Mwaũra started whistling a tune, like somebody who held different opinions on the matter or knew a little more about it but did not want to reveal what lay hidden in his heart. Then he started singing:
Maiden, should I ask you, grant me my wishes,
And don’t be stingy about it,
So that when later you reveal that you are pregnant,
I will not deny the responsibility.
He thought the passengers would laugh and move on to different topics, and abandon talk of killers, eaters of men, spirits and devils, feasts for competitors in theft and robbery. However, Warĩĩnga surprised them all by returning to the subject.
“But what if such things did exist? What if these were not mere stories told to children in the evenings? What would you do? Tell me, what would you do if bad and good spirits did actually exist, and if the Devil did exist, and if he visited Kenya, and if he hosted feasts on Earth and arranged competitions for his earthly disciples?”
“Me?” Mwaũra jumped as though the question had been directed at him. “Me?” he asked again, as if he wanted to make sure. But before he had even received an answer, he went on: “Let me tell you, I’ve seen some strange things. Well, once I was taken prisoner by some crooks in this very vehicle. But were they crooks or three young men dressed in fantastic suits? I found them at the Farmer’s Corner in Limuru. It was in the evening, just before darkness fell. They told me they wanted to go to Kikuyu town. One glance at them and I thought I had stumbled across good fortune. I raised the hire fee. I tell you, by the time we reached Mũtarakwa I had begun to see through my mouth. They took out a pistol and jammed it against the back of my head, and they told me: ‘If you don’t want fragments of metal to blast your head to smithereens, drive fast toward Kĩneenĩ forest, and don’t you dare look back or sideways.’ No one can claim that all my money wasn’t taken and all my clothes! I was left just as I was born—stark naked! But, fortunately, they did not steal my car keys.
“On another day an American tourist hired this car. This American was really old. His face was full of deep valleys. And on the other parts of his body, the folds of the skin lay in rolling layers. But he had with him an African girl, so tiny she could have been a schoolgirl. They sat in the back. I drove them all round Nairobi for an hour or so. They didn’t talk much. And they didn’t do a lot either. All he did was to keep pressing and pinching the little girl’s thighs, and the girl massaged his face—sometimes her fingers got completely lost in the folds of his skin. When the girl pretended to feel pain and she cried out a little, the eyes of the American would light up with happiness. Foam dribbled out of the sides of his mouth, and he groaned as if the real deed were on. When I dropped them outside the New Stanley Hotel, the American took out a 100-shilling note and gave it to the girl, who walked away. The American tourist stayed behind, listing for me the virtues of the country as if I was the owner of Kenya: ‘Kenya is a great country . . . fantastic wild game . . . and afterward fantastic women, so beautiful. . . . Even I, an old man, I can get a chick. . . . I’ll come back with even more tourists so that they can see Kenya’s wild game and women for themselves. . . . Truly a beautiful country . . . stability . . . progress. . . .’ And then he too walked away into the hotel. But he paid me well.
“So this world is full of many strange things. A man who doesn’t travel thinks that it’s only his mother who cooks wild vegetables. . . . Did you ask me what I would do if I was invited to the Devil’s feast? I would go, for I would never be satisfied with other people’s accounts of it. To believe is to see and to touch. I am the modern Thomas. I, Mwaũra, have seen much and done much. Now leave me alone, woman! The sun never rises the way it set. . . .” Mwaũra finished in a tone that seemed to hint at many things and to hide much.
“What about you?” Warĩĩnga asked Mũturi. “What would you do?”
“That’s not easy to answer, I can tell you,” Mũturi replied. “Gĩkũyũ once said: ‘Don’t look down upon a drop of rain’ and ‘There is nothing so startling that it cannot be faced by men.’ We workers have no home, or village, or even country. The whole Earth is our home, because for us it is a matter of where we can find someone to purchase our labor so we can earn a few cents to buy a bit of flour and cheap vegetables. But all the same, it is we who’ve built this Earth. How, then, could we possibly leave our Earth to the Devil and his evil spirits and their disciples, so that they can do whatever they liked with it? Let me ask you a modern riddle—”
“Do you think I can tell the difference between old and modern riddles?” Warĩĩnga replied.
“I walk this way and that way!” Mũturi said.
“The ways of hunters.” Wangarĩ answered for Warĩĩnga.
“No!”
“Take a forfeit!”
“The paths of builders! Answer another riddle!”
“I will!”
“I walk this way and that way!”
“The paths of builders.”
“No. Give me a forfeit.”
“It’s yours.”
“The paths of workers. Answer another.”
“I will.”
“I walk this way and that way toward a revolution.”
“The paths of workers.”
“Yes and no. You owe me a forfeit, but I won’t take everything, for you got half the answer.”
“I accept that.”
“The answer is the paths of resistance . . . and those are the paths made by workers. Why do I say that? Because this woman has asked me a difficult question. But it is also a simple question, because the things that are difficult are the ones that are simple . . . and the things that seem simple are the ones that are difficult. Now, I can tell you that I know of no devil worse than the employer for whom I have been working. As you know, I am a carpenter, a mason, a plumber, a painter, all that. I was really the foreman in charge of the site. My employer used to get building contracts worth tens of millions and more. He had a councilor who used to press his case in the committee that awarded the contracts. But the wages of those who made the tens of millions possible were truly nothing—just a few shillings, two hundred, three, five, not much more—and you know how prices have been rising. Our troubles began when we demanded an increase of fifty shillings and demanded too that thereafter wage increases were to be linked to the rising cost of living. Do you know, some people don’t realize that when the price of things goes up and the wages remain the same, it is really the same thing as a drop in wages? But the profits of the employers increase at the same rate as the increase in prices—in fact, sometimes the rate of profit is higher than the price increases. So when the price of things goes up, the employers benefit, but the lot of the workers gets worse. When we decided to go on strike, our employer came to us, panting. He talked nicely to us, and he said that he would consider all our complaints and demands, and that we should all go back to work, and that he would submit a report to us a week later. On the day he was to let us have his report, he came back, accompanied by policemen armed with guns and batons and iron shields. The employer talked very bitterly, like a man who had quarreled with his wife the night before. He said all strikes had been banned by presidential decree. He then said that anybody who was tired of working could go home because there were plenty of unemployed men looking for work. The ringleaders of the strike were dismissed. ‘Do you think that we in Kenya pick up money from the ground? As for you, Mũturi, don’t think yourself so smart. Your record with the Special Branch is this long. We know that you are not alone.’ So we dispersed. One gun can only be confronted with another, and not with empty hands. That’s why today you see me searching for work here and there. And that is only because I rejected slave wages. Just imagine living on a salary of 300 shillings a month in Nairobi!”
“Which company were you working for?” Warĩĩnga asked.
“The Champion Construction Company.”
“
The Champion Construction Company?” Warĩĩnga repeated. “The one managed by Boss Kĩhara?”
“Yes. Why do you ask? Why are you so surprised?” Mũturi asked Warĩĩnga.
“Because I worked for the same company.”
“In the city offices?”
“Yes. Kĩhara was my boss. But what a boss! Today I’m also on the road looking for another job.”
“Did you go on strike too?” Gatuĩria asked.
“No. I refused to be his sugar girl,” Warĩĩnga said.
“She went on strike all right—against the tyranny of the Boss’s bedroom,” Wangarĩ said, as if the question had been directed at her.
“Do you see? Do you understand now?” Mũturi asked. “Now you can see why I simply can’t leave our Earth to the Devil for him to twirl this way and that as he fancies! The Devil’s feast? I’d like to go to challenge the Devil!”
Warĩĩnga turned to Gatuĩria. “What about you? Do you really believe in such a feast?”
“But I’m going to it,” Gatuĩria replied slowly. “Tomorrow is the day of the Devil’s feast.”
“Tomorrow? Sunday?” Wangarĩ asked.
“Yes, tomorrow, starting at ten.”
“And you aren’t scared?” Warĩĩnga asked.
“Of what?”
“Of the Devil. Isn’t he supposed to have seven horns?”
“That is precisely the center of the knot I was talking about: does the Devil exist or not? I want to go there to put an end to all my doubts so that I can go on with my composition. Because I can’t carry on with a mind troubled by endless doubts. Peace! A composer needs peace in his heart!”
“Oh, yes, let there be peace in all our hearts!” Wangarĩ responded.
“What about you?” Warĩĩnga turned to Wangarĩ.
“So you are still after an answer?” Wangarĩ asked. “As for me, whether I am invited or not, if I were to come across this famous Devil, I would teach him never to oppress the true builders of this Earth! But tell me this: why are you asking these questions? What weight is burdening your heart?”
All the others had the same question in mind: what kind of woman was this? She had been quite silent after they had left Nairobi. Then she had suddenly shrieked. Then she had fainted. And now that she had recovered, she was asking endless questions.
“Yes, indeed, why are you putting the same question to all of us?” Gatuĩria asked.
Warĩĩnga said: “Because I too have a knot in my heart.”
“A knot?” Wangarĩ and Gatuĩria asked together.
“I’ve also received an invitation similar to yours, and I don’t know quite how it came into my hands.”
“What? Explain what you mean.”
“I too have an invitation to the Devil’s feast at Ilmorog tomorrow. Today I’ve seen so many strange things that I now can’t tell if I have been dreaming or if I’ve simply been ill and delirious. A man appeared to me in Nairobi at Kaka, near St. Peter’s Clavers church. I was about to. . . . Let me say simply that I wasn’t feeling well in body or in spirit. The man gave me back this very handbag. I had dropped it in River Road without knowing it. But his face, his eyes, his voice made me open my heart to him at once, and I told him all my problems, and by the time I had finished my story, I felt that my heart was lighter. It was when we parted that he gave me the card. When I reached Nyamakĩma, I read what was written on it. Here it is!”
Warĩĩnga took the card out of her handbag. It was similar to Gatuĩria’s invitation.
“What! This is beyond a joke!” Wangarĩ said. “And we should not look down upon a droplet of rain. Didn’t I speak to the police chiefs this very day? And according to these cards, the robbers and thieves are preparing to gather for a Devil’s feast. Let them gather!”
Wangarĩ growled something that was partly a threat and partly a sigh. Then she began to sing.
Come one and all,
And behold the wonderful sight
Of us chasing away the Devil
And all his disciples!
Come one and all!
Mwaũra shouted: “Hey! How I hope those rogues that stole my money and stripped me naked will all be there tomorrow!” But his voice carried a hint of sarcasm, as if he knew things that the others did not. Mũturi too did not display much surprise at the invitations to the Devil’s feast.
Mwaũra was quiet. All of them fell silent now, conscious that Ilmorog town was not far away. And Mwaũra’s Matatũ Matata Matamu Model T Ford, registration number MMM 333, bounced gently along the road, as though it was saying: Too much haste splits the yam. Patience brings wealth. It is better to arrive safely. It is safer to travel in Matatũ Matata Matamu. Ilmorog is to be preferred above all other towns. . . . We are going to attend the Devil’s feast. . . .
8
It was then that the man in dark glasses opened his mouth, like Balaam’s ass in the Bible. “Excuse me!” he said.
All of the travelers except Mwaũra turned toward him to catch what he was saying.
“Let me see those invitations,” he said to Gatuĩria and Warĩĩnga.
Gatuĩria took out his card and passed it to him. The man asked Gatuĩria to light a match. He looked at the card, and then he turned to Warĩĩnga: “Let me see yours too,” he told her.
Warĩĩnga opened her handbag and took out her card. She held it out, together with the piece of paper she had been given that morning by the Devil’s Angels. She dropped the piece of paper at Mũturi’s feet without being aware that she had done so. She handed the card to the man in dark glasses.
The man scrutinized the card, and he compared it with the one that Gatuĩria had given him. Then he opened his suitcase and took out another card, the same size as the ones belonging to Gatuĩria and Warĩĩnga. He handed it over to Gatuĩria and told him to look at it carefully, then to read it aloud to the others. Warĩĩnga took the box of matches and lit one for Gatuĩria. This is what Gatuĩria read:
A Big Feast!
Come and See for Yourself
a Competition to Select Seven Experts
in Modern Theft and Robbery.
Prizes Consist of Bank Loans
and Directorships
of Several Finance Houses.
Try Your Skills!
Try Your Luck!
You Might Take Home the Crown
of Modern Theft and Robbery!
Competition to Choose the Seven Cleverest
Modern Thieves and Robbers.
Prizes in Guaranteed Bank Loans
and Directorships
of One or Several Associations
of Finance Houses.
Hell’s Angels Band in Attendance!
Signed: Master of Ceremonies
c/o Thieves’ and Robbers’ Den
Ilmorog Golden Heights.
“Do you see any difference between this card and yours?” the man asked Gatuĩria. “The card I have just given you is the authentic one. I think you will have noticed that there isn’t a single mention of the Devil or Satan. Let me tell you something else. The majority of those who will be attending the feast believe in God. I, for instance, go to the PCEA church at Thogoto, the Church of the Torch, every Sunday. Those who have printed the fake invitation cards are the enemies of modern progress. They just want to ruin the feast.”
“And who are these people who want to spoil the feast?” Gatuĩria asked.
“Who are they? I think they must be university students. It’s just like students to think up this type of childish smear campaign against respectable people.”
“As for me, I don’t see the difference between the two cards!” Wangarĩ said. “How can students damage the reputations of thieves and robbers?”
“By claiming that this is the Devil’s feast. And by claiming that it has been arranged by Satan, the king of Hell. And f
urthermore, on their cards they have not indicated that this is a competition in MODERN theft and robbery.”
“I can’t see the difference either,” Mũturi said. “Theft is theft, and robbery is robbery.”
The man in dark glasses seemed to be wounded by Mũturi’s and Wangarĩ’s attitude. He started to speak as if he were preaching to a people who had lost their faith.
“My name is Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ. I can’t stand European names. I dropped my name, John, some time ago. As I said a little while ago. I am now heading toward Ilmorog. My car, a Peugeot 504 (with petrol injection), stalled at Kikuyu. I left it outside the Undirĩ Hotel. I was given a lift to Sigona by a friend. I thought I would find other important guests traveling to the competition this evening. I met none. Many of the guests said they would be arriving tomorrow morning. But because one can never be quite sure with people who drink, I thought I should go ahead in a matatũ.
“I was educated in Siriana Secondary School and at Makerere when it really was Makerere, not the university it is today, ruined by Amin. At Makerere I read economics—that’s the science or the study of how to create wealth in a country. In Uganda I graduated with a B.Sc. (Econ). I didn’t stop there. I enrolled at our university here. I was successful and emerged with a degree in commerce, that is, a B. Comm. Then, forward march. In America I went to the great university called Harvard. There I studied everything to do with business administration. I got another degree, a M.Sc. (Bus. Admin.). My full name is Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ, B.Sc. (Econ.) (London); B. Comm. (Nairobi); M.Sc. (Bus. Admin.) (Harvard). When I run through that list, I’m quite sure Gatuĩria understands fully the significance of what I’m saying. In those days my ambition was to teach at the university. Even today several professors are friends of mine. But then I looked around and saw that there were far too few educated Kenyans in business, so I opted for a career in commerce.