The Land of Nod by Mike Resnick Copyright (c) 1996 Once, many years ago, there was a Kikuyu warrior who left his village and wandered off in search of adventure. Armed only with a spear, he slew the mighty lion and the cunning leopard. Then one day he came upon an elephant. He realized that his spear was useless against such a beast, but before he could back away or find cover, the elephant charged. His only hope was divine intervention, and he begged Ngai, who rules the universe from His throne atop Kirinyaga, the holy mountain that men now call Mount Kenya, to find him and pluck him from the path of the elephant. But Ngai did not respond, and the elephant picked the warrior up with its trunk and hurled him high into the air, and he landed in a distant thorn tree. His skin was badly torn by the thorns, but at least he was safe, since he was on a branch some twenty feet above the ground. After he was sure the elephant had left the area, the warrior climbed down. Then he returned home and ascended the holy mountain to confront Ngai. "What is it that you want of me?" asked Ngai, when the warrior had reached the summit. "I want to know why you did not come," said the warrior angrily. "All my life I have worshiped you and paid tribute to you. Did you not hear me ask for your help?" "I heard you," answered Ngai. "Then why did you not come to my aid?" demanded the warrior. "Are you so lacking in godly powers that you could not find me?" "After all these years you still do not understand," said Ngai sternly. "It is _you_ who must search for _me_." * * * My son Edward picked me up at the police station on Biashara Street just after midnight. The sleek British vehicle hovered a few inches above the ground while I got in, and then his chauffeur began taking us back to his house in the Ngong Hills. "This is becoming tedious," he said, activating the shimmering privacy barrier so that we could not be overheard. He tried to present a judicial calm, but I knew he was furious. "You would think they would tire of it," I agreed. "We must have a serious talk," he said. "You have been back only two months, and this is the fourth time I have had to bail you out of jail." "I have broken no Kikuyu laws," I said calmly, as we raced through the dark, ominous slums of Nairobi on our way to the affluent suburbs. "You have broken the laws of Kenya," he said. "And like it or not, that is where you now live. I'm an official in the government, and I will not have you constantly embarrassing me!" He paused, struggling with his temper. "Look at you! I have offered to buy you a new wardrobe. Why must you wear that ugly old _kikoi_? It smells even worse than it looks." "Is there now a law against dressing like a Kikuyu?" I asked him. "No," he said, as he commanded the miniature bar to appear from beneath the floor and poured himself a drink. "But there _is_ a law against creating a disturbance in a restaurant." "I paid for my meal," I noted, as we turned onto Langata Road and headed out for the suburbs. "In the Kenya shillings that you gave me." "That does not give you the right to hurl your food against the wall, simply because it is not cooked to your taste." He glared at me, barely able to contain his anger. "You're getting worse with each offense. If I had been anyone else, you'd have spent the night in jail. As it is, I had to agree to pay for the damage you caused." "It was eland," I explained. "The Kikuyu do not eat game animals." "It was _not_ eland," he said, setting his glass down and lighting a smokeless cigarette. "The last eland died in a German zoo a year after you left for Kirinyaga. It was a modified soybean product, genetically enhanced to _taste_ like eland." He paused, then sighed deeply. "If you thought it was eland, why did you order it?" "The server said it was steak. I assumed he meant the meat of a cow or an ox." "This has got to stop," said Edward. "We are two grown men. Why can't we reach an accomodation?" He stared at me for a long time. "I can deal with rational men who disagree with me. I do it at Government House every day. But I cannot deal with a fanatic." "I am a rational man," I said. "Are you?" he demanded. "Yesterday you showed my wife's nephew how to apply the _githani_ test for truthfulness, and he practically burned his brother's tongue off." "His brother was lying," I said calmly. "He who lies faces the red-hot blade with a dry mouth, whereas he who has nothing to fear has enough moisture on his tongue so that he cannot be burned." "Try telling a seven-year-old boy that he has nothing to fear when he's being approached by a sadistic older brother who is brandishing a red-hot knife!" snapped my son. A uniformed watchman waved us through to the private road where my son lived, and when we reached our driveway the chauffeur pulled our British vehicle up to the edge of the force field. It identified us and vanished long enough for us to pass through, and soon we came to the front door. Edward got out of the vehicle and approached his residence as I followed him. He clenched his fists in a physical effort to restrain his anger. "I agreed to let you live with us, because you are an old man who was thrown off his world-- " "I left Kirinyaga of my own volition," I interrupted calmly. "It makes no difference why or how you left," said my son. "What matters is that you are _here_ now. You are a very old man. It has been many years since you have lived on Earth. All of your friends are dead. My mother is dead. I am your son, and I will accept my responsibilities, but you _must_ meet me halfway." "I am trying to," I said. "I doubt it." "I am," I repeated. "You own son understands that, even if you do not." "My own son has had quite enough to cope with since my divorce and remarriage. The last thing he needs is a grandfather filling his head with wild tales of some Kikuyu Utopia." "It is a failed Utopia," I corrected him. "They would not listen to me, and so they are doomed to become another Kenya." "What is so wrong with that?" said Edward. "Kenya is my home, and I am proud of it." He paused and stared at me. "And now it is _your_ home again. You must speak of it with more respect." "I lived in Kenya for many years before I emigrated to Kirinyaga," I said. "I can live here again. Nothing has changed." "That is not so," said my son. "We have built a transport system beneath Nairobi, and there is now a spaceport at Watamu on the coast. We have closed down the nuclear plants; our power is now entirely thermal, drawn from beneath the floor of the Rift Valley. In fact," he added with the pride that always accompanied the descriptions of his new wife's attainments, "Susan was instrumental in the changeover." "You misunderstood me, Edward," I replied. "Kenya remains unchanged in that it continues to ape the Europeans rather than remain true to its own traditions." The security system identified us and opened his house to us. We walked through the foyer, past the broad winding staircase the led to the bedroom wing. The servants were waiting for us, and the butler took Edward's coat from him. Then we passed the doorways the lounge and drawing room, both of which were filled with Roman statues and French paintings and rows of beautifully-bound British books. Finally we came to Edward's study, where he turned and spoke in a low tone to the butler. "We wish to be alone." The servants vanished as if they had been nothing but holograms. "Where is Susan?" I asked, for my daughter-in-law was nowhere to be seen. "We were at a party at the Cameroon ambassador's new home when the call came through that you had been arrested again," he answered. "You broke up a very enjoyable bridge game. My guess is that she's in the tub or in bed, cursing your name." I was about to mention that cursing my name to the god of the Europeans would not prove effective, but I decided that my son would not like to hear that at this moment, so I was silent. As I looked at my surroundings, I reflected that not only had all of Edward's belongings come from the Europeans, but that even his house had been taken from them, for it consisted of many rectangular rooms, and all Kikuyu knew -- or should have known -- that demons dwell in corners and the only proper shape for a home is round. Edward walked briskly to his desk, activated his computer and read his messages, and then turned to me. "There is another message from the government," he announced. "They want to see you next Tuesday at noon." "I have already told them I will not accept their money," I said. "I have performed no service for them." He put on his Lecture Face. "We are no longer a poor country," he said. "We pride ourselves that none of our infirm or elderly goes hungry." "I will not go hungry, if the restaurants will stop trying to feed me unclean animals." "The government is just making sure that you do not become a financial burden to me," said Edward, refusing to let me change the subject. "You are my son," I said. "I raised you and fed you and protected you when you were young. Now I am old and you will do the same for me. That is our tradition." "Well, it is our government's tradition to provide a financial safety net to families who are supporting elderly members," he said, and I could tell that the last trace of Kikuyu within him ha...
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