Putting It Together; Turning Sow's Ear Drafts into Silk Purse Stories Part 8

"I hear you got into trouble again yesterday," he said.

"Joshua!"said my son harshly.

"It is all right," I said. "I am not ashamed, and I have nothing to hide."

"You must have been something as a young man," said my grandson in amus.e.m.e.nt. "I'll bet everyone was terrified of you."

"I have no evidence to the contrary," interjected my son bitterly.

"Perhaps we should clone you and sic you on the government whenever it gets too smug or complacent," said my grandson, still smiling.

"Are they cloning men these days?" I asked disapprovingly.

He shook his head. "No," he replied, "but I don't think we're too far from it."

"When I left for Kirinyaga," I said, "science had managed to clone nothing larger than a housecat. Surely cloning a man is centuries away."

"We've made enormous strides in the last decade," said my grandson.

"'We'?" I repeated distastefully. "And do you work on this cloning yourself?"

"No," he answered. "I'm just in pre-med. But I have a friend who works at the cloning lab. You wouldn't believe what they've done."

"Doubtless you are correct," I said, hoping to end the subject, for I had no desire to hear about further changes that were to be wrought in Kenya or upon the Earth.

"Though perhaps I could sneak you in for a peek," he offered.

"It is not necessary."

He looked disappointed. "You've told so many fables about elephants, I thought you might be interested in seeing one."

"An elephant?" I said, surprised. "But the last one died more than a century ago!"

"That's the beauty of cloning," he said. "Nothing's ever truly extinct."

"Amazing," I said. "An elephant!"

He nodded. "And not justany elephant. This is the most famous elephant in Kenya's history-the only elephant ever to be protected day and night by Presidential Decree."

I stared at him, wide-eyed. "You have cloned Ahmed of Marsabit!"

"Well,I haven't," protested my grandson. "But my friend's team has."

"How?"

"His skeleton had been preserved at the Nairobi Museum. They took some sc.r.a.pings from his bones and the insides of those enormous tusks of his, reconstructed the DNA pattern, did whatever they do once they get that far, and presto-instant Ahmed. Though 'instant' is hardly the word; they've been working on this for almost twenty years. My friend's actually a latecomer to the project."

"How interesting," I said. "Yes, Joshua, if it is possible, I would very much like to see him."

My grandson's face lit up. "I'll arrange it immediately, Grandfather."

He raced off for the vidphone, and his father turned to me.

"You look very excited," he said, a worried expression on his face. "Youwill behave yourself, won't you?"

"Certainly, my son," I a.s.sured him.

Nairobi had become a city of eighteen million, all brick and concrete and steel. It stunk of gasoline, and there was no place to get away from the constant noise and the press of people.

Our vehicle went through the terrifying heart of the city, then came out on Langata Road, near what had once been Nairobi's very own game sanctuary and was now an enormous housing development. We approached a large, windowless building that had posted several PRIVATE and KEEP OUT signs.

"We have arrived," said my grandson, stepping out of the vehicle and inviting me to do the same.

I followed him to the front door, where he sent a message to his friend, and a moment later we were pa.s.sed through and joined by a young man wearing a laboratory smock.

"Steven," said my grandson, "this is my grandfather, Koriba Kimante. Grandfather, this is my friend, Steven Kamau."

Steven Kamau extended a hand to me.

"I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Kimante," he said. "I see you still wear thekikoi of our people."

"Is there some restriction against wearing it here?" I asked.

"Certainly not," he said with a smile. "Ever since I was a child, I have been fascinated with your world of Kirinyaga." He paused, suddenly uncomfortable. "I am sorry that things did not work out better for you."

"I am sorry they did not work out better for Kirinyaga," I replied.

"You were themundumugu , were you not?"

I nodded. "Yes, I was."

"My understanding is that traditionalmundumugus frequently used parables to make their points," he continued. "It is entirely possible that you used Ahmed at one time or another."

"If I did not use him, at least I used his species," I replied as we traversed a sterile white corridor.

"He's quite a specimen," said Steven Kamau. "We're very proud of him."

Suddenly I heard what could only be the ear-shattering trumpet of an elephant.

"That's him," said my grandson excitedly.

We turned into another corridor, walked a few yards, and stopped before a huge door. A security beam recorded Steven's retinagram and thumbprint, and the door slid open.

We found ourselves in a large chamber, perhaps fifty meters on a side, and there, penned in the corner in a much smaller area, was Ahmed himself.

His huge tusks touched the ground, as legend had said they did. But it was his eyes that commanded my attention: they were wild and filled with panic. He was the greatest creature Ngai had ever placed down in Kenya, and yet he did not belong here, in this alien century, in this polluted city, and he seemed to know it. There was fear in his eyes, the fear of a creature that cannot understand or adapt to its circ.u.mstances.

"What do you think of him?" asked Steven.

"He is magnificent," I said.

"That he is," agreed my grandson, staring at Ahmed in awe.

"And frightened," I added.

"That, too," said Steven. "He was never meant to be confined in a pen in the middle of a city." He sighed. "Still, the lab is here. This is his birthplace." He shrugged. "For all I know, the first Ahmed was born here too. After all, Nairobi was an uninhabited swamp in 1900."

I stepped closer to Ahmed. He stared at me, breathing heavily. I wanted to stroke his rough skin, to tell him that I understood, that we wereboth anachronisms in this enormous village of steel and brick and strange angles that had been built over the swamp. I wanted him to know that I, too, knew what it felt like to have outlived my time, to be the last of my race, and have nowhere to go, no friend to speak with, no sanctuary in which to hide from a world that was no longer comprehensible.

"Careful!" said Steven, grabbing my arm, just as Ahmed trumpeted again and swiftly reached out for me with his trunk. "He has become more dangerous almost by the day."

"Of course he has," I said, staring at the huge animal with a strange feeling of kinship. "He does not belong here, and he knows it. He is not Ahmed of Nairobi, but Ahmed of Marsabit."

"Actually, we're moving him to Marsabit tomorrow," said Steven with a sigh of relief. "The mountain will be surrounded by an electric fence, and armed guards will be posted at the base to make sure he is not molested."

"And then?" I asked.

"And then, if he survives for a given period-five years, ten years, we haven't yet decided how long-the experiment will be considered a success, after which ... who knows? We may well clone an entire herd of elephants to release on Mount Marsabit." He paused. "I just hope he can adapt."

I continued staring at my soulmate. "He will," I said with certainty.

"You have been silent all day, Grandfather."

"I have been thinking," I replied.

"About Ahmed?" asked my grandson.

"About Ahmed, and other things."

"He is a fabulous animal," said my grandson, "surely the greatest and most powerful that has ever strode across the face of Kenya. And yet when I see him, the last of his kind, trying to grasp what has happened to him, my awe is replaced by pity."

"Keep your pity to yourself," I said. "It demeans him."

"But he cannot cope."

"He cannot cope inyour world," I replied. "In a little more than a day he will be inhis world, where he belongs."

Joshua was silent for a very long moment. Finally he looked up at me. "Grandfather," he began.

"Yes."

"I mean no offense, but when I look atyou... " His voice trailed off.

"I know," I said.

"Isthere a place for you, now that you have left Kirinyaga?" he asked.

"There might be," I replied. "I have been giving the matter much thought."

My grandson met my gaze with level eyes.

"It will behis mountain," said Joshua slowly. "He might kill you the moment he sees you."

"It is a big mountain," I said. "Certainly big enough to hold two beings who belong nowhere else."

"You are a very old man," he said. "Can you live on a mountain, all by yourself?"

"I hope so," I said. "For I can live nowhere else."

"Perhaps you should not give up on Nairobi just yet," suggested my grandson without much conviction.

"I know that it is difficult for you to adjust, but to those of us who live here, it is Eden reborn."

"Then I shall dwell in the land of Nod," I answered.

He smiled. "Nod lay to the east of Eden," he said. "Marsabit is three hundred miles north."

"It is Nod all the same," I said, "and it will suffice."

"I will have to bribe one of the guards to let you onto the mountain," he said.

"I have no money to give you."

"That is all right," he said. "I have money of my own. This will be my final gift to you."

"Then I must give you something in exchange," I replied. "I own nothing but this oldkikoi , and surely you do not wish to own it." I paused, and suddenly it came to me. "A long time ago, when your father was born, I gave him the Kikuyu name of Koriba. He chose to use his European name, and so when I left for Kirinyaga I took it back. I have done the best I can with it, and I hope I have not disgraced it. I now give it to you, as a remembrance not only of me, but of who and what you are."

"Thank you, Grandfather," he said seriously. "I shall cherish it always. From this day forth, I am Joshua Koriba Kimante."

Suddenly I felt very old and very tired, and I went off to my room to spend my last night in civilization.

We rode three hundred miles before daylight, and the guard nodded to Joshua as we approached him.

"You're going to be mighty chilly in thatkikoi , old man," he said.

"I have been chilly before," I replied.

"If anyone finds out you're up there, this could cost me my job," he continued. "And I need this job." He stared at me. "You go up the mountain this morning, old man-and youstay up there. If you come down again, in a day or a month or a year, I'll shoot you and swear you were an intruder."

I stared back at him, but made no reply.

"Do you understand?" he said.