"Mike Resnick - Kirinyaga" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

on a friend," I added seriously.
"Are we not friends, Koriba?" he said, his ebon face turning an ash
gray.
"I thought we were," I said. "But my friends honor our traditions.
They do not apologize for them to the white man."
"I will not apologize!" he promised fervently. He spat on both his
hands as a gesture of his sincerity.
I opened one of the pouches I kept around my waist and withdrew a small
polished stone from the shore of our nearby river. "Wear this around your
neck," I said, handing it to him, "and it shall protect you from the bites of
insects."
"Thank you, Koriba!" he said with sincere gratitude, and another crisis
had been averted.
We spoke about the affairs of the village for a few more minutes, and
finally he left me. I sent for Wambu, the infant's mother, and led her
through the ritual of purification, so that she might conceive again. I also
gave her an ointment to relieve the pain in her breasts, since they were heavy
with milk. Then I sat down by the fire before my boma and made myself
available to my people, settling disputes over the ownership of chickens and
goats, and supplying charms against demons, and instructing my people in the
ancient ways.
By the time of the evening meal, no one had a thought for the dead
baby. I ate alone in my boma, as befitted my status, for the mundumugu always
lives and eats apart from his people. When I had finished I wrapped a blanket
around my body to protect me from the cold and walked down the dirt path to
where all the other bomas were clustered. The cattle and goats and chickens
were penned up for the night, and my people, who had slaughtered and eaten a
cow, were now singing and dancing and drinking great quantities of pombe. As
they made way for me, I walked over to the caldron and took a drink of pombe,
and then, at Kanjara's request, I slit open a goat and read its entrails and
saw that his youngest wife would soon conceive, which was cause for more
celebration. Finally the children urged me to tell them a story.
"But not a story of Earth," complained one of the taller boys. "We
hear those all the time. This must be a story about Kirinyaga."
"All right," I said. "If you will all gather around, I will tell you a
story of Kirinyaga." The youngsters all moved closer. "This," I said, "is the
story of the Lion and the Hare." I paused until I was sure that I had
everyone's attention, especially that of the adults. "A hare was chosen by
his people to be sacrificed to a lion, so that the lion would not bring
disaster to their village. The hare might have run away, but he knew that
sooner or later the lion would catch him, so instead he sought out the lion
and walked right up to him, and as the lion opened his mouth to swallow him,
the hare said, 'I apologize, Great Lion.'
"'For what?' asked the lion curiously.
"'Because I am such a small meal,' answered the hare, 'For that reason,
I brought honey for you as well.'
"'I see no honey,' said the lion.
"'That is why I apologized,' answered the hare. 'Another lion stole it
from me. He is a ferocious creature, and says that he is not afraid of you.'
"The lion rose to his feet. 'Where is this other lion?' he roared.