"RESNICK, Mike - The Land of Nod" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

answered. "You broke up a very enjoyable bridge game. My guess is
that she's in the tub or in bed, cursing your name."
I was about to mention that cursing my name to the god of the
Europeans would not prove effective, but I decided that my son
would not like to hear that at this moment, so I was silent. As I
looked at my surroundings, I reflected that not only had all of
Edward's belongings come from the Europeans, but that even his
house had been taken from them, for it consisted of many
rectangular rooms, and all Kikuyu knew -- or should have known --
that demons dwell in corners and the only proper shape for a home
is round.
Edward walked briskly to his desk, activated his computer and
read his messages, and then turned to me.
"There is another message from the government," he announced.
"They want to see you next Tuesday at noon."
"I have already told them I will not accept their money," I
said. "I have performed no service for them."
He put on his Lecture Face. "We are no longer a poor
country," he said. "We pride ourselves that none of our infirm or
elderly goes hungry."
"I will not go hungry, if the restaurants will stop trying to
feed me unclean animals."
"The government is just making sure that you do not become a
financial burden to me," said Edward, refusing to let me change
the subject.
"You are my son," I said. "I raised you and fed you and
protected you when you were young. Now I am old and you will do
the same for me. That is our tradition."
"Well, it is our government's tradition to provide a
financial safety net to families who are supporting elderly
members," he said, and I could tell that the last trace of Kikuyu
within him had vanished, that he was entirely a Kenyan.
"You are a wealthy man," I pointed out. "You do not need
their money."
"I pay my taxes," he said, lighting another smokeless
cigarette to hide his defensiveness. "It would be foolish not to
accept the benefits that accrue to us. You may live a very long
time. We have every right to that money."
"It is dishonorable to accept what you do not need," I
replied. "Tell them to leave us alone."
He leaned back, half sitting on his desk. "They wouldn't,
even if I asked them to."
"They must be Wakamba or Maasai," I said, making no effort to
hide my contempt.
"They are Kenyans," he answered. "Just as you and I are."
"Yes," I said, suddenly feeling the weight of my years. "Yes,
I must work very hard at remembering that."
"You will save me more trips to the police station if you
can," said my son.
I nodded and went off to my room. He had supplied me with a