Nation - Пратчетт Терри Дэвид Джон (читаем книги онлайн бесплатно TXT) 📗

“Er… a wooden telescope, sir. So that I will want to see farther,” said the boy. He was a little shaken; tears were running down the old man’s cheeks, even though he was smiling.

“Good, good. And you, young lady?”

“A blue hermit crab, sir. So that I won’t accept any shell.”

“That’s a big totem to live up to. You must spend your life asking questions.”

“I know, sir. Why are you crying, sir?”

The old man opened his mouth and then hesitated for a moment. “Ah, good one! I must answer, mustn’t I?” He straightened himself up. “Because you liked my blue Jupiter. Because we keep going. Because we’ve come so far and have such a long way still to go. Because there are stars and blue hermit crabs. Because you are here, and strong and clever. The joy of the moment. Those sorts of things. Do excuse me if I sit down.”

He walked over to an ancient cane chair and jerked up quickly as he went to sit in it.

“Now then, Helene,” he admonished, “you know you shouldn’t be on there. I could get into trouble for sitting on a protected species, my girl!” He put a large tree-climbing octopus on the decking and patted his pockets. “I think I may have a dried shrimp here for a good girl… ah, yes.” He held up the shrimp and said: “Count to… five.”

A wrinkled gray arm picked up a smooth pebble by the chair and thumped on the planks five times. A pair of very large, soulful eyes looked up at him.

“Good girl! She can count up to fifteen, you know,” said the old man proudly, sitting down quickly in the vacated chair. “Helene’s been a bit naughty lately. She had that nice Professor Dawkins by the leg last month — we had to lure her away with a bucket of crabs. He was very gracious about it, I’m pleased to say. Charles Darwin spent hours in the low forest when he came here, as you might expect, and was the first to notice that the octopi used primitive tools. They fascinated him.”

He leaned back in the chair, while Helene curled up hopefully under it (where there is one dried shrimp, there may be more — possibly as many as fifteen).

“Do you believe in Imo, sir?” asked the boy.

“Ah, the usual question. We come to it at last. You know Mau said that Imo made us clever enough to work out that He does not exist?”

“Yes, sir, everyone says that, but that doesn’t help a lot.”

The old man stared out at the sea. There was never much twilight at this latitude, and the early stars were already showing.

He cleared his throat. “You know… Pilu — I mean the first one — was my great-great-great-great-grandfather, son to son. He was the first to learn to read and write, but I expect you know that. It was clever of the Society to send a teacher on that first boat. Mau had no children, although that might depend on how you define a parent and a child. One of the things he said was: ‘I cursed Imo because he gave the birds and animals a way to sense great waves, and didn’t give it to smart beings like us. But I realize that He did. He made us smart. It was up to us to be good at it!’ I think about that every time the seismograph beeps. But I’m not really answering you, am I?”

The chair creaked.

“Everything I know makes me believe Imo is in the order that is inherent, amazingly, in all things, and in the way the universe opens to our questioning. When I see the shining path over the lagoon, on an evening like this, at the end of a good day, I believe.”

“In Imo?” asked the girl.

This got a smile. “Perhaps. I just believe. You know, in things generally. That works too. Religion is not an exact science. Sometimes, of course, neither is science.” The old man rubbed his hands together. “Which of you is the older?”

“Me,” said the girl.

“Huh, yes, six minutes,” said the boy.

“Then tonight I know you guard the Nation for the first time. You have a spear? Good. You know where Mau used to stand? Good. Occasionally there is some argument about it. I’ll keep an eye on you from time to time, and if I know anything, your father will be watching somewhere. Fathers do, when daughters stand guard. It’s a dad thing…. Pretend you don’t see him.”

“Er… ” The girl began to speak, but stopped and looked embarrassed.

“Yes?” the old man prompted.

“Is it true that in the middle of the night you see the ghost of Mau standing next to you?” She said it fast, as if she was just a little ashamed of even asking and wanted to get it over with.

The old man smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “Tell me in the morning,” he said.

He watched them go and waited until he saw her take up position on the beach, with that hugely strained expression of constipated self-importance that, he’d noticed, young people wore on these occasions. On the top of the mountain there was a rumbling of domes as the observatories woke up for the night.

The greatest scientists in the world have taught here for generations, he thought as he made himself a cup of tea, and still our children ask us: Are there ghosts? What a piece of work is Man….

He stepped outside, stirring the tea. The shining path glittered across the sky. Out on the lagoon, in the last ray of sunlight, a dolphin leaped into the air for the joy of the moment, the water drops making another shining path.

The old man smiled, and believed.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The great big multiple-universes get-out-of-jail-free card…

This might look like a book set in the Pacific Ocean. Nothing could be further from the truth!!!!! It is in fact set in a parallel universe, a phenomenon known only to advanced physicists and anyone who has ever watched any episode of any SF series, anywhere. Different things happened, some people lived at different times, some bits of history have been changed, some things are made up out of real pieces (like the beer and the last five minutes of the Sweet Judy) and so on. But the Great Pelagic Ocean is its own place.

Oddly enough, though, after the book was finished, I learned that the Society Islands in the Pacific were named after the Royal Society in London by the famous Captain Cook, because it had sponsored the first British scientific survey of the islands. Sometimes it’s hard to make things up….

Drowning bullets

It’s true — bullets fired into water soon lose all their speed. Some high-velocity ones even ricochet off the surface. That’s because the faster you hit water, the more it behaves like concrete. However, do not try this at home. Don’t try it at school, either. I do know someone who tried it at work, but since his job is to fire guns for the movies, no one minded. He confirmed it; a bullet hitting the water slows down very fast indeed.

Blue Jupiter

It’s my favorite viewing, when the orbit is right, which means it’s in the eastern sky late in the day. It is remarkable what a telescope will pick up in a clear sky. But if you look at the sun directly through a telescope it will blind you, no kidding. So daylight astronomy should be attempted only with the help of an expert who knows what they are doing. Sorry, sorry, it’s the ol’ “Don’t try this at home” warning, in disguise.

The green cannon

It would work, probably, since papervine is so tough. In the past, cannon have been made of wood, leather, or even ice (a lot of ice). Mostly they were made to be strong and light enough to last for one shot. They were used in what would now be called special operations, when one shot in the right place might make all the difference. They didn’t have to last long — just long enough.

Needless to say, don’t try this at home.

Thinking

This book contains some. Whether you try it at home is up to you.

Terry Pratchett