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"Does Mother know you're going?"
"Please be practical, Miro. I have no fear of Satan, but Mother ..."
"Does Andrew know?"
"Of course. He insists on going with me. The Speaker for the Dead has enormous prestige, and he thinks he could help me."
"So you won't be alone."
"Of course I will. When has a man clothed in the whole armor of God ever needed the help of a humanist?"
"Andrew's a Catholic."
"He goes to mass, he takes communion, he confesses regularly, but he's still a speaker for the dead and I don't think he really believes in God. I'll go alone."
Miro looked at Quim with new admiration. "You're one tough son of a bitch, aren't you?"
"Welders and smiths are tough. Sons of bitches have problems of their own. I'm just a servant of God and of the church, with a job to do. I think recent evidence suggests that I'm in more danger from my brother than I am among the most heretical of pequeninos. Since the death of Human, the pequeninos have kept the worldwide oath-- not one has ever raised a hand in violence against a human being. They may be heretics, but they're still pequeninos. They'll keep the oath."
"I'm sorry I hit you."
"I received it as if it were an embrace, my son." "I wish it had been one, Father Estevao." "Then it was."
Quim turned to the tree and began to beat out a tattoo. Almost at once, the sound began to shift, changing in pitch and tone as the hollow spaces within the tree changed shape. Miro waited a few moments, listening, even though he didn't understand the language of the fathertrees. Rooter was speaking with the only audible voice the fathertrees had. Once he had spoken with a voice, once had articulated lips with and tongue and teeth. There was more than one way to lose your body. Miro had passed through an experience that should have killed him. He had come out of it crippled. But he could still move, however clumsily, could still speak, however slowly. He thought he was suffering like Job. Rooter and Human, far more crippled than he, thought they had received eternal life.