Page 35 - Fables volume 1
P. 35

How Ten Thousand Termites Escaped from Captivity

         Homer  again  twisted  his  sunburned  neck,  and  this  time  caught  a
       tiny glint of sunlight off the windscreen of the CDI Land Crusher. It
       seemed  to  be  pointing  in  a  different  direction  than  when  they  had
       started out on foot. “Are we going in a circle?” he asked suspiciously.
         “Eh, you are very observant today, Chief. No, we merely describe
       an arc of roughly one hundred degrees. This is the only trail.”
         “Well, why don’t they make another one cutting straight across this
       field? Surely the people have some occasion to get to and from the
       highway.”
         “Ah,  yes.”  Amadou  inclined  his  head  slightly.  “Surely  they  must.
       But this field is used for grazing livestock, and we Forolonkolans are
       usually not so pressed for time as you Americans.”
         Homer  Henry  grunted.  He  had  to  make  a  report  to  CDI
       headquarters in Langley, Virginia by the end of the week. Thus far he
       had nothing to show but expenses. Transfer to a more desirable post
       depended on results; Homer’s willingness to make a field trip before
       the cooler, drier months was a measure of his desperation. Somewhere
       in this god-forsaken countryside lay his salvation.
         At  last  they  entered  the  precincts  of  Sirabana.  Small  children  ran
       toward them; goats and chickens ran away. Women within low-walled
       compounds paused in their pounding of grain to laugh and stare at the
       visitors.  In  the  center  of  the  village  stood  a  gigantic  baobab  tree.
       Around  it  the  elders  were  taking  a  siesta.  Homer  held  back  while
       Amadou approached the recumbent group of bald and white-haired
       old men.
         Someone, giggling, put a rough wooden stool next to Homer. He
       sat down and maintained his white man’s dignity by folding his arms
       and  acknowledging  nothing.  For  a  few  minutes  he  watched  his
       assistant  go  through  the  elaborate  greetings  required  by  tradition  in
       rural  Forolonkolo.  Luckily  for  outsiders,  it  was  also  considered
       necessary to have a spokesman intercede in meetings of this type.
         Homer fretted, but was happy enough to wait in the background.
       Perhaps  these  people  had  discovered  some  simple  but  ingenious
       method  of  conserving  firewood  or  catching  rainwater  or  threshing
       millet. And, perhaps, if he were patient enough, they would show it to
       him.


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