"Resnick, Mike - Kirinyaga 5 - The Manamouki" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

"Jambo, Koriba," she replied.
"You wish to speak to me?"
She nodded. "It is about the Kenyan woman."
"Oh?"
"Yes," said Wambu. "You must make her leave!"
"What has Mwange done?" I asked.
"I am the senior wife of the paramount chief, am I not?" demanded Wambu.
"That is true."
"She does not treat me with the respect that is my due."
"In what way?" I asked.
"In all ways!"
"For example?"
"Her khanga is much more beautiful than mine. The colors are brighter, the designs more intricate, the fabric softer."
"She wove her khanga on her own loom, in the old way," I said.
"What difference does that make?" snapped Wambu.
I frowned. "Do you wish me to make her give you the khanga?" I asked, trying to understand her rage.
"No!"
"Then I do not understand," I said.
"You are no different than Koinnage!" she said, obviously frustrated that I could not comprehend her complaint. "You may be a mundumugu, but you are still a man!"
"Perhaps if you told me more," I suggested.
"Kibo was as silly as a child," she said, referring to Koinnage's youngest wife, "but I was training her to be a good wife. Now she wants to be like the Kenyan woman."
"But the Kenyan woman," I said, using her terminology, "wants to be like you."
"She cannot be like me!" Wambu practically shouted at me. "I am Koinnage's senior wife!"
"I mean that she wants to be a member of the village."
"Impossible!" scoffed Wambu. "She speaks of many strange things."
"Such as?"
"It does not matter! You must make her leave!"
"For wearing a pretty khanga and making a good impression on Kibo?" I said.
"Bah!" she snapped. "You are just like Koinnage! You pretend not to understand, but you know she must go!"
"I truly do not understand," I said.
"You are my mundumugu, not hers. I will pay you two fat goats to place a thahu on her."
"I will not place a curse on Mwange for the reasons you gave me," I said firmly.
She glared at me for a long moment, then spat on the ground, turned on her heel and walked back down the winding path to the village, muttering furiously to herself, practically knocking Ndemi down as he returned with my water gourds.
I spent the next two hours instructing Ndemi in the harvest prayer, then told him to go into the village and bring Mwange back. An hour later Mwange, resplendant in her khanga, climbed up my hill, accompanied by Ndemi, and entered my boma.
"Jambo," I greeted her.
"Jambo, Koriba," she replied. "Ndemi says me that you wish to speak to me."
I nodded. "That is true."
"The other women seemed to think I should be frightened."
"I cannot imagine why," I said.
"Perhaps it is because you can call down the lightning, and change hyenas into insects and kill your enemies from miles away," suggested Ndemi helpfully.
"Perhaps," I said.
"Why have you sent for me?" asked Mwange.
I paused for a moment, trying to think of how best to approach the subject. "There is a problem with your clothing," I said at last.
"But I am wearing a khanga that I wove on my own loom," she said, obviously puzzled.
"I know," I responded. "But the quality of the fabric and the subtlety of the colors, have caused a certain..." I searched for the proper word.
"Resentment?" she suggested.
"Precisely," I answered, grateful that she so quickly comprehended the situation. "I think it would be best if you were to weave some less colorful garments."
I half-expected her to protest, but she surprised me by agreeing immediately.
"Certainly," she said. "I have no wish to offend my neighbors. May I ask who objected to my khanga?"
"Why?"