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

commit to merit such a dreadful thahu? Why could it not have struck me down and
let him live?"
I remained with him a few more minutes, assured him that I would ask Ngai to
welcome Ngala's spirit, and then I began walking to the colony of young men, which
was about three kilometers beyond the village. It backed up to a dense forest, and
was bordered to the south by the same river that wound through the village and
broadened as it passed my hill.
It was a small colony, composed of no more than twenty young men. As each
had undergone the circumcision ritual and passed into manhood, he had moved out
from his father's boma and taken up residence here with the other bachelors of the
village. It was a transitional dwelling place, for eventually each member would marry
and take over part of his family's shamba, to be replaced by the next group of
young men.
Most of the residents had gone to the village when they heard the death chants,
but a few of them had remained behind to burn Ngala's hut and destroy the evil
spirits within it. They greeted me gravely, as befitted the occasion, and asked me to
utter the chant that would purify the ground so that they would not forever be
required to avoid stepping on it.
When I was done, I placed a charm at the very center of the ashes, and then the
young men began drifting away — all but Murumbi, who had been Ngala's closest
friend.
"What can you tell me about this, Murumbi?" I asked when we were finally
alone.
"He was a good friend," he replied. "We spent many long days together. I will
miss him."
"Do you know why he killed himself?"
"He did not kill himself," answered Murumbi. "He was killed by hyenas."
"To walk naked and unarmed among the hyenas is to kill oneself," I said.
Murumbi continued staring at the ashes. "It was a stupid way to die," he said
bitterly. "It solved nothing."
 "What problem do you think he was trying to solve?" I asked.
"He was very unhappy," said Murumbi.
"Were Keino and Njupo also unhappy?"
He looked surprised. "You know?"
"Am I not the mundumugu?" I replied.
"But you said nothing when they died."
"What do you think I should have said?" I asked.
Murumbi shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know." He paused. "No, there was
nothing you could have said."
"What about you, Murumbi?" I said.
"Me, Koriba?"
"Are you unhappy?"
"As you said, you are the mundumugu. Why ask questions to which you
already know the answers?"
"I would like to hear the answer from your own lips," I replied.
"Yes, I am unhappy."
"And the other young men?" I continued. "Are they unhappy too?"
"Most of them are very happy," said Murumbi, and I noticed just the slightest
edge of contempt in his tone. "Why should they not be? They are men now. They
spend their days in idle talk, and painting their faces and their bodies, and at nights