Wizard of the Crow (103 page)

“Your Ever Mighty Excellency, my Delilah is actually my second wife, Jane Kanyori,” said Kaniürü, claiming that the conception of the grand deception and its execution was all Kanyori’s.

“And why did you marry her knowing all this about her?” asked Tajirika, fearing that the Ruler was being taken in.

“Do you want to know the truth?” asked Kaniürü rhetorically. “She threatened to expose the whole thing and blame it on me.
Pure whitetnail.”

“You mean, she is a bigger crook than you?” asked the Ruler, smiling a little.

The art of his tongue and the strategy of blaming everything on Kanyori was working, Kaniürü thought, so he invented a few more details.

“Even though she is my wife, I cannot tell lies before Your Mighty Excellency: My wife Kanyori is
dangerous.
She can lie with numbers like nobody’s business. She can deceive the Devil himself.”

The Ruler put on a serious face as the others anxiously looked on. “Kaniürü, you are in the wrong ministry. The Defense Ministry needs somebody trustworthy, not a crook, at least not a crook that would lead his commander in chief astray. It needs somebody I can trust completely, somebody who can make enemy forces surrender with scare tactics but who is scared enough not to try anything against his Lord and Master, somebody who can lie for me but not to me, somebody who has shown that he would rather dig his own grave in the prairie than cross me, somebody like Tajirika, and in the era of the Baby D, I need such a man at the head of my armed forces. Tajirika, you are my new Defense Minister.”

Today I will open a bottle of champagne, Tajirika said to himself, and even Vinjinia, who does not drink, will have to have a glass.

“And now I come back to you,” he said, looking at Kaniürü and barely holding back his laughter at the thought of a male being outdone in crookedness by a female. “I want fifty percent of all the money you stole from Marching to Heaven, and the interest, to go to the Ruler’s Smog Disaster Fund. But I will give you another chance. Your kind of cunning is best for youth and money matters. You are my new Minister of Finance and Youth. As for your wife, Jane Kanyori, I want her transferred immediately from the National Bank of Commerce and Industry and placed in a strategic position in the Central Bank. I want her as the new comptroller of the Central Bank. But let me warn you. I am giving you and Mrs. Kaniürü a long rope with which to hang yourselves. No more lies! Otherwise let me have crooks about me,” said the Ruler, as if expressing satisfaction at his reshuffle and the appointment of a new female technocrat to a position of monetary authority. “Real crooks are guided by realism.”

The lines were straight out of the Ruler’s
Political Theory,
wherein Machokali had written that crooks are often more realistic in their assessment of a situation than moral idealists.

The two ministers looked at each other as if neither knew exactly who had gained more than the other from this first cabinet reshuffle in the era of Baby D. But they knew that the struggle between them, like the one between Machokali and Sikiokuu in the previous era, had only just begun.

The reshuffle was overshadowed by the news that Julius Caesar Big Ben Mambo, Minister of Information and Honorary Officer of the Armed Forces, had been arrayed before a court-martial to answer charges of plotting against the State.

Bumors claimed that the minister had been asked to plant some elderly men and women in key positions in the public gallery for the Buler’s address to Parliament so that when the Buler asked the public to offer their opinions on the speech the groomed few would stand up to bless Baby D, but the first on his feet was actually the old man who talked about cheap presidential arseholes. This angered Dr. Yunique Immaculate McKenzie so much that she spontaneously whispered to the Buler regrets over an affair she once had with Mambo when she worked in the Ministry of Information soon after her return to political grace from exile. This stung the Buler, and Mambo’s unusual induction into the military as an honorary officer was the Buler’s ploy for vengeance.

But what was cited in the trial was the history of Mambo’s relationship with the late Machokali: Machokali once rescued Mambo from a permanent physical disability by sending him to Germany for surgical correction of his protruding tongue. Big Ben Mambo always sided with Machokali. So what a coincidence that the old man whom the late Machokali once prearranged to ridicule the Buler during the original unfurling of plans for Marching to Heaven had somehow reappeared in the public gallery during the Buler’s speech rejecting the madness of Marching to Heavenr

Even the name of Julius Caesar became an issue. Who does not know that Julius Caesar was a renowned military general in the days of the Roman Empire who undermined the republic with his ambitions to become emperor? But even long before the Roman chapter of his life, Minister Mambo was calling himself Big Ben, the famous clock that in the days when the sun never set on the British Empire regulated time in the entire empire. The issue of the newspaper that
had described Mambo as combining the glory of imperial London and ancient Rome was introduced in court as a crucial exhibit of the man’s inordinate thirst for power. It had been found framed and hanging on the wall of his office. When addressing the people during the so-called People’s Assembly, Big Ben Mambo boasted that his voice was that of the commander in chief of the armed forces, and, most telling, he preferred talking from the top of armored vehicles.

He had also blunted the powers of the imported mirrors by having them shown to the public first and thus ensuring that they captured the interfering shadows that made the discovery of Nyawlra’s whereabouts impossible. In fact, according to Sikiokuu’s testimony, that was obviously a prearranged signal between Mambo and the Wizard of the Crow, because it was soon after that the sorcerer broke the mirrors into pieces. Add to this that there was a time when the Wizard of the Crow corresponded extensively with the late Machokali and the whole plot was now self-evident. What more evidence would the presiding judge really need? the military prosecutor asked the court-martial; it was not necessary to prove the obvious.

Julius Caesar Big Ben Mambo was so totally taken aback by the whole thing that his tongue lengthened and he could not speak to the court in his own defense. The only two words that came out were
if
and
soldiers,
but spoken with great force and with a gap between them, as if there was no connection. It is said that when the judge first heard the word
soldiers
come out of Mambo’s mouth, he thought Julius Caesar was commanding his forces to act, and the judge actually stood up to flee, but realizing his mistake stood still to make it seem as if he were taking the unusual step of standing up to deliver judgment because of the gravity of the facts and, more severely, what the accused was trying to do: threaten the court with his
ifs\

Julius Caesar Big Ben Mambo, an officer in the armed forces, was found guilty of plotting with civilians to overturn the properly constituted authority. Unfortunately, his fellow plotters, Machokali, the Wizard of the Crow, and the Limping Witch, were dead and beyond his jurisdiction because they were not soldiers.

A special civilian court was set up later the same day to meet the challenge the presiding judge had posed, with the proceedings of the trial of Big Ben Mambo as the only evidence in the charges against Machokali, the Limping Witch, and the Wizard of the Crow. In the
entire history of the Aburlrian judiciary, it had never been heard of people already dead being tried and sentenced to death.

It is said that as he faced the firing squad the blindfolded Julius Caesar Big Ben Mambo found his tongue at the very last minute,
Crow … protective
… if … but the first bullet did not let him complete the sentence.

At the advice of Tajirika the Buler declared a day when the effigies of the cursed four, Mambo, Machokali, Nyawlra, and the Wizard of the Crow, were to be burned to ensure that their spirits would never come back to haunt the ruling. With television crews following them, ministers, members of Parliament, and convoys of loyal youth outdid one another in burning the biggest possible effigy of their chosen traitor, with some even throwing the flaming figure into the sea. What showed on the screen later that day were scenes of jubilation and triumph. But rumors and eyewitness accounts told of strange happenings!

“True!
Haki ya Mungu!”
A.C. would tell his listeners years later. “The effigies of Nyawlra and the Wizard of the Crow would not burn—instead they spat balls of fire that chased those who had tried to burn them …”

News of the posthumous sentence and state celebrations of their death eventually reached them in their forest hiding place, where Kamrö was recovering from his gunshot wound and coma.

“We died twice,” Kamltl said.

“At least they have honored us with a state burial,” Nyawlra said, laughing a little.

“A state funeral pyre,” said Kamrö. “Their imitation of fire in Hell.”

His tone spoke of recovery, and she was grateful. The weeks had been harrowing, with Kamrö barely clinging to life. She remembered how they had rushed him to a safe house, where a doctor friend of the movement stopped the blood flow and then moved him to the mountains. The bullet had missed his heart by inches, but its successful removal and a mixture of modern and herbal medicines brought him back from the brink of death. She nursed him through it all, often supporting him when he walked, but not these last days. He was now on his feet, and they often walked in the woods.

She often told him of the details of the day they escaped death, because the trauma, the loss of consciousness, and the coma had left many gaps in his memory. When Kamrö fell, she felt as if her own soul had collapsed with him, and, in covering his body with hers, it was as if she, too, had bid farewell to life. I will die staring him down, she had resolved when she saw Kaniürü pointing a gun at her. I will not give him the satisfaction of showing fear. No sooner had she thought this than she saw somebody grabbing the gun from him; Kaniürü and his attacker, “our savior,” were rolling around on the ground, struggling. She was often frustrated that she could not recall
the face of their savior, and Kamltl kept reassuring her that the face and name would come when she stopped thinking about it, but it was always on her mind.

“Linking us with Mambo and Machokali was a big leap in imagination,” Kamltl said.

“Or a case of Baby D blues,” added Nyawlra.

They walked along the banks of the Eldares till they came to a waterfall, and Kamltl was pleasantly surprised to recognize the very place where he once led Nyawlra, only now it was she who led the way. In fact, the difference between their previous sojourn and now was most noticeable in her. Then she was the pupil and he the teacher. Now they were both pupil and teacher.

“When did you learn all this?” Kamltl asked her on another day, sitting under the same tree near the falls. The wound was healing well and fast, and he had even removed the bandages; he could swing the left hand more freely, and altogether he felt fitter, stronger, and more cheerful.

“You should be heaping me with praises for being an apt pupil. Do you think I was not paying attention? And remember that until the arson I was the other Wizard of the Crow,” Nyawlra explained.

“And then you became the Limping Witch?”

“What are you implying? That a Limping Witch is less powerful than a Wizard of the Crow? I challenge you to a power contest.”

“How?”

“Do you see that bird on the tree over there? Make it land on the ground with the power of your sorcery. Go on, sorcerer.”

Kamltl tried whistling different tunes, with varying pitch and rhythm, alternating the whistling with calling out,
chirp chirp chirp.
The bird seemed to glance toward him and then flew off and landed on a tree nearer to where they sat. This encouraged Kamltl and he tried more of the same, but this time the bird remained impervious to his call.

“You have failed,” she said.

“No, no,” protested Kamltl. “It came nearer.”

“But you failed to make it land on the ground.”

“Okay! Your turn,” Kamltl said.

Nyawlra dug in her bag, took a piece of bread from their lunch packet, and, mumbling some incantations, crumbled it and threw the pieces on the ground. I command you to come down, she called out. The bird, followed by others, landed on the ground, looking for the crumbs in the grass.

Nyawlra laughed triumphantly.

“Are you saying the magic I taught you was just a bag of tricks?” Kamltl asked.

“It means that the pupil has surpassed the teacher and he should accept defeat with grace.”

“But you know that a successful pupil owes a token of gratitude to his teacher,” Kamltl said.

“What do you want for a token?”

“Your thumb.”

“What do you mean?”

He told her the story of Drona and Ekalaivan.

“You mean depriving the poor, even of the least they have, has a long history?” she asked.

“No politics. I want my thumb,” Kamltl said, and he tried to push her to the ground with his right hand.

Nyawlra released herself from his weak grip and took off. Kamrö could not run, so he walked, looking for her under shrubs and bushes and even up in treetops. After a while he saw her clothes on the ground. He called out her name and, getting no response, became a little frightened.

He heard some whistling farther down the river. The sight of her made his heart palpitate. She was bathing in the river. Beautiful. Badiant. Graceful. Glorious. He juggled the words in his mind but none quite described what his eyes saw, seeing her among the reeds.

“Come for your thumb. Or do my powers scare you?”

In a minute he had removed his clothes and joined her. They did not really swim. They splashed water. They scrubbed each other’s backs—no, not really scrubbing but stroking. In the end they found themselves lying down by the riverside on green grass under the shade of another shrub.