"Chalker, Jack L - Rings 1 - Lords Of The Middle Dark" - читать интересную книгу автора (Chalker Jack L)

2. THE CURSES OF HISTORY


WALKS STOOPED OVER, CHIEF MEDICINE MAN and healer of the Hyiakutt nation, who
always walked ramrod straight even now that he was in his seventies, trudged
slowly up the hill to the hogan of Runs With the Night Hawks to make his routine
courtesy call and his perennial complaint.
The flying saucers were stampeding the buffalos.
It was always pretty much the same, or had been in the more than two decades now
that Hawks had taken Leave at this time and place. Despite his privileged
position and rank, he was required to spend at least one-quarter of the year
living with and as one of his people. Generally he didn't mind, except for minor
ordeals like this and the fact that it really put a crimp on ongoing projects.
While not impossible to deal with, the wrench of going from electric lighting,
air conditioning, and computer filing and research to a log and mud hogan out on
the plains with none of those conveniences was quite traumatic.
That, of course, was the point of requiring him to return. One of them, anyway.
He knew that most of the work of his profession had been accomplished by
firelight and without any modern amenities, because these hadn't been invented
yet. But the scholars of those ancient days had one major advantage that he did
not: They did not know that such amenities and technology existed, or even could
exist, so they were incapable of missing them.
The old medicine man showed the wear of his years in his wrinkled face and
nearly white long hair, but his eyes showed a certain youthfulness and his gait
a pride that said he wouldn't choose to be anywhere else nor doing anything but
what he was doing.
"I greet you, Runs With the Night Hawks, and welcome you back to your lands and
people," the old man said in the melodic tongue of their ancestors. "You have
not changed much, although you look a bit saggy in the stomach."
The younger man smiled. "And I return the greeting, wise and ancient one.
Welcome to my poor lodging and my fire. Please sit and talk with me."
It was a clear, starry night, with only a sliver of moon. The old man settled by
his small fire, and Hawks sat opposite, as etiquette dictated.
"You did not happen to smuggle in any of the good hooch, did you, my son?" the
old man asked in a mixture of tongues.
The younger man smiled playfully. "You know that it is forbidden to do such a
thing, ancient one. There could be many problems for me if I did so."
The old man looked a bit uneasy, although they played this little game every
year.
"However," Hawks added, "I would be honored if you would share some of my meager
ration of medicinal herb." He took out a large gourd container and handed it
over.
The old man took it, pried out the crude cork, and took a big swallow. A look of
complete rapture filled his face. "Smooth!" he rasped. "You are a sly one, boy!"
He made to hand it back but was stopped by a gesture.
"No, it is yours. A gift, to ward off the chill."
The old man smiled and nodded thankfully. "We have some hidden stills that make
some passable corn, but I am getting too old for it, I fear. One must have the
layers of youth inside, for each drink of that removes one layer. I fear 1 have
become layers of gut in debt to the Creator."