"Resnick, Mike - A Little Knowledge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

"That is not correct," said a familiar voice from behind me, and I turned to see Ndemi standing there. "All it means is that the boy was too foolish to cover the posts with the wire."
The children looked at him, and began nodding their heads in agreement.
"No!" I said firmly. "It means that we must reject all things European, including their ideas, for they were not meant for the Kikuyu."
"But why, Koriba?" asked Mdutu. "What is wrong with what Ndemi says?"
"Ndemi tells you only the facts of things," I said. "But because he, too, is an arrogant boy, he fails to see the truth."
"What truth does he fail to see?" persisted Mdutu.
"That if the wire enclosure were to work, then the next day the arrogant boy would borrow another idea from the Europeans, and yet another, until he had no Kikuyu ideas left, and he had turned his shamba into a European farm."
"Europe is an exporter of food," said Ndemi. "Kenya is an importer."
"What does that mean?" asked Thimi.
"It means that Ndemi has a little knowledge, and does not yet know that that is a dangerous thing," I answered.
"It means," responded Ndemi, "that European farms produce more than enough to feed their tribes, and Kenyan farms do not produce enough. And if that is the case, it means that some European ideas may be good for the Kikuyu."
"Perhaps you should wear shoes like the Europeans," I said angrily, "since you have decided to become one."
He shook his head. "I am a Kikuyu, not a European. But I do not wish to be an ignorant Kikuyu. How can we remain true to what we were, when your fables hide what we were from us?"
"No," I said. "They reveal it."
"I am sorry, Koriba," said Ndemi, "for you are a great mundumugu and I respect you above all men, but in this matter you are wrong." He paused and stared at me. "Why did you never tell us that the only time in our history the Kikuyu were united under the leadership of a single king, the king was a white man named John Boyes?"
The children gasped in amazement.
"If we do not know how it happened," continued Ndemi, "how can we prevent it from happening again? You tell us stories of our wars the Maasai, and they are wonderful tales of courage and victory -- but according to the computer, we lost every war we ever fought against them. Shouldn't we know that, so if the Maasai ever come to Kirinyaga, we are not deluded into fighting them because of the fables we have heard?"
"Koriba, is that true?" asked Mdutu. "Was our only king a European?"
"Did we never defeat the Maasai?" asked another of the children.
"Leave us for a moment," I said, "and then I will answer you."
The children reluctantly got up and walked away until they were out of earshot, then stood and stared at Ndemi and myself.
"Why have you done this?" I said to Ndemi. "You will destroy their pride in being Kikuyu!"
"I am not less proud for knowing the truth," said Ndemi. "Why should they be?"
"The stories I tell them are designed to make them distrust European ways, and to make them happy they are Kikuyu," I explained, trying to control my temper. "You will undermine the confidence they must have if Kirinyaga is to remain our Utopia."
"Most of us have never even seen a European," answered Ndemi. "When I was younger, I used to dream about them, and in my dreams they had claws like a lion and shook the earth like an elephant when they walked. How does that prepare us for the day that we actually meet with them?"
"You will never meet them on Kirinyaga," I said. "And the purpose of my stories is to keep us on Kirinyaga." I paused. "Once before we had never seen Europeans, and we were so taken by their machines and their medicines and their religions that we tried to become Europeans ourselves, and succeeded only in becoming something other than Kikuyu. That must never happen again."
"But isn't it less likely to happen if you tell the children the truth?" persisted Ndemi.
"I do tell them the truth!" I said. "It is you who are confusing them with facts -- facts that you got from European historians and a European computer."
"Are the facts wrong?"
"That is not the issue, Ndemi," I said. "These are children. They must learn as children do -- as you yourself did."
"And after their circumcision rituals, when they become adults, will you tell them the facts then?"
That sentence was as close to rebellion as he had ever come -- indeed, as anyone on Kirinyaga had ever come. Never had I been more fond of a young man than I was of Ndemi -- not even of my own son, who had chosen to remain in Kenya. Ndemi was bright, he was bold, and it was hardly unusual for one of his age to question authority. Therefore, I decided to make another attempt to reason to him, rather than risk a permanent rift in our relationship.
"You are still the brightest young man on Kirinyaga," I said truthfully, "so I will pose you a question, and I will expect an honest answer. You seek after history, and I seek after truth. Which do you suppose is the more important?"
He frowned. "They are the same," he answered. "History is truth."
"No," I replied. "History is a compilation of facts and events, which is subject to constant reinterpretation. It begins with truth, and evolves into fable. My stories begin with fable and evolve into truth."
"If you are right," he said thoughtfully, "then your stories are more important than history."
"Very well, then," I said, hoping that the matter was closed.
"But," he added, "I am not sure that you are right. I will have to think more about it."
"Do that," I said. "You are an intelligent boy. You will come to the right conclusion."
Ndemi turned and began walking off in the direction of his family's shamba. The children rushed back as soon as he was out of sight, and once more squatted in a tight semi-circle.
"Have you an answer to my question, Koriba?" asked Mdutu.
"I cannot recall your question," I said.
"Was our only king a white man?"
"Yes."
"How could that be?"
I considered my response for a long moment.
"I will answer that by telling you the story of the little Kikuyu girl who became, very briefly, the queen of all the elephants," I said.
"What has that to do with the white man who became our king?" persisted Mdutu.
"Listen carefully," I instructed him, "for when I am done, I shall ask you many questions about my story, and before we are through, you will have the answer to your own question."
He leaned forward attentively, and I began reciting my fable.