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

"I'd like to make her a present of it."
"It was Wambu," I said.
"I should have realized the effect my clothing would have. I am truly sorry, Koriba."
"Anyone may make a mistake," I said. "As long as it is corrected, no lasting harm will be done."
"I hope you're right," she said sincerely.
"He is the mundumugu," said Ndemi. "He is always right."
"I don't want the women to be resentful of me," continued Mwange. "Perhaps I could find some way to show my good intentions." She paused. "What if I were to offer to teach them to speak Kikuyu?"
"No manamouki may be a teacher," I explained. "Only the chiefs and the mundumugu may instruct our people."
"That's not very efficient," she said. "It may very well be that someone besides yourself and the chiefs has something to offer."
"It is possible," I agreed. "Now let me ask you a question."
"What is it?"
"Did you come to Kirinyaga to be efficient?"
She sighed. "No," she admitted. She paused for a moment. "Is there anything else?"
"No."
"Then I think I'd better go back and begin weaving my new fabric."
I nodded my approval, and she walked back down the long, winding path to the village.
"When I become mundumugu," said Ndemi, watching her retreating figure, "I will not allow any manamoukis to argue with me."
"A mundumugu must also show understanding," I said. "Mwange is new here, and has much to learn."
"About Kirinyaga?"
I shook my head. "About manamoukis."
* * * *
Life proceeded smoothly and uneventfully for almost six weeks, until just after the short rains. Then one morning, just as I was preparing to go down into the village to bless the scarecrows, three of the women came up the path to my boma.
There was Sabo, the widow of old Kadamu, and Bori, the second wife of Sabana, and Wambu.
"We must speak with you, mundumugu," said Wambu.
I sat down, cross-legged, in front of my hut, and waited for them to seat themselves opposite me.
"You may speak," I said.
"It is about the Kenyan woman," said Wambu.
"Oh?" I said. "I thought the problem was solved."
"It is not."
"Did she not present you with her khanga as a gift?" I asked.
"Yes."
"You are not wearing it," I noted.
"It does not fit," said Wambu.
"It is only a piece of cloth," I said. "How can it not fit?"
"It does not fit," she repeated adamantly.
I shrugged. "What is this new problem?"
"She flaunts the traditions of the Kikuyu," said Wambu.
I turned to the other women. "Is this true?" I asked.
Sabo nodded. "She is a married woman, and she has not shaved her head."
"And she keeps flowers in her hut," added Bori.
"It is not the custom for Kenyan women to shave their heads," I replied. "I will instruct her to do so. As for the flowers, they are not in violation of our laws."
"But why does she keep them?" persisted Bori.
"Perhaps she thinks they are pleasing to the eye," I suggested.
"But now my daughter wants to grow flowers, and she answers with disrespect when I tell it her is more important to grow food to eat."
"And now the Kenyan woman has made a throne for her husband, Nkobe," put in Sabo.
"A throne?" I repeated.
"She put a back and arms on his sitting stool," said Sabo. "What man besides a chief sits upon a throne? Does she think Nkobe will replace Koinnage?"
"Never!" snarled Wambu.
"And she has made another throne for herself," continued Sabo. "Even Wambu does not sit atop a throne."
"These are not thrones, but chairs," I said.