongue.
     
    The plot was finally making sense. The old man wanted to poison the girl’s lover by persuading her that the fatal herb was a love potion. She apparently didn’t catch on—all characters in satire were amazingly stupid—but for other reasons she was still resisting the sale.
     
    I’d sooner be hung
Than use a flower from your garden.
I want nothing from you.
I want his love to be true.
     
    Suddenly the old man burst into an operatic song. His voice was actually not bad, even with exaggeration for comic effect.
     
    The dream of love is so enchanting!
     
    At that moment Mebbekew, his mask back in place, bounded onto the stage and directly addressed the audience.
     
    Listen to the old man ranting!
     
    They proceeded to perform a strange duet, the old potion-seller singing a line and Mebbekew’s young character answering with a spoken comment to the audience.
     
    But love can come in many ways!
    (I’ve followed him for several days.)
    One lover might be very willing!
    (I know he plots her lover’s killing.)
    The other endlessly delays!
    (Listen how the donkey brays!)
    Oh, do not make the wrong decision!
    (I think I’ll give this ass a vision.)
    When I can take you to your goal!
    (He’ll think it’s from the Oversoul.)
    No limits bind the lover’s game.
    (A vision needs a little flame . . .)
    No matter how you win it,
    Because your heart is in it,
    You’ll love your lover’s loving still the same.
     
    A vision from the Oversoul. Flame. Nafai didn’t like the turn this was taking. He didn’t like the fact that the old potion-seller’s mask had a wild mane of white hair and a full white beard. Was it possible that word had already spread so far and fast? Some satirists were famous for getting the gossip before anyone else—as often as not, people attended the satires just to find out what was happening—and many people left the satires asking each other, What was that
really
about?
    Mebbekew was fiddling with a box on the stage. The satirist called out to him, “Never mind the fire effect. We’ll pretend it’s working.”
    “We have to try it sometime,” Mebbekew answered.
    “Not now.”
    “When?”
    The satirist got to his feet, strode to the foot of the stage directly in front of Meb, cupped his hands around his mouth, and bellowed: “We . . . will . . . do . . . the . . . effect . . . later!”
    “Fine,” said Meb.
    As the satirist returned to his place on the hill, he said, “And
you
wouldn’t be setting off the fire effect anyway.”
    “Sorry,” said Meb. He returned to his place behind the box that presumably would be spouting a column of flame tonight. The other maskers returned to their positions.
    “End of song,” said Meb. “Fire effect.”
    Immediately the potion-seller and the girl flung up their hands in a mockery of surprise.
    “A pillar of fire!” cried the