"Mike Resnick - Lotus and the Spear, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

"I am not sure yet," I replied. "Keino was very much in love with Mwala, and he was very unhappy when old Siboki was able to pay the bride price for her before he himself could. If it were just Keino, I would say that he ended his life because he could not have her. But now two more have died, and I must find the reason for it."
"They all live in the village of young men by the edge of the forest," said Ndemi. "Perhaps it is cursed."
I shook my head. "They have not all killed themselves."
"You know," said Ndemi, "when Nboka drowned in the river two rains ago, we all thought it was an accident. But he, too, lived in the village of young men. Perhaps he killed himself as well."
I had not thought of Nboka in a long time. I thought of him now, and realized that he could very well have committed suicide. Certainly it made sense, for Nboka was known to be a very strong swimmer.
"I think perhaps you are right," I replied reluctantly.
Ndemi's chest puffed up with pride, for I do not often compliment him.
"What kind of magic will you make, Koriba?" he asked. "If it requires the feathers of the crested crane or the maribou stork, I could get them for you. I have been practicing with my spear."
"I do not know what magic I shall make yet, Ndemi," I told him. "But whatever it is, it will require thought and not spears."
"That is too bad," he said, shielding his eyes from the dust that a sudden warm breeze brought to us. "I thought I had finally found a use for it."
"For what?"
"For my spear," he said. "I no longer herd cattle on my father's shamba, now that I am helping you, so I no longer need it." He shrugged. "I think I shall leave it at home from now on."
"No, you must always take it with you," I said. "It is customary for all Kikuyu men carry spears."
He looked inordinately proud of himself, for I had called him a man, when in truth he was just a kehee, an uncircumcised boy. But then he frowned again.
"Why do we carry spears, Koriba?" he asked.
"To protect us from our enemies."
"But the Maasai and Wakamba and other tribes, and even the Europeans, remain in Kenya," he said. "What enemies have we here?"
"The hyena and the jackal and the crocodile," I answered, and added silently: And one other enemy, which must be identified before we lose any more of our young men, for without them there is no future, and ultimately no Kirinyaga.
"It has been a long time since anyone needed a spear against a hyena," continued Ndemi. "They have learned to fear us and avoid us." He pointed to the domestic animals that were grazing in the nearby fields. "They do not even bother the goats and the cattle any more."
"Did they not bother Ngala?" I asked.
"He wanted to be eaten by hyenas," said Ndemi. "That is different."
"Nonetheless, you must carry your spear at all times," I said. "It is part of what makes you a Kikuyu."
"I have an idea!" he said, suddenly picking up his spear and studying it. "If I must carry a spear, perhaps I should have one with a metal tip, so that it will never warp or break."
I shook my head. "Then you would be a Zulu, who live far to the south of Kenya, for it is the Zulus who carry metal-tipped spears, which they call assagais."
Ndemi looked crestfallen. "I thought it was my own idea," he said.
"Do not be disappointed," I said. "An idea can be new to you and old to someone else."
"Really?"
I nodded. "Take these young men who have killed themselves. The idea of suicide is new to them, but they are not the first to think of it. We have all thought of killing ourselves at one time or another. What I must learn is not why they have finally thought of it, but why they have not rejected the thought, why it has become attractive to them."
"And then you will use your magic to make it unattractive?" asked Ndemi.
"Yes."
"Will you boil poisonous serpents in a pot with the blood a freshly-killed Zebra?" he asked eagerly.
"You are a very bloodthirsty boy," I said.
"A thahu that can kill four young men requires powerful magic," he replied.
"Sometimes just a word or a sentence is all the magic one needs."
"But if you need more..."
I sighed deeply. "If I need more, I will tell you what animals to slay for me."
He leaped to his feet, picked up his slender wooden spear, and made stabbing motions in the air. "I will become the most famous hunter ever!" he shouted happily. "My children and grandchildren will sing songs of praise to me, and the animals of the field will tremble at my approach!"
"But before that happy day arrives," I said, "there is still the water to be fetched and the firewood to be gathered."
"Yes, Koriba," he said. He picked up my water gourds and began walking down the hill, and I could tell that in his imagination he was still confronting charging buffaloes and hurling his spear straight and true to the mark.
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I gave Ndemi his morning lesson - the prayer for the dead seemed a proper topic - and then went down to the village to comfort Ngala's parents. His mother, Liswa, was inconsolable. He had been her first-born, and it was all but impossible to get her to stop wailing the death chant long enough for me to express my sorrow.
Kibanja, Ngala's father, stood off by himself, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Why would he do such a thing, Koriba?" he asked as I approached him.
"I do not know," I answered.
"He was the boldest of boys," he continued. "Even you did not frighten him." He stopped suddenly for fear that he had given offense.
"He was very bold," I agreed. "And bright."
"That is true," agreed Kibanja. "Even when the other boys would lie up beneath the shade trees during the heat of the day, my Ngala was always finding new games to play, new things to do." He looked at me through tortured eyes. "And now my only son is dead, and I do not know why."
"I will find out," I told him.
"It is wrong, Koriba," he continued. "It is against the nature of things. I was meant to die first, and then all that I own - my shamba, my cattle, my goats - everything would have been his." He tried to hold back his tears, for although the Kikuyu are not as arrogant as the Maasai, our men do not like to display such emotions in public. But the tears came anyway, making moist paths down his dusty cheeks before falling onto the dirt. "He did not even live long enough to take a wife and present her with a son. All that he was has died with him. What sin did he commit to merit such a dreadful thahu? Why could it not have struck me down and let him live?"