“Speaking on my own behalf and on behalf of all the others …”
“Speak for yourself …” Sikiokuu and Machokali struck back in unison.
“Okay Speaking on my own behalf, and on behalf of everybody who knows the meaning of patriotism, I will repeat what I said the other day. Your Mighty Excellency, you will recall that I said that if a hurricane were to blow God’s hat and yours off your heads at the same time, I would pick yours up first. I know you have warned us against comparing you to God, but my Lord and Master I cannot help it. Asante sana, my Lord. I have a tiny request. May I?”
“Ask and it shall be given.”
“What about the deputy chair of Marching to Heaven?”
“He will still be reporting to the chairman.”
“And who is he?” Kaniürü asked, almost certain that he would be asked to take on the full chairmanship.
“Thank you for asking,” said the Ruler. “I was about to forget. Allow me to introduce the Governor of the Central Bank to you.”
They turned their eyes to the door to see the new governor. But they saw nobody come through.
“Titus Tajirika, my new Governor of the Central Bank and Permanent Chairman of Marching to Heaven, please stand up and be properly acknowledged.”
They could hardly believe their ears. Even Tajirika first looked over his shoulder as if there was another person with the same name. But when he understood that the reference was to himself, Tajirika fell to his knees in humility and gratitude, even as the others were terrified by the potential consequences of his elevation.
“Our Holy and Mighty Excellency,” he said. “I don’t know how to thank you. You are a deity who dispenses fair justice to us mortals, giving hope where there is despair, even resurrecting dead souls. How can I repay your tender mercies? I renew my pledge: Now and forever, your enemy is my enemy”
Kaniürü saw an opportunity for him to show that he appreciated his elevation better than had Tajirika his. He got to his feet and jumped into the arena.
“Down with the enemies of the Ruler!” he shouted.
“Down with all the enemies of the Mighty Ruler!” Sikiokuu shouted, not to be outdone by Kaniürü.
“Down with every enemy of the Mightiest Ruler!” joined in Ma-chokali, not to be left out of the circle of praise singers.
These people may have been tired after seven days and nights of writing the pledge over and over again, but now their rivalry gave them a new lease of energy as they, now on their feet, tried to outdo one another in barking out their hatred of the Ruler’s enemies. They would have gone on, out of the fear of losing the right of the last word to the others, but the Ruler himself shouted at them, Down with all of you, in response to which they now suddenly shut up and retreated to their seats.
But Kaniürü, Sikiokuu, and Machokali did not even take one step forward. They stopped and stood there, frozen to the ground with fear, each gazing with wide-open eyes at the scene before him. Tajirika, A.G., Kahiga, and Njoya turned around to see what it was that had made them freeze.
“True! Haki ja Mungu!” A.C. would later tell his listeners. “Even the Ruler seemed shaken. Wouldn’t you if you saw termites building anthills on the floor and walls before your very eyes? The Ruler knew as I knew that this was the work of the Wizard of the Crow …”
With white termites multiplying ad nauseam in the room, the Ruler could no longer afford to ignore the powers of the Wizard of the Crow, a threat to his perceived omnipotence. This sorcerer had insulted him by calling him a woman, even claiming he was pregnant, had sparked the queuing mania, had inspired wives to rise against their husbands, and now this: an infinitude of white termites making mounds of earth inside his palace! This man could not be left free to roam the country. Neither could he be left with a power that the Ruler did not possess! He would have him apprehended and soften him with flattery and promises till he revealed the secrets of his knowledge: how to cultivate money trees and divine through mirrors. Having incorporated the powers of the wizard into himself, the Ruler would have him thrown into a dungeon, fry the pig in his own fat, for the Ruler now intended nothing short of becoming sorcerer number one.
Heaving with rage and expectation, the Ruler ordered Kaniürü, Sikiokuu, and Machokali to stand up.
“Whoever has wax in his ears, dig it out so that you can hear clearly what I have to say. Machokali. Bring the Wizard of the Crow to me. With the assistance of SS Arigaigai Gathere, bring him to me not dead in a shroud but alive in chains. And to you three: From today on I want to see results. I want to see which of you will be first to complete his task!”
The competition to see who would come out on top in the three-way rivalry among Kaniürü, Sikiokuu, and Machokali would start in earnest, paling in intensity and expected outcome, next to their writing down of the pledge, about which the Ruler had said nothing. The prize for success, each thought, would be exhilarating, the cost of failure fatal.
He dismissed all except his newly appointed governor of the Central Bank. He felt good about the decisions made; he had finally started to take full control of events since the Global Bank mission and his own calamitous visit to America, returning empty-handed.
“And now, Governor Titus …” He smiled, welcoming Tajirika to the inner counsel.
13
One day a man on a motorcycle arrived at the police headquarters in Eldares, demanding to see the police chief urgently. His hair was down to his shoulders; his beard reached his knees. His clothes were more like rags and the paint on his beaten up motorcycle was long gone, though on closer scrutiny one might have imagined the color red. Had he not shown his badge of office, nobody would have believed that he was a policeman: the police chief would not have wasted so much as a minute on him. Responding to puzzlement, he claimed that he was one of five police riders dispatched to all corners of the country to tell people about the virtues of queuing. When was this? he was asked, and he could not remember how long ago or how long he had been gone; all he knew was that he had been ordered by his superiors not to return without accomplishing his mission. When the bearded rider was asked about his four fellow riders, he said he did not know their fate, and that if they had not yet returned, he clearly had won the race. What race? the police chief asked. The race to prolong the queuing, of course. The bearded rider seemed irritated by what seemed pointless questions when he had more important news to deliver: that in the central region, school kids, following in the footsteps of the university students, were forming queues, not for food in the cafeteria but to demand additional books and teachers and an education that would teach them about their own country and its relation to the world. Were these old or new queues? To tell the truth, he said, there was no discernible difference between the old and the new, for all had neither beginning nor end. The police chief rushed the report to Sikiokuu, who rushed it to the Ruler, who at first reacted with an angry frown, as if to say, What is this nonsense you bring to me? But, recalling what the Global Bank in New York had told him, that there were people going around his country preaching the virtues of queuing, and considering that this had ended his visit abruptly and might even have cost him the loan for Marching to Heaven, and now, realizing that the agents for this sedition were members of his security team, he ordered the rider to face a firing squad and the Minister of Information, Big Ben Mambo, to announce this on the airwaves, as a warning to any other miscreants in his armed forces.
The rider would have been executed except for his pleas that they should not kill the Ruler’s messenger without reading a note he had sewn inside his jacket to ensure its safety. And, sure enough, the piece of paper was discovered, and when the police unfolded it, they saw its heading, Messengers of the Ruler, and a line below, To My Messenger to the Central Region, followed by a directive to the rider to tour the region spreading the gospel of queuing. It said that the Ruler would be pleased with those who had heeded the call, and, most important, it ended with the Ruler’s clearly legible signature. The pol
ice chief referred the matter to Sikiokuu, who remembered writing such words and who took the piece of paper to the Ruler, who, when he saw that the signature was his, rescinded the earlier order and said that the rider should be told that the Ruler had felt mercy. The rider was to go away, shave, and cut his hair short, then take an indefinite leave without pay. The rider pleaded, pointing out that he had faithfully executed the spirit and letter of the Ruler’s command, setting in motion another round of consultations, after which he was assured that he could return to duty after several months of needed rest; he would be put under Kaniürü’s command as a road specialist in case it became necessary to track the students of the central region.
14
Kaniürü could not believe his luck. He had not known where or how he would start the search, but now? He hated university students with a passion, for their radicalism had deprived him of a good wife. If Nyawlra had not entered student politics, she might very well still be living under his protective wings. He dwelled on the news brought by the crazy rider. These students had been behind the snake incident at the aborted birthday ceremony. They were definitely behind the recent queuing mania. Kaniürü recalled that even the Ruler had said that students and youth caused the downfall of many a government. And all at once he saw the solution, simple but effective. Crush the university students, and all forms of queuing would come to an end. But how would he go about it? The students had been poisonously indoctrinated. Empty their heads of all foolishness and fill them with good and correct ideas supportive of the State. But how would the government go about this?
Kaniürü recalled that, according to the recent reports, the students were demanding to be taught about their own country first. Was the Ruler not the Country? Kaniürü immediately got pen and paper and started drafting a memorandum for a new national education program. Everybody in Aburlria knew that the Ruler was the supreme educator. Teacher number one. So all institutions of learning, from primary schools to university colleges, would be required to teach only those ideas that came from the supreme educator. They would be required to offer the Ruler’s mathematics, the Ruler’s science (biology, physics, and chemistry), the Ruler’s philosophy, and the Ruler’s history; and this would definitely take care of their demands to know their country first. But the students also wanted to be taught how their country was related to other regions of the world. That was also quite simple. They would be taught the geography and demographics of all the countries the Ruler had visited or intended to visit. As for the books to read, this too was simple. In recognition of the fact that the Ruler was the number one writer, all books published in the country would carry the name of the Ruler as the original author. Anybody who aspired to write and publish could do so only under the name of the Ruler, who would allow his name only on those books carefully examined and permitted by the subdepartment of Youth Conformity. All new editions of the Bible, the Quran, the Torah, and even Buddha’s Book of Light, or any other religious texts read in schools, would have prefaces and introductions by the Ruler. Such an education system was bound to produce students with a uniform knowledge streaming from the same source: the Ruler or those imbued with his thought.
Kaniürü formed an advisory board consisting of university professors from history, literature, political science, law, philosophy, and the sciences. They were all members of the Mighty Youth and under his command. He gave them the memorandum and asked them to look at it critically and make comments and necessary corrections, but they all came back full of praise: the document was well written and it contained the best educational program they had ever seen. They sat down to work out the best way of effecting this educational initiative, and they were all of the view that the best way was to sell the idea to university and secondary school students. Once the students had accepted it, and the advisory board did not see a problem in this, since the memorandum had met all the student demands, Kaniürü would present it to the Ruler for it to become the official government policy on education. They gave the memorandum a weighty but memorable title: The Kaniürü Memorandum on New Educational Initiatives for Youth and Women to Make Their Minds Conform to National Ideals and the Ruler’s Philosophy.
One of the professors, a specialist in all aspects of parrotology, came up with the idea of regional seminars to educate students and the public about the new educational program. The first seminar was to be held in Eldares, and Kaniürü was charged, at his own suggestion, with seeing whether the Ruler himself would open the proceedings.
Kaniürü simmered in joy. He knew that the Ruler could not make it to the seminar. But he did not mind his name being mentioned in the same breath as the Ruler’s. But a message, a word or two of greetings from the Ruler, would suffice.
15
There is nobody quicker to anger than a thief who has been robbed. This adage was no less true in the case of Silver Sikiokuu, Minister of State in the Ruler’s Office, for though over the years he had extorted bribes in the millions and did not see anything wrong with that, he now felt hurt and aggrieved that the Ruler had ordered him to repay money of which he had not seen a cent. He had been clueless about Kaniürü’s exploitation scheme in connection with Marching to Heaven. What pissed him off even more was that he had groomed the youthwinger into prominence. Why are people so untrustworthy? he asked himself time and again. How could Kaniürü be so ungrateful to his benefactor? He thought of avenging himself against Kaniürü, but he could not figure out how to land a stinging blow. The only light in his dark night was the Ruler’s promise to relieve him of his debt should Nyawlra be captured. But so far she had proved depressingly elusive.
One day, in the throes of his agony, Sikiokuu received a notice about a parcel awaiting him at customs. He dispatched a courier to fetch it. It was one of the mirrors he had ordered from London, and it was soon followed by many more from Tokyo, Rome, Stockholm, Paris, Berlin, and Washington.
Sikiokuu shook his ears for joy at the goodness of the omen. He started imagining how he would capture Nyawlra, drag her before the Ruler, and dramatically announce: Here is your enemy—what do you want me to do with her? What would the Ruler say? You have done well, you faithful and loyal minister, and I forgive the money you owe me; from now on you may do whatever you want to those who have wronged you and especially those who have falsely accused you of corrupting the bidding process of Marching to Heaven. However, the clarity of his daydreams was muddled by a concern: the mirrors are here, but where is their handler and interpreter? Where is the Wizard of the Crow?
Sikiokuu was not happy that the Ruler had assigned the task of capturing the Wizard of the Crow to Machokali, because he still harbored fears that the wizard might disclose to his archenemy what he had gleaned about Sikiokuu’s ambitions. He would have wanted the task for himself, though he was ambivalent as to what to do with the wizard. On the one hand, Sikiokuu wanted him dead; yet the wizard was his only hope for finding Nyawlra. But what was Machokali up to? What had he set in motion to effect the capture of the Wizard of the Crow? He knew that Machokali would not disclose anything to him, that far from enlightening him he would more likely mislead him. Sikiokuu decided that he had to get to the Wizard of the Crow first. So the race was on.
He set up a surveillance team to spy and report on the activities and movements of Machokali and Kahiga with a view to exploiting whatever intelligence they had come upon. He asked Njoya to hire an artist to sketch the Wizard of the Crow for a Wanted poster specifying a reward and the number to call. Given the secrecy required, the artist could rely only on Sikiokuu himself and his assistant, Njoya, for a description of the wizard. But Sikiokuu did not want it known that he received sorcerers in his office at night. So he asked Njoya to leave him out of it.
For his part, Njoya also wanted nothing to do with describing the face of the wizard, for he feared retaliation from the other wizard. So he described instead the minister, and the artist was surprised to see, emerging out of the sketchbook, a face that bore an uncanny resemblance
to that of Sikiokuu. To disguise the resemblance, the artist gave the sketch long hair and a beard, resulting, to Sikiokuu’s consternation, in a black, long-haired Jesus Christ with the face of the minister. Njoya advanced another idea. The poster would offer a prize to the Wizard of the Crow, who was required to present himself in order to receive it. The heading read THE WIZARD OF THE CROW: WANTED FOR A PRIZE, and at the foot a telephone number, but one that only Njoya and Sikiokuu could answer. Thus, when people saw the posters, they would assume that the picture was of the giver of the prize and that the Wizard of the Crow needed only show up and receive it.
But Sikiokuu did not want simply to sit back and wait for the Wizard of the Crow to hand over Nyawlra. Why put all his eggs in a sorcerer’s basket? He had to find other ways of getting to her. Besides, he wanted to hide from his rivals that he too was secretly pursuing the wizard. He would pull the wool over their eyes by pretending to be entirely preoccupied with the hunt for Nyawlra. And what better way to do this than to post new photographs of her all over Aburlria? Yet another problem presented itself: what had he done with the photos of Nyawlra that Kaniürü had shown him when he started working for him?
Nothing is going right, he thought in despair as he sat back in his chair. He recalled Kaniürü s lies about him and Tajirika’s refusal to go along with the confessions. He leaned forward and banged his desk with his right fist as his anger and frustration mounted. He stopped, folded his arms on the desk, and rested his forehead on them. Where was this woman? Every time he thought he had found a way to get to her, something would make him lose sight of her. How could he have lost her pictures? But bemoaning his bad luck was pointless, he told himself, attempting composure. He had better start looking for the photographs. And then, as if his eyes felt pity for him, he spotted a file under the piles of paper on his desk and pulled it out.
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