Wizard of the Crow (33 page)

Nyawlra knew that he had been at the meeting because a few days before the dedication, Tajirika, according to Vinjinia, had suddenly recovered from his so-called illness, saying that the queues had already served their purpose and swearing that no illness, real or fake, would keep him, the chairman of Marching to Heaven, away from participating in so historic a day.

She thought of stopping at the Mars Cafe for a cup of coffee before going to the office. Giddy with bliss, Nyawlra never entertained the possibility of encountering Kaniürü. At the thought of the aroma of fresh hot coffee, she did, however, think of Kamltl all alone in the forest, but she quickly shooed the image away. After all, Kamltl had freely chosen to dwell among the fauna and flora, and if he was happy with that, who was she to tell him that he was missing good coffee at the Mars Cafe on a glorious Tuesday morning? She did not envy him, and she most certainly did not miss the frosty morning air of the mountains.

She was a few blocks from Mars Cafe when she felt somebody touch her right shoulder. She ignored the brush, casually shifting her handbag to her left shoulder and moving on. It happened again and she turned around quickly. It was A.C. Nyawlra started ever so slightly. She had never seen him in daylight other than at her place, and not since the morning that he had come to tell of his promotion. What is he doing in plainclothes in Santamaria so early in the morning? Trying hard not to show surprise, she at first acted as if she could not tell who he was.

But A.C. was already murmuring gratitudes. What is the man talking about? she asked herself, but she had no way of getting a word in edgewise.

“I recognized you in the distance but I just wanted to make sure,” A.C. bubbled, lowering his voice as if he did not want anybody else to hear what he was saying. “Me? There is no way I would not recognize you even if you were to turn yourself into a bird or a turtle. True!
Haki ya Mungu.
And don’t think that I don’t know that you can change yourself into anything. Where did you go? I sent some other friends to you and they found the shrine closed with a notice that you had gone away …”

Now Nyawlra realized why he was thanking her so effusively, and it was with some effort that she managed to hold back her laughter. She recalled that ever since the flight from Paradise, A.G. had taken it into his head that Nyawlra and Kamltl were two manifestations of the same identity: the Wizard of the Crow. Nyawlra did not attempt to dissuade him, and she was sure that even if she had A.G. would not have believed her. In any case, she did not want to prolong the conversation. He was keeping her from coffee at the Mars Cafe and work. It would be easier to get rid of him by just going along with his madness. So she half nodded in agreement and played at the role of the Wizard of the Crow:

“Don’t you dare tell anybody that you saw me in the streets. If you do …” she said, and then paused as if the consequences of so doing were simply too awful to contemplate. “I don’t want anyone to know who I am,” she added, deepening her voice.

“Oh, trust me, Sir Madam Wizard of the Crow. Your every wish is my command. True!
Haki ya Mungu!
How can I ever forget what you did for me? Have you been away on safari, or what?”

Nyawlra confirmed that she had indeed been away, to collect herbs in addition to legs and tails of frogs and lizards, skins of hedgehogs and porcupines, and horns of chameleons, not to mention skins of grass snakes to make more potent magic, and, oh yes, she had also gone to get mirrors that could capture a person’s shadow no matter how far he was and a person’s thoughts even before that person himself had thought the thoughts. She would be returning to the shrine soon, she told him, and if ever he was in trouble he should not hesitate to come back. A.C., whose eyes grew larger with awe and admiration, was visibly delighted at the invitation. But Nyawlra realized she had made a mistake: what if he should come tomorrow? So she was quick to add:

“Mark you, it will take a while before I return. The new powers must mature. But what are you doing this early in Santamaria? I know that all is well with your new job.”

“You truly amaze me with the way you read my mind,” A.C. said. “My affairs are going smoothly,” he added boastfully, “and all this thanks to you. Let me tell you …”—he lowered his voice even more—”I am here on a special mission. I have been sent to these parts by no other than Sikiokuu himself, and not as just anybody but
as the director of a very special operation. True!
Haki ya Mungu!
And imagine this: in all the years I had worked in the force before you empowered me, I had never been given any task with the word special’ attached to it. But now look at me. I am coordinating the entire operation, and that’s why you see me in the streets. Three of my men are waiting at the Mars Cafe and two others at street corners covering the way in and out of the office. There is no escape route. As you can see we are in plainclothes. I myself cannot go inside the Mars Cafe, because as you know I used to work in these parts, and the criminal, who I understand goes there for coffee sometimes, might recognize me and suspect something is afoot.”

“But who is this criminal? A murderer, a bank robber?” she asked, now bored, a little impatient even. She was anxious to get to the office. She might even have to give up on coffee—no, she wouldn’t give up, she told herself; she would dash in and order it to go.

“Worse than a bank robber or murderer,” A.C. whispered, presuming a bond she found irritating. His next words shattered her composure. She felt goose bumps all over her as she became fully alert.

“Between me and you, Sir Wizard, what those women did at the site of Marching to Heaven is very bad, really shameful. True!
Haki ya Mungu.
But we now have a suspect. Minister Sikiokuu has ordered us to capture her and take her to him directly. I personally don’t know who she is or what she looks like, but that’s not a problem. We have a very cooperative young man who will identify her for us. Sikiokuu likes him very much. To tell you the truth, and speaking like a professional and a well-trained police officer, I don’t much care for these youthwingers who think they know everything. Still, we the police depend on tips from informers, and this Kaniürü seems to have used his nose quite well in sniffing out this woman.”

Nyawlra felt drained of energy. She feared her knees would buckle, but she summoned inner strength not to let her face or voice betray her. She asked him a few more questions to determine how much they knew about her. She was very grateful for being mistaken as the Wizard of the Crow and would assume the role no matter what happened.

“This John Nose, where is he now?” Nyawlra asked.

A.C. burst out laughing, making Nyawlra apprehensive. She had not intended to be funny: was he playing a game of cat and mouse with her?

“Sir Madam Wizard of the Crow,” A.G. said to Nyawlra’s relief, “we the police have nicknamed him the same, Johnny the Nose, and when one of us mentions the nickname we break into laughter. But we don’t underestimate him—oh no, not me. He is quite smart. After all, he is the one who offered up this Nyawlra. He is now in the Mars Cafe with two of my officers, Kahiga and Njoya. I must go now. Let me not delay you,” A.C. said apologetically. “I’m sure you have a lot to do, but when you return I will certainly take you up on your invitation and come for the more potent stuff,” A.C. said, and went away still laughing and muttering the name “J
^onn
Nose.”

Nyawlra made as if she were entering the nearest shop, but only the better to sneak a peek at the direction A.C. had taken. For a second she toyed with going past the Mars Cafe just to make sure that Kaniürü was indeed there, but this would have been like putting a finger in a hornets’ nest. She left the shop front and walked as if continuing in her original direction, but at the end of the block she quickly turned the corner.

“I had never felt so grateful at the presence of so many people in the streets of Eldares,” Nyawlra told Kamltl.

If Nyawlra had gone past the Mars Cafe she might have detected a trace of irritation in the way Kaniürü turned the pages of his newspaper. His eyes were mostly fixed on the road and on the pavement to Tajirika’s offices, and he was annoyed at how long this was taking.

He was preoccupied with the changes in his lifestyle that were about to take place once he pulled off this feat. He kept glancing at his watch, becoming increasingly upset with Nyawlra, as if she had betrayed him. She has always gone to work on time. Why not today? How can she do this to me? If only I knew where she lives! I would burn her house down to dust and ashes.

Kahiga and Njoya, A.G.’s lookouts, just sat there waiting, hoping for a signal from Kaniürü that would simply not come. Was this informer
sure of his facts? They had drunk so much coffee that they felt like throwing up; they, too, were growing impatient.

By early afternoon it had become clear that there was something amiss, and it was decided that one of the police officers, new to the area, would go to Tajirika’s office, but treading carefully so as not to arouse any suspicion. He returned almost immediately, panting with excitement. There was a woman in the office. Ignoring Kaniürü completely, A.G. gave the orders and Njoya and Kahiga acted swiftly, arresting the only woman in the office.

It was said that when Sikiokuu learned that the captive was Vin-jinia, he surprised even himself by not becoming despondent. Instead, he fell to his knees and tugged at his earlobes in gratitude at the unexpected turn of events. Thank you, Lord of the Universe, for giving me something to save my skin and skin my enemies.

There was nothing contradictory in his behavior. For what Sikiokuu saw in this case of mistaken identity was a win-win situation. If Vin-jinia was connected with the women of the movement in any way, her actions would implicate Tajirika, who in turn would drag Machokali under the umbrella of suspicion. And if it turned out that Vinjinia was innocent, Sikiokuu would blame it on Kaniürü and the squad for following the woman’s trail to her employer’s offices. Tajirika, Machokali’s friend, would still have to explain how he came to employ a rebel. But he did not want to think of any unforeseen complications. He would cross that bridge when he came to it—just now he wanted to savor the triumph of the moment at the detention of Vinjinia, Tajirika’s wife.

Tajirika, along with other members of the Marching to Heaven Building Committee, spent all day closeted in a hotel room, trying to figure out how to recover the image of the State: what steps could they immediately take to remove the shame brought on the nation by female renegades? They competed over who could most denigrate womankind. Women had always been the thorn in the flesh of the human race; hardly surprising, most of the men concluded, given their descent from Eve. One member of the committee pretended dissent. With a knowing smile and a wicked glint in his eye, he asked, Who hides the sly snake between their legs? They all laughed and on that hilarious note ended the all-day meeting.

As Tajirika returned to his Golden Heights residence, his head was stuffed full of thoughts about the treachery of women throughout history, and when he found that his wife was not yet home, he was left to wonder: Has Vinjinia become yet another wife of the rich and powerful, taken up to spreading her legs to just about anybody in the name of women’s lib?

By midnight, when Vinjinia had still not appeared, Tajirika’s anger and jealousy turned to worry and concern. Had she been in an accident? Had she been stricken ill? Was she in a hospital?

He hardly slept, and the following morning he set out for the office early: he was sure that Nyawlra would know what had happened to his wife. When he saw his wife’s Mercedes-Benz outside the office, he felt rage. So she had decided to stay out all night? But why? Imagine his surprise when he found the doors of the office locked. There was no sign of Vinjinia anywhere. All his hopes now reverted to Nyawlra; but when she failed to turn up on time he became agitated. He, too, did not know where Nyawlra lived. His knowledge of southern Santalucia did not go beyond what he had seen on his last visit to the shrine of the Wizard of the Crow. How could both women be unaccountable on the same day? He went down to the Mars Cafe to see if Nyawlra was loitering there.

He tried to engage the proprietor, but as usual Gautama was far more interested in talking about the latest exploration for water and life on Mars than in small talk about happenings in Eldares. Through persistence Tajirika did manage to get Gautama to tell him about the three men who looked like government agents; he knew they were up to something by the quantity of coffee they consumed and the way one of them was holding his newspaper upside down, pretending to read it. At one point Gautama claimed he saw or thought he saw some of the men go to the offices of Eldares Modern Construction and Real Estate. Are you sure? Tajirika asked, fear creeping in. Tajirika’s spirits were not lifted when Gautama whispered that even now, as they were talking, the whole town was full of uniformed and undercover police officers looking for a woman: You know the woman—what’s her name? Nyawlra. I think she is the lady who works for you, and she comes here often for coffee, but yesterday and today I have not seen her. Tajirika’s fear became terror. What was the connection between Vinjinia and Nyawlra? And why would the police be looking for one or both?

He went back to his office and tried to call his friend Machokali, but he could not reach him and left a message for the minister to call him back. He stayed put, waiting for a call that did not come. In the evening, back at home in the Golden Heights, Tajirika again tried to reach the minister, dialing all the numbers at his disposal, including one for a mobile phone, but to no avail.

On the third day he decided to call Inspector Wonderful Tumbo, the head of the Santamaria police station. Tajirika considered Officer Tumbo a good friend. The friendship was rooted in deeds of mutual benefit. Every now and then Tajirika would make sure that he extended to the officer what he called best wishes wrapped up in Burl notes and stuffed in an envelope. Sometimes the envelope bore wishes for a Happy Christmas and a Prosperous New Year for the officer and the entire station. He also used Tumbo for contact with low-level military: not for anything in particular, but just to support our men in uniform, as he would say. It was of course understood that in exchange the police would see to Tajirika’s interests, even passing on information useful to a businessman who needed to conform to the prevailing political wind. As for the military, well, with Africa one never knows. The moment the officer recognized Tajirika’s voice at
the other end of the line he kept him on hold for so long that Tajirika put the receiver down. When he called back he was told that the officer was busy.