标题: 《Kirinyaga For I Have Touched the Sky》作者： - Mike Resnick 【EP [打印本页] 作者: zaq 时间: 2013-7-1 14:54 标题: 《Kirinyaga For I Have Touched the Sky》作者： - Mike Resnick &n FOR I HAVE TOUCHED THE SKY {JANUARY 2131} Mike Resnick There was a time when men had wings. Ngai, who sits alone on His golden throne atop Kirinyaga, gave men the gift of flight, so that they might reach the succulent fruits on the highest branches of the trees. But one man, a son of Gikuyu, who was himself the first man, saw the eagle and the vulture riding high upon the winds, and spreading his wings, he joined them. He circled higher and higher, and soon he soared far above all other flying things. Then, suddenly, the hand of Ngai reached out and grabbed the son of Gikuyu. "What have I done that you should grab me thus?" asked the son of Gikuyu. "I live atop Kirinyaga because it is the top of the world," answered Ngai, "and no one's head may be higher than my own." And so saying, Ngai plucked the wings from the son of Gikuyu, and then took the wings away from all men, so that no man could ever again rise higher than His head. And that is why all of Gikuyu's descendants look at the birds with a sense of loss and envy, and why they no longer eat the succulent fruits from the highest branches of the trees. We have many birds on the world of Kirinyaga, which was named for the holy mountain where Ngai dwells. We brought them along with our other animals when we received our charter from the Eutopian Council and departed from a Kenya that no longer had any meaning for true members of the Kikuyu tribe. Our new world is home to the maribou and the vulture, the ostrich and the fish eagle, the weaver and the heron, and many other species. Even I, who am the mundumugu, delight in their many colors, and find solace in their music. I have spent many afternoons seated in front of my boma, my back propped up against an ancient acacia tree, watching the profusion of colors and listening to the melodic songs as the birds come to slake their thirst in the river that winds through our village. It was on one such afternoon that Kamari, a young girl who was not yet of circumcision age, walked up the long, winding path that separates my boma from the village, holding something small and gray in her hands. "Jambo, Koriba," she greeted me. "Jambo