Out of Africa Page #4

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Wouldn't you say so?

It's the sort of thing you'd say.

Thank you.

Not at all. Where's Blix?

Hunting.

Has he been out long?

Yes.

You'll need a good chat, then.

Shall we stay to supper, Denys?

Blix will have jackets we could use.

Do I have anything to say in this?

Not really, but we'll hear you out.

Then I would like you to stay.

Good. Denys.

I don't know. Do you sing?

Never.

Can you tell a story?

I happen to be

very good at stories.

I believe that.

What's happened to the cows, the dairy?

We changed our minds.

We'll grow coffee instead.

A bit risky, this high.

So I've been told.

Didn't seem to bother you.

I think they just haven't tried.

Every time I turn my back,

it wants to go wild again.

It will go wild.

Your man

Kanuthia.

He's not Kikuyu.

No.

Shall I see

that he's given supper?

Don't do anything

for him, thank you, Baroness.

It's true of all Somalis. They're

the only tribe that knows horses.

They don't drink, charge interest

or chase other men's wives.

Got to go to town for that.

Did you know that

in all of literature...

there's no poem

celebrating the foot.

There's lips, eyes, hands, face...

hair, breasts...

legs, arms,

even the knees.

But not one verse

for the poor foot.

Why do you think that is?

Priorities, I suppose.

Did you think

you would make one?

Problem is there's nothing

to rhyme it with.

Put.

It's not a noun.

Doesn't matter.

Along he came and he did put...

upon my farm his clumsy foot.

We should have a story now.

When I tell a story

to my nieces at home...

one of them always provides

the first sentence.

Anything?

Absolutely anything.

There was a wandering Chinese

named Cheng Huan...

living in Limehouse...

and a girl named Shirley.

Who spoke perfect Chinese...

which she learned

from her missionary parents.

Cheng Huan lived alone

in a room on Formosa Street...

above the Blue Lantern.

He sat at his window...

and in his poor listening heart...

strange echoes

of his home and country

They found them there

the next morning...

in their room

above the Blue Lantern

the dead child

and the warlord

with Cheng Huan's love gift

coiled about his neck.

Had you been to those places?

I have been a mental traveller.

Till now.

Yes.

Was this England?

Excuse me. Denmark?

I like my things.

When you travelled before

in your mind...

did you carry

so much luggage?

A mental traveller hasn't the need

to eat or sleep...

or entertain.

You're right.

Anyway, aren't you pleased

that I brought my crystal and china?

And your stories, yes.

The conquering heroes come

Sound the trumpets

Beat the drums

I want you to come often.

I'd like that very much.

And you must promise it will be soon.

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