Wizard of the Crow

by Ngũgĩ Wa Thiong'o

  “Okay. Let’s set Nyawlra’s case aside. Let’s assume that she was only a secretary. You mean to tell me that your secretary comes to you, her employer, and tells you to hire more labor, and you agree and even okay her request to put up a billboard outside?”

  “Yes,” Tajirika said, although he still did not like the way Njoya strung words together, making them sound so sinister.

  “How many tempas were you hoping to employ?”

  “Say about three,” Tajirika said. “Possibly five.”

  “And for three people, possibly five, she persuaded you to put up a billboard to announce to all Eldares that there were jobs to be had?”

  “How else would we have put it?” Tajirika asked. “There was more than one job available, so we had to put it in the plural.”

  “You assented to her putting it in the plural, suggesting the availability of thousands of jobs?”

  “I can’t recall the exact wording,” Tajirika said, feeling a little helpless before this professional twister of words and their meanings.

  “You left it to her to arrange the words any way she wanted?”

  “Look here, Mr. Officer. She was my secretary. A boss gives a good secretary a general notion of what he wants and it is up to her to respect the letter and spirit of his command.”

  “And so it would be correct to say that Nyawlra was in general interpreting your wishes and carrying out your orders?”

  “Yes, when she was on my premises. Beyond that I made no claims on her time.”

  “Okay A good interpreter of your wishes while on your premises, and a free agent outside the official orbit, right?”

  “Right. You can put it that way”

  “So how did the queue of the workers begin?”

  “You see, for some time after the day of my extraordinary elevation, I was not able to go to the office …”

  “Why?” Njoya interrupted.

  “I succumbed to an illness.”

  “You were ill?”

  Tajirika paused. How was he going to explain his strange illness to the inquisitor? An illness without a name?

  “A heart problem.”

  “A broken heart?”

  “No, just heart trouble.”

  “A heart condition? That is very serious for a man of your age and bulging flesh. I am so sorry to hear of this, Mr. Tajirika. How long were you in hospital?”

  “I didn’t actually go to any hospital.”

  “You saw a private doctor?”

  “Yes … No …”

  “Is it yes or is it no?”

  “Both.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I went to see a diviner. I am not sure we can quite call his kind doctors.”

  “A witch doctor. So you are one of those! Afathali Mchawi type?”

  “It is better to call him simply a diviner.”

  “But Mr. Tajirika, what if you had needed a bypass or a transplant? Would your witch doctor have managed?”

  “Mine was not an illness of the organ itself,” Tajirika tried to explain. “I meant the heart as mind. Something like that.”

  “You mean you were mad? Crazy?”

  “Nooo! Hapana! No, no!” Tajirika denied the suggestion in three languages for emphasis. “I meant heart as when we say so-and-so is heartless or so-and-so is full of heart.”

  “A psychiatric disorder, something like that, is that correct?”

  “I don’t know much about the names of illnesses. But I think that a diviner could be called a psychiatrist of sorts.”

  “Mr. Tajirika, let’s not worry about names. Whatever its name, your heart condition must have been very serious for you to boycott your office soon after becoming chairman of Marching to Heaven. Unless … ?”

  “What?”

  “It was a ploy, a diplomatic illness,’ or what in our line of work we call an alibi. You draw the plan and you leave the execution to others. Is that not what you told me that bosses do?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Tajirika, a little confused.

  “Supposing, and we are just supposing, that Tajirika wants an illegal assembly of workers, the riffraff of our society, say potential rioters, to queue outside his office, might he not want to absent himself and leave everything to the trusted interpreter of his wishes? You see, should he be called before a commission of inquiry he would say I was not there’ and produce his alibi, a hotel bill or a hospital admission slip or a doctor’s letter. You know the story of the thumb and four fingers? They used to be together, all five, a kind of brotherhood of the fingers. Then one day Thumb proposes, Let’s go. Where? the others ask. To Mr. Ndego’s bank, says Thumb. To do what? the others ask. To rob the owner, to rob the bank, Thumb says. What if we are caught? they ask. Hey! I will not be there, Thumb says, and up to this day Thumb remains his innocent self, apart from the other four, who remain bound together by their crime.”

  Tajirika wanted to pick holes in the story. In the traditional, it is the little finger that comes up with the idea of theft and there is no mention of a bank. Njoya had also mixed up the story of the thumb with a very different one in which a mother, avoiding a direct answer to her child’s question as to where she is going, talks vaguely about a visit to a fictional Ndego’s home for a meal consisting of one bean only. But Tajirika did not. He was angry and terror-stricken at the drift of Njoya’s inquiry and tone, which smoothly implied treason and death.

  “I don’t like what you are insinuating. I am a loyalist. To be very frank, I was taken to the shrine of the diviner without my knowledge. I was that ill. And I missed work not just one day but several days, more than a week. Why should I risk my life’s work and property for the sake of starting a queue of riffraff and job seekers? A job-seeking queue is not exactly a beauty pageant.”

  “You claim that you were away from your workplace for days, even weeks. Did you close the office?”

  “No.”

  “Who ran the office in your absence?”

  “The secretary. I mean, she was the only one there who …”

  “By the secretary you still mean Nyawlra?”

  “Yes … but my wife, Vinjinia, later went there and was in charge. Completely in charge. What did I tell you? She is not a village woman. She is highly educated. She has …”

  “So Nyawlra and Vinjinia were the ones present when the queuing mania started? Is that what you are saying?”

  “Yes!”

  “So only those two can give eyewitness testimony as to what occurred?”

  “You have spoken.”

  “What?”

  “Only those two can give a proper account because they were there. All I know is hearsay.”

  “When did you go back to work?”

  “After the convocation at the site for Marching to Heaven.”

  “The one held at Eldares Park?”

  “You have spoken.”

  “Spare me the Jesus speak. What are you implying, Mr. Tajirika? That I’m Pontius Pilate to your Jesus Christ?”

  “No, no, no. There is no way I would even dream of such a thing. I am human. I am a sinner.”

  “Then confess your sins!”

  “What do you want me to confess?”

  “I was not there when you sinned.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Answer my questions fully and simply. The day you say you resumed work, was that the same day you got cured?”

  “By that time I was already cured. A couple of weeks before, in fact. I had been resting at home, not doing much of anything.”

  “Mr. Tajirika, you confuse me even more. Please clear this up for me. Are you telling me that between the day you learned that you had been appointed chairman of Marching to Heaven and the day of the dedication of the site, you never once went back to your office to see for yourself how things were?”

  “I did go there once, on the morning that I left the doctor’s …”

  “You mean the witch doctor’s shrine?”

  �
��Yes, the diviner’s haven. To be very frank, that was also when I beheld the queues for the first time and, believe me, Officer, it was an overwhelming sight. A frightening sight. The queues were all over Santamaria. My own offices were almost under siege. I slipped in through the back door, a special entrance.”

  “Let me see if I am getting this right. On that day, you were not ill?”

  “I have told you that I had just then come from the doctor.”

  “The witch doctor?”

  “The diviner.”

  “Let’s not quibble over a word. What I want to know is this. You were then completely free of your illness?”

  “I assure you that I was completely cured. I never felt better in my life.”

  “So now, Mr. Tajirika, why did you then stop going to the office even after you were cured? Or did your heart troubles start up again at the sight of all those queues?”

  “You said I should speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”

  “And the truth shall make you free. Is that not what the Bible says?”

  “But you said that I was not in custody.”

  “It is just a way of talking. Tell the truth and shame the Devil.”

  “You see, after I had managed to sneak into my office, I telephoned Machokali.”

  “The minister?”

  “There is only one Machokali in the country, and he is my friend.”

  “I just want to make sure. We policemen are like doctors. Modern doctors, not your witch doctors or diviners as you call them. A good modern doctor makes sure that he knows all the facts about a malady. For only then can he prescribe the correct drug. We police detectives are truth diggers, and we like to base our case on facts. So do I take it that when you mention Machokali, you are talking about Machokali, the one and only Minister for Foreign Affairs in the government of the Buler of Aburlria?”

  “That’s right. I was calling him to ask him whether he could arrange for armed forces to come and disperse the crowd.”

  “That’s strange. Had the minister ever told you that he had powers to call on the army to do this or that?”

  “I thought that as a minister he would know whom to contact.”

  “Tell me, Mr. Tajirika, had the minister ever told you that he knew of any person or groups of persons other than the Buler who thought that they had the power to authorize actions by the army?”

  “Oh, no, no, no. Nothing of the sort. But what he told me made me look at the queues in a very different light.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “He told me that those queues were very important.”

  “Important?”

  “Yes, because the queues served to show that the people fully supported the Marching to Heaven project. The queues were demonstrations of support.”

  “Go on. What else?”

  “As a matter of fact, it was the minister who advised me not to go back to work, that I should stay at home as if I were still ill …”

  “Pretend that you were ill? But why?”

  “So that the queuers would not disperse after their job-hunting needs were settled one way or another. As long as they waited for me, they had some hope and hope would keep the queues alive.”

  “So what he told you is that you should lie and say that you were still ill even though you had never felt better in your life?”

  “No, not the way you are putting it. He just wanted the queues to remain in place for as long as the Global Bank mission was in the country and not disperse before the dedication of the site for Marching to Heaven.”

  “Okay Let’s see. You are in this grip of a false illness. You have agreed to stay home to recover. Who was looking after your business?”

  “Vinjinia, my wife, became the acting manager, with the … the … you know … the secretary as her assistant. A helper.”

  “You mean Nyawlra?”

  “The same.”

  “And because Vinjinia was not very experienced, it was really Nyawlra who was entrusted with managing your affairs, is that not so?”

  “Yes, Nyawlra had more experience, but she was definitely not in charge. She was a minion.”

  “Demoted? You know how women are: they are jealous of one another. Some women are not satisfied unless they are the only woman in a male domain. The One Woman syndrome.”

  “No, she was not demoted and there was no jealousy. To make her happy and ensure continued loyal service in my absence, I had given her the quite meaningless title of assistant to the acting manager. But she was nothing but a glorified receptionist.”

  “Machokali … were he and Nyawlra acquainted?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “But Machokali used to call you at your office?”

  “Yes.”

  “And all his calls went through the receptionist.”

  “Sometimes. But he also called me direct. I would say most times.”

  “Did Machokali ever visit you in your office?”

  “Yes, but not often. Only when passing through this side of Santa-maria. Eldares is a big city, you know. Several towns in one, if you ask me.”

  “And so if Machokali and Nyawlra had made private arrangements to meet elsewhere in this city, which, as you say, contains multitudes, you would not know, would you?”

  “That is right, but I somehow don’t think they ever met outside my office.”

  “But if they did, you would not know?”

  “That’s right.”

  “When was Machokali’s last visit to Santamaria?”

  Tajirika hesitated. He could not remember whether their last encounter was supposed to be a secret or not. But he decided to err on the side of truth. Besides, deep down he did not mind showing this police officer that he, Tajirika, was well connected, that Machokali was his friend.

  “He came to see me just before he and the Buler left for the USA.”

  “He came to the office?”

  “No. We met at the Mars Cafe.”

  “So he did not come to the office to say good-bye to Nyawlra?”

  “I think that Nyawlra had fled by then.”

  “But you have already admitted that if they had made secret plans to meet, you would not know?”

  “I really and honestly don’t think they met.”

  “How can you be so sure? Did you know where Nyawlra was then hiding?”

  “No.”

  “And you were not with the minister all the time, everywhere?”

  “No.”

  “No to what?”

  “To the suggestion that I might have been with the minister the whole day. We met at the Mars Cafe, and after our talk he left me there.”

  “So all that you can say is that you never saw them meet?”

  “Yes, but that does not mean that I believe that they did,” Tajirika continued assertively, sensing a trap.

  “But you cannot swear in a court of law that they never met on that or any other day?”

  “That I cannot swear,” Tajirika hastened to say, alarmed at the mention of a law court.

  “What was the purpose of his visit? Why did he want to meet with you?”

  “He came to say good-bye. We are friends.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Let’s go back to your illness. You say that you were taken to a witch doctor for a cure. Who took you there?”

  “My wife, Vinjinia.”

  “How did she come to know of the witch doctor?”

  “The secretary told her about him.”

  “Nyawlra?”

  “Yes. Nyawlra.”

  “So in everything, be it your business or personal and family matters, this Nyawlra was somewhere in the background? A chief personal and family adviser?”

  “Please spare me the name. Were I, with all that I now know, to catch that Nyawlra woman, I …”

  “… would wring her neck until she was dead,” Elijah Njoya finished the sentence as if echoing hi
m in mockery. “I know exactly what you would do powered with hindsight, and I commend you for it. Now, Mr. Tajirika, let’s be serious. I want to assure you that you have been very helpful and that if you continue cooperating with us you will see a change in your circumstances. The only thing I would warn you against are lies. Remember? Only the truth shall make you free. Are you sure that you have told me everything?”

  “I have told you all the truth I know.”

  “There is nothing you are holding back, a little detail, anything?”

  “Nothing.”

  “And by the way, what is the name of the sorcerer who cured you?”

  The question caught him unawares. He was about to say the name, Wizard of the Crow, when the implications of revealing it suddenly struck him. Money. The three bags of money. What if the diviner revealed the existence of the three bags of Burl notes and, worst of all, that they were “visiting cards” from those who hoped for later gains from Marching to Heaven? The last thing Tajirika wanted anybody else to know was that he had already pocketed money from a scheme involving the Ruler. The three bags of Burl notes must remain a secret buried forever in the innermost recesses of his head.

  “I don’t know his name.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t know the sorcerer’s name?”

  “A diviner is simply known as Diviner. I am not alone in this. Many who visit these healers don’t bother to remember their names. A diviner is not exactly someone you would have over for a party or a tete-ä-tete in your office.”

  Njoya laughed at this.

  “You have a sense of humor, Tajirika.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Officer …”

  “Call me Elijah. Your friend.”

  “Elijah, my friend,” said Tajirika. “Can I go now?”

  “Why not? Let me see about your transportation. Good luck, Mr. Tajirika.”

  At first Tajirika felt a sudden depression at being left alone. But as he reviewed the encounter, he felt relief and even triumph as he realized that not only had he deftly thwarted all attempts to link him to NyawTra, the queuing mania, and Machokali’s supposed plots, he had also avoided telling details of his illness, had gotten away with lying about the name of the Wizard of the Crow, and, most important, had not revealed anything about the three bags of money. Besides, he had won Njoya over and turned him into a friend and by tomorrow he would be lying in his own bed in Golden Heights.