Wizard of the Crow

by Ngũgĩ Wa Thiong'o

  “The Wizard of the Crow: where is he?” Kaniürü asked. “Is he dead, or …”

  “You ask too many questions,” Sikiokuu snapped back. He was not very pleased with Kaniürü ‘s critical tone about his own dealings with the wizard. “Take my advice and give up the habit. And while you’re at it, please give up your belief in mirrors and fantasy. I want the women themselves, not their shadows,” Sikiokuu said, and hung up.

  15

  Sikiokuu hung up because he was on the verge of hysterics and thought better of laughing on the phone. He admitted to himself that the Wizard of the Crow had extraordinary powers. But the claim that the sorcerer had created living shadows that abducted people, put them on trial, slapped them around, punched them, bruised them—that was a little hard to swallow. Had the wizard created his shadows in America and sent them across the Atlantic to Aburiria? How had it been possible for him to be with the Ruler in New York and with Vinjinia in Eldares at the same time? And to think that Kaniürü had fallen for this? He stopped laughing when it suddenly crossed his mind that the Wizard of the Crow might not have boarded the plane for America. But he dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come, for he remembered that Kahiga and Njoya had taken him to the airport, escorted him onto the Aburlrian plane, and waited until its ascent.

  Then it occurred to him that he had never received confirmation of the sorcerer’s arrival in America. Sikiokuu decided to call America to dispel any doubts raised by Vinjinia’s allegations.

  Sikiokuu hoped to also find out more about the Ruler’s condition. Who could predict what would happen in Aburlria were the illness to worsen? Would this ignite a coup d’etat? He felt uneasy thinking about illness, death, and succession. It was treason to even imagine these thoughts, and this revived his earlier fears that the Wizard of the Crow might have divined Sikiokuu’s secret wish for life at the top. Would the sorcerer whisper something about Sikiokuu’s treacherous desires in the Ruler’s ear? Success in treating the Ruler might result in the sorcerer’s being made a special physician to the leader. The sorcerer posed a threat. It was better to be informed and therefore to know the exact situation now rather than later.

  He made the call to New York, and although he hated the very sound of his archrival’s voice, Sikiokuu had no choice but to ask to speak with Machokali, because it was he who had sent the e-mail in which the Ruler requested the Wizard of the Crow.

  He could not believe what he was hearing. Was Machokali playing games? Lying to him, perhaps? This could not be. Machokali spoke with a mixture of sadness, anger, and even fatigue, unless of course he was pretending. He confirmed that the Wizard of the Crow had indeed arrived in America and had met with His Mighty Excellency once. But then he disappeared. He was nowhere to be found, yet nobody had seen him leave. His absence had been discovered only the day before, and no one could say for sure when he had vanished or even whether he was still in America.

  The news of the sorcerer’s mysterious disappearance haunted Sikiokuu. Was the Wizard of the Crow back in the country? Perhaps even for a while? Was Vinjinia speaking the truth when she said that she had met with him, talked to him face-to-face? What were the implications of his ability to create living shadows? What if he created an army of shadows and took over the country now that he knew the extent of the Ruler’s illness? Oh, he’d forgotten to ask about the Ruler’s illness! Was the invisible wizard playing tricks with his mind?

  He was shocked, yes, but was quick to realize the need to do something about the situation. He remembered that even before the Wizard of the Crow left for America, he, Sikiokuu, had hatched plans to eliminate him. The Ruler’s sudden and unexpected summons of the wizard had interfered with the maturation of his plot. But now, with the confusion concerning the sorcerer’s whereabouts …

  And suddenly Sikiokuu felt elated. God loves me, this I know, he murmured to himself. Now is the time to send the Wizard of the Crow to Hell, together with all of his sorcerer’s paraphernalia, including mirrors that might have captured or could capture images of Sikiokuu’s ambition. If he acted now, nobody would know exactly where, when, and how the Wizard of the Crow had met his fate, because apart from Vinjinia there was no other credible person who knew that the Wizard of the Crow was back in his shrine.

  Or should he forge an alliance with the wizard? An army of shadows loyal to Sikiokuu? No, that would mean giving too much power to an unreliable sorcerer. No, Sikiokuu would instead have him secretly captured and brought to his office, where he would induce him, by guile and threats, to produce Nyawlra. Then he would have him fed to the hungry crocodiles of the Red River. Instead of using his loyal lieutenants Kahiga and Njoya to do the dirty work, these two being afraid of the Wizard of the Crow, Sikiokuu would use irregulars, and Kaniürü’s youthwingers fit the bill perfectly.

  He was back on the phone to Kaniürü, and he made it seem as if he were simply calling to continue a previously interrupted conversation.

  “Our line was cut off before I finished what I had to say” Sikiokuu started. “You know what our phone system is like. I hope a day will come when our telephones work as smoothly and efficiently as those in Japan and America. What was I saying before the connection was cut? That the Wizard of the Crow was not there then or now. But I have chewed over what you said, and here now is my thinking. Let us assume for the sake of argument that Vinjinia is speaking the truth, that she did indeed see and talk to the Wizard of the Crow. Gather a gang of trusted and reliable youth. Get me the Wizard of the Crow. Bring him to me alive. But take everybody else at the shrine, clients or workers, to the Red River. The crocodiles are sick with hunger.”

  Kaniürü did not like the idea of leading a squad of thugs on a raid of the shrine. That’s why he had earlier asked for a police squad to whom he could give orders while remaining in the background or, better yet, away from the scene altogether, in order to avoid the sorcerer’s curses.

  “Why can’t … the police … Why don’t you give me a police squad armed with big hunting rifles—you know, the kind that can blow an elephant to smithereens.”

  “Don’t you understand? We don’t want to announce what we are doing to the whole world; the government had nothing to do with it. It’s all off the record. So get your youth squad ready. I believe some of them are armed. But remember one thing: I want the Wizard of the Crow alive.”

  Sikiokuu wanted many things from this final encounter with the Wizard of the Crow: the location of Nyawlra’s whereabouts, a full report on the Ruler’s illness, and a possible alliance. But there were lingering questions: When and how did the Wizard of the Crow escape from America? And why? Or had he been killed in New York and was now the object of a cover-up?

  16

  Not a day went by that Nyawlra did not miss Kamltl, but that morning she woke up aching for him so terribly that to assuage her sense of loss she put on the traditional clothes that she had worn on the night they returned to Eldares after their sojourn in the mountains. She dwelled obsessively on their return, her way of trying to find some peace. She took her guitar and played a little. A combination of the traditional wear and guitar as a modern instrument piqued her imagination, and she put it back on the wall, feeling better.

  Later that morning, Nyawlra saw a woman, also dressed traditionally, coming through the gate. What a coincidence, she thought. Why did so many people feel that they had to dress in traditional wear on their visits to the shrine?

  Nyawlra recognized Vinjinia! What brings her here? she wondered. Has her husband not given up beating her? And why is she dressed that way? On previous occasions she had worn a simple dress with a kanga head and shoulder wrap.

  “What do you want to tell the Wizard of the Crow today?” Nyawlra asked.

  “Listen to me,” Vinjinia said. “Let’s go out and talk in the open, where we can see ourselves and what surrounds us.”

  “Don’t be afraid! The Wizard of the Crow has many eyes.”

  “Do you remember me from the other day?”

>   “Many come here and go. But I shall look at the mirror,” Nyawlra said.

  She did not know what Vinjinia wanted. She had never seen her like this: speaking at once anxiously and assertively. Was her husband in pursuit of her? Vinjinia’s eyes were fixed on Nyawlra’s face, as if she were debating whether to trust it and say what had brought her to the shrine.

  “Don’t trouble yourself. I am the same person who was here the other day to put an end to my husband’s violence.”

  “Has he not stopped?”

  “He has, at least for now.”

  “So he heeded the elders I sent his way?”

  “That’s why I have come to see you.”

  “Don’t be afraid. Say whatever ails your heart.”

  “The matter is a little urgent. I don’t want to talk behind closed doors in case they are already on their way here.”

  “Who?”

  Vinjinia glanced over her shoulder, then leaned forward.

  “Kaniürü and his gang,” Vinjinia said in a tone that seemed to say: There, I have said it, come what may.

  Fear struck Nyawlra, but she did not panic in case this was a trap.

  “Kaniürü? Who is he?” Nyawlra asked, as if she were indifferent to the name. “But let us go outside if that will free your tongue.”

  Nyawlra went inside to alert her fellow workers to be on the lookout. She then joined Vinjinia in the yard, both women dressed identically. They walked in silence toward the gate, as if one were seeing the other off. Suddenly Vinjinia stopped and looked at Nyawlra straight in the eye. Nyawlra was completely taken aback.

  “Nyawlra,” Vinjinia called her by her name. “Let’s not play games. I did not want to say your real name inside the shrine.”

  “When did you find out?” Nyawlra asked in her normal voice.

  “Every time I have come here I would go home with a feeling that I knew you. But when this very morning my husband told me that he left the Wizard of the Crow in jail and that he is still in Sikiokuu’s hands, it dawned on me that it was you playing the role of the Wizard of the Crow. I felt I had to come and tell you about the danger you face. I wanted you to come out into the open for, as they say, even walls have ears. But I also wanted to confirm my suspicions by watching your gait, how you carried yourself.”

  And as they resumed their walk, Vinjinia told Nyawlra the whole story of her second abduction by Kaniürü and his thugs. Without hesitation, she told her how she had saved herself.

  Nyawlra felt both elated and depressed. What, she asked herself bitterly, had once attracted her to Kaniürür

  “I just came to tell you of the danger I have put you in, because even if your companion is still in jail, Kaniürü and his men may still want to come here to find out exactly who the other wizard is with whom I’ve been consulting. I can’t presume to tell you what you ought to do; you must decide for yourself. I must go now. But before I do, I want you to know that I am very grateful for all that you have done for me, going so far as to risk your life. All the same, I don’t believe in your kind of politics. But if there is anything I can do for you …”

  Nyawlra stood silently, holding back tears with difficulty. She was struck by Vinjinia’s generosity of spirit: she had fought the fatigue of a sleepless night of torture in order to come and warn her of danger. She had walked from the dark into the light: Nyawlra had just witnessed the coming into life of the new, more assertive Vinjinia.

  Vinjinia said farewell and started to walk away. As in previous visits, she had left her car on the side of the road quite a distance from the shrine. Nyawlra caught up with her and said: “Please, don’t think that I was silent because I am angry with you. I am grateful for what you have done: endangering yourself to warn me. I am moved to know that you have never disclosed your suspicions about me to anyone. Don’t worry too much about what took place at Bed Biver last night. I know how to take care of myself, but I will keep in mind your offer to help. Let’s agree on a code.”

  They discussed various names they might use should communication between them become necessary, with Vinjinia, no longer a passive recipient of other people’s ideas, fully participating.

  “Let’s use the name Dove,” suggested Vinjinia finally.

  “That’s good,” Nyawlra agreed. “Dove is the messenger of peace and salvation.”

  “I must ask you a question,” Vinjinia felt emboldened to say. “I won’t mind if you don’t want to answer.”

  “Go on.”

  “The other Wizard of the Crow. Is he still in jail?”

  “No. He was when Tajirika was in prison. He is now in America.”

  Vinjinia gaped with wonder and disbelief.

  “In America?”

  “The Ruler is ill. He sent for the Wizard of the Crow.”

  17

  It was the unbelieving look that Vinjinia gave her that brought back a suspicion she always harbored: was the illness a ruse to get the Wizard of the Crow? As Nyawlra stood at the gate irresolutely, watching her friend disappear in the distance, a song she once heard sung by the girls of the village popped into her mind, a silent lullaby to herself. She went inside the shrine and took out her guitar again. She sat on the veranda and, now, almost miraculously, the strings responded to the touch of her fingers. She played and hummed the melody softly, her eyes now set on a distance far away.

  You vowed never to go away

  Now you have gone

  Leaving me here alone

  Pleading with you to stay

  Stay one more night

  She thought of him, the Wizard of the Crow, in America, in the care of the dictator, no longer sure that she would ever see him again.

  BOOK FOUR

  Male Daemons

  SECTION I

  1

  A record of the Ruler’s illness exists in a paper by the distinguished Harvard professor Din Furyk. The professor had hoped to read it at the annual conference of the Euro-American Medical Association and duly sent them an abstract, but the description of the illness sounded so unbelievable that he was not allowed to present it. The professor did not give up. He sent the paper to a famous journal in England, Nature& Nurture, and on reading it the editors who earlier had shown interest in it changed their minds. They said that since the illness in question involved the head of state of a friendly country, the publication of the paper would almost certainly strain the relations between Britain and Aburlria to the detriment of cooperation between the two countries in matters of science and technology. Another journal returned the paper to the author, recommending instead a disreputable publisher of science fiction!

  A copy of the professor’s diary in which he describes how he came to write the paper fell my way, and I will draw on it freely to supplement my other sources.

  2

  It seems that the Ruler’s body had started puffing up like a balloon, his whole body becoming more and more inflated, without losing the proportion of parts.

  Dr. Wilfred Kaboca, the first to examine him, immediately called for Machokali as a witness to his dealings with the sick man. Ma-chokali in turn called in all the other ministers, including security personnel, who stood around flabbergasted at the uncanny sight. Not only did the Ruler seem on the verge of bursting, but he had also lost the power to speak.

  The ministers retreated to a meeting to plan how to deal with the Ruler’s illness and the multitude of problems it generated. Where would they put him?

  3

  He would sit and sleep on the floor, it was decided. What would he wear? As his hypertrophy proceeded, his clothes were ripping at their seams; the Ruler appeared to be dressed in rags. They covered him in bedsheets. But what to do about the Ruler’s unrelenting inflation? How to stop it, how to slow it down?

  Dr. Wilfred Kaboca had tried everything within his knowledge and experience to contain the process but had now reached the end of his tether.

  Should they take him to a hospital? they debated time and again. But how to prevent the news from sp
reading? They authorized Dr. Kaboca to seek the help of a specialist willing to apply himself only in the Ruler’s suite. Dr. Wilfred Kaboca contacted Dr. Clement C. Clarkwell, a New York specialist in obesity and the like, but when Clarkwell saw the body visibly expanding before his very eyes, he dialed Professor Din Furyk for help.

  4

  “I came to know about the illness,” writes Din Furyk of the Harvard Medical School in his diary, “because Dr. Clarkwell was a former student and whenever he came across difficult cases he would often call me for advice. His description of this particular case so aroused my curiosity that I dropped everything and went to New York. I was taken past security right to the Ruler’s suite, the top three floors of the Fifth Avenue VIP Hotel, where I quickly consulted with Dr. Clarkwell and Dr. Kaboca, and the gravity of the situation was accentuated by the shaking of their heads from side to side in disbelief saying that, according to the preliminary exam, everything about the Ruler, except for his swelling up, seemed normal. I entered the Ruler’s room. I would ask other questions only after I had seen the patient.

  “The patient was seated on the floor, his back to the wall. I felt his forehead, took his temperature, listened to his heartbeat. All was normal, though he seemed to be panting a bit from fatigue. But his eyes, those eyes, I have never encountered a look like that in an adult. They looked scared and helpless, like the eyes of a child stricken with fear at the unexpected and the unknown.

  “The Ruler, as his followers invariably called him, seemed to have lost the power of speech. Fortunately he could still read what was put in front of him and he would then nod for yes or shake his head for no. But even these gestured yeses and nos were rare and rather abrupt.”