It always refreshed him to be among plants and trees, and now the stench trapped in his bag seemed to have vanished. His eyes roamed, and before he knew it his curiosity had been aroused by the abundant multiplicity of plants. He soon found himself among them, searching out those he thought had medicinal properties. Whatever he picked he put into his bag, oblivious of how much time was passing. By now he knew that he was not looking for medicinal roots and leaves for their own sake but because there was a patient outside Nyawlra’s house waiting for a cure. Maybe the old man has left by now, he told himself as he returned to Santalucia. But the old man was still waiting at the door patiently.
Kamltl let him in, gave him the leaves and the roots, and instructed him to boil them and drink the liquid at regular intervals.
“And make sure to drink the extraction with food,” Kamrö told him.
“Food? Did you say food? You think I have eaten anything for days? If the medicine depends on food, then it is no good to me.”
Kamltl went into the kitchen and quickly scrambled some eggs with tomatoes and gave the food to the old man, adding a glass of milk. He was sure that Nyawlra would not mind his being so generous with her provisions. He handed him a leaf and a piece of bark to chew. Then suddenly an idea struck him: to renounce his role as the Wizard of the Crow, he had to dispense with the income derived from it. And what better way to achieve this than an act of kindness? So he dug into his bag and took out the entire bundle of notes and gave it to the old man as part of the medicinal treatment.
“What is the matter?” Kamltl asked anxiously. The old man had screamed at the sight of the money. At first Kamltl thought the old man’s scream resulted from the stench, which reassured him that he was not alone in smelling it. But the old man was screaming for joy, gratitude, and disbelief.
“Already I feel better, almost cured,” the old man said. “You are a true wizard and a guardian of justice; may God above bless you always.”
“How did you know about this place?” Kamltl asked.
“Everybody in Santalucia is talking about you. It’s obvious why. Witch doctors never advertise themselves. They do their nefarious work in the dark. But you actually put up a notice outside your house. What does it mean? That you work openly in the light of day. A deity held me by the hand and guided my steps right to your household. I say again: may the same deity pour blessings on you so that your art may blossom to bewitch the evil and charm the good!”
Instead of being cheered up by the news, Kamltl felt gloom descend on him. But he no longer had any doubts about fleeing the scene, and he knew he must do so before news of the wizard spread any further. He had treated the old man. He had gotten rid of the money. How stupid of him to have left his calling card hanging on the veranda for so long! Even as he led the old man out, he once again took up his bag. This time there would be no turning back.
Now it was Kamltl’s turn to let out a cry of surprise, even dismay. He stood rooted to the ground. He feared he would fall but just stared in disbelief: standing outside were ten more patients. The old man winked at him as if to say there was nowhere for him to hide, that he had better accept his role as healer. Why here? Kamrö thought to himself. A trick of fate. Every time I try to escape, fate stands in my way.
He went back into the kitchen to patiently attend his clients, one at a time.
But another surprise awaited him: according to the first, all ten were police officers in civilian clothes. Had they come to get him?
“We want you to do exactly the same magic you did to our police mate, Constable Arigaigai Gathere, formerly a traffic nobody, now a big chief in the Buler’s office. Sir Wizard, we want you to use the mirror to scratch out all enemies that stand in the way of our raises and promotions.”
The ten men spoke, each stressing the importance of the magic of the mirror and sprinkling every sentence with what they assumed to be his name, till he himself began to see it, a sign in neon lights flashing before him: THIS IS THE SHRINE OF THE WIZARD OF THE CROW.
SECTION II
1
When news that some beggars had been clobbered outside the gates of Paradise reached the State House, the Ruler was furious, egged on, so rumors say, by Machokali, who had gone there the following day and reported how smooth the dinner would have been had the riot police restrained themselves. At least the Global Bank mission would never have known of the protest. Now he, Machokali, did not know how the missionaries would respond to the news. But he would use all of his diplomatic skills to contain the damage done by the otherwise able security team.
What later brought the Ruler to a boiling point were anti—Global Bank mission leaflets distributed throughout Aburlria, even at the gates of the State House and inside the Parliament grounds. The Ruler immediately summoned Sikiokuu to the State House and read him the riot act: “Bring me the leaders of the Movement for the Voice of the People dead or alive. Failing that, you …” and the Ruler trailed off so as to compel the minister’s mind to concentrate on what might happen to him.
Sikiokuu, however, was good at turning the worst situation to his advantage. Now he fell to his knees and lowered his head, his ears actually touching the Ruler’s shoes.
“I beg Your Mighty Excellency please to give me more powers to smoke out those who are behind the latest plot to dishonor your person and government. I want to increase the number of state ears, eyes, and noses so that not a school, a marketplace, or any public place however small shall go undetected. I want to present you with all the enemies of you, Our Ruler, and of the country”
“You little cunt of a man!” the Ruler shouted angrily. “Why do you go on and on about my enemies and those of the Country? Is there a distinction between me and the Country?”
“Forgive me, My Lord and Master. I wished only to intone your name twice. As with God above! We know Him by many names. O My Lord, you don’t know how sweet your name sounds in the ears of those who truly believe in you and who know that you and the Country are one and the same.”
“That will do; I don’t like people comparing me with God,” the Ruler said, a little mollified. “But why do you need special powers to crush enemies of the State?” the Ruler now scolded him. “I say, what more power do you need than my order to use all means, necessary and unnecessary, to bring my enemies dead or alive to me? I don’t want to hear ever again of leaflets and plastic snakes being scattered anywhere in this land by visible or invisible men. Employ as many men as you need and any means you deem necessary. I want your men to work as courageously as the police officer who I understand wrestled a whole night and all alone in the prairie with beings from another world. I would feel safer if I knew that I had such dedicated security men in my office. Do you hear?” the Ruler said now, emphasizing every point by knocking the minister’s skull with his club-shaped staff.
Sikiokuu remained on his knees, enduring his knocks as if they were blessings; with every knock he tugged at his earlobes to indicate that he was taking in every word. Once again he seized this moment of humiliation to gain elevation.
“I swear by my two ears and before you, My Lord on Earth and Heaven, that I shall do everything within the powers you have now given me to crush the members and leaders of this so-called Movement for the Voice of the People. Even if they are djinns, I will get djinns that can outdjinn them. O My Lord, their cries for mercy will be heard in all corners of the globe.”
This assurance of crying with a global reach alarmed the Ruler, reminding him that he and Machokali had earlier talked about putting the country’s best foot forward while the Bank missionaries were around. He did not want to risk a repeat of what happened outside the gates of Paradise. So he told Sikiokuu that although he had given him special powers, Sikiokuu had to restrain himself for the duration of the Global Bank’s visit. The nation must be shown to be at peace and wholly united behind its Ruler and his vision of Marching to Heaven. “What I need,” he said, “are brave men like that policeman.”
Sikioku
u was not happy with this check, because he had hoped to use his new powers to stir things up a bit and somehow mar the visit of the bankers and so prevent Machokali’s frequent appearances on national television and his daily visits to the State House. But he was too smart to let his face express any dissatisfaction; he nodded vigorously to show his agreement with both the Ruler’s sentiments and the order to ensure peace and calm. And he did not forget about the police officer.
On leaving the State House, Sikiokuu ordered the immediate transfer of Constable Arigaigai Gathere to the Ruler’s office. He did not want to ignore the djinn angle. Then he created a special three-man squad consisting of A.G., Elijah Njoya, and Peter Kahiga to deal specifically with the Movement for the Voice of the People. Their first task was to monitor Machokali’s goings, comings, doings, and contacts. They were also to make a list of suspects. The actual torture of the listed would await the departure of the Global Bank mission.
This may explain the curious fact noted in many of the accounts that during the Global Bank mission Aburlria enjoyed the most peaceful days in recent memory: for weeks no one heard the cry of families whose loved ones had been shot dead by the regime’s murderous Angels. It was as if, so said those inclined to grand images, the whole country was under a spell of magic more amazing than any performed by Moses in the land of the Pharaohs thousands of years before Christ was born!
In fact, apart from the usual gossips here and there about the never-ending squabbles between Machokali and Sikiokuu, the biggest cause of anxiety during that period arose from the sudden invasion of Eldares by queuing daemons …
2
The invasion started outside the headquarters of Eldares Modern Construction and Real Estate.
“And all because of a billboard,” Nyawlra observed when she and Kamltl talked about the daemons later.
How? asked Kamrö, and even Nyawlra could not tell how the daemons came to be or how they had fanned out to all corners of Eldares. What she recalled quite clearly was setting out for the office, hoping to get there before Tajirika. The only other thought that had crossed her mind as she went to work was A.G.’s early-morning visit and more so his scary last-minute wink and reference to leaflets. She did not like the way A.G. smiled as if he knew more than he was letting on. He seemed to believe in the Wizard of the Crow, but was he thus setting them up to be killed? She was so absorbed in this worry that she did not note as peculiar that all parking areas in the streets around the offices were taken up by Mercedes-Benzes of all sizes and hues. Imagine her surprise when she raised her eyes and found two long lines of people in the yard outside her office!
One was made up of people in custom suits, standing stiffly and solemnly as if at a fashion parade; it reached all the way to the door. She had dealt with people of their ilk the previous day, and so it was not a big surprise.
The second line started at the billboard TEMPA JOBS: APPLY IN PERSON. It was composed of people in patched-up clothes and worn-out suits in all colors of the rainbow, a stunning contrast to the array of black and gray in the queue of the rich.
Whereas the occupants of the first queue toted briefcases and stood silent and solemn, those in the second, with the exception of the few who read newspapers, held nothing and so could gesture freely as they talked, exchanging anecdotes of the wows and woes of life. Those in the first queue who smoked put out their cigarettes after only a few puffs, crushing the butts under the soles of their shoes, but those in the second smoked the cheapest brands, even unprocessed leaves, and were given to sharing. In the first queue there were a few pipe smokers, in the second, none at all. And while the first had been set in motion due to the appointment of a chairman of Marching to Heaven, encouraging the belief that the Global Bank had green-lighted the project, the second was triggered by the billboard, which, as Nyawlra later learned, had sparked a rumor that the chairman was hiring thousands of workers for Marching to Heaven.
As she walked across the yard to open the office, Nyawlra had no inkling about this rumor. She was just glad that she had arrived before the boss: with so many customers queuing outside, he would almost certainly have scolded her had she gotten there after him.
Even before she could tidy up her desk those at the head of the first queue had begun pushing their way into the reception area as the telephone was ringing off the hook. But for Tajirika’s absence, it all reminded her of the day before. Could you please call back later? she would ask those on the phone. She said as much to those who had barged in to the office and even gave them the option of leaving their visiting cards, which they quickly declined, wanting only to meet the boss face-to-face. Please wait outside, she told them, and this almost caused a riot, for everyone feared that he would lose his place in the queue, but after a little discussion all decided to walk backward, pushing back those behind them in domino fashion.
Nyawlra shared their hopes that the boss would arrive shortly, for she was desperate for him to hire the extra help she needed. There were more than enough applicants in the second queue, she mused, wondering at the same time how or even whether the boss would interview them all.
After an hour or so of answering the same question many times over, Nyawlra started getting restless and anxious: Why was he so late? She had expected him quite early. Had he been involved in a car accident? Had he been robbed on the way home?
Tajirika’s wife, Vinjinia, who came to the office, was the one who finally resolved matters, but her news was not good: Tajirika was unwell and would not be coming to work today, she said tersely, without elaborating. What illness could have prevented Tajirika from coming to collect more bags of money? He had seemed in excellent health when they parted last night, but Nyawlra did not dwell much on that because she was now preoccupied with what to do about the two queues.
“Was there no message for me?” she asked Vinjinia, who just shook her head.
“Is this place always like this?” Vinjinia asked, as if steering the conversation from her husband to the subject of queues, but she was genuinely curious.
Vinjinia was a homebody, basically Tajirika’s housekeeper. They had three boys and two girls. The eldest son, who had a degree in mechanical engineering, worked for a German firm that sold tractors and agricultural implements. He was married and lived on the coast. The second son and the eldest girl were both residential students at the University of Eldares, the girl majoring in education and the boy in business administration. The youngest, Gacirü and Gaclgua, a girl and a boy, were in a day primary school and lived at home with their parents. Tajirika wanted to send them to a boarding school but Vinjinia resisted—she wanted to look after them a bit longer. Tending the farms and the children kept Vinjinia busy at home in Golden Heights, and she had rarely visited her husband’s office. She was so cut off from his business and political circuit that she had not even attended the famous birthday rally when her husband had shaken hands with the Ruler. She found out about it only after Tajirika returned home, one hand wrapped in a handkerchief, and she had wondered whether something terrible had happened to him. Sensing her concern, he had laughed and explained the sweet mystery, promising to buy a glove for his hand to keep the memory of the handshake from the Ruler alive. She did not understand what he was talking about, but she trusted her husband to deal with outside matters while she worried about life at home.
Only church on Sunday could lure her into Santalucia and Santa-maria. She was a member of All Saints Cathedral, and on Sundays she would mingle with other parishioners—not to catch up with the latest news in the political and business worlds but to ascertain the latest state of her fellow churchgoers’ souls. She was among those who never wanted to miss a single episode in the epic battle of Maritha and Mariko with Satan.
“I have never seen anything like this,” Nyawlra told her, referring to the queues.
“What shall we do about it?” they asked each other.
Why not tell them the truth? they said, looking through the window. The queues were now so long th
at the women could not even see the rear.
The two women marched to the front of each queue and put up a notice: TAJIRIKA IS NOT IN TODAY: COME BACK TOMORROW. They went back inside to await the outcome.
And now a sight even more amazing unfolded. When those at the head of the queue read the notice and broke the news, those immediately behind them refused to believe their ears and insisted on seeing the notice for themselves. In the end those who read it did not even bother informing those behind them and simply went away in silence, the others imagining that they had simply met with bad luck or did not want to show elation for fear of exciting envy. Those at the back of the queue thought the lines were moving and were joined by others. Even those who had already left, on seeing this apparent movement, would rejoin the queues at the rear. This game of attrition at the front and replacement at the rear continued. Queues without an end, Nyawlra said to Vinjinia as they sought a way out of this dilemma.
They decided to seek help from the Santamaria police station. It was the nearest, and its head, Wonderful Tumbo, was a friend. He promised to dispatch traffic police to deal with the situation.
But it was not until the afternoon that the promised police officers arrived, two in a Land Rover and the other two on motorcycles, wielding bullhorns. They conferred with Nyawlra and Vinjinia. From what they had seen upon driving up to the office, it was obvious to them that their shouted instructions, no matter how amplified, would not carry to the end of the queues. Do something, the women appealed.
After animated discussions among themselves, the police officers decided on a course of action: the two on motorcycles would ride along the queues and shout their instructions through the bullhorns. The others would hang around the premises to spot and quell trouble.