"Resnick, Mike - Bibi" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

"Yes."
"Where is she now?"
"Hiding," answered Maroka. "She is shy of strangers. She will be back after you have left."
Elizabeth glanced out the door, wondering where Bibi might be. Then her eyes fell on the truck, and she remembered the purpose of her visit.
"There is a problem, Maroka," she said. "This morning we have found that certain things are missing from the truck. We must have them back, or the truck will not run."
"A monkey took them, Elizabeth," suggested Maroka. "Or perhaps a baboon."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because you have many other villages to visit, and nobody in _this_ village would want to keep you from your work. We know it is important."
Elizabeth frowned. In a culture where no one ever spoke harshly or said anything unpleasant, Maroka's answer was the closest she would come to: "Because we don't want you here, and would never do anything to keep you from leaving."
"We still have food and medicine to give you," said Elizabeth.
"We have food, so it is best that your food go to a less fortunate village," replied Maroka. "And we have no need of your medicine. Bibi's magic is much stronger."
"I _really_ want to meet her," said Elizabeth, "and learn about her magic."
"I think she is afraid of you."
"Please help me," said Elizabeth earnestly. "She is an old woman who will probably never travel ten miles from here. Whatever magic she performs is needed all across Uganda."
Maroka paused and considered what she had heard. "That is true," she said at last. "I will tell her what you said, Elizabeth."
"Thank you."
"But I do not think she will come."
"Please ask her anyway," said Elizabeth. She inspected the younger woman one more time and then left the hut. She rejoined Jeremy, who was still rummaging under the hood of the truck, searching for further damage.
"Well?" he asked. "Does she know where our spark plugs and radio are?"
"I can't be sure, but I don't think so," said Elizabeth.
"It took you fifteen minutes to come to that conclusion?" he asked sardonically.
"It took fifteen seconds," she said. "The rest of the time we talked about medicine. Or magic."
"I don't follow you."
"That young woman -- the one I thought would be dead by today -- is one hundred percent better."
"What did you give her?" asked Jeremy.
"Nothing I haven't given hundreds of other patients," said Elizabeth, frowning. "I'm thrilled that she's recovering -- but everything I know about medicine says she shouldn't be."
"And they think it's magic?" asked Jeremy. "Even though they saw you administer the medications?"
"Evidently Bibi came by last night and laid a spell on her," said Elizabeth.
"A spell?"
Elizabeth shrugged. "A leaf. A plant. Some kind of flower. I don't know what. But Maroka's convinced that she's the one who saved the young woman." Elizabeth frowned. "Hell, for all I know, Maroka's right. That's why I want to find her, even more than I want to find our spark plugs. If this woman has stumbled on some kind of miracle cure, I want to know about it."
"Maybe they're right," said Jeremy. "Maybe it _is_ magic."
"Nonsense!" she snapped. "There's no such thing!"
"Oh, I don't know," said Jeremy. "To create penicillin out of bread mold seems like magic to me. Or to take a piece of silicon and make it think faster and more accurately than a man, that's magic too. You're too concerned with process, Elizabeth, when it's the result that counts. If the old lady's mother can cure people by magic or any other means, I'd bring her a batch of sick people instead of trying to steal her secrets."
"I don't like what you're accusing me of, Jeremy," said Elizabeth sharply. "All I want to know is what she's doing to make them well -- if indeed she's doing anything at all -- and then I want to find out how to synthesize it, bottle it and distribute it."
"Maybe it can't be done."
"You give me the facts, and I'll do it."
"To quote Don Quixote, facts are the enemies of truth."
"That's romantic drivel," said Elizabeth. "Facts are all there is."
"Not around here," he replied.
"Oh?"
He smiled. "Ask the villagers: There's magic, too."
"Are you _trying_ to be argumentative?" she demanded.
"Some unseen old lady may be going around curing people of AIDS," answered Jeremy. "All _you're_ concerned with is how she does it, and all _I'm_ concerned with is getting her to do it again. Now, if _that's_ argumentative..."
"No," replied Elizabeth thoughtfully. "No, I suppose it isn't, really. You've got a vested interest in being cured; I've got one in finding out _how_ to cure people. Our approaches are bound to differ."
"I grew up on Peter Pan and Mother Goose and Mowgli and Oz, and you grew up with facts and figures and slaughtered villages," replied Jeremy. "Of course our approaches are different."
"You simply will not understand!" she said irritably.
"No," he admitted. "But show me a cure and I might _believe._"
She angrily turned away from him and strode off into the village, where a clap of her hands summoned all the children from their huts. Those few who were wearing clothes twisted them as they stood in a ragged, uneasy line, expecting the worst from the two strangers, one white and one black.
"All right, believer," said Elizabeth to Jeremy. "_You_ can tell them what we lost." It would be a stretch in kitchen Swahili, but walking back to the relief camp was a far less attractive alternative.
A few adults gathered around to chuckle in amusement at. Jeremy's awkward descriptions of the things that were missing. The children's eyes simply widened and they looked from one to another.