Wizard of the Crow (25 page)

Sikiokuu felt outmaneuvered and wished that he could answer with something from the Quran or another holy text. But, mindful of the saying that if you can’t beat them, join them, he argued that the duty of sending out more riders rested entirely with his department, as security matters were involved.

Those ministers who normally monitored the war between the two rivals, always leaning toward the winner, named the struggle that just ended the Battle of the Five Riders, but they were not quite sure which side had won.

As he left the State House, Sikiokuu fumed, and some even say that, like a hippo’s under water, his heavy breathing produced bubbles of air from his mouth and nostrils and that the bubbles surrounded him and his car all the way to the office. The minister was seething with rage. He had to be obedient, but in so being he did not want to further enhance his rival’s standing in the eyes of the Ruler. How could he at once obey the Ruler and avenge himself? He would use the written word to account for the letter of the law, and the spoken to subvert its spirit.

On five sheets of paper bearing the letterhead THE OFFICE OF THE

RULER,
Sikiokuu typed the title
Riders of the Ruler.
To each he specified precise instructions:
Know ye by this letter that I am sending ye to said direction
…; the duty of each being to observe and assess; convey the Ruler’s satisfaction with the queuing; and spread the gospel where it had not reached. Sikiokuu would have signed the letters on behalf of the Ruler but thought better of it; he took them to the leader who, berating Sikiokuu—Why did you waste my time with such petty matters? Why did you not sign them yourself?—affixed his signature with relish and even stamped the letters with the seal of the State House.

Armed with the authorization, Sikiokuu summoned the chosen five to his office and handed each a letter, the most precious document they had ever come across. They were particularly delighted with the Ruler’s signature, for it made them see themselves truly as his envoys to the country and the world. But Sikiokuu took pains with his instructions.

He told the Riders of the Ruler that while there was some urgency to the matter, what was most important was absolute diligence: he would have no mercy for any who returned without having visited every nook and cranny of the country wherever there were queues, rumors of queues, or possibilities of queues. They could even go beyond the country, the Ruler’s envoys to the world, if necessary, he added, hoping in a light touch, but it did not come out that way. In short, there was really no hurry and they could take their time and space performing their duty, he told them, before sending them off to the world on brand new motorcycles.

At the time that Sikiokuu was tweaking his own instructions, his rival, Machokali, was recalling, not without a sense of wonder, his inspired “riders of the apocalypse” moment. What most pleased him was that Sikiokuu would be sending riders to all the five regions of Aburlria to spread the very gospel of queuing, upon which he had at first tried to heap scorn. Furthermore, queuing as mass support for Marching to Heaven now had the Ruler’s blessings. Machokali was certain that the five riders’ reports would redound to his credit. What foresight on his part to have put forward the name of Tajirika as chairman of Marching to Heaven, for from all accounts, including that of the crazed rider, the queuing had started outside the offices of Eldares Modern Construction and Real Estate.

Following the emergency Cabinet session, Machokali placed a call to Tajirika’s house to congratulate him on the fact that the daemons of queuing had started outside his offices. But he was disappointed to hear that Tajirika was still indisposed. What a time for his friend to get the flu! With whom would he share the joy of victory?

That night he dreamt that he beheld four messengers, four riders on white cycles … He woke up in a sweat. Why four and not fiver

He called Tajirika’s house again. Would Tajirika please call him back as soon as he felt better?

Tajirika, chairman of Marching to Heaven, CEO of Eldares Modern Construction and Real Estate, and friend of the Minister for Foreign Affairs, was not in a position to return any calls. He sat in front of the bathroom mirror all day long, his chin in cupped hands, staring vacuously into space. Sometimes his sight would stray into the mirror, slightly, ever so slightly, and he would mutter the word
if
and then resume looking nowhere. But when his eyes rested on the mirror a bit longer, he would bark the word continuously, his body shaking uncontrollably, until he moved his eyes away from the mirror and achieved an uneasy calm.

In the early days of the affliction, Vinjinia believed that the mirror was somehow responsible for her husband’s condition, so one evening she lured him into bed, and when he fell asleep she relocated the mirror elsewhere, hoping to put an end to Tajirika’s violent
ifs.

The following morning Tajirika’s face was cheerfulness itself, as if the illness had vanished along with his having missed work the previous day. He set about his morning rituals with gusto, indications that he intended to go to the office as usual, and, seeing this, Vinjinia felt no need to bring up his erstwhile malady. There was one more hurdle to jump and all will be well, she thought as she watched him go to the bathroom. A second later, Tajirika was shouting, demanding to know who had removed the mirror from the wall. How was he supposed to
shave without a mirror? He accused the children of being the culprits and threatened to beat them, forcing Vinjinia to own up to what she had done. I forgot to put it back when I mopped the wall clean, she said. Her stratagem had failed. For no sooner was the mirror in place when the ifs came back with debilitating force. It was Vinjinia who once again went to the office while Tajirika remained at home, in the bathroom, same as the day before.

Things got worse. Vinjinia helplessly watched as Tajirika scratched his face between his ifs and
if only
‘s. He then removed his clothes and jumped into the bathtub, where he scratched himself all over, not uttering a word. He had lost all speech, save two words. Again she removed the mirror from the wall, but this time nothing would make her put it back.

Emerging from the bathtub, Tajirika seemed shocked and confused when he did not find the mirror on the wall. But, having lost the ability to speak beyond “if” and “if only” he just gesticulated frantically in frustration. Finally, he rifled through Vinjinia’s handbag and found a small mirror. He spent the whole day holding the mirror in one hand, scratching himself with the other, and now and then jumping into the bathtub. Even when he went to bed that night he held on to the mirror the way a child clings to a beloved toy. When she came home from the office, Vinjinia once again waited until he fell asleep, took the mirror from his hands, and hid it. In the morning she instructed the workers to make sure that there was not a single mirror lying about in the house or anywhere else on the compound. Mirrorless, Tajirika became increasingly depressed.

Vinjinia started phoning up doctors she knew to be discreet, telling them only that her husband was low in spirit and occasionally scratched his face, omitting even the slightest reference to the mirror and Tajirika’s loss of speech. When some suggested that she bring him to their clinics she would quickly downplay the seriousness of his malady. Others said flat out that they could not prescribe a cure over the phone; a few suggested over-the-counter drugs to relieve the itching and depression. The drugs did not work.

What was she to do? As the days passed without her husband getting any better, Vinjinia felt a need to share her secret with others.

“I think he has been bewitched,” Vinjinia one day told Nyawlra.

They were now into the second week as coworkers. The rider had
come back all right, but for Vinjinia and Nyawlra the news of endless queues and motorized madness was depressing. Gacirü and Gaclgua had gone back to school, and Nyawlra missed the storytelling sessions.

“You see, a lot of people are envious of his success,” Vinjinia went on, “and particularly his appointment to head Marching to Heaven. Now he is not even eating well. If you saw him you would not recognize him, he has lost so much weight.”

“Who would want to cast an evil spell on him?” Nyawlra asked, curious as to whom Vinjinia considered an enemy.

“I don’t know; maybe any of those so-called businessmen who came here to make his acquaintance. They don’t come around anymore. Why? Perhaps as soon as they knew their evil had worked, they stopped.”

“But how do you know he is bewitched?” Nyawlra asked, recalling that Vinjinia was a devout Christian. “Did he do, eat, or wear anything unusual before or during his illness?”

Vinjinia remembered the glove he wore on one hand, which was very strange because even when he ate or went to bed he never took it off.

“Yes,” Vinjinia said, after wondering to what extent she should confide in Nyawlra. “Since the Marching to Heaven craze began, my husband has taken to wearing a glove on his right hand. He never takes it off, and so he never washes the hand.”

“Remove the glove,” Nyawlra suggested.

That night, after making sure that he was asleep, Vinjinia removed the glove from Tajirika’s hand, and it stank so badly that she threw it to the floor. Was the stench attributable to the bewitchment? What if she herself became a victim of the same dark powers? she suddenly thought in fright. She was determined to avoid further contact with the glove or with the hand that wore it. But how could she allow these powers to dictate what she should or should not touch in her own house, including her husband’s hand? She brought her Bible, kept it near, and felt more courageous. She examined the hand. There were small crusts of dirt under the long fingernails. She thought of trimming the nails, washing the hand, and throwing the glove into the garbage bag, but this would have been tantamount to discarding evidence. She picked up the glove from the floor and put it in a drawer.

The following day she told Nyawlra that she was now sure that her husband had been bewitched by the evil placed inside the glove.

“Why in the glove?” Nyawlra asked. “And why did the evil not strike when he first wore it?”

“You have a point there,” Vinjinia said. “The bewitchment must have happened as they shook hands in this very office or slipped in the envelopes with the money. He became ill soon after counting, well, touching the money with the glove.”

“Money? Was there a lot?” Nyawlra asked, not only to keep the conversation alive but also to learn the actual figure.

“You should see how much!” Vinjinia said with pride and fear, looking around to make sure that the police officers guarding the yard were not within hearing distance. “Each of three sacks was full of notes, and no note was worth less than a hundred Burls.”

“Three sacks bulging tight with notes?” Nyawlra asked histrionically.

“So you can see why not everybody might be happy for him,” Vinjinia said. “The evildoers could have been any of those who brought the sacks of money”

“Yes, I see,” Nyawlra said, a little tired of the talk of sorcery. “What you now need is a good witch doctor,” Nyawlra added, in part to shock the good Christian, but it was she, Nyawlra, who was shocked by Vinjinia’s impassivity.

“The only problem,” said Vinjinia in a matter-of-fact tone, “is that I have no idea where to find a witch doctor.”

It was clear that she imagined that Nyawlra would be as clueless as she was, but she was wrong.

An idea struck Nyawlra. Why had she not thought of it earlier? There was, after all, the Wizard of the Crow! She was amused by the thought of Tajirika seeking a cure from the very person he had humiliated.

“As for witch doctors,” Nyawlra said, “I hear there is a new one in town. The Wizard of the Crow!”

“Where is he to be found? I mean, where is his shrine?”

“Santalucia. Southern.”

“Southern Santalucia?” Vinjinia screamed with genuine horror. “You mean the southern slums where the poo … poo … people …” she stammered, a little confused, remembering that Nyawlra lived somewhere in Santalucia.

Vinjinia seemed sincerely appalled by the prospect of visiting a slumyard. But the more she recalled the stench of the glove and Tajirika’s elongated nails encrusted with dirt, the more she realized that she had to control her squeamishness about such places. Her husband’s illness was getting worse. She didn’t see that she had any alternative but to pay the Wizard of the Crow a visit.

“I am a faithful member of All Saints Cathedral, and I know what they would think of me if they suspected or found out that I have had dealings with witch doctors,” she said. “I don’t want to be excommunicated or become like Maritha and Mariko, the subject of weekly tales. But just now there is no place I would not go in search of a cure. Where does one find this Wizard of the Crow? And please, Nyawlra, not a word of this to anybody” Vinjinia pleaded.

What? Tajirika is to come to me to be cured? No, no, I can’t deal with that, Kamltl responded instinctively. The humiliation he had suffered at the hands of this man had scarred him badly, and he feared that the sight of his tormentor would inflame him further.

“I take the trouble to bring my boss to you so you can take his money” Nyawlra reasoned with him, “and all you can say is no? Why else would I lure him here, knowing that the malady is hopeless? All you need do is look at him, shower him with saliva, sputter some mumbo jumbo, send him home, and pocket his money”

He wanted no part of this, Kamltl insisted.

“I will bring him in the dark; there is no danger of his shadow crossing yours,” Nyawlra said, and with that the tension between them broke as they burst out laughing.

It was while laughing that Kamltl suddenly felt possessed of an emotion so powerful that it almost made him tremble. Bevenge. Good luck was bringing his enemy to his door for him to exact the sweetest vengeance. Strange that the prospect of evil had excited him more than the thought of doing good.

Kamltl told Nyawlra nothing of this, for he did not want her to dissuade him from his course of action. Besides, he wanted to enjoy the unfolding of his scheme by himself. He imagined possible encounters with Tajirika, wondering how best to set his plan in motion. Before Tajirika’s arrival, Kamltl would make a billboard, NO CURE TODAY: FOR CURE COME TOMORROW, and plant it nearby. He would then take Tajirika down memory lane by testing him on his English literacy.