Wizard of the Crow (42 page)

They liked the
kanga
lady. They liked her words. They enjoyed the peace that followed their victory over Satan.

However, and despite the near unanimous agreement that theirs was a great victory, there were a few skeptics who scrutinized each and every thing, comparing and contrasting this and that, picking holes here and there, and they would shake their heads and say: Hmmm, isn’t it rather strange that the victory of Maritha and Mariko over Satan came only a few months after the return of the Wizard of the Crow? Still, nobody had heard the couple say anything about the Wizard of the Crow, and nobody claimed any longer to have seen them anywhere near the shrine before or after the victory.

Except once. But that was several years later, and even then it was
not Maritha and Mariko who were seen near the shrine but rather the Wizard of the Crow who was seen near their house, running for dear life, hounded by the Ruler’s police, and it was on recalling this dastardly hunt for a human being that people would pause and say: Do you see? There are elements of truth in the rumors we used to hear. Why else would the Wizard of the Crow have chosen to bypass all the other homes to seek help from Maritha and Mariko when it was clear by then that all in Santalucia would have felt honored to help him escape the bloodhounds led by Kaniürü?

The name John Kaniürü started attracting attention in the country from the day a radio announcement said that he had been appointed deputy chairman of Marching to Heaven. Kaniürü, who? People asked. What a name, others commented. Kaniürü sent the press several pictures of himself, but controversy erupted when two people initially claimed the name. Both won. Both retained the name. Your works alone will tell who really owns the name, the judge told them. Unable to decide whose picture to carry, the newspapers ended up with a pictureless story.

A few weeks later people heard, again through the radio, that Kaniürü had been asked to serve as the chairman of the Commission of Inquiry into the Queuing Mania. The same Kaniürü? people would ask. Once again Kaniürü sent several photos of himself in different poses and sizes, but the newspapers once again carried the story without an accompanying picture. Kaniürü was so angry that he personally telephoned the various editors: why had they not used any of his pictures? They owed him no explanation, they told him. Kaniürü was bitter, he saw these editors as his enemies, and he felt frustrated because there was nothing he could do about what he then saw as a vast conspiracy of envy.

He quit his job as a teacher at Eldares Polytechnic, dismissing the teaching profession as pure misery. Then he bought a new MercedesBenz,
paid for it in cash, and engaged a uniformed chauffeur. The dramatic change in his lifestyle following the dual appointment confirmed people’s suspicions of his role in the Nyawlra affair, especially after they learned that she had once been his wife.

To impress the university professors who had worked with him as youthwingers but denigrated him as merely a lecturer at the Polytechnic, Kaniürü would spring on them at their homes or offices, telling them that he was only passing by, that he would not stay long, but as he left he made a point of asking if there was anybody who wanted a lift to town, assuring them that there was ample room in his Mercedes-Benz, one of the latest models. Knowing the power he now wielded, they would look at him with envious admiration, call him Big Man, and ask him where they might meet up with him again to renew their friendship and bring him a little token. We teachers should stick together, they would tell him. I am not a teacher, he corrected them, and they would quickly apologize for their gaff. He enjoyed these moments when those who used to think that they were more important than he groveled before him to buy favors.

An idea struck him. Why not take his enjoyment to a higher level? Why not pay a visit to Nyawlra’s father, Matthew Wangahü, the man who thought he, Kaniürü, was too poor for the hand of his daughter? Maybe Nyawlra was hiding there. Why not kill two birds with one stoner

“On to Wangahü’s,” he said, stroking his Mercedes, talking to it as if it were a horse.

When Wangahü saw a sleek automobile stop outside his house with what he took to be a cabinet minister inside, he rushed to meet him. The chauffeur came out and opened the back door and saluted. Wangahü almost collapsed when he saw Kaniürü emerge, but, well schooled in decorum, he did not display undue surprise. He invited his visitor into the living room and called out for his wife, Boithi,
to come and greet him. And remember that one does not ask a hungry person for news, he told her after she had rubbed her hands in her apron and shook the visitor’s. She returned to the kitchen and ordered the house help to prepare a chicken dish.

“Congratulations on your recent appointments,” Wangahü told Kaniürü. “Our people say that hard work always pays. I was even thinking of coming to see you in your new role as the deputy chairman of Marching to Heaven, but you have beaten me to it, and I am glad. Just because you and Nyawlra don’t get on does not mean you and I shouldn’t. You are an in-law, and in this house you will always be treated like an in-law. Now, what I was thinking is simple and straightforward. If and when the Global Bank releases funds for Marching to Heaven, you and I should put our heads together on a contract to supply timber. You and I can become partners. A kind of father and son partnership, eh? What do you think of that?”

Kaniürü, who had expected hostility, was surprised by this reception. The man who spoke so smoothly now was the same who had refused to let him marry his daughter, going so far as to disown her for defying him and associating with a beggar, as Wangahü had called him then, but he did not let that get in the way of his appreciation of the moment. He enjoyed being in the living room from which he was once barred and hearing Wangahü talk to him politely, even as an equal. Still, Kaniürü did not like Wangahü saying that he was thinking of seeing Kaniürü only after the Global Bank money had arrived. Didn’t the old man realize that many, some wealthier than he, had already started calling on Kaniürü in his capacity as the deputy chair to make themselves known? Each would be sure to leave a “calling envelope” behind. Did the old man have the slightest clue as to how he had acquired his Mercedes-Benz?

Kaniürü recalled the pain the old man had caused him, and, although he had now taken a step in the right direction by receiving him well, still Kaniürü thought to assuage past hurts. With the word
partnership
Wangahü had given him an opening. He cleared his throat and tried to assume dignity, for despite his new elevation and Mercedes-Benz, Kaniürü felt slightly intimidated by the man’s bearing.

“Actually, that is one of the things that brought me here, for, as the saying goes, the early bird catches the worm,” Kaniürü said,
throwing in a couple more proverbs for what he assumed to be greater profundity. “But you have already taken the words right out of my mouth, and I thank you for it. Let’s start our partnership right here today. If you feel that you want to hand over to me one or two of your plots in town as a sign of goodwill, I will not say no. Or we could start by your giving me a few shares in your timber business. Again as goodwill. If you ask me, I would say that a plot or two or a couple of shares are nothing compared to what will flow to you from Marching to Heaven.”

“My child,” Wangahü hastened to say, alarmed by the direction the conversation was taking,
“Hurry and Hurry-it broke up the house of Harry and Harriet,
the English people say. It is not good to rush into decisions. We shall talk about everything and go into detail once the Global Bank has released the money. By the way, when is the Buler expected back in the country?” Wangahü wanted to know, steering the conversation away from plots and shares.

Kaniürü was not amused by the English proverb. He had never heard it before and did not realize that Wangahü had made it up on the spot. It sounded to him like a veiled reference to the breakup of his marriage with Nyawlra.

“Well,” Kaniürü said, somewhat disappointed, “as you like it, for as the saying goes, the one in need is the one who presses his needs. Let me remind you: don’t be as slow as the tortoise in the story …”

Wangahü himself felt like reminding Kaniürü that it was the slow tortoise who won the race, not the hasty hare, but he held back. I should have let the man say what brought him here before putting my cards on the table, Wangahü admonished himself, noting that Kaniürü had sidestepped the question about the Buler’s return from America.

“I am not saying that we should walk with the pace of a tortoise,” Wangahü explained. “But we should look for what the English call
via media.”

“Actually, that is not English but Latin,” Kaniürü corrected him.

“Whatever you say. You are the teacher.”

“Ex-teacher!”

“Well, you are the one with education, and if you say it is Latin, then it is Latin. If my Nyawlra had stayed at home, she would have been the one interpreting this Latin for me.”

“That’s the other thing that brought me here,” Kaniürü said. “Now, about Nyawlra …”

“What? Has she been found? Arrested? What could have corrupted such a dutiful daughter?” Wangahü asked, hope and despair in his voice.

“No, she is still at large. Did you know that Nyawlra is a member of the outlawed underground organization?”

“Why ask me? How would I know? We know only what we read in the newspapers or hear on the radio,” Wangahü said, again alarmed at this new turn in the conversation.

“Does Nyawlra not visit you?” Kaniürü asked.

Roithi walked in at that moment with plates of food on a tray.

“Tell me, has she been found? Is she alive?” she asked with concern as she placed the plates on the table.

“Can you please give my driver some tea and a piece of bread?” Kaniürü said, ignoring her question.

“We have taken care of him. Not only tea and bread but also a chicken wing.”

“Then you may sit down,” Wangahü told Roithi, pointing to a chair. “These days there is no separation between matters reserved for men and those reserved for women. Women are also elders. Our son here has words he wants to share with us, and you should hear them from his own mouth.”

“Nyawlra has not been found,” Kaniürü said.

“Who or what put so much confusion in our daughter?” Roithi said, tears coming to her eyes. “So much for her education and book learning.”

“There is a saying that out of the same womb comes a thief and a sorcerer,” said Kaniürü, trying to be profound.

“What of yours has she stolen?” Roithi asked sharply. “And what sorcery has she ever practiced on you?”

“Listen to me,” Kaniürü said, picking the last piece of meat from a chicken leg. “I came here to tell you that the government is determined to get Nyawlra dead or alive. I want to help you, but you must help me to help you. I want you to tell me whether Nyawlra calls here from time to time. Has she done so recently? Have you any idea where she might be hiding? I hold no grudge against her. I have always said that no matter what she does she will always be my wife.”

“You know very well that I disowned Nyawlra a long time ago
when she decided to defy me and …” Wangahü was about to refer to the time that Nyawlra defied him and married a beggar, but that beggar had been transformed into the man sitting before him, with his sword of death and seeds of great wealth. So he corrected himself and continued, “… refused to wait for me to give her away to you in a proper church wedding.”

His self-correction came too late. Kaniürü had already gotten the gist of what the old man had intended to say, and Kaniürü felt a resurgence of the humiliation he had suffered.

“Nyawlra’s father,” Kaniürü said, barely controlling his anger and pain, “let us not dance around each other like two bulls in a kraal. To the Point is my motto. Nyawlra is in trouble. I am the only person who can help her. You are in more trouble. Your wealth is in danger. Only you can decide what you want to do about it. There are two ways out. Give me some shares in your business. Through joint ownership, my name shall shield your wealth and property. Or hand over Nyawlra. I promise you that I shall use all my resources to ensure that no harm comes to her. I still care about her and hope that one day she and I will walk down the aisle in a proper wedding blessed by you and God.”

“Young man, have you no ears?” Roithi said, barely disguising her own anger and contempt. “Didn’t you hear that Nyawlra has not called here?” she added bluntly.

Like mother, like daughter, Kaniürü was thinking, for Roithi with her sharp tongue reminded him of Nyawlra. Her blunt speech made him uneasy and a little afraid of her.

In contrast, Wangahü was quiet, very quiet. Kaniürü’s words that Wangahü’s wealth was in danger had clearly shaken the old man, but once again he controlled himself so as not to give this scoundrel the upper hand. That he might have to be partners with Kaniürü to protect his property made him feel sick. This scoundrel has always been after my property, he told himself, but I would rather give up Nyawlra than a single share to this shameless youth.

“What do you have to say?” Kaniürü said, turning toward the seemingly less daunting figure of Wangahü.

“Concerning matters of property and partnership,” Wangahü said, controlling himself with difficulty, “I told you clearly that we have to wait on the Global Bank. As for Nyawlra, the mother of my children has spoken for both of us. But shouldn’t you, as the one close to the
ears of the State, be advising us on what to do to show the government that we do not support Nyawlra’s subversive deeds?”

Kaniürü was desperate to leave Wangahü’s house with something tangible, anything, with which to further endear himself to Sikiokuu. He knew that Sikiokuu’s greatest wish was to be able to greet the Ruler at the airport with news of Nyawlra’s capture, and he knew that he himself would benefit thereby.

He often lost sleep trying to figure out how she could have slipped his grasp on the day they had first gone after her. How had she fled without leaving a trace? he would ask himself bitterly, time and again.