Putting It Together; Turning Sow's Ear Drafts into Silk Purse Stories Part 9

"I understand."

"Then start climbing."

I turned to my grandson. "Thank you for all you have done."

"Have you any message for my father?"

I shook my head. "It is best to let him think I have simply moved out into the city. If he knew where I was, he would come looking for me."

He nodded in agreement, then looked into my eyes."Kwaheri, Mzee," he said.Good-bye, Wise Old Man.

"Kwaheri, Koriba," I replied.

Then I turned and began walking up the gentle slopes of Mount Marsabit.

I climbed for almost three hours before I was too exhausted to continue, and then I sat down to rest in the shade of an acacia tree. Somewhere up above me, probably a two- or three-day march, was Lake Paradise, where I would find ample water for all my needs, and enough firewood so that I would be able to cope with the frigid night air.

Suddenly I heard the sound of trumpeting, not frightened or confused this time, but triumphant and exhilarated, and I knew that Ahmed had been set loose at the base of his mountain. Over the next few minutes I heard the cras.h.i.+ng of trees as he made his way upward. From now on it would be just the two of us, both alive and both extinct, and we would both live out what remained of our lives on mighty Marsabit.

It was where we belonged. I had searched for Ngai too high up and too far away, and had finally come to understand that He was on neither Kirinyaga. I realized the moment I saw the sprawling city covering on the sides and peak of the holy mountain that He could no longer function there, just as I had so painfully learned that He no longer directed the fortunes of the world I had spent so many years trying to mold into a Utopia.

I had looked for Ngai in the wrong place, on the wrong mountain. Men of lesser faith might have thought Him dead, yet I knew that if Ahmed could be reborn after all others of his kind were long dead, then Ngai must surely be nearby, overseeing the miracle. I would spend the rest of the day regaining my strength, and then, in the morning, I would begin searching for Him again on this new mountain.

And this time, I was sure I would find Him.

Discussion of the first draft of "The Land of Nod"

I was dissatisfied with this the entire time I was writing it. The opening was fine. The end was what I wanted-Koriba and Ahmed, each an anachronism, living out their lives on Mount Marsabit.

Everything in between is pretty poor.

This was the culmination of the Kirinyaga stories, already the most-awarded story cycle in science fiction history. Every one of those stories carried an emotional punch that was lacking here.

Why?

I wasn't comfortable making the entire story a series of dialogues between Koriba and his son (and I was right) ... but I made some mistakes in opening it out.

First, I added a grandson. What we don't need in the final story of a saga that's been going on for ten years in the magazines is a new family member with views that differ from both his father and Koriba. Big mistake.

Second, the story was too short to gather any emotional momentum. Koriba narrates each of the Kirinyaga stories, and they have a pace to them, a pace that is fitting for an old man who finds his body betraying him more and more often. He just can't get through a story fast enough to give it the emotional punch it needs in 5,000 words.

Third, the elephant and its keeper were introduced clumsily. They have no personality, no emotional power-and it becomes obvious that the grandson was just a gimmick for getting Koriba to "meet" Ahmed.

I knew I liked the beginning, the little Kikuyu fable (and all the Kirinyaga stories begin with one), and I knew that I wanted it to end with Koriba and Ahmed on the mountain. And I knew there had to be some conflict with the son. But it was handled very poorly, and I decided to take another run at it.

THE LAND OF NOD-2nd draft by Mike Resnick 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 wors.h.i.+ped 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 G.o.dly powers that you could not find me?"

"After all these years you still do not understand," said Ngai sternly. "It isyou who must search forme ."

I arrived at the huge t.i.tanium-and-gla.s.s laboratory complex just before midnight. The night had turned cool, and a breeze was blowing gently from the south. The moon had pa.s.sed behind a cloud, and it was difficult to find the side gate in the darkness. Eventually I did find it, though, and Kamau was waiting for me. He deactivated a small section of the electronic barrier long enough for me to step through.

"Jambo, mzee,"he said.h.e.l.lo, wise old man.

"Jambo, mzee,"I replied, for he was almost as old as I myself was. "I have come to see with my own eyes if you were telling the truth."

He nodded and turned, and I followed him between the tall, angular buildings that hovered over us, casting eerie shadows along the narrow walkways and channeling all the noises of the city in our direction. Our path was lined with Whistling Thorn and Yellow Fever trees, cloned from the few remaining specimens, rather than the usual introduced European shrubbery. Here and there were ornamental displays of gra.s.ses from the vanished savannahs.

"It is strange to see so much true African vegetation here in Kenya," I remarked. "Since I have returned from Kirinyaga, my eyes have hungered for it."

"You have seen a whole world of it," he replied with unconcealed envy.

"There is more to a world than greenery," I said. "When all is said and done, there is little difference between Kirinyaga and Kenya. Both have turned their back on Ngai."

Kamau came to a halt, and gestured around him at the looming metal and gla.s.s and concrete buildings that totally covered the cool swamps from which Nairobi took its name. "I do not know how you can preferthis to Kirinyaga."

"I did not say I preferred it," I replied, suddenly aware that the ever-present noises of the city had been overshadowed by the droning hum of machines.

"Then youdo miss Kirinyaga."

"I miss what Kirinyaga might have been. I only wish I knew why the people fought my attempts to mold it into the Utopia we had all envisioned. As for these," I said, indicating the immense structures, "they are just buildings."

"They are European buildings," he said bitterly. "They were built by men who are no longer Kikuyu or Kamba or Embu, but merely Kenyans. They have corners, and you and I know that our huts were always circular because demons dwell in corners." He paused, and I thought, approvingly,How much you sound like me! No wonder you sought me out when I returned to Kenya. "Nairobi is home to eight million people," he continued. "It stinks of sewage. The air is so polluted that you can actually see it.

The people wear European clothes and wors.h.i.+p the Europeans' G.o.d. How could you turn your back on Utopia for this?"

I held up my hands. "I have only ten fingers."

He frowned. "I do not understand."

"Do you remember the story of the little Dutch boy who put his finger in the dike?"

Kamau shook his head and spat contemptuously on the ground. "I do not listen to European stories."

"Perhaps you are wise not to," I acknowledged. "At any rate, the dike of tradition with which I had surrounded Kirinyaga began to spring leaks. They were few and easily plugged at first, but as the society kept evolving and growing they became many, and soon I did not have enough fingers to plug them all." I shrugged. "So I left before I was washed away."

"Have they anothermundumugu to replace you?" he asked.

"I am told that they have a doctor to cure the sick, and a Christian minister to tell them how to wors.h.i.+p the G.o.d of the Europeans, and a computer to tell them how to react to any situation that might arise," I said. "They no longer need a witch doctor."

"Then Ngai has forsaken them," he stated.

"No," I corrected him. "Theyhave forsaken Ngai."

"I apologize,mundumugu ," he said with deference. "You are right, of course."

He began walking again, and soon a strong, pungent odor came to my nostrils, a scent I had never encountered before, but which stirred some memory deep within my soul.

"We are almost there," said Kamau.

I heard a low rumbling sound, not like a predator growling, but rather like a vast machine purring with power.

"He is very nervous," continued Kamau, speaking in a soft monotone. "Make no sudden movements.

He has already tried to kill two of his daytime attendants."

And then we were there, just as the moon emerged from its cover and shone down on the awesome creature that stood facing us.

"He is magnificent!" I whispered.

"A perfect replication," agreed Kamau. "Height, ten feet eight inches at the shoulder, weight seven tons-and each tusk is exactly 148 pounds."

The huge animal stared at me through the flickering force field that surrounded it and tested the cool night breeze, striving to pick up my scent.

"Remarkable!" I said.

"You understand the cloning process, do you not?" asked Kamau.

"I understand what cloningis ," I answered. "I know nothing of the exact process."

"In this case, they took some cells from his tusks, which have been on display in the museum for more than two centuries, created the proper nutrient solution, and this is the result: Ahmed of Marsabit, the only elephant ever protected by Presidential Decree, lives again."

"I read that he was always accompanied by two guards no matter where he roamed on Mount Marsabit," I said. "Have they also ignored tradition? I see no one but you. Where is the other guard?"

"There are no guards. The entire complex is protected by a sophisticated electronic security system."

"Are you not a guard?" I asked.

He kept the shame from his voice, but he could not banish it from his face: even in the moonlight I could see it. "I am a paid companion."

"Of the elephant?"

"Of Ahmed."

"I am sorry," I said.

"We cannot all bemundumugus ," he answered. "When you are my age, in a culture that wors.h.i.+ps youth, you take what is offered to you."

"True," I said. I looked back at the elephant. "I wonder if he has any memories of his former life? Of the days when he was the greatest of all living creatures, and Mount Marsabit was his kingdom."

"He knows nothing of Marsabit," answered Kamau. "But he knows something is wrong. He knows he was not born to spend his life in a tiny yard, surrounded by a glowing force field." He paused.

"Sometimes, late at night, he faces the north and lifts his trunk and cries out his loneliness and misery. To the technicians it is just an annoyance. Usually they tell me to feed him, as if food will a.s.suage his sorrow.

It is not evenreal food, but something they have concocted in their laboratories."

"He does not belong here," I agreed.

"I know," said Kamau. "But then, neither do you,mzee . You should be back on Kirinyaga, living as the Kikuyu were meant to live."

I frowned. "No one on Kirinyaga is living as the Kikuyu were meant to live. I tried to show them the way, but I failed." I sighed deeply. "I think perhaps the time formundumugus is past."

"This cannot be true," he protested. "Who else can be the repository of our traditions, the interpreter of our laws?"

"Our traditions are as dead as.h.i.+s ," I said, gesturing toward Ahmed. Then I turned back to Kamau. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Certainly not,mundumugu ."

"I am glad you sought me out, and I have enjoyed our conversations since I returned to Kenya," I told him. "But something puzzles me: since you feel so strongly about the Kikuyu, why did I not know you during our struggle to find a homeland? Why did you remain behind when we emigrated to Kirinyaga?"

I could see him wrestling with himself to produce an answer. Finally the battle was over, and the old man seemed to shrink an inch or two.

"I was terrified," he admitted.

"Of the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p?" I asked.

"No."

"Then what frightened you?"

Another internal struggle, and then an answer: "Youdid,mzee ."

"Me?" I repeated, surprised.

"You were always so sure of yourself," he said. "Always such a perfect Kikuyu. You made me afraid that I wasn't good enough."

"That was ridiculous," I said firmly.

"Was it?" he countered. "My wife was a Catholic. My son and daughter bore Christian names. And I myself had grown used to European clothes and European conveniences." He paused. "I was afraid if I went with you-and I wanted to; I have been cursing myself for my cowardice ever since-that soon I would complain about missing the technology and comfort I had left behind, and that you would banish me." He would not meet my gaze, but stared at the ground. "I did not wish to become an outcast on the world that was the last hope of my people."

You are wiser than I suspected, I thought. Aloud I uttered a compa.s.sionate lie: "You would not have been an outcast."