Wizard of the Crow

by Ngũgĩ Wa Thiong'o

  Machokali a completely new set of eyes, enlarged and probably fitted with night vision, why were they not good enough for you? These are the facts of the case. You are the judge. What is your judgment?”

  “My friend,” Tajirika said, assuming, without realizing it, the tone of a jurist. “I quite see the logic of your suspicions, but I can speak only the truth, even if it clashes with logic. For just as you told me, only truth, the whole truth, and nothing else but the truth will remove all doubts from your mind and set me free. Some things are hard to talk about because, as I told you the last time we went over this, these things, even diseases, are embarrassing to the one who is talking about them. When gonorrhea and syphilis were deadly menaces, people suffering from them were often described as having fallen victim to a severe strand of flu. It is the same today with the virus of death. Every victim of the virus is said to have died of a kidney problem. My illness was not quite of the heart … I mean, it was really an illness without a name.”

  “Please, Mr. Tajirika, stop joking. In our first interview you freely told me of your heart condition.”

  “My illness is without a proper noun.”

  “An illness without a proper noun?”

  “Diseases do not knock at the door and say, I’m so-and-so, please let me in; they force their way, more like a coup d’etat. Look, soldiers are coming for you, and …”

  Njoya did not wait to hear the rest but bolted and started banging the door furiously. Two wardens came in with guns raised. For a moment Njoya thought that these two were part of the coup and tried to tell them that he was on their side, but no words would come out. The wardens clamped handcuffs on Tajirika, dragged him back to the chair, and trained their rifles on him. Njoya realized his mistake and signaled the wardens to leave, muttering a lame excuse: Just testing your readiness and you have passed with flying colors.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Njoya asked as he turned toward the handcuffed Tajirika. “This is serious business.”

  “But what’s the matter?” a perplexed Tajirika asked.

  “I asked you a simple question and you answer me with coup d’etat’ and soldier nonsense …”

  “You presented me with a scenario,” Tajirika explained, “so I responded by drawing you a picture to show how such an attack can so overwhelm a person that he loses speech and gets stuck with a tiny word like …”

  “So you were not thinking of a real coup d’etat?”

  “Me, think of a coup d’etat?” Tajirika said, and felt like laughing at the absurdity.

  “Stop drawing pictures and tell me about the illness.”

  Tajirika haltingly began to recount his sorry state preceding his visit to the wizard, still mindful of what he chose to reveal. So he explained how seekers of future contracts had come to his office soon after his elevation to lead Marching to Heaven and how each person would leave a little something in an envelope, a few coins, perhaps, to suggest that the project promised future riches. He thought no more of the coins until he went home and he too started thinking about the wealth untold to be generated by Marching to Heaven. “The coins left in the envelope were nothing much, only tokens of appreciation, but they obviously triggered something in my mind that made me start imagining ever-increasing wealth. The worst was yet to come. For I soon imagined people being envious of me, crowds of the envious coming at me from every direction. I ran and locked myself in the bathroom. And still they came, wanting to tear the skin off my face. Imagine a man without a face. Haunted as I was by my wish to be unimaginably rich, I lost my ability to express myself through words. My body truly staged a coup against me. Imagine thought without words, what a curse! In the end, all the thoughts, all my feelings and emotions, were bodied forth by the word if.”

  Tajirika stopped abruptly and looked about him as if he did not quite know where he was; then he snapped back to awareness of the cell and Njoya, his inquisitor.

  “And what steps did your witch doctor take to stop you from barking the word?”

  “He showed me that the ifness had resulted from my longing to be white. Officer, I wished to become a white man. It was a severe case of white-ache.”

  Njoya burst out laughing, holding his belly while pointing at Tajirika.

  “You? You? A white man? A white European? With those lips, that kinky hair, and that skin? And that pouch? So, how did he bring about a cure?”

  “He showed me that I would end up a poor white and somehow this did it. I believe that my white-ache is now in total remission,” Tajirika hastened to add, a little offended by Njoya’s derisive laughter.

  “Well, it’s a good thing that you’ve been cured,” Njoya said. He coughed a bit, then cleared his throat. He was now serious, businesslike again. “Mr. Tajirika, you have really helped to clarify some things: I will do my best on your behalf on your assurance that you have told me everything. Now I must take leave of you.”

  And saying so, he stood up and started for the door.

  “Am I now free to go?” Tajirika shouted the question after him.

  “Not just yet,” Njoya said, stopping near the door. “I will show the footage of our conversation to my superiors, and I hope they will see what I myself saw: that you did open a little window into your soul …”

  Tajirika was a little down, but impressed by his cleverness in dealing with the issue of the money. He had given an inch for a yard. Were the Wizard of the Crow to mention the money, Njoya and company would think that he was referring only to a few inconsequential coins. And of course he had conceded nothing to the allegations of a Machokali plot and would never do so. But soon he was weighed down by grief and self-pity. Why had the interrogation been recorded? He felt his knees weaken; he held on to the bed to avoid falling. Would he survive this ordeal? he wondered anew.

  SECTION II

  1

  When you, research scientists and historians of this country, come to write about this era we hope you will not overlook the role played by the Tajirika video confession, not so much for its content but for how it was taken by Sikiokuu and Kaniürü. Timing can also affect the course of history and the destiny of nations, and the time of its release may have been an even more significant factor in the video’s influence.

  Sikiokuu, as it turned out, got his copy soon after he had already received a call from the Ruler’s camp that the delegation would be returning any day now, certainly not the most welcome of news. Like a mosquito in the dark, the Ruler’s unequivocal order that by the time he came back from America he should find Nyawlra in custody, kept on z-zinging in Sikiokuu’s ear. Nyawlra’s capture had always been a priority, but now, after the call, the z-zinging intensified: she must be taken into custody. While waiting for the video, and now as he was about to play it, he thought of nothing but her. Was she in the country or not, dead or alive? The undercover agents engaged to comb the entire country had not brought news that was even remotely useful, and it was with some justification that he felt that he had turned over as many stones in the land as he could. Was there a stone left unturned? he now wondered.

  Yes, perhaps the video. Sikiokuu, who had found the results of Njoya’s and Kahiga’s interrogations unsatisfactory, had himself ordered the video interview and had hoped that by examining it himself he would be able to detect in Tajirika’s words, tone, and body language significant leads to Nyawlra’s lair. After all, Tajirika had been her employer, and Sikiokuu did not believe his denials that he had nothing to do with her. As soon as his copy arrived he gave strict instructions that on no account must he be disturbed. He locked himself in his office and tied his long ears behind him so that their shadow would not interfere with his study of Tajirika’s every gesture and facial expression.

  Sikiokuu was not known for his humor. Few people had ever seen him laugh or even smile, except sarcastically, but the image of Tajirika as a white man made Sikiokuu suddenly laugh, just as Njoya before him, and he continued laughing till his ears fell loose and his ribs ached. Tajirika, a white m
an?

  After the entire video, his laughter ceased, replaced by anger and frustration expressed in Useless! Nothing in this about Nyawi~ra! He was about to throw the cassette into the dustbin when he was struck by indecision. He leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and replayed it in his mind, frame by frame.

  Even as he reviewed it through his mind’s eye, there was much that was still unclear, but what now impressed him as odd in the narrative was not only Tajirika’s claim that words had gotten stuck in his throat but his use of the word coup to describe his illness. Had he slipped up in some way, a Freudian slip? This suspicion triggered a host of questions, including: why did Tajirika get well only after learning that his destiny as a white man was abject poverty? Sikiokuu experienced a burst of clarity, opened his eyes, placed the cassette on the table, and started whistling and stroking his earlobes. All along, he now concluded, Tajirika’s use of the word white had been a code for power. Tajirika had longed for Whiteness as Power and must have hoped to get it by force of arms, for how else in Aburlria could one attain power? But Tajirika did not look to be the type who initiated things; he was more a follower than a leader. His longing must have been set in motion by the plans either he and Machokali had hatched or that he had heard others talk about. The latter was more likely, for just as there are those who can only repeat what has been spoken by others, there are those who can only recycle the thoughts of others. That would explain why the words had gotten stuck in his throat. The thought had not originated with him, and he had either forgotten or jumbled it. And since Tajirika was as unlikely ever to hold power as he was to be white, the longing must have appeared impossible, hence the ifs. Moreover, even the dumbest Aburlrian knew that dreaming about, wishing, or imagining the death of the leader under any circumstance was an act of treason punishable by death. That explained not only why the man’s thoughts refused to express themselves through words but also why, when eventually forced to do so by whatever tricks the witch doctor had used, the actual desire for power came out coded as a desire to be white.

  Sikiokuu stood and proceeded to prance about his office, and even when he stopped jumping up and down, he trembled from excitement that things were looking up for him. The capture of Nyawlra was no longer a matter of life and death. If he could simply prove that there were plans to overthrow the government, that in itself would be a great triumph. With that one stone he could kill two huge birds: take attention away from his failure to capture Nyawlra and also get at his political archrival, the big-eyed Minister for Foreign Affairs. But Sikiokuu knew that he needed more than his surmises and inferences. He needed proof, to be gotten from only one person: Tajirika. Sikiokuu had to find a way of persuading Tajirika, through words, physical coercion, or both, to join his side and testify against his friend Machokali. And he could do so only by confronting Tajirika with the reality of what he, Sikiokuu, supposed.

  He took the video, kissed it, and put it in a safe place. He did not reflect further. There was no time for delay; he sent for Tajirika.

  “Your life is entirely in your hands,” Sikiokuu told him.

  2

  The impact of the video on Kaniürü was different; he dwelled on Tajirika’s talk of symbolic Burl coins in the envelopes as an omen of wealth to come. Kaniürü knew from his own experience as deputy chairman that Tajirika was lying about the amount of money in the envelopes. Not a day had passed since taking up his duties as the deputy of Marching to Heaven that Kaniürü himself had not filled up one or two bags with these envelopes of introduction. How much more must the boss have gotten prior to his own bounty?

  But, like Tajirika before him, Kaniürü would not and had never uttered a word about this to his friend and benefactor Sikiokuu. So although he knew very well that Tajirika was lying about the money, Kaniürü also knew that he himself would never raise this aspect of Tajirika’s confession to anybody, for doing so would mean revealing his own sources of sudden wealth. Kaniürü also knew that Tajirika must know that he, Kaniürü, was receiving money, and there was a moment when viewing the video that he panicked, fearing that Tajirika might have told on him. But when he came to the end of the video and heard nothing more about the money, Kaniürü took self-satisfied comfort in the fact that Tajirika had lied about the matter. There was a tacit pact between them about disclosing personal gains from Marching to Heaven, and in this Kaniürü trusted his nemesis. Anything else would have been a recipe for mutually assured destruction. In the matter of money gained from Marching to Heaven, he and Tajirika were on the same side.

  The only other person who knew of Kaniürü ‘s wealth was Jane Kanyori. She had taken some courses in accounting at the Eldares Polytechnic, where Kaniürü used to teach, but their acquaintance came later, at her workplace as a teller in the Aburlrian Bank of Commerce and Industry. Kaniürü kept an eye on her as she rose in her job, not in adoration but in reference to the future. He courted her with uncharacteristic patience, taking her out to lunch or coffee and even sending her Christmas and birthday cards. Kaniürü liked the fact that Jane Kanyori was only a secondary school graduate who showed no interest in university education and seemed completely innocent of Nyawlra’s women’s lib nonsense.

  When he learned that she was promoted yet again to senior sales representative and could access duplicates of coded signatures and could okay checks, Kaniürü acquainted her with his needs. Kanyori would not countenance any vulgar misuse of her access to the bank secrets, but she could help by not asking too many questions about the signatures of anybody in whose name he wanted to open an account.

  Though satisfied with Kanyori’s help and loyalty, he remained worried. The greater the flow of Burl notes his way, the more he became anxious about this bubble of good fortune bursting, his wealth disappearing into thin air. His anxiety made him toss and turn in bed for entire nights; he needed something more secure than bank vaults and the accounting schemes of a loyal friend.

  The mention of symbolic coins made him recall that, in the pre-video interrogations by Peter Kahiga, Tajirika had also talked of benefiting from protective magic. He had dismissed this as one more example of Tajirika’s stupidity. But now “protective magic” was as cool water to a thirsty person; he felt a touch of gratitude toward Tajirika. Why had he not thought of this before? Should he not seek a bit of protective magic for his person and property to augment Jane Kanyori’s aid?

  And so he thought of the Wizard of the Crow: Kaniürü might not have been a deep believer in magic, but cautionary measures, hardly expressions of cowardice, had to be taken, and he made his way to the wizard’s shrine.

  3

  “My life is in my hands?” Tajirika asked defiantly. “Did I arrest myself, put myself in handcuffs, and drag myself to the dungeon?”

  Sikiokuu’s personal reception area was a veritable living room, with settees and plastic flowers in a vase placed on a low coffee table. Generous curtains and a liquor cabinet completed the decor.

  The minister exuded unbridled self-confidence in the way he walked, sat, and gestured, stroking his earlobes or rolling his tiny eyes. For a moment Tajirika feared that something was up with the government. Had a coup d’etat taken place? Was Sikiokuu the man in absolute charge?

  Sikiokuu did not respond immediately but first poured his guest a little brandy, handing him cigarettes and a lighter as well. Tajirika grabbed everything offered as if he feared Sikiokuu might change his mind. He had not had a drink or a cigarette in a long while.

  “You are quite right. You are not under self-arrest,” Sikiokuu told him. “But there is a reason for your being here. I am sure that Intelligence would not have detained a person of your stature without proper cause. What did the Waswahili say? Dark clouds herald rain, or, more appropriately, where there is smoke there must be fire.”

  “So where is the smoke that led them to me?”

  “Nyawlra.”

  “Has she been captured?”

  “State secrets,” Sikiokuu said vaguely.

 
; “Hear me out, Mr. Sikiokuu. If she is under arrest, I am glad. Then I can confront her and refute anything she may allege against me. You have employed workers, I am sure. Can you honestly say that you know where and with whom they sleep every night? Or what’s going on in their heads?”

  “Mr. Tajirika, the M5 have relative autonomy; they reign over us. They gather information about us all, at work or play. They bring us information, but we don’t know how much they have kept to themselves. Obviously, we have to make decisions on the basis of that information. Personally, I believe you, Mr. Tajirika. And let me confide in you as a friend. Nyawlra, your former secretary, has not yet been caught, but you can be sure that sooner or later she will be. She cannot outrun the State. So the good news for you is that she has not said anything against you. Still, you are in deep trouble.”