"Robert Reed - To Church With Mr. Multhiford" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

some kind of answer.

The farmer was standing safely off to one side, shaking his head. "Look at the
world from the corn's eyes. It finds an ape to enslave. We serve it by plowing
the ground and caring for it. We bring water, manure, and propagate its children
for it. And the corn rewards us with food and wealth." He paused, taking a big
breath. "Farming makes cities possible. Cities make armies possible. And the
armies marched off to conquer new lands to plow and plant." Another pause, then
he added, "For a tropical grass with no certain parent -- a bastard, that's what
corn is -- it sure has done awfully well for itself. Don't you think?"

If someone had asked what I'd be doing tonight, I wouldn't have pictured myself
flinging concrete and suffering through a loopy history lesson.

"The old empires thrived so long as they cared for their crops. You must know
that from school, John. Greece. Rome. The Soviet Union. All failed as farmers;
all succumbed. That's how our crops punish us when we can't keep them happy."

I paused in my work, telling myself that the pile was getting smaller.

"You don't believe me," said Multhiford. Then he gave a big laugh, asking, "Do I
take care of my corn, or does the corn take care of Old Man Multhiford?"

I looked at the shiny new pickup, then out at the perfect rows of lush green
grass. Suspecting a trick, I said, "I don't know."

"The ancients worshipped their crops," he offered. "Are we smarter, or are we
less aware? Maybe what's happened, John, is that we're so thoroughly enslaved
that we can't even see the obvious anymore."

With a half-block of concrete in my hands, I gave a silly shout. "I'm nobody's
slave!"

"You don't eat?" He laughed again. "Well, maybe not. I can't claim to have seen
you at your supper table."

I threw the half-block on the pile, watching it roll and catch.

"Do you think much about the future, John?"

I wished he'd quit saying my name. I said, "Sometimes," and wished I hadn't. I
started flinging concrete like someone possessed, grunting and groaning, making
my arms and shoulders start to burn.

But Multhiford spoke with a big voice, no way to ignore him. "In the future," he
said, "think what we'll do for our corn. Today, this minute, scientists are
learning how to change its genetics, giving it extra ears and nitrogen nodules,
then fancy leaves to suck up every drop of sunlight. We'll make it grow faster.
It'll be tougher. We'll give it new jobs. Making medicines. Human hormones.
Fancy clean fuels." He paused, then let out a big sigh. "You're a bright young