Wizard of the Crow (29 page)

Even as they were finishing placing their orders, Tajirika joined them. They could see self-satisfaction in his gait.

Tajirika was very much aware of their curiosity about why he was back there so soon after he had given up on breakfast, but he was not in a hurry to enlighten them. He kept them anxious for his revelation. He ordered six eggs, three sausages, and a pile of bacon.

“You will make people think that I don’t feed you, “joked Vinjinia.

“I want both of you to eat properly, all on me,” he said, pausing for effect before adding: “And rejoice.”

“Why?” the women asked. Had he been assured that the army and the police were already on their way?

“We are celebrating the daemons of the queue,” he told them as soon as their orders had arrived.

Nyawlra and Vinjinia put down their forks and looked at him with befuddlement.

“What did you tell me about the queues?” he asked after swallowing one or two mouthfuls. “That they started outside our office and now are all over Eldares, even spilling into neighboring towns. I have just spoken to Machokali, and he cast a different light on all this. It is quite simple. The fact that all these people are coming for jobs at the office of the chairman of Marching to Heaven shows that all the people in Eldares support the project, and you know that when Eldares calls, the entire country answers sooner or later. You could say, taking the contract hunters and then these job hunters into account, that there is not a single Aburlrian who does not want to have a piece of the project. The Ruler and his most beloved minister, who is also my friend Machokali, are very pleased with this development and have even sent five motorcycle riders to all corners of the country to spread the gospel of queuing and gather even more grassroots support. And we started it. Nyawlra, you and I started it. Next week the Global Bank mission will tour Eldares and the surrounding towns, wherever there are queues, to see for themselves how happy the people are with the prospect of Marching to Heaven.

“It will all culminate in a mass rally at the Ruler’s Park, at which the Ruler will formally dedicate the site. They used to say that all roads lead to Rome, but on that day all queues will lead to the park. Imagine all the cameras capturing the drama of lines and lines of people making their pilgrimage to a new Mecca? See
the point?
Get the picture? And now comes the sweetest part.

“Minister Machokali is very pleased with my illness. He did not
even want to know what kind of illness it was—he was just glad that I had been ill and therefore absent from the office. In fact, he sounded very alarmed when I told him that I was now well and ready to resume work. Of course he was happy to hear that the illness was not fatal—he is a very good friend of mine, you know—but he does not want me to get well quickly, at least not well enough to return to the office. The crowd will keep waiting for my return. So he wants me to resurface from my illness only after the Bank missionaries have visited all the queues and witnessed the mass support. I am to reappear only on the day of the dedication. Thus the government will have made effective use of the queues in its bid for money from the Bank.”

He paused to study and enjoy the effect of his words on their faces. Tajirika was speaking as if he had originated the idea of queues. He turned toward NyawTra with eyes lit up with pride.

“So NyawTra, the billboard that you planted is now bearing fruit that even the Buler is glad to gather. In short, a simple billboard is about to change the history of Aburiria, the history of Africa, the history of the world. And everyone gains a little from this mania, including you two.”

NyawTra and Vinjinia looked askance at each other, wondering how they were going to benefit from a billboard that simply announced that the company was now hiring temporary staff.

Tajirika felt good inside. “So congratulations,” he told them, laughing, his half-shaved chin moving up and down rhythmically.

“For what?” asked Vinjinia.

“Who do you think will be running the firm in my purposeful, patriotic absence? You, my faithful duo. You, Vinjinia, are now the acting general manager of Eldares Modern Construction and Beal Estate, and you, NyawTra, the assistant general manager.”

He paused to take in the gratitude from their eyes at the promotions he had just announced.

“And no coup d’etat against the absent boss!” he joked. You must not remove the billboard: as far as the public is concerned I am still indisposed and therefore unable to come to the office. When answering the phone or talking to people, I want you to remember at all times that I am still ill. If these people want any business that might come this way, they are to make themselves known to the acting general manager, Mrs. Vinjinia Tajirika, and leave their envelopes with
her. But should there be some who insist on speaking to me personally, then, Vinjinia, call me at home and connect me to the person, but only after the person has added a considerable sum to the envelope as an inducement for the sick to leave his bed to pick up the phone. These promotions are my way of saying thank you to both of you for conspiring to take me to the Wizard of the Crow. His powers have already changed my life.”

Nyawlra quickly glanced at the corner where Kaniürü was sitting and saw that he was still there, absorbed in his paper. He is just pretending to read, Nyawlra said to herself, for she was sure that his eyes and ears and nose were taking everything in. Despite this, Nyawlra decided to squeeze more information out of Tajirika about the coming dedication of the proposed site for Marching to Heaven.

“What day is the Ruler going to bless the site?” she asked as if making talk without the slightest interest in the actual date.

“I don’t have all the details,” Tajirika told her. “But don’t worry. As soon as I know them I will let you know. I would like you both to be present. What did I tell you, Nyawlra? I will never forget you. Since you started working for me my affairs have been running smoothly, and I would like to express my gratitude and appreciation. On the blessed day I shall ask my friend Minister Machokali to have you stand on the platform in front of the Ruler so that he and the whole world will know that it was you and me who set the lines of people in motion. The Ruler might even shake your hand as he once shook mine …”

He looked at his right hand, and for a second or two there was disbelief and dismay on his face.

“What happened to my glove?” he asked, looking at Vinjinia.

Vinjinia sensed an impending explosion and quickly moved in to contain it: she explained that she had taken it off thinking that his enemies may have tampered with the glove out of envy of the hand that smelled of the Ruler’s. But to the utter relief of Vinjinia, he was not angry.

“Then my enemies will die of envy, because on the day of the dedication of the site this very hand will shake that of the Ruler, and this time I will thwart them by not wearing a glove that would indicate the spot blessed by his touch. Nyawlra, take note of that. After the Ruler touches your hand, no glove!”

He stopped himself and collapsed in hysterics.

“Yes, you and I must have released these daemons in support of Marching to Heaven. We removed the other billboard, NO
VACANCY:
FOR JOBS COME TOMORROW, just in the nick of time. And see the results! These university boys who claim to be the Movement for the Voice of the People opposed to Marching to Heaven are now in a dark hole, completely isolated. Their propaganda against the project has come to naught: everywhere people are now voting with their feet, thanks to you and me. Up with the billboard! Those boys will die with envy when they see you, their age-mate, shake the Ruler’s hand. But remember, no glove … Leave that to me,” he added, attempting self-deprecating humor.

He continued laughing, amusing himself.

Kaniürü could no longer contain himself; his head rose from his newspaper to look at the center of this hilarity.

At the close of business, Nyawlra took the unusual step of asking Vin-jinia for a lift to the bus stop. She wanted to avoid any possible encounter with Kaniürü, but she also wanted to get home early.

On the bus ride home, all her thoughts were on Kamltl. She recalled how they had first met in Tajirika’s office; how she had empathized when he told about his more than three years of fruitless job searching; how she had felt his humiliation at the hands of heartless Tajirika; how later that same night they had been chased by A.G. across the prairie; and how they talked through the night, on the verge of carnal intimacy.

Now they hardly ever talked about that moment, even in jest, and neither had they come close to repeating it. Otherwise, she was at peace with Kamltl and surprised herself by opening her heart to him. Yet she was careful about revealing details of the movement: its members, leadership, and plans. In all personal matters, she felt that she could talk to him without embarrassment. He was unlike most men
she had encountered; he had no set views of a woman’s place in the world. She felt close to him, yet she was haunted by a question: who was Kamltl, really?

Nyawlra did not believe in divination, prophecy, or the power of magic potions to change hearts and minds. She did not believe in the material existence of good and bad spirits. People built their own heaven or hell through their deeds on earth. If they abuse themselves and others, they are merely stoking the fire of a hell of their own making, a terrible legacy for those to come. Good deeds, on the other hand, are worthy of inheritance by future generations. Her guiding principle was simply Do Unto Others as You Would Have Them Do Unto You. Yet her skepticism about rites of magic was being shaken by KamTtT. How was he able to see into the souls of people? What was it that A.G., the old man, and now Tajirika saw in KamTtT? How, for instance, was it possible for Tajirika to leave three bags of money behind without so much as a hint of regret or a whimper of protest, she wondered, knowing as she did how much he loved and worshipped money?

As for herself, she had to admit that KamTtT had also touched her life. She could not tell what it was, but since meeting him she did not see life quite the same way; it was as if just his being there gave her something to smile about, even in the face of the scandals and cruelties of the state. The way he had dealt with Vinjinia and Tajirika made her feel proud of him. There was no rancor in his manner, no lust for revenge against a fallen enemy, unless relieving the Tajirikas of three bags of money could be termed revenge. As KamTtT had questioned Tajirika about his malady, a picture of the nature of the illness had also formed in her mind, and she felt as if KamTtT understood it as pervasive among the rich and educated of AburTria. Perhaps this explained in part what was wrong with the leadership of the land and the incredible turns the country had taken since independence.

She noticed without quite acknowledging it that whenever she thought of KamTtT she felt indefinable warmth suffusing her being, making her heart race with anticipation. But anticipation of what? She was unsure; all she knew as she got off the bus and crossed the road was that she missed him. They had parted only that morning, but for her it was as if they had not seen each other in years.

At the Santalucia shopping center she decided on how to celebrate being with him this evening. She would do the cooking. She
bought some rice, tender mutton, lasciviously ripe tomatoes, fragrance of parsley, and two candles. She imagined the course of the evening over and over. She would cook, they would sit at the table facing each other, playing footsie; they would sit by the fireside and chat, enjoying the play of shadows on the walls. Her vision of this togetherness made her feel giddy. She felt like singing, but no particular tune came to mind.

In recent days she had tried to get home early to avoid the formation of the evening’s queue for the wizard’s services, these men who stood waiting to be empowered with evil. She and Kamltl, as a result of them, hardly ever had the time to talk, except after midnight. In recent days the line had become progressively thinner and shorter, but even so, the few who would be there tonight were bound to interfere with her arrangement for a candlelight dinner for two. She grew defiant; she would not let them ruin her evening.

She knocked at the door four times, their secret signal. She waited for him to open the door, a smile forming. She tried the doorknob, a trifle impatient. The door was shut tight. Maybe he was having a bath, she told herself. She took out her key and opened the door. She stood and waited for a sign of life in the house. She checked all over and noticed that even Kamltl’s bag was gone. She sat down on the bed, drained. Where was Kamltl? Where had he goner

It is now past midnight, the fourth night since you went away without a trace,
Nyawlra scribbled in a notebook,
and I find myself unable to fall asleep. The hours of the day and the hours of the night seem all the same to me. I have been going to the office but I feel like a sleepwalker in the streets ofEldares. I have nobody with whom I can talk about you, and even if I had, I don’t think that there are many who can see you as I do. I write to myself to still my heart, but no matter how I try I cannot find words to say how I felt when I came home that night and found that you were gone.

I think about you day and night. Each day has had its pains, memories,
and worries. I do not know whether you are alive, in the hands of the police, or dead, killed by thieves, though it is hard to distinguish between the police and thieves in our country. But what would a thief want with your bag, containing as it does only a beggar’s suit of rags? On the other hand, why would the police arrest you? What would they want from you?
They say that desperate times call for desperate measures; the other night I even found myself wishing that I might bump into A.G., hoping that he would blab something about you. Then I remembered thatA.G. thinks that you and I are one; in his eyes, there is only one Wizard of the Crow, who can manifest himself in male or female form. No, A.G. cannot help me.