Wizard of the Crow

by Ngũgĩ Wa Thiong

  “All right, it is back, the image is back,” said the Wizard of the Crow, “and, yes, they are still talking about how he almost became the governor of Aburlria and she the first lady of the colony. They recall their palatial house on a hill overlooking the city and their holiday digs at the seaside. Yes, ten servants at the palace and five at the estate by the sea. They recall the expensive lawns, green hedges, the swimming pool, the fleet of cars, so many that they now do not remember all the models, except that they were partial to the Jaguar and Rolls-Royce.

  “Two horsemen, actually two policemen, come galloping by, and Sir Clarence and Lady Clarence look at the horses long and critically and shake their heads, thinking of their own thoroughbreds in the colonial stables, and the talk and envy of other settlers. They cross another road. Where are they going? Oh, yes, they are stopping at Harrods, where they used to fly for annual shopping sprees. Now they are window-shopping. I want that silk scarf for Christmas. I want that handbag. They argue a little about this and that and the prices, accusing each other of being extravagant. Their arguments suddenly cease when they remind each other that they have no money with which to pay for the flashy luxury items in the windows of Harrods.

  “There! They cross the road again, oblivious to cars that screech to a halt to avoid hitting them. They are now standing beside some garbage cans. What? A homeless couple? No, no, they continue on, still deep in conversation. But would anyone really call this a conversation? They are actually lamenting, crying and cursing all the dirty politics of the sixties, which ended the good old colonial days. They don’t know whether to blame it on the Americans or the Russians or both, but they are definitely cursing all the forces that supplanted the British Empire. Wait. I have lost them. Where have they goner

  “Oh, yes, they are back. I see them now kneeling down before the altar in a church, and they are praying to God for the recolonization of Africa and Asia now that communism had been defeated. They cross another road-how many times must these two keep on crossing and recrossing these London roads? And now, oh my God, Sir Clement Clarence Whitehead and Lady Virgin Beatrice Whitehead are definitely heading for an old people’s home, still dreaming about the possible return of their good old days of power and glory in Africa.

  “In short,” said the Wizard of the Crow, staring straight at Tajirika and Vinjinia, “your white English destiny is as a homeless ex-colonial couple living solely on the memories of what used to be. Now, how soon would you like to achieve your white destiny?”

  “No! No!” Tajirika and Vinjinia shouted, opening their eyes in fright. “Black is beautiful. Give us back our blackness,” they moaned, as if the Wizard of the Crow had already shorn them of it.

  15

  When his clients left, the Wizard of the Crow felt relief, only to sink into depression at being all alone. He went to the living room, hoping that Nyawlra was there so that he could unburden himself of his amazement at what had just transpired. Suddenly a stench blasted his nostrils as if to bring him back to reality.

  The putrid smell was most intense where the bags of money stood like three guardians of evil stopping him in his tracks. He felt weak, faint, and he held on to a wall. I need fresh air, he said to himself. I have to go outside. And with that resolution he propelled himself forward, struggling for air as if in an asthmatic seizure.

  He collapsed just outside the door. Were the three bags of money really possessed of evil? he wondered.

  16

  They had taken a few steps in silence toward their Mercedes-Benz when, as if to acquaint himself with his surroundings, Tajirika glanced back and froze, startled. Following close behind them was the woman of the shrine: it was his secretary.

  “Nyawlra! What on earth are you doing in these parts? Do you live around here?”

  “Don’t tell me that you’re only now making out who she is,” Vin-jinia said. “She has been with us all along.”

  “Surely, I’m truly bewitched. I had taken her to be an assistant wizard,” he muttered, trying to laugh off his embarrassment.

  “You may laugh all you want,” Vinjinia said as they resumed walking toward the car, “but had it not been for Nyawlra you would still be locked in the house, barking IFl How else would I have known my way around these slums? Count your blessings; God has been generous in granting you a secretary like her. One in a million.”

  “Thank you, Nyawlra. I will never forget this,” Tajirika told her. “And even if I did, you can see that you will always have a strong advocate in my house.”

  “Count your children, Gacirü and Gaclgua, as her advocates, too,” Vinjinia said. “Now they talk of nothing without mentioning their aunt, the teller of tales of two-mouthed ogres.”

  Tajirika felt no need to know what his wife was talking about. He had just gotten to the car and noticed how the side and rearview mirrors had been turned away from the driver’s vision.

  “What’s the matter with the mirrors?”

  He felt like laughing at the explanation, which only served to confirm that he had been very ill, for he could not remember any of these oddities.

  “You’re no doubt an excellent driver,” Tajirika said, as if congratulating Vinjinia. “But now I will take the wheel,” he added, adjusting the mirrors.

  Vinjinia sat in the passenger seat, next to him.

  Nyawlra tried to make herself as invisible as possible in the backseat. She did not want to get involved in their conversation in case questions arose for which she did not have credible answers. But she need not have worried. Man and wife were absorbed with themselves, talking about what they had just gone through as if they were alone in the car.

  “The Waswahili were right,” Tajirika was saying. “Kikulacho kimo nguoni tnwako. My enemies wanted me to become a poor white so that they would take over Marching to Heaven and reap the benefits.”

  “But they did not reckon on your being a step or two ahead of them,” said Vinjinia.

  “Yes, yes,” agreed Tajirika, now very happy with what had taken place at the shrine, especially his remembering, just before they left, to ask the Wizard of the Crow to thwart the ill intentions of his enemies. It was strange, on looking back, how he had felt, when first seeing the Wizard of the Crow, that he had met him before, in a previous life perhaps? It did not matter.

  He and his wife were now agreed that the evil was hidden inside the three bags of money; they felt good about leaving them behind at the sorcerer’s shrine. Even Nyawlra, recalling that Tajirika had nearly shot her dead because of the three bags, was inclined to agree.

  “How about some breakfast? Shall we try Mars Cafe?” Tajirika asked as they approached his office in Santamaria. “Or do you know of a nicer place around here?” he added, turning to Nyawlra.

  “Mars Cafe will do,” Nyawlra said, though it reminded her of Kaniürü.

  “We are already there,” Vinjinia was about to say when Tajirika suddenly stomped on the brakes; the car swerved to the side of the road, nearly hitting a passerby. Vinjinia screamed. Nyawlra thought that Tajirika must have been trying to avoid a collision, but there were no cars approaching.

  “What is that?” Tajirika asked, in shock.

  “What?” Vinjinia asked, puzzled.

  “Look! Look over there,” he said, pointing to the entrance of Eldares Modern Construction and Beal Estate.

  “Oh, the queue!” Vinjinia and Nyawlra said in unison.

  17

  “They are waiting for you,” Vinjinia said, her matter-of-fact tone surprising Tajirika even more.

  “Me? For what? Some kind of protest or demonstration?”

  “They are looking for work,” said Vinjinia, gesturing toward Nyawlra for support.

  “It is the billboard you asked me to put up outside the office,” Nyawlra said. “Don’t you remember? Tempa?”

  “Temporary jobs? All these people?”

  “Daemons of the queue,” Nyawlra said.

  She recounted the mania that had spread to all the corners of Eldare
s, starting at the foot of the billboard.

  “This is too much. And what is the government doing about it?” he asked angrily, regretting his absence from the scene. “The army should be called to teach this mob a lesson. Listen, you two. No breakfast for me. Please, go along, eat, and come back to the office afterward. This is surely the work of the enemies who first charmed me with the money bags, but now I will show them that I still have power and influence. I will let my good friend Machokali, Minister for Foreign Affairs, know about this riotous mob. I tell you, after only a few minutes the army and the police will surround the place and this mob will be running for their miserable lives in all directions.”

  With those words he parked the Mercedes-Benz properly and strode toward his workplace, though careful to take a detour to the back door.

  Vinjinia and Nyawlra went to the Mars Cafe, and at the entrance Nyawlra instinctively surveyed the interior. She had good reason to be apprehensive. Kaniürü was seated in a corner, his face buried in a newspaper. He pretended not to have seen her, and Nyawlra decided to act likewise. Does this man spend all his nights and days in this cafe? What is he doing here so early?

  Even as they were finishing placing their orders, Tajirika joined them. They could see self-satisfaction in his gait.

  Tajirika was very much aware of their curiosity about why he was back there so soon after he had given up on breakfast, but he was not in a hurry to enlighten them. He kept them anxious for his revelation. He ordered six eggs, three sausages, and a pile of bacon.

  “You will make people think that I don’t feed you, “joked Vinjinia.

  “I want both of you to eat properly, all on me,” he said, pausing for effect before adding: “And rejoice.”

  “Why?” the women asked. Had he been assured that the army and the police were already on their way?

  “We are celebrating the daemons of the queue,” he told them as soon as their orders had arrived.

  Nyawlra and Vinjinia put down their forks and looked at him with befuddlement.

  “What did you tell me about the queues?” he asked after swallowing one or two mouthfuls. “That they started outside our office and now are all over Eldares, even spilling into neighboring towns. I have just spoken to Machokali, and he cast a different light on all this. It is quite simple. The fact that all these people are coming for jobs at the office of the chairman of Marching to Heaven shows that all the people in Eldares support the project, and you know that when Eldares calls, the entire country answers sooner or later. You could say, taking the contract hunters and then these job hunters into account, that there is not a single Aburlrian who does not want to have a piece of the project. The Ruler and his most beloved minister, who is also my friend Machokali, are very pleased with this development and have even sent five motorcycle riders to all corners of the country to spread the gospel of queuing and gather even more grassroots support. And we started it. Nyawlra, you and I started it. Next week the Global Bank mission will tour Eldares and the surrounding towns, wherever there are queues, to see for themselves how happy the people are with the prospect of Marching to Heaven.

  “It will all culminate in a mass rally at the Ruler’s Park, at which the Ruler will formally dedicate the site. They used to say that all roads lead to Rome, but on that day all queues will lead to the park. Imagine all the cameras capturing the drama of lines and lines of people making their pilgrimage to a new Mecca? See the point? Get the picture? And now comes the sweetest part.

  “Minister Machokali is very pleased with my illness. He did not even want to know what kind of illness it was-he was just glad that I had been ill and therefore absent from the office. In fact, he sounded very alarmed when I told him that I was now well and ready to resume work. Of course he was happy to hear that the illness was not fatal-he is a very good friend of mine, you know-but he does not want me to get well quickly, at least not well enough to return to the office. The crowd will keep waiting for my return. So he wants me to resurface from my illness only after the Bank missionaries have visited all the queues and witnessed the mass support. I am to reappear only on the day of the dedication. Thus the government will have made effective use of the queues in its bid for money from the Bank.”

  He paused to study and enjoy the effect of his words on their faces. Tajirika was speaking as if he had originated the idea of queues. He turned toward NyawTra with eyes lit up with pride.

  “So NyawTra, the billboard that you planted is now bearing fruit that even the Buler is glad to gather. In short, a simple billboard is about to change the history of Aburiria, the history of Africa, the history of the world. And everyone gains a little from this mania, including you two.”

  NyawTra and Vinjinia looked askance at each other, wondering how they were going to benefit from a billboard that simply announced that the company was now hiring temporary staff.

  Tajirika felt good inside. “So congratulations,” he told them, laughing, his half-shaved chin moving up and down rhythmically.

  “For what?” asked Vinjinia.

  “Who do you think will be running the firm in my purposeful, patriotic absence? You, my faithful duo. You, Vinjinia, are now the acting general manager of Eldares Modern Construction and Beal Estate, and you, NyawTra, the assistant general manager.”

  He paused to take in the gratitude from their eyes at the promotions he had just announced.

  “And no coup d’etat against the absent boss!” he joked. You must not remove the billboard: as far as the public is concerned I am still indisposed and therefore unable to come to the office. When answering the phone or talking to people, I want you to remember at all times that I am still ill. If these people want any business that might come this way, they are to make themselves known to the acting general manager, Mrs. Vinjinia Tajirika, and leave their envelopes with her. But should there be some who insist on speaking to me personally, then, Vinjinia, call me at home and connect me to the person, but only after the person has added a considerable sum to the envelope as an inducement for the sick to leave his bed to pick up the phone. These promotions are my way of saying thank you to both of you for conspiring to take me to the Wizard of the Crow. His powers have already changed my life.”

  Nyawlra quickly glanced at the corner where Kaniürü was sitting and saw that he was still there, absorbed in his paper. He is just pretending to read, Nyawlra said to herself, for she was sure that his eyes and ears and nose were taking everything in. Despite this, Nyawlra decided to squeeze more information out of Tajirika about the coming dedication of the proposed site for Marching to Heaven.

  “What day is the Ruler going to bless the site?” she asked as if making talk without the slightest interest in the actual date.

  “I don’t have all the details,” Tajirika told her. “But don’t worry. As soon as I know them I will let you know. I would like you both to be present. What did I tell you, Nyawlra? I will never forget you. Since you started working for me my affairs have been running smoothly, and I would like to express my gratitude and appreciation. On the blessed day I shall ask my friend Minister Machokali to have you stand on the platform in front of the Ruler so that he and the whole world will know that it was you and me who set the lines of people in motion. The Ruler might even shake your hand as he once shook mine…”

  He looked at his right hand, and for a second or two there was disbelief and dismay on his face.

  “What happened to my glove?” he asked, looking at Vinjinia.

  Vinjinia sensed an impending explosion and quickly moved in to contain it: she explained that she had taken it off thinking that his enemies may have tampered with the glove out of envy of the hand that smelled of the Ruler’s. But to the utter relief of Vinjinia, he was not angry.

  “Then my enemies will die of envy, because on the day of the dedication of the site this very hand will shake that of the Ruler, and this time I will thwart them by not wearing a glove that would indicate the spot blessed by his touch. Nyawlra, take note of
that. After the Ruler touches your hand, no glove!”

  He stopped himself and collapsed in hysterics.

  “Yes, you and I must have released these daemons in support of Marching to Heaven. We removed the other billboard, NO VACANCY: FOR JOBS COME TOMORROW, just in the nick of time. And see the results! These university boys who claim to be the Movement for the Voice of the People opposed to Marching to Heaven are now in a dark hole, completely isolated. Their propaganda against the project has come to naught: everywhere people are now voting with their feet, thanks to you and me. Up with the billboard! Those boys will die with envy when they see you, their age-mate, shake the Ruler’s hand. But remember, no glove… Leave that to me,” he added, attempting self-deprecating humor.

  He continued laughing, amusing himself.

  Kaniürü could no longer contain himself; his head rose from his newspaper to look at the center of this hilarity.

  18

  At the close of business, Nyawlra took the unusual step of asking Vin-jinia for a lift to the bus stop. She wanted to avoid any possible encounter with Kaniürü, but she also wanted to get home early.

  On the bus ride home, all her thoughts were on Kamltl. She recalled how they had first met in Tajirika’s office; how she had empathized when he told about his more than three years of fruitless job searching; how she had felt his humiliation at the hands of heartless Tajirika; how later that same night they had been chased by A.G. across the prairie; and how they talked through the night, on the verge of carnal intimacy.

  Now they hardly ever talked about that moment, even in jest, and neither had they come close to repeating it. Otherwise, she was at peace with Kamltl and surprised herself by opening her heart to him. Yet she was careful about revealing details of the movement: its members, leadership, and plans. In all personal matters, she felt that she could talk to him without embarrassment. He was unlike most men she had encountered; he had no set views of a woman’s place in the world. She felt close to him, yet she was haunted by a question: who was Kamltl, really?