A young man approaches a very old one who sits by his hut. “Good day,” he says, raises his arms high and stretches his fingers. “Good day,” the old man answers with a slight bow of his head. “Listen,” says the young man and sits on the ground, “I hear that a horrible disease is threatening our tribe.” The old man looks around and smiles. “That’s history,” he says, “for horrible diseases rarely threaten small groups such as our tribe.” The young man looks puzzled. “What do you mean by ‘history’,” he asks after a pause, “I’ve never heard that word!” The old man laughs. “Sorry,” he says, “that’s an old word only some people my age still remember.” The young man raises his arms again and shakes his head in disbelief. “It means the past,” the old man explains, “known past that goes quite a long way back.” The young man appears puzzled still: “You mean several seasons back?” “No, no,” chuckles the old man, “many, many, many seasons back!” The young man jumps to his feet and stretches his arms wide. “That’s impossible,” he smiles, “for nobody can possibly know what has happened many, many, many seasons ago!” Now the old man raises his arms and stretches his fingers. “Many, many, many years ago everyone knew about history,” he says. “Lucky us,” chuckles the young man, “we are spared such horrors!” He raises his arms high and stretches his fingers one more time as he walks away from the old man’s hut. Now the old man shakes his head and tightens his lips. “Be careful not to use that word ever again,” he mumbles to himself, “history is history.”