saved him from arrest the night at the gates of Paradise. She had guided him out of the crowded streets into the prairie and had shared warmth and hospitality. Now all she would have to show for it was his disappearance without explanation, his way of saying thank you. Then he wondered: How did she know her way so well in the prairie? He tried to find the bush that had saved them during the police chase. He retraced his steps, and after an hour of searching he came upon the place. On the night of their escape, he had failed to notice that the bush was some distance from Santalucia. In the middle of the bush was a ridge divided by a path. Kamltl sat on the rock to sort out the things swirling in his mind.
It always refreshed him to be among plants and trees, and now the stench trapped in his bag seemed to have vanished. His eyes roamed, and before he knew it his curiosity had been aroused by the abundant multiplicity of plants. He soon found himself among them, searching out those he thought had medicinal properties. Whatever he picked he put into his bag, oblivious of how much time was passing. By now he knew that he was not looking for medicinal roots and leaves for their own sake but because there was a patient outside Nyawlra’s house waiting for a cure. Maybe the old man has left by now, he told himself as he returned to Santalucia. But the old man was still waiting at the door patiently.
Kamltl let him in, gave him the leaves and the roots, and instructed him to boil them and drink the liquid at regular intervals.
“And make sure to drink the extraction with food,” Kamro told him.
“Food? Did you say food? You think I have eaten anything for days? If the medicine depends on food, then it is no good to me.”
Kamltl went into the kitchen and quickly scrambled some eggs with tomatoes and gave the food to the old man, adding a glass of milk. He was sure that Nyawlra would not mind his being so generous with her provisions. He handed him a leaf and a piece of bark to chew. Then suddenly an idea struck him: to renounce his role as the Wizard of the Crow, he had to dispense with the income derived from it. And what better way to achieve this than an act of kindness? So he dug into his bag and took out the entire bundle of notes and gave it to the old man as part of the medicinal treatment.
“What is the matter?” Kamltl asked anxiously. The old man had screamed at the sight of the money. At first Kamltl thought the old man’s scream resulted from the stench, which reassured him that he was not alone in smelling it. But the old man was screaming for joy, gratitude, and disbelief.
“Already I feel better, almost cured,” the old man said. “You are a true wizard and a guardian of justice; may God above bless you always.”
“How did you know about this place?” Kamltl asked.
“Everybody in Santalucia is talking about you. It’s obvious why. Witch doctors never advertise themselves. They do their nefarious work in the dark. But you actually put up a notice outside your house. What does it mean? That you work openly in the light of day. A deity held me by the hand and guided my steps right to your household. I say again: may the same deity pour blessings on you so that your art may blossom to bewitch the evil and charm the good!”
Instead of being cheered up by the news, Kamltl felt gloom descend on him. But he no longer had any doubts about fleeing the scene, and he knew he must do so before news of the wizard spread any further. He had treated the old man. He had gotten rid of the money. How stupid of him to have left his calling card hanging on the veranda for so long! Even as he led the old man out, he once again took up his bag. This time there would be no turning back.
Now it was Kamltl’s turn to let out a cry of surprise, even dismay. He stood rooted to the ground. He feared he would fall but just stared in disbelief: standing outside were ten more patients. The old man winked at him as if to say there was nowhere for him to hide, that he had better accept his role as healer. Why here? Kamro thought to himself. A trick of fate. Every time I try to escape, fate stands in my way.
He went back into the kitchen to patiently attend his clients, one at a time.
But another surprise awaited him: according to the first, all ten were police officers in civilian clothes. Had they come to get him?
“We want you to do exactly the same magic you did to our police mate, Constable Arigaigai Gathere, formerly a traffic nobody, now a big chief in the Buler’s office. Sir Wizard, we want you to use the mirror to scratch out all enemies that stand in the way of our raises and promotions.”
The ten men spoke, each stressing the importance of the magic of the mirror and sprinkling every sentence with what they assumed to be his name, till he himself began to see it, a sign in neon lights flashing before him: THIS IS THE SHRINE OF THE WIZARD OF THE CROW.
SECTION II
1
When news that some beggars had been clobbered outside the gates of Paradise reached the State House, the Ruler was furious, egged on, so rumors say, by Machokali, who had gone there the following day and reported how smooth the dinner would have been had the riot police restrained themselves. At least the Global Bank mission would never have known of the protest. Now he, Machokali, did not know how the missionaries would respond to the news. But he would use all of his diplomatic skills to contain the damage done by the otherwise able security team.
What later brought the Ruler to a boiling point were anti-Global Bank mission leaflets distributed throughout Aburlria, even at the gates of the State House and inside the Parliament grounds. The Ruler immediately summoned Sikiokuu to the State House and read him the riot act: “Bring me the leaders of the Movement for the Voice of the People dead or alive. Failing that, you…” and the Ruler trailed off so as to compel the minister’s mind to concentrate on what might happen to him.
Sikiokuu, however, was good at turning the worst situation to his advantage. Now he fell to his knees and lowered his head, his ears actually touching the Ruler’s shoes.
“I beg Your Mighty Excellency please to give me more powers to smoke out those who are behind the latest plot to dishonor your person and government. I want to increase the number of state ears, eyes, and noses so that not a school, a marketplace, or any public place however small shall go undetected. I want to present you with all the enemies of you, Our Ruler, and of the country”
“You little cunt of a man!” the Ruler shouted angrily. “Why do you go on and on about
“Forgive me, My Lord and Master. I wished only to intone your name twice. As with God above! We know Him by many names. O My Lord, you don’t know how sweet your name sounds in the ears of those who truly believe in you and who know that you and the Country are one and the same.”
“That will do; I don’t like people comparing me with God,” the Ruler said, a little mollified. “But why do you need special powers to crush enemies of the State?” the Ruler now scolded him. “I say, what more power do you need than my order to use all means, necessary and unnecessary, to bring my enemies dead or alive to me? I don’t want to hear ever again of leaflets and plastic snakes being scattered anywhere in this land by visible or invisible men. Employ as many men as you need and any means you deem necessary. I want your men to work as courageously as the police officer who I understand wrestled a whole night and all alone in the prairie with beings from another world. I would feel safer if I knew that I had such dedicated security men in my office. Do you hear?” the Ruler said now, emphasizing every point by knocking the minister’s skull with his club-shaped staff.
Sikiokuu remained on his knees, enduring his knocks as if they were blessings; with every knock he tugged at his earlobes to indicate that he was taking in every word. Once again he seized this moment of humiliation to gain elevation.
“I swear by my two ears and before you, My Lord on Earth and Heaven, that I shall do everything within the
