Now her questions suddenly reminded him that it was she who had introduced him to the Wizard of the Crow when he was stricken by white-ache. He was sure she could come up with another sorcerer. Women had a sixth sense.
“I need some sorcerers and witch doctors,” Tajirika said to his wife without any preliminaries.
“What!” Vinjinia exclaimed, taken unaware. Was he joking, or had he gone feeble in his head?
“I want you to get me the most powerful sorcerers and witch doctors available,” Tajirika repeated.
“Sorcerers?”
“Even one will do,” Tajirika said. “But many are better than one, for I can choose the best among them.”
“What are you talking about? What do you all of a sudden want with sorcerers?” Vinjinia asked when she saw that he was serious. “Whom do you intend to bewitch?”
He sat her down and told her about the capture of the Wizard of the Crow and of his affliction. Still the Ruler wanted to ask him a few questions that only he, the Wizard of the Crow, could answer. The task of getting a healer to heal the healer had been thrust upon him, he explained.
“What on earth do I know about sorcerers or where to find them?” Vinjinia asked, shrugging it off.
“You are a very resourceful woman, Vinjinia,” Tajirika pleaded. “I am dead sure that you can find me a sorcerer as you did before.”
Vinjinia was about to remind him that it was Nyawlra who led her to the Wizard of the Crow, but thought the better of it.
As the wife of a governor and a successful businesswoman in her own right, she wanted no part of Nyawlra, the Wizard of the Crow, or the razed shrine.
It is true, though, that when news of the arson first reached her, Vinjinia felt despair, worsened by her not knowing whether or not Nyawlra had perished in the shrine. Vinjinia felt responsible; she was burdened by guilt and could talk to no one without revealing what she knew about the identity of one of the faces of the Wizard of the Crow. She was haunted by images of the charred remains of Nyawlra, but in time she had managed to suppress them.
Now Vinjinia recalled the many times that Nyawlra had come to her aid and was surprised to find herself feeling as when she first heard that the shrine had been burnt down. How could she tell Tajirika that Nyawlra, who had led her to the Wizard of the Crow and was the only one who could show them the way, had been reduced to ashes? How could she tell him that she knew nothing about sorcerers, witches, diviners, and healers? She did not want to break his heart, so she tried to be diplomatic.
“Well, I will keep my ears open,” she said, sounding sympathetic.
“Please try-I believe that even among your fellow churchgoers there are many who go to sorcerers at night,” Tajirika pleaded. “Pray to God to show you the way.”
Vinjinia tried hard not to laugh, as she realized that Tajirika was serious about her seeking God’s guidance in finding his sorcerer. Alone in the car on her way to All Saints Cathedral, Vinjinia laughed openly, so ludicrous had been her husband. She was, after all, a middle-class Christian woman. A respected churchgoer, the wife of the governor of the Central Bank and chairman of Marching to Heaven, and now a full managing director of all Tajirika Enterprises, including the well-known Eldares Modern Construction and Real Estate, how could she go to church on a Sunday and ask her fellow worshippers: Can you tell me where I might come across a diviner? Or, Our Sister in Christ, please tell me about your personal witch doctor? No. Let Tajirika and the Ruler conduct their own witch doctor hunt.
A few yards from the church door, she bumped into Maritha and Mariko, who told her that they had been waiting for her, but she assumed that this was the usual case of people wanting to shake hands with her and to make themselves known to her. But what would Maritha and Mariko want from her? They always looked completely at peace with themselves, as if they dwelled in a world of their own.
“We just wanted to catch you before you went in,” Maritha said quickly.
“Yes, because after the service, it is very difficult to get close to you. There is always a crowd around you,” added Mariko.
“And you important people are always so busy” said Maritha, “that…”
After church, you might simply drive away” said Mariko.
“Is it something that can wait until after the service?” Vinjinia asked impatiently, time being of the essence, for she wanted to be present at the beginning of the service. Vinjinia was one of those who felt lost if she arrived after the beginning of a service or any performance.
“It is only a message,” said Maritha.
“But it can wait until after the service,” added Mariko.
“From whom is the message?” she asked, curious.
A dove,” Maritha and Mariko said together.
A dove?” Vinjinia asked, frowning.
But instead of replying directly, Maritha and Mariko started to sing and dance around, like two children at a party.
Dove sent me on a mission, mmh
It needs a bigger beak, mmh
To enable it to swallow seeds, mmh
When now it tries to swallow them, mmh
They get stuck in the throat, mmh
Maritha and Mariko were well known in the church community for their comic ways in going about things. But now they had gone too far. Prancing about, only a few yards from the entrance to the church? Vinjinia quickly looked around in sheer embarrassment, fearing the disapproval of potential onlookers.
“Let us meet after the service,” Vinjinia said very quickly. “Let us meet over there, where I have parked my car,” she added, pointing to her Mercedes-Benz by the road. “If you get there before I do, please wait for me,” she added, hurrying into the church.
18
It was during the service that Vinjinia recalled who Dove was and started shaking so much that she could hardly follow what Bishop Kanogori was saying at the altar. Thank you, Lord, thank you, Jesus, she heard herself say in silent prayer. Nyawlra was still alive! Her guilt was assuaged, and she realized that she had been deceiving herself in imagining that she had successfully repressed all thoughts of Nyawlra. But where was she? And how did Maritha, Mariko, and Nyawlra come to know one another so well that she could trust them with such a message to Vinjinia?
She recalled the many rumors provoked by the couple’s declaration of victory over Satan. Some gossipers had claimed that Maritha and Mariko may have visited the shrine of the Wizard of the Crow, where they got a magic potion that rekindled their love to a level that rivaled that of their youth. But soon anxiety replaced Vinjinia’s initial relief and curiosity. What was the content of Dove’s message? What did Nyawlra want from her?
Did she want to give herself up? The recently appointed national hostess-what’s her name, Yunique Immaculate McKenzie-was she not at one time an advocate of bad politics? When she gave herself up, the Buler forgave her and even gave her a job. Maybe Nyawlra had read about McKenzies appointment and had seen the light and was now willing to kneel at the feet of the Buler. Maybe she wants me to take her to him.
But what would the consequences be of her being associated with Nyawlra? Should she, the wife of the governor of the Central Bank, be encouraging contact with an enemy of the State? After the service she could simply avoid the usual crowd of well-wishers and favor seekers and go straight to her car and drive away. That would send a clear message to Nyawlra that Vinjinia did not want to renew their relationship. But she decided that she should first hear the content of the message before settling on a course of action. After all, she could be wrong about the dove’s identity and intent.
As soon as the service was over, Vinjinia got out and hurried to her car. Maritha and Mariko were already there. She asked them to get in the car, drove some distance away, and stopped. Caution was of utmost importance. Maritha went straight to the point. She had been sent to tell Vinjinia this story.
Once upon a time, there was a person who used to give Dove a nest and some castor seeds to eat, and now Dove heard that the person wa
s in a place where no eyes of an ordinary citizen could reach him. Dove was hungry and wanted Vinjinia to find out everything she could about the person, where he was, how he was, things like that. Vinjinia should try to tell the person that Dove’s nest had caught fire but Dove was fine and was now breathing the same air as all other citizen birds. Maritha ended by telling Vinjinia that if she had any castor oil seeds that she wanted delivered to Dove, she should bring them to All Saints Cathedral on any Sunday and Maritha would make sure that Dove got them.
When she finished the story and without waiting for a reply, Maritha tugged Mariko’s sleeve and they got out of the car. They danced away, singing loudly:
Dove sent me on a mission, mmh It needs a bigger beak, mmh…
As she drove away, Vinjinia thought about Dove’s message. Nyawlra wanted to know about the Wizard of the Crow.
For a week or so, Vinjinia thought of nothing else but Nyawlra and her message. What a time for Nyawlra to intrude, just when her life with Tajirika was beginning to be good! Nyawlra wanted her to glean information from her husband, but how could she engage in such underhandedness? Tajirika was now an esteemed player in the government. Nyawlra was a reviled enemy of the State. How could she collude with an enemy of her husband?
She felt pulled in two different directions. She recalled her last meeting with Nyawlra and how her heart had so welled up with gratitude that she told Nyawlra that if she was ever in need she should call on her. A promise was a contract of sorts, and she should not break it. But then, she would argue, nobody was obliged to keep a promise destructive to herself and those around her.
She went so far as to consider finding Nyawlra’s whereabouts and turning her in, to her husband’s advantage. But opportunity knocked. Her husband had asked her to look for a sorcerer to heal the Wizard of the Crow. Who could do that better than the other Wizard of the Crow? She would help Nyawlra, and Nyawlra would help her. Then she would betray her, or rather let Tajirika do it, and that way Tajirika would rise in the government and might even succeed the Buler. Her husband would be bound to her in eternal gratitude.
The following morning Tajirika rushed to the State House to confer with the Buler. And on the next Sunday Vinjinia rushed to All Saints to see Maritha and Mariko.
19
The news came from the State House through Big Ben Mambo, Minister of Information, and it was broadcast by all the media. The Buler had devised a philosophy that would cure the people of the stresses of modernity. The government printer even issued a booklet: Magnus Africanus: Prolegomenon to Future Happiness, by the Ruler. The book said, among other things, that during his retreat and meditation it had been revealed to the Buler that the real threat to Aburlria’s future lay in people’s abandoning their traditions in pursuit of a stressful modernity.
And so, according to the teachings of Magnus Africanus, children and youth, even those at the university, must seek out and follow the advice of adults, and when they fail to do so they must be caned on their bare buttocks. Women must get circumcised and show submission by always walking a few steps behind their men. Polygamous households should not form queues. Instead of screaming when they are beaten, women should sing songs of praise to those who beat them and even organize festivals to celebrate wife beating in honor of manhood. Most important, all Aburlrians should remember at all times that the Ruler was husband number one, and so he was duty bound to set an example by doing in the country what individual men were to do in their households. The government would distribute the booklet free through churches, mosques, temples, and schools. Television and radio stations would be required to feature an excerpt daily, as a thought of the day. Teachers would be strongly encouraged to impart to schoolchildren the virtues of the past, of unquestioning obedience. Instead of using the word past, they would talk about African modernity through the ages, and they should talk of the leading figures in Africa’s march backward to the roots of an authentic unchanging past as the great sages of African modernity.
On the very day of the publication of Magnus Africanus, the Ruler issued a special decree that traditional African healers would no longer be called sorcerers, diviners, or witch doctors. Henceforth they would be called specialists in African psychiatry, in short, afrochiatrists, and they would be allowed to call themselves Doctor. The Ruler was making plans to set up the Ruler’s Academy of Authentic Afrochiatrists.
But the most dramatic in a week of dramatic statements was to follow soon, and it instantly became the subject of gossip, rumor, and speculation in every home in every village in every corner of Aburlria. The Ruler announced that all those who wanted to become the founding doctors of the new academy must present themselves at the State House for a national test. The very best among the founding doctors of the academy would comprise the Ruler’s advisory council to advise the Ruler on how best to ensure that people’s heads were on straight-behind the Ruler’s thought. The test would be given on the basis of first come, first tested.
20
Nothing like this had ever been seen or heard of in Aburfria: experts in sorcery and witchcraft, with their paraphernalia, winding their way to the State House to take the first-ever national achievement test in their trade. The sheer number who came forward was astounding. Some were among the most regular attendants at mosques and churches; nobody would ever have suspected these zealots of ever practicing sorcery and witchcraft on the side. There were a few others who knew nothing about sorcery and witchcraft but nevertheless came forward, hoping somehow to pass the test and earn a place in the Ruler’s advisory council as a base for personal advancement. Some had traveled at night, and by the early hours of the appointed day there was already a queue visible by even those at some distance from the gates of the State House.
Ever vigilant of opportunities to capture Satan, the Soldiers of Christ stood watching, but they were puzzled by the momentous proceedings. They were not alone in being puzzled by this gathering, for there were only two people, the Ruler and Tajirika, who knew the purpose of the national achievement test in sorcery and witchcraft.
21
An assistant for protocol fetched sorcerer or witch doctor in front of the queue and led him or her to a waiting room, from where Njoya, Kahiga, or A.G., depending on who happened to be guarding the door, escorted him or her to the testing site.
The test itself was simple. Each competitor would try to cure a man afflicted with a malady of words causing words to become stuck in his larynx. None was told the name or other details about the sick man; none knew that the patient was the Wizard of the Crow.
22
Kamltl had heard Njoya and Kahiga whisper about the impending arrival of a delegation of afrochiatrists to the State House. He gleaned that these were leading African specialists in mental disorders. But he did not know that they were coming up to see him.
Many of the sorcerers went through identical preliminaries: they would do some acrobatics, some even blowing horns or whistles to unsettle the evil spirits that possessed the patient, and then would venture a question to which Kamltl always responded by spitting out the word: if. They all left the room defeated, muttering to themselves that they had never encountered a case of so complete a possession by bad spirits. Some tried to cover their failure by saying that they were going for stronger medicines, that they would surely come back, but there was very little enthusiasm and conviction in their voices.
Kamltl began to feel good about his own performance. It was difficult even for the most astute of doctors to diagnose an illness in which the patient was silent about symptoms. But after dismissing one after the other, he came across one afrochiatrist who terrified him to the core.
This master surgeon started by elaborating on his experience, as if offering his credentials to the two examiners in the room.
“I tell you, it is not just one or two on whom I have operated and removed bits of iron buried deep in their bellies or their joints-their knees, for instance,” he said, confiding in Njoya and Kahiga. “I ha
ve operated on many, and seven out of every ten have come out of it alive and well. Not bad, eh? And I do it swiftly,” he added, reaching for the surgical tools in his bag and carefully spreading them on the floor.
Kamltl counted hammers, tweezers, miniature saws, razor blades, needles, knives, scissors, and nails of different sizes and shapes. He did not know what was more terrifying, the array of surgical tools or the master surgeon’s matter-of-fact tone in talking about his past successes.
Kamltl decided to take matters into his own hands. He stood up, walked toward the surgeon, barking, IF! IF! and spraying saliva in the direction of his nemesis, who was counting the tools. The master surgeon imagined that Kamltl intended to infect him and his tools with evil, and started collecting his paraphernalia and putting them back into the bag. It was too late. His gadgets were slimy with spit. A glob attached itself to his face; the surgeon did not wait for more. He let out an involuntary scream, threw the last of his gadgets into the bag, dashed out of the room, and ran as fast as his jingled legs could carry him toward the gates of the State House, moaning loudly for all the world to hear that his things had been bewitched with saliva. Me, too, he added, moaning, “I have just been cursed.” In his frenzy, he felt death knocking at his door. “I am going to die” soon changed into “I am dying,” and by the time the master surgeon had reached the queue outside, the cry had become “I am dead.” When asked by the others what was the matter, he blabbered about his bewitchment and certain death.
Wizard of the Crow Page 70
