Wizard of the Crow

by Ngũgĩ Wa Thiong'o

  “You mean to tell us that you did not even see him jump over the hedge?” some would ask him.

  “No. I didn’t. True, Haki ya Mungu.”

  “Maybe he turned himself into a hedge,” another would suggest.

  “Yes. You have said it.”

  “And what did you do, quit?”

  “Me, quit? Oh, no. I decided to look for him everywhere.”

  “A.G. You are brave, man! Me? Had I had ten guns in each hand, I still would not have taken another step.”

  “I confess that I don’t lack courage. I looked for a way into Santalucia. Now, you know that Santalucia houses are dense and they all look alike. The streets are narrow. The lighting is poor. Now imagine me. I am holding my gun firmly in my hand. I try this house. I try another. Police. Open the door. People looked at me with fright and dry mouths. Then I said to myself, This isn’t working. I should go from door to door, eavesdrop and peer through cracks in the walls, demand that the owners open up only if I see or hear something suspicious. I put my new plan into action. And then, how shall I tell it? Suddenly I felt a force take ahold of me, turn me around, and compel me to look at it. One glance at the thing hanging from the roof and I knew that I was facing powerful magic. Approaching it, I saw some letters jump from the wall toward me: WARNING! THIS PROPERTY BELONGS TO THE WIZARD WHOSE POWERS CAN BRING DOWN EVEN CROWS FROM THE SKY. TOUCH THIS DOOR AT YOUR PERIL. SGD. WIZARD OF THE CROW. Then the letters retreated into the wall. Foolish me. I was about to touch the thing when I felt hands I could not see lifting me up. They swung me in the air and dropped me to the ground, again and again. Seven times. When I was released, I fled and did not once look back …”

  “And your gun?” somebody would ask. “How come it did not fall?”

  “That, in fact, was an issue that would not let me sleep, for, true! Haki ya Mungu, I lay awake, turning the matter over and over in my mind. I was lifted up and felled seven times, but why did I not sustain even a scratch? A little pain in the butt, maybe, but nothing worse. And how did my gun stay in my hand? Yes, I talked to myself: Constable Arigaigai Gathere, why do you think the man chose you and forced you to follow him to the magic? What was he trying to tell you? For a long time, I had had many problems weighing on me, even more so in the weeks before this fateful encounter. All at once I saw the light. A sign. The whole thing was a sign that pointed to he who could solve my problems.

  “That was why early in the morning I went back to the house of magic. Fortunately the bundle and the writing on the wall were still there. He opened the door for me. And do you know? Listen to this. The man appeared to me in the form of a very beautiful woman. At first he/she asked me questions in a soft voice, then all of a sudden a voice boomed from the back of his/her head.

  “ I am the Wizard of the Crow. Who is that standing in the shadow of my magic? How dare you break my circle of magic? Go, clean those feet first before …’

  “I did not wait to hear more. For a second time I fled for my life.”

  12

  Even Nyawlra at first was surprised by the booming voice. But when she saw the police officer wince, stand at attention, salute, and then take to his heels, she recalled what the same police officer had done earlier that night, and doubled with laughter.

  “Has he gone?” Kamltl asked.

  “He sped away like an arrow. How did you think that up so quickly?”

  “I don’t really know. I was buying time for us to work out a common story. But I blundered a little!”

  “How?”

  “I gave him the choice to return or not. I should have told him never to come back, or else, or words to that effect.”

  “The way he took off does not support a person eager to return here anytime soon.”

  Nyawlra went to the kitchen and made tea and scrambled eggs with bread. She put hers to the side to cool while she got ready to go to work. She was eager to hear what Tajirika had to say about the Global Bank dinner party and the gathering of beggars outside the gates of Paradise.

  Nyawlra’s preparations jolted Kamltl out of his fear of the police. His jaws cupped in his hands, he ignored breakfast and brooded about his personal woes. It was as if he had dreamt that he had eaten a homemade meal, slept on a comfortable couch, and woken up to a bountiful breakfast in the company of laughter and warmth, and suddenly the dream had ended. He was engulfed in a simple if brutal reality. It was very early in the morning and he had no clue as to what to do or where to begin his daily search for a job.

  Now ready, Nyawlra went back to the kitchen for her breakfast. Between the kitchen and the living room was a small window through which plates, pans, or cups could be passed from one room to the other. She opened the window and spoke to Kamltl through the opening.

  “Your breakfast is getting cold,” she said. “Shall I warm it up for you?”

  “No, thank you. I will take it as is,” he said, glancing quickly at her.

  From where she stood, Nyawlra could see him sitting, his head bowed.

  “I am going to the office to hear all about the goings-on in Paradise,” she said, trying to disrupt his dejection. “What about you?”

  “I have no plans. May I stay here a few more hours before setting out? It’s too early for me to cope with another Tajirika-type interview. I might be tempted to wring his neck,” he said, trying to match her lighthearted tone.

  “And end up strung up for murder? I will not allow that,” she said in the same tone. “If staying here for a few more hours might save your life, imagine what a whole day here can do for you! Seriously, why don’t you take a day off? You’re welcome to the couch for one more night.”

  “No, a few hours will do. But thank you for the offer. I shall never forget your kindness,” he said with a slightly teary voice.

  “It’s not much,” she said. “Didn’t you say that luck, bad or good, comes from God? Thank God, not me,” she said, trying to steer him from self-pity.

  “God works in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform,” Kamrö said, again trying to match her lightness of tone. “He used you as His vehicle to help me. So I am grateful to you for being a willing vehicle of His will. Who knows, I might one day turn up in the offices of Eldares Modern Construction and Real Estate.”

  “For another interview?” she shot back, with an amused look.

  “No! No! To take you up on your lunch offer. I love fish and chips. Or chicken and chips.”

  “You will be most welcome. I sincerely hope you land a job,” Nyawlra said, turning serious as she picked up her handbag.

  At the door, she turned to look back at him.

  “Don’t forget to take down your bundle of magic, unless you want to continue advertising that here dwelt, for one night, the mighty wizard whose power brought down all birds, even crows, from the sky!”

  13

  By the time Nyawlra reached the premises of Eldares Modern Construction and Real Estate, her boss, Titus Tajirika, was already there. Her office, which also served as reception, adjoined his, and before taking her place she went to announce her arrival to him. Tajirika was engrossed in the Eldares Times, so she stood awkwardly at the doorway, wondering if she should clear her throat to attract his attention. She could tell that he was angry, obviously not with her but with what he was reading. Tajirika was in fact aware of her presence and soon began to unburden himself.

  “These beggars are just too much,” he started telling Nyawlra, who was relieved that he did not ask her why she was late. “I don’t know what should be done with them. How dare they stretch out their hands at the very same place where their own government was …” He was going to say “stretching out its hands” but he did not like the sound of it, and checked himself. “… busy entertaining very important guests?”

  “I have not seen the papers,” Nyawlra said. “What happened?”

  “Well, we the hosts and guests were inside Paradise, so we did not actually hear the commotion outside. In fact, if it were not for these newspapers—wh
y for goodness’ sake did this paper feel it necessary to mention anything about those rioting beggars, giving them publicity for nothing?” He held the paper in his left hand and pointed at the offending column with his right, his face twisted in disgust and contemptuous incomprehension.

  Nyawlra craned her neck and saw the banner headlines: BEGGARS IN PARADISE. She also caught a glimpse of the picture of beggars running away just a few yards ahead of baton-wielding police officers but did not want to show an undue interest by moving closer to the table. As Tajirika was talking, she did not want to interrupt him.

  “That is why I have always said that the government should ban all newspapers. We can do without them. Before the colonials came to this land, didn’t our ancestors live to a ripe old age without ever reading a newspaper? They are a curse, these newspapers, but if I was asked what was at the root of last night’s fracas, I would answer with one word: envy. Those beggars must have been sent there by our political enemies to blemish the reception. Do you know that there are ministers who are very envious of my friend Machokali simply because he is a man who can see far? Let me tell you what is wrong with us black people. Unlike Indians and Europeans, we lack group solidarity. We hate to see one of us succeed.”

  Nyawlra thought that this was the perfect moment to milk information.

  “Did the Bank agree to bankroll Marching to Heaven?” she asked.

  Her sympathetic curiosity touched him, and he responded with an alacrity that surprised her.

  “Why are you standing? Pull up a chair and sit down.”

  Tajirika sat up, ready to pour out everything about the reception in detail, especially his own role in it. Their interest in his narrative was mutual, and the telephone, which rang at that very moment, irritated both. Nyawlra made as if to go and take the call in her office, but Tajirika, not wanting to lose his audience for a second, told her to answer the phone from his desk.

  “Eldares Modern Construction and Real Estate. May I help you? … Yes … But may I please know who is calling? … Your name? … Hold, please … Let me see if he is in.” She covered the mouthpiece. “It’s for you.”

  “Who is it?”

  “He is not saying. He wants to speak to you personally, and he says it’s urgent.”

  Tajirika grumpily snatched the handset, annoyed by the interference. “Congratulations? For what? … Today?” he asked, his sourness gone as he stood up and walked away from the chair while holding the phone to his ear. “On the radio? … The morning news? … Are you sure? … I think we’d better not talk about that on the telephone … Yes … Yes … Why don’t you come to the office? … Yes … We shall talk.”

  As soon as he put the phone down it rang again; this time he himself quickly picked it up.

  “Yes … Thank you … Come to the office.”

  It rang a third, a fourth, and a fifth time, and he gave the same response: Come to the office. He glanced at the window and walked toward it, whistling and beckoning Nyawlra to join him there.

  She staggered at what she saw. The road leading to their place of business was jammed with cars, the latest models of all makes, but mostly Mercedes-Benzes.

  “What is this all about?” Nyawlra exclaimed, looking directly at Tajirika.

  Rapt in thought, Tajirika paced the office, then stopped, looked at Nyawlra, and, in a somewhat tremulous voice, said, “This is one of the greatest days of my life, if not the greatest ever. You might think of it as the day I was born again. This morning Minister Machokali announced that he has recommended and the Ruler himself has agreed that I should become the first chairman of the Marching to Heaven Building Committee. Do you know what that means? You don’t, I can see it in your face, but those people you see in those cars all know the meaning and financial implications of that position. Every one of them wants to introduce himself to me—make my acquaintance is the phrase they will all use. But, as you can see, most of them did not even bother to call—they came immediately. I am sharing this with you because since you joined my firm you have brought me nothing but luck. Oh, no, not another call of congratulations! No. Just let the phone ring. I want you to go to your office, receive the visitors, and show them to my office one by one. Keep answering the telephone and making appointments in the usual way. This is manna from Heaven,” he said in English, as if loudly talking to himself.

  Nyawlra hurried back to her office as Tajirika, sitting at his desk, struck the pose of an executive immersed in paperwork. Soon the reception area was packed, with an even bigger crowd outside trying to get in. And the telephone kept ringing. Nearly overwhelmed, she quickly worked out a solution. She wrote on two pieces of paper MAKE A QUEUE: NO SERVICE FOR THOSE NOT IN THE QUEUE. She pasted one on the wall inside and the other on the outside.

  The people pushed and shoved, hurling insults at one another as each tried to move up the queue, like children, Nyawlra thought, and all this for the sake of an introduction to the chairman? The dignitaries, all from Eldares itself, were of different communities, nationalities, races, and each wanted to meet with Tajirika face-to-face, and alone. Nyawlra let them into Tajirika’s office, one at a time.

  The first dignitary stayed for only a few minutes, but he must have had his needs met, because when he came out he was beaming. It was the same with the second, third, fourth, fifth, and so on. A few minutes with the chairman, and they all seemed in possession of a little happiness as they returned to their Mercedes-Benzes. Tajirika the sharer of happiness with all who came to see him! How was that possible, Nyawlra wondered.

  Nyawlra, who had been ushering visitors into Tajirika’s office, taking down names, arranging files, and answering calls, was soon able to figure out what was happening. Each one was pitching business as a subcontractor for Marching to Heaven and hoped to be looked upon favorably. Whether they offered to supply cement, wood, nails, toilet paper, food, or drinks, they talked and behaved as if they knew for sure that the Global Bank had released the money for the project.

  Tajirika was frank, impressing upon them that the matter of the loans had not yet been discussed with the Global Bank; that the reception at Paradise was purely social; and that, in any case, no contracts would be given until far into the future. But they would hear none of it. For them it was a matter of simple logic: why would Minister Machokali appoint and release the name of the chairman of the Building Committee unless he was reasonably sure that the Global Bank would release the money? Some of them had read of the billions upon billions that the Bank had loaned Bussia as a bribe to abandon socialism for good. How much more was to be had by a country whose leadership had neither dreamt of democracy nor experimented with socialist nonsense? No wonder they left their visiting cards.

  Each card was handed over with thousands of Burls. A few dignitaries had tried to write checks, but Tajirika would not hear of it. Cash or nothing, Tajirika told them, and they were quick to say that they completely understood. A few insisted on a business luncheon appointment, adding even more Burls with their cards. None so much as whispered about the money left behind. All they would say, even to their closest friends, was that they had been to see the chairman and had left their visiting cards. The money had piled up so quickly that, with his desk drawers stuffed, Tajirika was forced to send Nyawlra to buy sacks and cartons for the rest of his abundance.

  By four o’clock the queue had diminished but the telephone was still ringing with calls from dignitaries mainly living outside Eldares who also wanted appointments to see the chairman. Nyawlra knew, by the volume of appointments, that in the coming days she surely would not be able to handle all the work by herself. At the close of business, when the last man in the queue had left, Nyawlra acquainted her boss with her problem.

  “Don’t worry” Tajirika told her, happy at the news, for it meant more visiting cards and attendant money. “Remove the No Vacancy sign at the road and put up another one announcing that we are hiring temporary help. Something like Tempa Jobs Available.’ Or just Tempa Jobs.’ That’s what w
e do when the volume of work increases, but it has never been like this. And Nyawlra, after you put up the sign, call it a day. Go home and I will see you tomorrow. Try not to be late,” he added, to let her know that nothing escaped his notice. “Tomorrow every minute will count!”

  Nyawlra spotted, in one corner of the room, three sacks full of Burls. The boss had been right, this was truly manna from Heaven, she told herself as she left. She went into a small storage room adjoining the reception area and took out a big piece of plywood to serve as a billboard, but it was quite big and heavy. She thought it better to leave her handbag on her desk and come back for it after she had posted the advertisement.

  It was about five. She walked down the main entrance by the road. Looking upon the old board announcing NO VACANCY: FOR JOBS COME TOMORROW, she recalled what had happened to Kamltl, the deliberate humiliation. She was so angry that her hands shook and the new board fell to the ground. Anger gave way to a spurt of energy. She pulled the old board out and tossed it aside. With a sense of triumph, she replaced it with the new. As Nyawlra stood back to survey her work, she felt a presence behind her.