"Resnick, Mike - Kirinyaga 2 - Kirinyaga" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

"This stick," I said, "is the Kikuyu people, and my finger is Kirinyaga. They are in perfect balance." I stared at the neighboring chief. "But what will happen if I alter the balance, and put my finger here?" I asked, gesturing to the end of the stick.
"The stick will fall to the ground."
"And here?" I asked, pointing to a stop an inch away from the center.
"It will fall."
"Thus is it with us," I explained. "Whether we yield on one point or all points, the result will be the same: the Kikuyu will fall as surely as the stick will fall. Have we learned nothing from our past? We must adhere to our traditions; they are all that we have!"
"But Maintenance will not allow us to do so!" protested Koinnage.
"They are not warriors, but civilized men," I said, allowing a touch of contempt to creep into my voice. "Their chiefs and their mundumugus will not send them to Kirinyaga with guns and spears. They will issue warnings and findings and declarations, and finally, when that fails, they will go to the Eutopian Court and plead their case, and the trial will be postponed many times and reheard many more times." I could see them finally relaxing, and I smiled confidently at them. "Each of you will have died from the burden of your years before Maintenance does anything other than talk. I am your mundumugu; I have lived among civilized men, and I tell you that this is the truth."
The neighboring chief stood up and faced me. "I will send for you when the twins are born," he pledged.
"I will come," I promised him.
We spoke further, and then the meeting ended and the old men began wandering off to their bomas, while I looked to the future, which I could see more clearly than Koinnage or the elders.
I walked through the village until I found the bold young Ndemi, brandishing his spear and hurling it at a buffalo he had constructed out of dried grasses.
"Jambo, Koriba!" he greeted me.
"Jambo, my brave young warrior," I replied.
"I have been practicing, as you ordered."
"I thought you wanted to hunt the gazelle," I noted.
"Gazelles are for children," he answered. "I will slay mbogo, the buffalo."
"Mbogo may feel differently about it," I said.
"So much the better," he said confidently. "I have no wish to kill an animal as it runs away from me."
"And when will you go out to slay the fierce mbogo?"
He shrugged. "When I am more accurate." He smiled up at me. "Perhaps tomorrow."
I stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then spoke: "Tomorrow is a long time away. We have business tonight."
"What business?" he asked.
"You must find ten friends, none of them yet of circumcision age, and tell them to come to the pond within the forest to the south. They must come after the sun has set, and you must tell them that Koriba the mundumugu commands that they tell no one, not even their parents, that they are coming." I paused. "Do you understand, Ndemi?"
"I understand."
"Then go," I said. "Bring my message to them."
He retrieved his spear from the straw buffalo and set off at a trot, young and tall and strong and fearless.
You are the future, I thought, as I watched him run toward the village. Not Koinnage, not myself, not even the young bridegroom Njogu, for their time will have come and gone before the battle is joined. It is you, Ndemi, upon whom Kirinyaga must depend if it is to survive.
Once before the Kikuyu have had to fight for their freedom. Under the leadership of Jomo Kenyatta, whose name has been forgotten by most of your parents, we took the terrible oath of Mau Mau, and we maimed and we killed and we committed such atrocities that finally we achieved Uhuru, for against such butchery civilized men have no defense but to depart.
And tonight, young Ndemi, while your parents are asleep, you and your companions will meet me deep in the woods, and you in your turn and they in theirs will learn one last tradition of the Kikuyu, for I will invoke not only the strength of Ngai but also the indomitable spirit of Jomo Kenyatta. I will administer a hideous oath and force you to do unspeakable things to prove your fealty, and I will teach each of you, in turn, how to administer the oath to those who come after you.
There is a season for all things: for birth, for growth, for death. There is unquestionably a season for Utopia, but it will have to wait.
For the season of Uhuru is upon us.

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