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

"_Jambo, mzee,_" I replied, for he was almost as old as I
myself was. "I have come to see with my own eyes if you were
telling the truth."
He nodded and turned, and I followed him between the tall,
angular buildings that hovered over us, casting eerie shadows
along the narrow walkways and channeling all the noises of the
city in our direction. Our path was lined with Whistling Thorn
and Yellow Fever trees, cloned from the few remaining specimens,
rather than the usual introduced European shrubbery. Here and
there were ornamental displays of grasses from the vanished
savannahs.
"It is strange to see so much true African vegetation here in
Kenya," I remarked. "Since I have returned from Kirinyaga, my eyes
have hungered for it."
"You have seen a whole world of it," he replied with
unconcealed envy.
"There is more to a world than greenery," I said. "When all
is said and done, there is little difference between Kirinyaga and
Kenya. Both have turned their backs on Ngai."
Kamau came to a halt, and gestured around him at the looming
metal and glass and concrete buildings that totally covered the
cool swamps from which Nairobi took its name. "I do not know how
you can prefer _this_ to Kirinyaga."
"I did not say I preferred it," I replied, suddenly aware
that the ever-present noises of the city had been overshadowed by
the droning hum of machines.
"Then you _do_ miss Kirinyaga."
"I miss what Kirinyaga might have been. As for these," I
said, indicating the immense structures, "they are just
buildings."
"They are European buildings," he said bitterly. "They were
built by men who are no longer Kikuyu or Luo or Embu, but merely
Kenyans. They are filled with corners." He paused, and I thought,
approvingly, _How much you sound like me! No wonder you sought me
out when I returned to Kenya._ "Nairobi is home to eleven million
people," he continued. "It stinks of sewage. The air is so
polluted there are days when you can actually see it. The people
wear European clothes and worship the Europeans' god. How could
you turn your back on Utopia for this?"
I held up my hands. "I have only ten fingers."
He frowned. "I do not understand."
"Do you remember the story of the little Dutch boy who put
his finger in the dike?"
Kamau shook his head and spat contemptuously on the ground.
"I do not listen to European stories."
"Perhaps you are wise not to," I acknowledged. "At any rate,
the dike of tradition with which I had surrounded Kirinyaga began
to spring leaks. They were few and easily plugged at first, but as
the society kept evolving and growing they became many, and soon I
did not have enough fingers to plug them all." I shrugged. "So I