Wizard of the Crow (15 page)

“What do you want?” she asked imperiously.

The police officer winced at her tone. He kept looking over his shoulder as if ready to bolt at the first hint of danger. Yet he seemed determined, almost desperate, to unburden himself of something.

“My name is Constable Arigaigai Gathere. I have many matters that weigh heavily on me. Please, mother, I want—please—I would like to see you.”

“Me? You want to see me?” she asked, quite puzzled by all this.

“Yes, you. No, yes, true!
Haki ya Mungu,
Wizard. I would like to see you. Sorry, I mean, I need to see the Wizard of the Crow.”

Later, after his own life had taken twists and turns defying all rational explanation even for him, a trained police officer, Constable Arigaigai Gathere always found himself surrounded by crowds wanting to hear story after story about the Wizard of the Crow. It was then that people started calling him fondly by his initials, A.C., some listeners allowing that they stood for “attorney general of storytelling.” If his storytelling took place in a bar, it was fueled to new heights of imagination by an endless supply of liquor. When the setting was a village, a marketplace, or the crossroads, Constable Arigaigai Gathere felt charged with energy on seeing the rapt faces of the men, women, and children waiting to catch his every word. But whatever the setting, his listeners came away with food of the spirit: resilient hope that no matter how intolerable things seemed, a change for the better was always possible. For if a mere mortal like the Wizard of the Crow could change himself into any form of being, nothing could resist the human will to change.

“And when I talk of him changing himself into anything,” he would stress, “I am not passing on hearsay. True,
Haki ya Mungu.
I talk of what I saw with my own eyes.”

The story they came to hear over and over again was about the night A.G. chased two beggars from the gates of Paradise. At first A.G. used to say that he was with two other police officers, but in the course of the telling and retelling of the story, they disappeared from his narrative.

“Yes, it all began outside Paradise, where we had been sent to make sure that the visitors from the Global Bank would not be harassed by the crowd of beggars. Early on, the beggars were orderly, but when they started shouting words I would never let pass my mouth, we received orders from on high to silence and disperse them. It was in the evening, I remember. I saw a man in rags look at me with eyes burning brighter than those of a tiger in the dark. I felt his eyes forcing me to follow him as he moved away. I tried to tell him to stop
but was dumbstruck. What was even more amazing was that he was not running. True,
Haki ya Mungu.
The man just strolled swinging a big bag he was carrying; yet no matter how hard I ran after him, the distance between us remained the same.

“It seemed to me that the man was not alone; there was another walking beside him, guiding him through the dark. How do I explain? Now I see one. Now I see two.

“When I tried to stop and take stock of the situation, I found that I could not slow down. True,
Haki ya Mungu,
and eventually I found myself in the prairie. Don’t ask me how I got there—to this day I don’t know. There was moonlight, all right, but clouds would get in the way; it was as if the heavens were conspiring with him to play games of light and shadows with me. He made me run around in circles the whole time. Then I saw him go through some bush and I followed him. It was dark in the thick growth. I tripped over something and fell. It was a rock cleft in two. I got back up and resumed running. Only when I reached the other side of the bush did I realize that I was near Santalucia. Between the edge of the bush and where the houses begin was an empty space, and as the man crossed it I saw that what I had taken to be two was actually one. And yet I could have sworn that I had seen two persons! No sooner had I blinked than the man was gone. As there was no gap in the hedge, I could not tell how he got through.”

“You mean to tell us that you did not even see him jump over the hedge?” some would ask him.

“No. I didn’t. True,
Haki ya Mungu.”

“Maybe he turned himself into a hedge,” another would suggest.

“Yes. You have said it.”

“And what did you do, quit?”

“Me, quit? Oh, no. I decided to look for him everywhere.”

“A.G. You are brave, man! Me? Had I had ten guns in each hand, I still would not have taken another step.”

“I confess that I don’t lack courage. I looked for a way into Santalucia. Now, you know that Santalucia houses are dense and they all look alike. The streets are narrow. The lighting is poor. Now imagine me. I am holding my gun firmly in my hand. I try this house. I try another. Police. Open the door. People looked at me with fright and dry mouths. Then I said to myself, This isn’t working. I should go
from door to door, eavesdrop and peer through cracks in the walls, demand that the owners open up only if I see or hear something suspicious. I put my new plan into action. And then, how shall I tell it? Suddenly I felt a force take ahold of me, turn me around, and compel me to look at it. One glance at the thing hanging from the roof and I knew that I was facing powerful magic. Approaching it, I saw some letters jump from the wall toward me:
WARNING! THIS PROPERTY
BELONGS TO THE WIZARD WHOSE POWERS CAN BRING DOWN EVEN CROWS FROM THE SKY. TOUCH THIS DOOR AT YOUR PERIL. SGD. WIZARD OF THE CROW. Then the letters retreated into the wall. Foolish me. I was about to touch the thing when I felt hands I could not see lifting me up. They swung me in the air and dropped me to the ground, again and again. Seven times. When I was released, I fled and did not once look back …”

“And your gun?” somebody would ask. “How come it did not fall?”

“That, in fact, was an issue that would not let me sleep, for, true!
Haki ya Mungu,
I lay awake, turning the matter over and over in my mind. I was lifted up and felled seven times, but why did I not sustain even a scratch? A little pain in the butt, maybe, but nothing worse. And how did my gun stay in my hand? Yes, I talked to myself: Constable Arigaigai Gathere, why do you think the man chose you and forced you to follow him to the magic? What was he trying to tell you? For a long time, I had had many problems weighing on me, even more so in the weeks before this fateful encounter. All at once I saw the light. A sign. The whole thing was a sign that pointed to he who could solve my problems.

“That was why early in the morning I went back to the house of magic. Fortunately the bundle and the writing on the wall were still there. He opened the door for me. And do you know? Listen to this. The man appeared to me in the form of a very beautiful woman. At first he/she asked me questions in a soft voice, then all of a sudden a voice boomed from the back of his/her head.

“ I am the Wizard of the Crow. Who is that standing in the shadow of my magic? How dare you break my circle of magic? Go, clean those feet first before …’

“I did not wait to hear more. For a second time I fled for my life.”

Even Nyawlra at first was surprised by the booming voice. But when she saw the police officer wince, stand at attention, salute, and then take to his heels, she recalled what the same police officer had done earlier that night, and doubled with laughter.

“Has he gone?” Kamltl asked.

“He sped away like an arrow. How did you think that up so quickly?”

“I don’t really know. I was buying time for us to work out a common story. But I blundered a little!”

“How?”

“I gave him the choice to return or not. I should have told him never to come back, or else, or words to that effect.”

“The way he took off does not support a person eager to return here anytime soon.”

Nyawlra went to the kitchen and made tea and scrambled eggs with bread. She put hers to the side to cool while she got ready to go to work. She was eager to hear what Tajirika had to say about the Global Bank dinner party and the gathering of beggars outside the gates of Paradise.

Nyawlra’s preparations jolted Kamltl out of his fear of the police. His jaws cupped in his hands, he ignored breakfast and brooded about his personal woes. It was as if he had dreamt that he had eaten a homemade meal, slept on a comfortable couch, and woken up to a bountiful breakfast in the company of laughter and warmth, and suddenly the dream had ended. He was engulfed in a simple if brutal reality. It was very early in the morning and he had no clue as to what to do or where to begin his daily search for a job.

Now ready, Nyawlra went back to the kitchen for her breakfast. Between the kitchen and the living room was a small window through which plates, pans, or cups could be passed from one room to the other. She opened the window and spoke to Kamltl through the opening.

“Your breakfast is getting cold,” she said. “Shall I warm it up for you?”

“No, thank you. I will take it as is,” he said, glancing quickly at her.

From where she stood, Nyawlra could see him sitting, his head bowed.

“I am going to the office to hear all about the goings-on in Paradise,” she said, trying to disrupt his dejection. “What about you?”

“I have no plans. May I stay here a few more hours before setting out? It’s too early for me to cope with another Tajirika-type interview. I might be tempted to wring his neck,” he said, trying to match her lighthearted tone.

“And end up strung up for murder? I will not allow that,” she said in the same tone. “If staying here for a few more hours might save your life, imagine what a whole day here can do for you! Seriously, why don’t you take a day off? You’re welcome to the couch for one more night.”

“No, a few hours will do. But thank you for the offer. I shall never forget your kindness,” he said with a slightly teary voice.

“It’s not much,” she said. “Didn’t you say that luck, bad or good, comes from God? Thank God, not me,” she said, trying to steer him from self-pity.

“God works in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform,” Kamrö said, again trying to match her lightness of tone. “He used you as His vehicle to help me. So I am grateful to you for being a willing vehicle of His will. Who knows, I might one day turn up in the offices of Eldares Modern Construction and Real Estate.”

“For another interview?” she shot back, with an amused look.

“No! No! To take you up on your lunch offer. I love fish and chips. Or chicken and chips.”

“You will be most welcome. I sincerely hope you land a job,” Nyawlra said, turning serious as she picked up her handbag.

At the door, she turned to look back at him.

“Don’t forget to take down your bundle of magic, unless you want to continue advertising that here dwelt, for one night, the mighty wizard whose power brought down all birds, even crows, from the sky!”

By the time Nyawlra reached the premises of Eldares Modern Construction and Real Estate, her boss, Titus Tajirika, was already there. Her office, which also served as reception, adjoined his, and before taking her place she went to announce her arrival to him. Tajirika was engrossed in the
Eldares Times,
so she stood awkwardly at the doorway, wondering if she should clear her throat to attract his attention. She could tell that he was angry, obviously not with her but with what he was reading. Tajirika was in fact aware of her presence and soon began to unburden himself.

“These beggars are just too much,” he started telling Nyawlra, who was relieved that he did not ask her why she was late. “I don’t know what should be done with them. How dare they stretch out their hands at the very same place where their own government was …” He was going to say “stretching out its hands” but he did not like the sound of it, and checked himself. “… busy entertaining very important guests?”

“I have not seen the papers,” Nyawlra said. “What happened?”

“Well, we the hosts and guests were inside Paradise, so we did not actually hear the commotion outside. In fact, if it were not for these newspapers—why for goodness’ sake did this paper feel it necessary to mention anything about those rioting beggars, giving them publicity for nothing?” He held the paper in his left hand and pointed at the offending column with his right, his face twisted in disgust and contemptuous incomprehension.

Nyawlra craned her neck and saw the banner headlines:
BEGGARS IN PARADISE.
She also caught a glimpse of the picture of beggars running away just a few yards ahead of baton-wielding police officers but did not want to show an undue interest by moving closer to the table. As Tajirika was talking, she did not want to interrupt him.

“That is why I have always said that the government should ban all newspapers. We can do without them. Before the colonials came to this land, didn’t our ancestors live to a ripe old age without ever reading
a newspaper? They are a curse, these newspapers, but if I was asked what was at the root of last night’s fracas, I would answer with one word: envy. Those beggars must have been sent there by our political enemies to blemish the reception. Do you know that there are ministers who are very envious of my friend Machokali simply because he is a man who can see far? Let me tell you what is wrong with us black people. Unlike Indians and Europeans, we lack group solidarity. We hate to see one of us succeed.”

Nyawlra thought that this was the perfect moment to milk information.

“Did the Bank agree to bankroll Marching to Heaven?” she asked.

Her sympathetic curiosity touched him, and he responded with an alacrity that surprised her.

“Why are you standing? Pull up a chair and sit down.”

Tajirika sat up, ready to pour out everything about the reception in detail, especially his own role in it. Their interest in his narrative was mutual, and the telephone, which rang at that very moment, irritated both. Nyawlra made as if to go and take the call in her office, but Tajirika, not wanting to lose his audience for a second, told her to answer the phone from his desk.

“Eldares Modern Construction and Real Estate. May I help you? … Yes … But may I please know who is calling? … Your name? … Hold, please … Let me see if he is in.” She covered the mouthpiece. “It’s for you.”