Wizard of the Crow

by Ngũgĩ Wa Thiong

  “You should know,” Sikiokuu shouted at Machokali. “Stop pretending. You were the one who requested that the Wizard of the Crow be sent to America. I have kept all your faxes and e-mails on the matter. The Ruler is ill, you alleged in one of them.”

  “I did not call you all here to hear you crow about the wizard,” the Ruler said, wagging his finger at Machokali and Sikiokuu. “Why can’t you two talk plainly like my chairman of Marching to Heaven?” he added, nodding toward Tajirika approvingly.

  Tajirika felt joy continue springing within. If things continue this way, he might emerge from this ordeal free from the power of these two ministers.

  “Thank you,” he told the Ruler.

  “Titus,” the Ruler called him by name, still trying to soften him up with regard to the money, “you see now the kind of ministers I have?”

  “Well, you will have to do with what you have. What gives birth in the wilderness suckles in the wilderness,” Tajirika said.

  “What did you say?” the Ruler shouted at Tajirika. “What did you say about giving birth?”

  Only Machokali knew why the Ruler had become so touchy. Still, he did not show by look or gesture that he understood. He and Sikiokuu turned to Tajirika as if adding oil to the fire with the unspoken Yes, why did you say that!

  “It is just a proverb,” Tajirika said quickly, wondering why the Ruler had so suddenly turned against him. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?”

  “Forgive me.”

  “Forgive you for what? Just answer my questions plainly. Riddles and proverbs are for evening entertainment at one’s own home.”

  “Yes, Sir Holiness.”

  “Listen to me. I have it on good authority that the queues started outside your office,” the Ruler said, to change the subject from pregnancy and sorcery to queues and money matters.

  Fajirika had no clue that the Ruler was so sensitive on this subject, and in his eagerness to undo the error he had made with his proverb he now hastened to expound his theory that it was the Wizard of the Crow who had started the whole queuing mania. At that, Sikiokuu cast him an evil eye, for he had expressly told Tajirika not to make the Wizard of the Crow the originator of the queuing mania, for that explanation would tend to exonerate Machokali. Machokali, for his part, cast him a glance of gratitude. Tajirika saw the evil look from Sikiokuu, but he knew that the eyes of a frog in a brook do not prevent cows from drinking water. Instead of halting his narrative, Tajirika now sat up and recounted how the Wizard of the Crow came to his office disguised as a job seeker…

  “Why are you so obsessed with this sorcerer?” the Ruler interrupted him. “Cut out the business of who started the queues and go straight to the question of envelopes of self-introduction.”

  In a second it dawned on Tajirika what the Ruler had been driving at all along. Was that really why he had been summoned to the State House? To answer questions about money that he had not used or even banked? The money was cursed, and it had now come to haunt him even inside the State House.

  “The envelopes? I was coming to that. You see, there is a connection between the queues and those envelopes,” he said without hesitation.

  He told how he had learned of his appointment to the chairmanship of Marching to Heaven and how soon after that a queue of seekers of future contracts had formed outside his offices, how they handed him envelopes of self-introduction, and how by the end of the day he had filled up three big sacks, each at least five feet by two, with money.

  “Three sacks full of money? And each bag more than five feet by two? In one day?” asked the Ruler.

  He could not tell where or how it came to him-it may have been triggered by the eagerness for knowledge in the Ruler’s eyes-but the idea of vengeance against Kaniürü suddenly formed in his mind and Tajirika found himself exaggerating the story of the money and enjoying it.

  “It was not even a whole day” he now said. “Just a matter of a few hours in the afternoon.”

  “One afternoon? A few hours?” pressed the Ruler.

  “Yes, a couple hours.”

  “And three big sacks, each more than five feet by two, full of money?”

  “Not just full. I had to push the notes down with my hands and even with my feet until each bag was tight and as heavy as a sack of grain. But, alas, just when I thought that I had finally crossed the valley of poverty into permanent wealth, I became ill.”

  The idea of vengeance, initially vague, was growing, and now it formed itself into a definite plan. So far he had talked only about money in general, and his listeners understood it to be in the form of Burl notes. Now in the plan the Burls became dollars. All he had to do was find a way of dropping the name of the currency to ensure maximum impact on his listeners. Tajirika paused and bent his head slightly in a dejected manner, and this reflected in his voice as he now said:

  “But after getting well I never once received another envelope stashed with dollars, all in hundred-dollar bills.”

  “Dollars? They bribed you in American dollars?” the Ruler kept asking.

  “Well, they were out to impress me. Some said openly that they knew that the Aburlrian Burl was nothing, that it changed its value every other day the way chameleons change color. Bunni bure, some would say in Kiswahili, and, because they wanted our friendship to be firm, they thought that it could be made so only by money that was global, firm and permanent in value, and the American dollar fits the bill.”

  “They said Burls were valueless?” the Ruler repeated. He was about to explode with expletives, but he changed his mind. “Why no more dollars afterward?” he asked.

  “Your Mighty Excellency, when I recovered from my illness, I found that all the powers of my office had been assumed by my deputy, John Kaniürü.”

  “And your deputy, did he also receive envelopes of self-introduction?” he asked.

  “I don’t know for sure. I think the person who can best answer that question is Minister Silver Sikiokuu. Kaniürü works for him. They are very close friends.”

  “I swear, I know nothing about this,” said Sikiokuu, alarmed and shaken by the implications.

  “Go on, Mr. Tajirika,” the Ruler said, ignoring Sikiokuu’s interjection. “Please continue.”

  “Even though I don’t know much about it,” said Tajirika, “I have heard that the queues moved to his place and that up to now Kaniürü continues to receive an endless stream of seekers of contracts. I have heard it said that there are some who have been to visit him twice or three times, with newer and fatter envelopes of continuous self-reintroduction. Dollars to help keep hope alive,” Tajirika added.

  “Three big bags of dollars a day,” repeated the Ruler slowly.

  “At least twice or thrice a day” said Tajirika.

  “That makes it at least six or nine bags of dollars every day. Sikiokuu, how many months have gone by since your Kaniürü took over as deputy chairman for Marching to Heaven?”

  Instead of answering, Sikiokuu rose to deny once again that he had any connection with the envelopes. He swore time and again, pulling his earlobes for emphasis, that this was the very first time he was hearing about the scheme.

  “But I will conduct an investigation. I will get to the bottom of this matter. I will set up an investigating team tomorrow,” said Sikiokuu, the veins of his neck popping.

  “No, not tomorrow,” said the Ruler. “I must have some accounting for this. I am sending for that Kaniürü now.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Sikiokuu enthusiastically. “Let him come here to expose the naked lies of some people and their cunning friends,” Sikiokuu added, obviously referring to Tajirika and Machokali.

  The Ruler phoned instructions for Kaniürü to be brought immediately to him, wherever he might be, even if it meant sending a helicopter to fly him to the State House.

  Sikiokuu was happy at this turn of events. If there was anybody whose loyalty Sikiokuu was sure of, it was John Kaniürü. He had done many favors for the youthwinger, raisi
ng him up from a simple lecturer at a polytechnic to a powerful presence in the land. There was no way Kaniürü would have collected such an amount of money without telling him and clearing it with him. Tajirika’s lies will be exposed, he mused, and to whom will this betrayer of friendship turn for help? And just as he was laughing inwardly in triumph at the image of Tajirika beating a hasty retreat, his tail between his legs, Sikiokuu heard Tajirika say:

  “This is the same Kaniürü who is the leader of the gang of thugs that kidnapped and beat my wife.”

  “Why? Is there something going on between them?” asked the Ruler.

  “No! No!” Tajirika protested, and started to tell his story.

  As he told how Vinjinia had been humiliated, his voice broke with the memory of the shame, and for a few seconds after he had concluded his story, there was an awkward silence in the room. They all could not help but be touched by the sincerity in his voice. The Ruler broke the silence by looking askance at Sikiokuu.

  “I am the one who asked Kaniürü to investigate those women of the people’s court,” Sikiokuu said. “Rut Kaniürü went too far. I was only trying to help Tajirika. He and I had spoken, and he had agreed to the investigation. If anything, it was Tajirika who urged me to take strong measures to uncover the women who had beaten him.”

  “Is that so, Tajirika?” asked the Ruler.

  “Yes, the part about my agreeing to an investigation is correct.”

  “Thank you, Titus,” Sikiokuu said in English. “You are a good man surrounded by false friends.”

  “Stop it, Sikiokuu,” the Ruler said. “I did not ask you for an assessment of anybody’s character.”

  Machokali did not like that Kaniürü would give a report on the investigations into the queuing mania and was all too happy to see and even contribute to the undermining of his credibility.

  “And is John Kaniürü, this friend of Sikiokuu’s, not the same who had earlier made false allegations about Vinjinia, resulting in her arrest and illegal detention?” asked Machokali with feigned innocence.

  Sikiokuu could no longer restrain himself at the antics of his rival.

  “Kaniürü is my friend,” Sikiokuu said. “Rut you, too, Machokali, have lots of strange friends in Santamaria. If not so, to whom did you go to say farewell in Santamaria just before you left for America? Or will you deny that you made a secret trip to Santamaria?”

  Caught unaware, Machokali, not sure how much his archenemy knew about this visit, decided to come clean but tinker with the truth here and there.

  “Yes, I did visit Santamaria, as I do many other parts of Eldares. I did not know that it was prohibited to visit certain parts of Eldares.”

  “Yes, but why then did you go there incognito?”

  “Look. I went there to meet with my friend Tajirika. We met openly at the Mars Cafe. Is that what you call incognito?”

  “Why did you take a taxi instead of your chauffer-driven Mercedes-Benz?” Sikiokuu challenged him.

  “Surely everybody knows how difficult it is to drive through Eldares during rush hour. It might even be quicker to take a mko-koteni pushcart.”

  “Was the taxi going by some other route?”

  “Taxi drivers know side streets better than anyone.”

  “Was it not during the meeting at the Mars Cafe that you asked Tajirika to be your eyes and ears in Aburlria while you were away?”

  “Don’t twist my words,” Machokali said heatedly. “I told Tajirika that, in my absence, he should be my ears and eyes as far as Marching to Heaven was concerned. In other words, I had gone to see him not only as my friend but also in his capacity as the Ruler-appointed chairperson of Marching to Heaven. Strictly speaking, as the chairman he should have been a member of the official delegation to the USA, and I was there to explain to him why his name had been left off the list. But I did not know then that some people would scheme behind my back to prevent him from effectively carrying out his duties. I did not know that his designated deputy, your friend Kan-iürü, would take away from Tajirika what the Ruler had given him,” he finished, pointing a finger at Sikiokuu before turning toward Tajirika. “Is that not so, Titus?” he asked in a solicitous voice.

  “You have spoken some truth,” Tajirika said, without too much enthusiasm, for he still resented not having been included in the delegation.

  The Ruler was always happiest when his ministers, especially these two, were at each other’s throats, for it was during these heated exchanges that he was able to learn a thing or two that may have been hidden from him. But now he did not want their bickering to take the focus away from the bags of money, knowing that dollars, not Burls, were at stake. Three, six, nine bags of dollars a day? Probably more?

  “Mr. Sikiokuu, I asked you how many months have gone by since Kaniürü assumed his position as the deputy chairman of Marching to Heaven. You have yet to answer me,” the Ruler said to Sikiokuu.

  Before Sikiokuu could respond, it was announced that Kaniürü had arrived and was now waiting at the door.

  “We can now hear from the horse’s own mouth,” the Ruler said.

  5

  Kaniürü strode into the room confidently, holding a briefcase in his right hand. For him to be summoned to the State House in his own right for whatever reason, bad or good, was a great honor. One look at Sikiokuu, though, and he knew that all was not well. Then he saw the Ruler pointing at him. The size of the hand and of the Ruler came as a surprise to Kaniürü, but he did not let it show or unsettle him.

  “We want to hear a full report from the deputy chairman of Marching to Heaven,” the Ruler told him, waving him to a seat next to Sikiokuu.

  He also told Tajirika to move and sit next to Machokali, the two pairs facing each other. The arrangement made it possible for the Ruler to keep everyone within his gaze at all times.

  “Your Mighty Excellency, I have a lot to tell, only I don’t know where or how to begin,” Kaniürü said as he opened his briefcase and ostentatiously pulled out file after file and put them down at his own feet on the floor.

  “Why don’t you start with the visitors who bring you money?” the Ruler commanded.

  Kaniürü did not look perturbed. The question and the hostile tone simply confirmed his own observation that Sikiokuu was in a tight corner and that, in the event of a crisis, his friend would not be able to help him. Now it was every man for himself.

  He took his time arranging his files and receipts in proper order. He then sat up to explain himself.

  It was indeed true, he quickly admitted, that when the Aburlrian business community learned that he had been accorded the unique honor of serving his Ruler and country as the deputy chairman of Marching to Heaven, they started visiting him, giving him what they called their visiting cards, which of course amounted to envelopes stashed with paper money. At first he did not know what to do with these envelopes, but after discussing the matter with his friend and benefactor, Minister Silver Sikiokuu, it was agreed that, of the money received, he would keep twenty-five percent, and the rest, seventy-five percent, he would put into Sikiokuu’s various accounts.

  Sikiokuu could not believe his ears.

  “What? Are you crazy?” he said in English, jumping up without knowing exactly what he would do. So he just stood there, pulling his earlobes in fury while appealing to the Ruler. “Your Excellency, can’t you see? My enemies have conspired with this man to discredit my name and character. I swear that I have had nothing whatsoever to do with these visiting envelopes. Kaniürü, so it is true what the Waswahili say, that a donkey shows gratitude through its kicks? Yes, asante ya punda ni tnateke.”

  “My friend,” Kaniürü said affably, “I have one life like you and everybody else in Aburlria. The difference between my life and the lives of others is that mine is completely dedicated to the Ruler and there is no way I would ever tell a lie before him. Believe me, my very body would denounce me.”

  “This man is lying through his teeth,” cried Sikiokuu in sheer frustr
ation.

  “Young man,” said the Ruler, “do you know that what you are saying is very serious? Do you have any evidence to back up your claims?”

  “Your Mighty Excellency, I don’t understand why Sikiokuu is denying any knowledge of the envelopes and their contents. I can assure you that it is neither Sikiokuu nor I who solicited the gifts from these businessmen. This has absolutely nothing to do with bribery or corruption,” he emphasized in English.

  “Yes, but I have had nothing to do with it,” said Sikiokuu.

  “That’s true,” agreed Kaniürü, “but it is because I handled everything.”

  “Where is the evidence?” the Ruler intervened. “I want evidence, not endless arguments.”

  “May I approach?” Kaniürü asked the Ruler as if he, Kaniürü, were a lawyer asking permission to go near a judge’s bench.

  Without waiting for an answer Kaniürü took a bundle of canceled checks and handed them over to the Ruler, showing that, every day for several months, Kaniürü had written checks payable to Silver Sikiokuu. All had a seemingly valid bank stamp showing that they had been cashed or deposited in Sikiokuu’s accounts.

  What Kaniürü did not disclose was that his friend at the bank, Jane Kanyori, had set up a bogus account in Sikiokuu’s name to facilitate Kaniürü’s supposed deposits. Neither did he disclose that Jane Kanyori had given him a bank card in the name of Sikiokuu, enabling Kaniürü to withdraw the money he had deposited in Sikiokuu’s account and redeposit the money in his own at other banks. Everything according to the book. Kaniürü was an artist, and his calligraphic skills became useful in forging Sikiokuu’s signature.

  “If my share of twenty-five percent is ever needed for any of our Lord’s self-help programs, I will part with it anytime,” Kaniürü declared, and returned to his chair next to Sikiokuu.

  For once in his life Sikiokuu was at a complete loss for words. His mouth remained open, unable to deny, protest, or affirm his innocence. But his head was busy trying to figure out, without success, how and when he had wronged Kaniürü. Instead, what came to the fore were his own generous deeds on his friend’s behalf.