Wizard of the Crow

not been so kind as to bring me those pictures, I might never have known the truth.”

Lost in his victories, Sikiokuu had forgotten all about the pictures. But now he recalled them with alarm. If Tajirika beat Vinjinia or even quarreled with her about them, the truth might come out before the confessions had played their assigned role.

“By the way, Titus, I am glad that you have mentioned those pictures, because you have reminded me of something I was going to tell you before you leave for home, but I might as well tell you now. When you get home, don’t say a word about those pictures or even about the women dancers. I want you to listen to Vinjinia’s story, or rather to her lies. But you must not touch her before we have investigated every aspect of this affair.”

“Are you trying to tell me that I cannot beat my wife without your permission?” Tajirika asked defiantly.

“I am not asking you to retire from wife beating. How can I ask you to give up what defines modern Aburirian manhood?”

“Okay a temporary truce, but…” said Tajirika.

“I will tell you what. Let’s establish a hotline. Anytime you feel the urge to beat your wife, please call me and I will tell you if the time is ripe.”

“Okay!” said Tajirika, pleased with the idea of a hotline.

20

Early in the evening of the same day, Sikiokuu sent Njoya and Kahiga for the Wizard of the Crow. He had just had one success-why not go for a second? Strike while the iron is hot, he said to himself, whistling a tune of satisfaction and expectation.

What hit the Wizard of the Crow, on entering Sikiokuu’s office, was a strong odor of decomposing flesh. He was reminded of Tajirika and his bucket of shit. Tajirika must have been here, he thought, and hence the scent of prison all around the chamber. He felt a little dizzy as he tried to fight the stench and steady himself by looking around the room, resting his glance, for a moment, on the photographic portrait of the Ruler on the table. Why a towel on the picture, he wondered idly. Then he saw some spots on the eyes, ears, nose, and mouth of the image, and for a few seconds he had a strange sensation of seeing, or thinking that he saw, a thick darkish liquid oozing out of them. Sikiokuu saw what he was looking at.

“A little intimidating, isn’t it,” Sikiokuu said as he casually picked up the portrait, glanced at it ever so briefly, then dusted it fondly, almost tenderly, with the towel before placing it on top of a drawer at the corner. “Even when he goes away, he leaves a bit of his power behind, and you can feel it even in his pictures. A kind of stigmata,” he added with a smile that took in the Wizard of the Crow and the two escorts, Njoya and Kahiga, who stood by the door. “Please leave us alone,” he said to his two loyal lieutenants. “I want to have a private conversation with, well, my guest,” he added, gesturing for the Wizard of the Crow to sit down.

An awkward silence followed the departure of Njoya and Kahiga. The two men sized each other up. Sikiokuu then leaned forward, lowered his voice a little, and tried to strike a note of intimacy.

“I am sorry to have kept you waiting, but I had an emergency on my hands. Ah! The burden we ministers have to carry! Your fame has reached the ears of the government. Or, more accurately, me. But let me confess. When I heard of the Wizard of the Crow, I thought of an old man, of seventy years or more, supporting himself with a walking stick, a fly whisk in hand, a tobacco pouch hanging from his neck. And now, behold! A young man in a designer suit. A modern sorcerer, eh? Or is it postmodern?”

“Postcolonial,” the Wizard of the Crow added.

“A postcolonial witch doctor?” Sikiokuu added, laughing out loud. “A sorcerer with a sense of humor, too? They tell me that there is no manual for sorcery you have not devoured. By the way, do you know what most attracted me about you? Your caution. When I heard that you did not want your clients and neighbors to know that you might be involved in a criminal investigation and you wanted to approach our cooperation with the utmost secrecy, I sat back and said to myself: Now here is a man who knows what is what in this world, and the moment word gets around that he is helping us catch criminals, he would cease to be of much use to us because possible suspects would shy away from him and his shrine. That’s why, to bring you here, I sent my lieutenants in civilian clothes and in a Mercedes-Benz. Have you ever heard of any other sorcerer treated with this kind of consideration by a cabinet minister? Nothing but respect for you. I wanted us to do business last night but, alas, I was caught up in some important matters of State. Believe me when I say that a beggar in the streets has more peace of mind than a cabinet minister…”

“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown?”

“Precisely,” said Sikiokuu. “Sometimes we don’t even sleep. But do not let me burden you with our problems. Let me tell you what I am thinking about our agenda for the night, eh? As soon as you finish what you are here to do, we will whisk you back to your shrine under the cover of darkness. None of your neighbors will be the wiser; it will be as if you had never left-you have my word that the matter will remain within my trusted circle of us three. This does not mean that the State will ever forget you. Oh, no. The government has many ways of showing its gratitude to people like you. The most important thing is for you to do your work well and help us apprehend the criminal, Nyawlra.”

“I don’t quite get what you are asking me to do,” the Wizard of the Crow admitted.

“We have looked high and low for Nyawlra, all over the country, and have not come up with the tiniest trace of her shadow. We want you to use your power of divination, of prophecy, whatever, all your powers of sorcery to tell us two things. Is Nyawlra alive or dead? If she is dead, where is she buried? If she is alive, where is her lair?”

“Excuse me,” the Wizard of the Crow said. “It seems as if your men failed to understand what I told them. I thought I’d been clear, but I was wrong. I told your people that my task is to capture daemons that afflict the mind or body; theirs is to capture felons.”

“Don’t take the police for fools. They know when one is serious and when one is not. They know that words have surface and deeper meanings. The habit of taking bribes has taught them the language of parables. When a policeman wants a bribe he does not say, Give me a bribe; he says, It is very cold today, even if it is as hot as hell. And you are supposed to say, Why don’t you take this Burl note for tea? So, although you did not say yes directly, the police knew that your no was a kind of yes. You see, they recognized that you knew what they know: that even walls can have ears. You are a very cautious person, Mr. Witch Doctor, a wise man. Haste is the mother of failure. But while caution is good, too much of it can court danger. Believe me, my friend, whatever you tell me, it will stay within these walls. Nobody will ever know that you or any witch doctor helped us capture Nyawlra.”

“Mr. Minister,” cried out the Wizard of the Crow. “Let us try this again: my powers are for protecting the laws that govern the body and the soul, and yours are to protect the laws that govern society. I look not for those that break the law of society but those that destroy the law of life. I fight illnesses; you fight criminals.”

Sikiokuu felt his hope fall and his anger mount and, with a tremendous effort of will, prevented himself from screaming abuses at the audacious fellow.

“Mr. Wizard of the Crow, you may be the greatest sorcerer in the world, but you are not above the law. The law says that every citizen, be he a sorcerer or a priest or whatever, must help the State in apprehending criminals. If one sees a person committing a crime and one does not report the person to the authorities, then one is also committing the crime.”

“What I’m telling you is the truth. I don’t have the power that you are ascribing to me,” the Wizard of the Crow said, his raised voice hinting at defiance.

Sikiokuu stood up abruptly and walked about, occasionally pulling and pinching his ears nervously, as if he could not believe that he, a senior cabinet minister in the government of the Ruler, now in charge of the country, could be sitting in his office at night arguing with a sorcerer about the use of witchcraft. He calmed himself and sat down, intent again on achieving what he had set out to get.

“Okay, let’s accept that there was indeed a misunderstanding. So what? Let’s forget the past. What’s done is done. No sense crying over spilled milk. Isn’t that the saying? I need to ask you a question or two just to clarify the situation. You are not refusing to help the government, are you?”

“No.”

“Okay just as I thought. You are a power to reckon with, but you also know how to reckon with power. Now