[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Yes sir, I will take care of it. The secretary turned to go, hesitated uncertainly. Excuse me, Comrade
Premier, but there is only going to be talk, isn't there? I have a wife and we just had our first child.
Dorovskoy liked the young man for his straightforwardness. You may convey my messages in
confidence, Nicholas. He managed a smile despite the pain which still enveloped his heart. This is only
a time for talk.
The secretary looked immensely relieved. Thank you, Comrade Premier. He hurried from the office.
A time for talk. Dorovskoy sat at his desk thinking hard.
Talk today, yes, but what of tomorrow? Another Piskaryouskoye incident and it would be impossible
for him or anyone else to keep the lid on the pot. If it boiled over, everyone would get scalded. There
came a time when people grew too angry to listen.
But he had to have irrefutable proof before he could issue any irrecallable directives. Even the extremists
had to grant him that. Direct complicity if not responsibility had to be established. You could not threaten
war over suppositions. That was sensible. That was logical. Sitting alone in his Kremlin office Arkady
Dorovskoy, Premier of all the Soviet Socialist Republics, had the uncomfortable feeling that despite his
best efforts events were speeding forward out of his control and beyond the reach of logic and reason.
20
Arusha, Tanzania 24 June
As they made their way slowly through the center of the city, Oak worried that a curious cop might
recognize the Land Rover as belonging to the local political party. Unlikely, he tried to tell himself. This
wasn't rural Mississippi or Idaho. He mentioned his concern to Olkeloki, who was quick to reassure him.
It would not matter if someone did recognize this vehicle, Joshua Oak. Tanzania is so poor it cannot
afford patrol cars for its police. A few have bicycles. As the same is true for most criminals, it does not
matter. The policeman on foot catches the thief on foot.
Despite this Oak was relieved when they left the city behind. In the shadow of Mount Meru,
Kilimanjaro's less publicized but no less beautiful sister mountain, they filled the Land Rover's tanks to
overflowing. According to Olkeloki they were unlikely to find petrol for sale anywhere along the highway
between Moshi and Chalinze. They drew plenty of stares, but then Kakombe would have drawn stares
anywhere. Oak was glad. It shifted some of the attention off himself and Merry.
From here it is almost two hundred miles to Korogwe, then a little less to Chalinze, Olkeloki informed
them.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Relax, Oak told him. After the last couple of rides I'm looking forward to doing my own driving.
Once they left Moshi and turned south through the vast sisal plantations, there was no traffic to speak of.
Once the plantations had been left behind there was no traffic at all. Oak opened up the Land Rover as
much as he dared, swinging smoothly around potholes big enough to swallow a full-grown hippo.
To their left the towering green-clad Pare Mountains poked holes in the sky while off on the right the
endless brown plains known collectively as the Maasai Steppe stretched unbroken toward far Tabora.
Wrecked and rusted-out buses lined both sides of the highway like the skeletons of dead dinosaurs.
In the last twenty years the lack of spare parts has become endemic, said Olkeloki. These old hulks
lie here because the government cannot afford to have them towed away. The locals scavenge what they
can and the remainder sits out in the open, prey to insects and rain.
Don't they even try to fix them? Merry asked.
Why should they, when it is so much simpler to ask Sweden or Hungary to give them fifty new ones
and there are not enough mechanics to fix the broken ones in any case?
Having been raised in a family noted for its thrift, Merry found the whole concept appalling. Doesn't
seem like a very practical way to run a country.
Maasai ways are better, Kakombe added with a grunt.
Not always, Alaunoni, not always. Olkeloki was eyeing the mountains with unusual intensity as he
spoke. Part of the problem is that Tanzania no longer qualifies as a third world country. Fourth or fifth
world would be more accurate. Its infrastructure is collapsing around us. This road is an excellent
example. He indicated the moonscaped monstrosity that stretched out before them.
This was once a smooth, modern highway. Now the government says it has no money for repairs. This
is true. It also does not have the necessary equipment or skills. The best the government will do is send
out a truckload of gravel every now and then. It does not require much skill to shovel gravel into a hole.
Then it rains and washes away what gravel hasn't been stolen by the local people for use in their own
yards.
You don't have to tell me about washed-out roads, Merry said.
Kakombe peered at her from around his scrunched-up knees. It rains often where you live, mama?
I'm not a mama.'
The giant received this news with interest. I did not mean to offend. That is a common reference for any
mature woman in this part of the world.
I'd rather you called me Merry.
Well then Merry, does it rain a lot where you live?
All the time. Much more so than here. And it's colder, much colder.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
We have to pray for rain. If it doesn't come, it means a hard year. Cattle die and children cry.
The government doesn't help you when times are difficult?
We do not accept government aid, Kakombe told her haughtily. Those who do become dependent
on it. Why work when you know the government is there to feed you with foreign grain? Then a day
comes when there is no grain and people starve, having forgotten how to take care of themselves. Such
aid is like a drug. Once you are... he hesitated, hunting for a word, addicted, there is no cure. The
Maasai would rather starve as free men than grovel for food like slaves.
Except that the Maasai rarely starve, Olkeloki put in.
So long as there is rain, we have plenty. The secret to the success of the Maasai is cattle. Cattle
provide milk, blood, meat, and leather. Cattle are better than tilling the land. The earth is fickle with its
bounty. Cattle are our constant.
Kakombe leaned toward Oak. How many cattle do you own, friend Joshua?
None, I'm afraid. My work requires me to travel and be away from home a lot. It would be hard for [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl akte20.pev.pl
Yes sir, I will take care of it. The secretary turned to go, hesitated uncertainly. Excuse me, Comrade
Premier, but there is only going to be talk, isn't there? I have a wife and we just had our first child.
Dorovskoy liked the young man for his straightforwardness. You may convey my messages in
confidence, Nicholas. He managed a smile despite the pain which still enveloped his heart. This is only
a time for talk.
The secretary looked immensely relieved. Thank you, Comrade Premier. He hurried from the office.
A time for talk. Dorovskoy sat at his desk thinking hard.
Talk today, yes, but what of tomorrow? Another Piskaryouskoye incident and it would be impossible
for him or anyone else to keep the lid on the pot. If it boiled over, everyone would get scalded. There
came a time when people grew too angry to listen.
But he had to have irrefutable proof before he could issue any irrecallable directives. Even the extremists
had to grant him that. Direct complicity if not responsibility had to be established. You could not threaten
war over suppositions. That was sensible. That was logical. Sitting alone in his Kremlin office Arkady
Dorovskoy, Premier of all the Soviet Socialist Republics, had the uncomfortable feeling that despite his
best efforts events were speeding forward out of his control and beyond the reach of logic and reason.
20
Arusha, Tanzania 24 June
As they made their way slowly through the center of the city, Oak worried that a curious cop might
recognize the Land Rover as belonging to the local political party. Unlikely, he tried to tell himself. This
wasn't rural Mississippi or Idaho. He mentioned his concern to Olkeloki, who was quick to reassure him.
It would not matter if someone did recognize this vehicle, Joshua Oak. Tanzania is so poor it cannot
afford patrol cars for its police. A few have bicycles. As the same is true for most criminals, it does not
matter. The policeman on foot catches the thief on foot.
Despite this Oak was relieved when they left the city behind. In the shadow of Mount Meru,
Kilimanjaro's less publicized but no less beautiful sister mountain, they filled the Land Rover's tanks to
overflowing. According to Olkeloki they were unlikely to find petrol for sale anywhere along the highway
between Moshi and Chalinze. They drew plenty of stares, but then Kakombe would have drawn stares
anywhere. Oak was glad. It shifted some of the attention off himself and Merry.
From here it is almost two hundred miles to Korogwe, then a little less to Chalinze, Olkeloki informed
them.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Relax, Oak told him. After the last couple of rides I'm looking forward to doing my own driving.
Once they left Moshi and turned south through the vast sisal plantations, there was no traffic to speak of.
Once the plantations had been left behind there was no traffic at all. Oak opened up the Land Rover as
much as he dared, swinging smoothly around potholes big enough to swallow a full-grown hippo.
To their left the towering green-clad Pare Mountains poked holes in the sky while off on the right the
endless brown plains known collectively as the Maasai Steppe stretched unbroken toward far Tabora.
Wrecked and rusted-out buses lined both sides of the highway like the skeletons of dead dinosaurs.
In the last twenty years the lack of spare parts has become endemic, said Olkeloki. These old hulks
lie here because the government cannot afford to have them towed away. The locals scavenge what they
can and the remainder sits out in the open, prey to insects and rain.
Don't they even try to fix them? Merry asked.
Why should they, when it is so much simpler to ask Sweden or Hungary to give them fifty new ones
and there are not enough mechanics to fix the broken ones in any case?
Having been raised in a family noted for its thrift, Merry found the whole concept appalling. Doesn't
seem like a very practical way to run a country.
Maasai ways are better, Kakombe added with a grunt.
Not always, Alaunoni, not always. Olkeloki was eyeing the mountains with unusual intensity as he
spoke. Part of the problem is that Tanzania no longer qualifies as a third world country. Fourth or fifth
world would be more accurate. Its infrastructure is collapsing around us. This road is an excellent
example. He indicated the moonscaped monstrosity that stretched out before them.
This was once a smooth, modern highway. Now the government says it has no money for repairs. This
is true. It also does not have the necessary equipment or skills. The best the government will do is send
out a truckload of gravel every now and then. It does not require much skill to shovel gravel into a hole.
Then it rains and washes away what gravel hasn't been stolen by the local people for use in their own
yards.
You don't have to tell me about washed-out roads, Merry said.
Kakombe peered at her from around his scrunched-up knees. It rains often where you live, mama?
I'm not a mama.'
The giant received this news with interest. I did not mean to offend. That is a common reference for any
mature woman in this part of the world.
I'd rather you called me Merry.
Well then Merry, does it rain a lot where you live?
All the time. Much more so than here. And it's colder, much colder.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
We have to pray for rain. If it doesn't come, it means a hard year. Cattle die and children cry.
The government doesn't help you when times are difficult?
We do not accept government aid, Kakombe told her haughtily. Those who do become dependent
on it. Why work when you know the government is there to feed you with foreign grain? Then a day
comes when there is no grain and people starve, having forgotten how to take care of themselves. Such
aid is like a drug. Once you are... he hesitated, hunting for a word, addicted, there is no cure. The
Maasai would rather starve as free men than grovel for food like slaves.
Except that the Maasai rarely starve, Olkeloki put in.
So long as there is rain, we have plenty. The secret to the success of the Maasai is cattle. Cattle
provide milk, blood, meat, and leather. Cattle are better than tilling the land. The earth is fickle with its
bounty. Cattle are our constant.
Kakombe leaned toward Oak. How many cattle do you own, friend Joshua?
None, I'm afraid. My work requires me to travel and be away from home a lot. It would be hard for [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]