Wizard of the Crow (90 page)

When she finished the story and without waiting for a reply, Maritha tugged Mariko’s sleeve and they got out of the car. They danced away, singing loudly:

As she drove away, Vinjinia thought about Dove’s message. Nyawlra wanted to know about the Wizard of the Crow.

For a week or so, Vinjinia thought of nothing else but Nyawlra and her message. What a time for Nyawlra to intrude, just when her life with Tajirika was beginning to be good! Nyawlra wanted her to glean information from her husband, but how could she engage in such underhandedness? Tajirika was now an esteemed player in the government. Nyawlra was a reviled enemy of the State. How could she collude with an enemy of her husband?

She felt pulled in two different directions. She recalled her last meeting with Nyawlra and how her heart had so welled up with gratitude
that she told Nyawlra that if she was ever in need she should call on her. A promise was a contract of sorts, and she should not break it. But then, she would argue, nobody was obliged to keep a promise destructive to herself and those around her.

She went so far as to consider finding Nyawlra’s whereabouts and turning her in, to her husband’s advantage. But opportunity knocked. Her husband had asked her to look for a sorcerer to heal the Wizard of the Crow. Who could do that better than the other Wizard of the Crow? She would help Nyawlra, and Nyawlra would help her. Then she would betray her, or rather let Tajirika do it, and that way Tajirika would rise in the government and might even succeed the Buler. Her husband would be bound to her in eternal gratitude.

The following morning Tajirika rushed to the State House to confer with the Buler. And on the next Sunday Vinjinia rushed to All Saints to see Maritha and Mariko.

The news came from the State House through Big Ben Mambo, Minister of Information, and it was broadcast by all the media. The Buler had devised a philosophy that would cure the people of the stresses of modernity. The government printer even issued a booklet:
Magnus Africanus: Prolegomenon to Future Happiness, by the Ruler.
The book said, among other things, that during his retreat and meditation it had been revealed to the Buler that the real threat to Aburlria’s future lay in people’s abandoning their traditions in pursuit of a stressful modernity.

And so, according to the teachings of
Magnus Africanus,
children and youth, even those at the university, must seek out and follow the advice of adults, and when they fail to do so they must be caned on their bare buttocks. Women must get circumcised and show submission by always walking a few steps behind their men. Polygamous households should not form queues. Instead of screaming when they are beaten, women should sing songs of praise to those who beat
them and even organize festivals to celebrate wife beating in honor of manhood. Most important, all Aburlrians should remember at all times that the Ruler was husband number one, and so he was duty bound to set an example by doing in the country what individual men were to do in their households. The government would distribute the booklet free through churches, mosques, temples, and schools. Television and radio stations would be required to feature an excerpt daily, as a thought of the day. Teachers would be strongly encouraged to impart to schoolchildren the virtues of the past, of unquestioning obedience. Instead of using the word
past,
they would talk about African modernity through the ages, and they should talk of the leading figures in Africa’s march backward to the roots of an authentic unchanging past as the great sages of African modernity.

On the very day of the publication of
Magnus Africanus,
the Ruler issued a special decree that traditional African healers would no longer be called sorcerers, diviners, or witch doctors. Henceforth they would be called specialists in African psychiatry, in short, afrochiatrists, and they would be allowed to call themselves
Doctor.
The Ruler was making plans to set up the Ruler’s Academy of Authentic Afrochiatrists.

But the most dramatic in a week of dramatic statements was to follow soon, and it instantly became the subject of gossip, rumor, and speculation in every home in every village in every corner of Aburlria. The Ruler announced that all those who wanted to become the founding doctors of the new academy must present themselves at the State House for a national test. The very best among the founding doctors of the academy would comprise the Ruler’s advisory council to advise the Ruler on how best to ensure that people’s heads were on straight—behind the Ruler’s thought. The test would be given on the basis of first come, first tested.

Nothing like this had ever been seen or heard of in Aburfria: experts in sorcery and witchcraft, with their paraphernalia, winding their way to the State House to take the first-ever national achievement test in their trade. The sheer number who came forward was astounding. Some were among the most regular attendants at mosques and churches; nobody would ever have suspected these zealots of ever practicing sorcery and witchcraft on the side. There were a few others who knew nothing about sorcery and witchcraft but nevertheless came forward, hoping somehow to pass the test and earn a place in the Ruler’s advisory council as a base for personal advancement. Some had traveled at night, and by the early hours of the appointed day there was already a queue visible by even those at some distance from the gates of the State House.

Ever vigilant of opportunities to capture Satan, the Soldiers of Christ stood watching, but they were puzzled by the momentous proceedings. They were not alone in being puzzled by this gathering, for there were only two people, the Ruler and Tajirika, who knew the purpose of the national achievement test in sorcery and witchcraft.

An assistant for protocol fetched sorcerer or witch doctor in front of the queue and led him or her to a waiting room, from where Njoya, Kahiga, or A.G., depending on who happened to be guarding the door, escorted him or her to the testing site.

The test itself was simple. Each competitor would try to cure a man afflicted with a malady of words causing words to become stuck in his larynx. None was told the name or other details about the sick man; none knew that the patient was the Wizard of the Crow.

Kamltl had heard Njoya and Kahiga whisper about the impending arrival of a delegation of afrochiatrists to the State House. He gleaned that these were leading African specialists in mental disorders. But he did not know that they were coming up to see him.

Many of the sorcerers went through identical preliminaries: they would do some acrobatics, some even blowing horns or whistles to unsettle the evil spirits that possessed the patient, and then would venture a question to which Kamltl always responded by spitting out the word:
if.
They all left the room defeated, muttering to themselves that they had never encountered a case of so complete a possession by bad spirits. Some tried to cover their failure by saying that they were going for stronger medicines, that they would surely come back, but there was very little enthusiasm and conviction in their voices.

Kamltl began to feel good about his own performance. It was difficult even for the most astute of doctors to diagnose an illness in which the patient was silent about symptoms. But after dismissing one after the other, he came across one afrochiatrist who terrified him to the core.

This master surgeon started by elaborating on his experience, as if offering his credentials to the two examiners in the room.

“I tell you, it is not just one or two on whom I have operated and removed bits of iron buried deep in their bellies or their joints—their knees, for instance,” he said, confiding in Njoya and Kahiga. “I have operated on many, and seven out of every ten have come out of it alive and well. Not bad, eh? And I do it swiftly,” he added, reaching for the surgical tools in his bag and carefully spreading them on the floor.

Kamltl counted hammers, tweezers, miniature saws, razor blades, needles, knives, scissors, and nails of different sizes and shapes. He did not know what was more terrifying, the array of surgical tools or the master surgeon’s matter-of-fact tone in talking about his past successes.

Kamltl decided to take matters into his own hands. He stood up,
walked toward the surgeon, barking,
IF! IF!
and spraying saliva in the direction of his nemesis, who was counting the tools. The master surgeon imagined that Kamltl intended to infect him and his tools with evil, and started collecting his paraphernalia and putting them back into the bag. It was too late. His gadgets were slimy with spit. A glob attached itself to his face; the surgeon did not wait for more. He let out an involuntary scream, threw the last of his gadgets into the bag, dashed out of the room, and ran as fast as his jingled legs could carry him toward the gates of the State House, moaning loudly for all the world to hear that his things had been bewitched with saliva. Me, too, he added, moaning, “I have just been cursed.” In his frenzy, he felt death knocking at his door. “I am going to die” soon changed into “I am dying,” and by the time the master surgeon had reached the queue outside, the cry had become “I am dead.” When asked by the others what was the matter, he blabbered about his bewitchment and certain death.

When they understood the implications of what he was saying, the remaining candidates took to their heels, initially following him, shouting questions, before dispersing in different directions.

The news of the flight of the sorcerers immediately reached the ears of the Ruler, and it made him very furious. He ordered his security men to chase the candidates and bring them back to be flogged and then complete their tests. How dare these cowardly fellows disgrace afrochiatryr

But it was as if all the sorcerers and witch doctors had vanished into thin air, except one who was unable to run because his left leg was shorter than his right and he could only limp, shouting to the others: Oh, my brothers and sisters in sorcery, don’t leave me behind! Please don’t leave me behind—we are all equal in matters of sorcery!

Oh, we are not leaving you behind, said the security men as they pounced on the crippled sorcerer, and it was only their fear of sorcery that prevented them from raining blows of vengeance on his body.

The Ruler ordered that the cripple take the test or be whipped with a
sjambok
until he revealed where all his brothers and sisters in sorcery had gone. When told that the sorcerer was a woman, he said it did not matter, but if she passed the test she would be spared the
sjambok.

The Limping Witch, as they now called the crippled witch, had a repulsive face. One of her eyes oozed, and when not talking her lips twitched; when talking to her, people felt compelled to look away. But she also cut a laughable figure. She had no divining charms, only a walking stick and an ungainly wrap. Her hair was so matted that it became the subject of spirited conversation among her captors, who thought she had taken the idea of dreadlocks too literally.

Kamltl was still in shock from his narrow escape from the master surgeon; he was now grimly on guard for whoever came next. So when the Limping Witch was ushered in, Kamltl jumped up and retreated even farther into his corner, ready to let flow his lethal saliva. I will not turn my back on this one, Kamltl swore to himself: he was highly suspicious of the stick she carried. He and the Limping Witch defiantly glared at each other for a few seconds as if to see who would blink first.

In spite of his alertness, Kamltl did not anticipate the witch’s next move, or see it, for that matter. All of a sudden, her stick was touching his Adam’s apple. Kamltl attempted a few ifs, but they were smothered in terror. Every time he tried to move his neck away, she would press his Adam’s apple a bit more firmly as if to warn him, Don’t play tricks with me, and in the end he desisted. I must be careful about what I do, he thought to himself, or I am a dead man.

“My walking stick never lies. The Devil is hiding there, just where my stick is touching. The foolish and the wise—who is it that cannot see? Speech is the beginning of knowledge. And lack of speech? The beginning of foolishness. But how did the Devil get here? This place reeks of alcohol.”

Njoya and Kahiga exchanged frantic glances. “Tell me,” she loudly
insisted, “where did you collect this man?” Once again they looked at each other, unsure as to whether they should admit that they had found the man in a bar. They were not even sure if they were allowed to answer any questions posed by the sorcerers beyond those relating to the requirements. They conferred in hushed tones and decided that Njoya must go and ask what they should do about the question. As soon as Njoya left, A.G., in accordance with the two-man rule, entered the room. But this brought about a few complications for Njoya, who when he returned realized that the same rule forbade him to enter. He simply took A.G.’s place outside.

“What did I ask you?” the Limping Witch intoned ferociously at Kahiga. In desperation, Kahiga opened the door, quickly dragged Njoya inside without a word, and replaced him outside. With permission granted to answer her question, Njoya now admitted that he and others had picked up the man in a beer hall; he had been drunk, but since then the man had not taken a drop or even set eyes on alcohol. Having just entered the room, A.G. did not know what was going on. He was peeved at what appeared to be Njoya’s attempt to take credit for the man’s apprehension. He had to set the record straight. And without consulting his partner, A.G. plunged into the conversation.

“True!
Haki ya Mungu!
I am the one who discovered him in the beer hall, and so if you have any questions about him and alcohol ask me, and if you want to confirm the truth of what I am saying, True!
Haki ya Mungu,
ask … I mean … if the Wizard …”

He was about to reveal the identity of the man when he realized his faux pas, and tried to cover it with exaggerated coughing, until the witch angrily intervened.