Devil on the Cross

by Ngũgĩ Wa Thiong'o

  Warĩĩnga: Those voices that I hear raised in self-praise in the cave—are they singing hymns to you?

  Voice: Ah, those. Those are all my followers. Their cunning is a gift from me, and in exchange they have given me their souls to keep. So I know everything they have done in the past, everything they are doing today and everything they’ll do tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and in years to come. Why are you holding back?

  Warĩĩnga: Go away! Leave me alone, Satan! Take your wiles and offer them to your own people. If I were to give you my soul, what would I be left with?

  Voice: You don’t believe me, do you? Even after all that you’ve heard with your ears and seen with your eyes. Weren’t you there in the cave?

  Warĩĩnga: Yes, I was.

  Voice: And you heard Mwĩreri testify?

  Warĩĩnga: Yes.

  Voice: And you rode in the same car as he did last night?

  Warĩĩnga: Yes. And I must say his testimony surprised me, because in the matatũ, it was he who was telling us the parable of the man who was going to a far country and he called his servants, and gave them his goods. Unto one, he gave five talents, unto the second two talents, and unto the third . . .

  Voice: . . . he gave one talent. I know the parable. I am an avid reader of the Bible. And there is nothing hidden from me under the sun. I was there at the very beginning of the conflict in Heaven. God and I are twins. He is the Lord of Heaven. I am the Lord of Hell. This world is our battlefield; it is where God and I fight over the mastery of human souls.

  Warĩĩnga: Proof. I need proof.

  Voice: Today I am waiting to receive Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ, who is about to be hurled down into my kingdom by those who want to buy my blessings.

  Warĩĩnga: What?

  Voice: You will never see Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ on this Earth again.

  Warĩĩnga: He’s going to be murdered? For what? By whom?

  Voice: His mouth will cost him his life. Wasn’t he the one who called for national self-reliance in theft and robbery? Didn’t he argue that the national thieves and robbers should refuse to share their loot with foreigners, and that every thief should steal from his own mother? The foreign thieves from America, Europe and Japan became very angry, and they said to one another: “Weren’t we the people who introduced modern theft and robbery into this country? Didn’t we show these people all the arts of modern theft and robbery? And weren’t we the people who gave them the necessary talents to start with? And now Mwĩreri wants to turn against us, and demands that we should leave his mother to him? Weren’t we the ones who kept his mother as our mistress—although, admittedly, we had to rape her in the first place? And today aren’t we still keeping her? And now Mwĩreri is telling us to pack up and leave him his mother’s thighs?” It was decided that Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ should be sacrificed to soothe the foreigners and to persuade them not to take away their talents and the crumbs from their table. Mwĩreri will be murdered today by. . . .

  Warĩĩnga: By?

  Voice: Robin Mwaũra.

  Warĩĩnga: Mwaũra? The owner of Matatũ Matata Matamu or some other Mwaũra?

  Voice: Mwaũra is a member of the Devil’s Angels.

  Warĩĩnga: The Devil’s Angels? Mwaũra? How can that be? This is a marvel to beat all marvels! The thugs who kicked me out of my house in Jericho yesterday?

  Voice: Why are you so amazed? Did you imagine that Mwaũra couldn’t do a thing like that? Don’t be surprised. Don’t be astonished. That’s a job Mwaũra has often undertaken. He started during the Emergency. In those days he was a very cruel home guard. He used to work with a killer squad led by the European nicknamed Nyangwĩcũ, who used to terrorize people in the Rift Valley. But before he joined Nyangwĩcũ, he worked with another killer squad led by Kĩmeendeeri, the very man who is singing his own praises right now. Mwaũra used to get five shillings for the head of every Mau Mau follower he killed. Mwaũra would scout the villages at night. Old women, children, young men, young girls, old men—Mwaũra did not mind. After all, the Mau Mau didn’t wear identity badges. In the morning, Mwaũra would take the heads to Nyangwĩcũ, who would give him the bounty for murder. In fact, it was Nyangwĩcũ who gave Mwaũra the car he uses as a matatũ. Now consider this: if he could kill for five shillings then, why not now, when he has just been promised a new vehicle by Kĩmeendeeri?

  Warĩĩnga: I don’t believe it. I don’t believe anything. Why are you distressing me with stories that will keep me awake when I need a good sleep above all? I’ve hardly slept at all the last four nights.

  Voice: Because . . . because I would like to give you a job.

  Warĩĩnga: A job? Where?

  Voice: In Nakuru, Ngorika.

  Warĩĩnga: No! No! Get thee behind me, Satan. . . .

  3

  Warĩĩnga woke up, her body tense with fear.

  “Here you are, sleeping peacefully, and I’ve been rushing about all over the place looking for you,” Gatuĩria said.

  Warĩĩnga had never been as happy as she was the minute she opened her eyes and saw Gatuĩria standing beside her.

  “I leaned against this tree, and I must have dozed off,” Warĩĩnga told him, yawning. She stood up, stretched and yawned again. She glanced about her. “I didn’t get enough sleep last night. When I got home, I had a long talk with my mother.”

  “Last night’s journey was rather long,” Gatuĩria observed, “and Mwaũra’s matatũ crawled along the road like a dung beetle.”

  Warĩĩnga thought of telling Gatuĩria about her strange dream and then decided against it, telling herself that a dream was a dream, and that there was no one who didn’t have nightmares now and then.

  “Is the feast over?” Warĩĩnga asked Gatuĩria, laughing to drive away her fears.

  “No, but let’s get away,” Gatuĩria said. “Let’s go,” he added in English. “The firebrand is burned at the handle.”

  “What did you say?” Warĩĩnga asked.

  “The cave is in chaos,” Gatuĩria said gloomily. “The police came.”

  “And did they arrest the Gĩtutus and the Gatheecas?” Warĩĩnga asked excitedly. “Oh, that would really be wonderful!”

  “No,” Gatuĩria replied in a low voice. “They arrested Wangarĩ.”

  “Wangarĩ? They arrested Wangarĩ? Didn’t she go to fetch them herself?”

  “Yes, Wangarĩ made the mistake of going to look for her lost sheep with the henchmen of the thief who had stolen it,” Gatuĩria said angrily. “I have just seen them chain her hands and throw her into the back of a Black Maria.”

  “But why?” Warĩĩnga asked.

  “Because, they claimed, she was spreading rumors and hatred and planting seeds of conflict in a country that is committed to peace and stability.”

  Warĩĩnga recalled her recent dream.

  “What peace?” Warĩĩnga asked. “Whose peace? Will the nation’s peace always be said to have been shattered only when the poor demand back their eyes or their teeth?”

  Warĩĩnga’s questions pierced Gatuĩria’s heart, and his words poured out like a river in full spate that finds a weak spot at which to burst its banks.

  “Oh, you should have been there to see the sight of the Ilmorog police—shepherds of peace, indeed!—attacking a defenseless woman. They came with batons raised, shields ready, guns cocked, as if they were at war, led by Senior Superintendent Gakono. Warĩĩnga, it’s a tale I would never have believed had I not been present and seen the whole drama with my own eyes. Listen. Kĩmeendeeri wa Kanyuanjii had just left the platform—”

  “Wait a minute!” Warĩĩnga interrupted Gatuĩria. “Who did you say? Kĩmeendeeri wa Kanyuanjii? Was there really someone called that, or were you dreaming?”

  “I wish it were a dream,” Gatuĩria replied. “Kĩmeendeeri wa Kanyuanjii was certainly there, but it was difficult to tell whether he w
as a human being or a fat, hairy worm with a beak. Anyway, Kĩmeendeeri had just finished his monologue (monologue or verbal diarrhea? you might ask). He started by giving us details of his wealth, then he bragged about how he wanted to set up an experimental farm to investigate the feasibility of exporting the labor of our workers to foreign countries through pipelines, and to discover whether their bodies could eventually be made into fertilizer to ensure the continued productivity of rich people’s farms here and abroad. And suddenly I saw all the people in the cave open their mouths, and they looked at me with eyes that seemed hungry and thirsty for human blood and human flesh, and fear seized me, and I desperately started looking for an escape route. . . .”

  “Please, let’s sit down,” Warĩĩnga cried out. “My legs are shaking.”

  Gatuĩria and Warĩĩnga sat down on the grass. Gatuĩria went on with his story.

  “It was then that the police came. Wangarĩ was the first to enter the cave, followed closely by Senior Superintendent Gakono. Oh, I’ve never come across a woman with so much courage! Wangarĩ calmly walked up to the platform, and she silenced the whole cave with the power of her eyes—it was as if they were flames of fire—and then she denounced the thieves in a voice that did not betray the slightest trace of fear: ‘These are the men who have always oppressed us peasants, denying us clothes and food and sleep. These are the men who stole the heritage bequeathed to us by Waiyaki wa Hiinga and Kĩmaathi wa Waciũri, and by all the brave patriots who have shed their blood to liberate Kenya. These are the imperialist watchdogs, the children of the Devil. Chain their hands, chain their legs and throw them into the Eternal Jail, where there is an endless gnashing of teeth! For that’s the fate of all those who sell foreigners the heritage of our founding patriarchs and patriots!’

  “Warĩĩnga, how can I describe the scene adequately? It looked as if everyone in the cave had been transfixed by the electric power of Wangarĩ’s words. Oh, Wangarĩ was beautiful, I can tell you. Oh, yes, Wangarĩ’s face shone as she stood before us all, and it looked as if her courage had stripped years from her body and given her new life. It was as if the light in her face were illuminating the hearts of all those present, and her voice carried the power and the authority of a people’s judge.

  “Then I saw the master of ceremonies stand up and look over at the Superintendent, who was standing there silent and immobile. ‘What’s all this about, Superintendent Gakono? Is this a coup or what?’ he demanded angrily. Gakono, springing to attention, saluted and started offering apologies and begging for forgiveness in a trembling voice. He spoke as if fear had penetrated his flesh and bones, and he did not understand the use of the comma or full stop: ‘I am sorry sir truly sorry to tell you the truth I did not know that you were the people who had gathered here I thought it was the ordinary small-time thieves and robbers from Njeruca you know those who play about with your property and sometimes break into banks that belong to foreigners like the guests we have here that woman brought us reports that the thieves and robbers who have troubled and bankrupted the whole country were hiding in this lair bragging about their exploits and again please I would like you to know that it was not really my fault for on Saturday I got a call from Nairobi telling me that there was a woman who was expected to bring vital information about thieves and robbers and so when I saw the woman over there—’

  “‘Never mind,’ the master of ceremonies interrupted him, ‘we’ll talk about that later and pin down the enemy who has planned all this to sow seeds of discord between us and our foreign masters. Kitulacho Kimo Nguoni Zetu. We ought to be more self-reliant, eh? We’ll face them squarely and root out those who think they’re smarter than the rest of us. We are very embarrassed about this shameful drama which is being enacted before our international guests. Superintendent Gakono, do your job. Wembe ni ule ule. Act as you do when you are angry, then come back and greet our foreign guests over a glass of whisky.’

  “Gakono blew his whistle. The police swarmed into the cave, armed with clubs and guns. Gakono pointed at Wangarĩ, and they rushed up to the platform, and they attacked her, and they chained her hands. But even when fate had turned against her, Wangarĩ did not display any fear. She merely asked, in a voice that was quite steady: ‘So you, the police force, are the servants of one class only? And to think that I stupidly went ahead and entrusted my love of my country to treacherous rats that love to devour patriotism!’ Then Wangarĩ raised her voice in song as they prodded at her and shoved her with clubs and batons and spat at her:

  If ever you hear drip, drip, drip,

  Don’t think it’s thundery rain.

  No, it’ll be the blood of us peasants

  As we fight for our soil!

  “And she was led out, still singing her defiance, her chained hands raised high above her head, the links gleaming like a necklace of courage. Wangarĩ, heroine of our land!”

  Gatuĩria paused, as if Wangarĩ’s courageous voice were ringing in his ears.

  “Wangarĩ, heroine of our nation!” Gatuĩria said again, slowly. “It was then, as I was sitting there, dumbfounded by the crime that had been committed before my eyes, that I saw Gakono return to the cave. Muttering, ‘Crazy woman, crazy!,’ he went over to the table occupied by the master of ceremonies and the foreign guests, and sat down, and started talking and laughing over a glass of whisky. Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ stood up and asked for permission to defend himself against certain words that had been uttered by the master of ceremonies. He was not allowed to speak. He turned away, fuming, and stopped at Mwaũra’s table. He told Mwaũra to follow him to the Green Rainbow Hotel, as he wanted to be taken home this evening in the Matatũ Matata Matamu. He promised that they would not fall out over the hire fee.

  “As Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ was about to go out, he looked at me, halted, then said with bitterness: ‘Now you see the danger of putting too much faith in women like that! Never cast your pearls before swine!’

  “He didn’t wait for an answer, but left immediately. And suddenly I felt a burning anger inside me, and I ran after him so that I could tell him a thing or two even if it meant that we came to blows. But I couldn’t find him.

  “While I stood there, wondering where Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ had gone, I saw Robin Mwaũra and the master of ceremonies and Kĩmeendeeri wa Kanyuanjii come out of the cave, talking animatedly like old friends. Kĩmeendeeri was saying to Mwaũra: ‘Yes, yes, I knew you the moment I saw you. I remembered the sort of job you used to do before you joined Nyangwicu. . . .’ They went a little further and then stopped, deep in private conversation. I couldn’t hear all they said, but a few words were blown by the wind toward where I was standing. ‘Devil’s Angels . . . private businessmen . . . one of them . . . today . . . tonight . . . phone them . . . Yes, they’ll meet you on the way . . . Kĩneeniĩ. . . .’ I didn’t wait to hear more. I just started looking for you, to take you away from here. What I have seen so far is more than enough for me!”

  Gatuĩria fell silent. As for Warĩĩnga, her heart was thumping, for what had occurred in the cave corresponded almost word for word, action for action, with what had gone on in her dream. Or could it be that it was not a dream but a revelation?

  “What about Mũturi and his people?” Warĩĩnga asked Gatuĩria.

  “Mũturi hadn’t arrived by the time I left the place,” Gatuĩria replied.

  “If he comes to the cave now, won’t he be arrested as well?” Warĩĩnga asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t seem to be sure of anything any more,” Gatuĩria said. “Things are bubbling away in my head like porridge cooking in a pot.”

  And not in Gatuĩria’s head alone. Warĩĩnga was also turning over several things in her mind. She was considering a number of questions. Should she tell Gatuĩria about her dream? How could they help Mũturi to escape from chains and police custody? And what could she do to prevent Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ from being murdered by Robin Mwaũra and his grou
p of Devil’s Angels? How could she be certain of anything in what, after all, had been a dream?

  Warĩĩnga decided that she would not tell Gatuĩria about the dream, but she would do her best to prevent Mwĩreri from traveling in Mwaũra’s matatũ that night. What they had to do straight away was to prevent Mũturi from coming to the cave.

  “Let’s go and meet Mũturi to warn him about the danger ahead!” Warĩĩnga suggested. “Let’s save him from Wangarĩ’s fate before it’s too late.”

  4

  Gatuĩria and Warĩĩnga began to walk toward Njeruca, each carrying a private load of thoughts and doubts.

  Gatuĩria was preoccupied by the image of Wangarĩ in a police cell, her hands and feet in chains.

  Warĩĩnga’s thoughts were dominated by the voice of Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ as he told them the story of the man who was traveling to a far country and how, on his return, he called all his servants to account for the talents he had left them. . . .

  Then he that had received one talent came and said, Lord, I know thee, that thou art a hard man, reaping where thou hast not sown, and gathering where thou hast not reaped. . . .

  Warĩĩnga suddenly halted and tugged Gatuĩria by the sleeve. Gatuĩria stopped too and asked Warĩĩnga: “What is it?”

  “Listen to the voices of the people singing a new song!”

  CHAPTER NINE

  1

  The rays of the setting sun fell on Ilmorog’s Golden Heights like flames reflected in the shiny steel of swords and spears. Warĩĩnga and Gatuĩria stood on the grassy carpet of Ilmorog Golf Course, ears and eyes straining toward the road to Njeruca, from which came the sound of singing voices:

  Come one and all,

  And behold the wonderful sight

  Of us chasing away the Devil

  And all his disciples!