Wizard of the Crow

right of the Ruler sat the Bank missionaries. Next to them were foreign ambassadors, with the American having pride of place. Religious leaders were in abundance-Catholic cardinals, Protestant bishops, Muslim sheikhs, rabbis, and priests of various Indian sects. The Ruler and his advisers were keen to refute rumors that the religious community had rejected him as an incarnation of the Prince of Darkness. To the Ruler’s left were his ministers, members of Parliament, and leaders of the various branches of the armed forces. Directly behind the Ruler sat his official biographer, Luminous Karamu-Mbu, who as usual held a book and a pen so huge that both items could be seen from afar.

When the Ruler arrived surrounded by his guard, he shook hands with all the members of the Global Bank mission, all the ambassadors, and leaders of the various religious communities.

In his opening remarks, Machokali once again stressed the colossal magnitude of Marching to Heaven. He asked the people to imagine Mount Kilimanjaro multiplied by a thousand! Imagine, he went on, a shadow across Eldares, Aburlria, the African continent, extending to the other end of the Indian Ocean on the eastern side and to the other end of the Atlantic Ocean on the western side: even that could not begin to describe the shadow that, on completion, Marching to Heaven would cast across the globe.

“Aside from the Tower of Babel, it will be the only other human attempt to reach Heaven’s gate,” he continued, “and once completed it will be the one and only superwonder of the world! That is why we in Aburlria are so happy and feel extremely honored that the Global Bank mission has joined this assembly of ordinary citizens. The mission, which also represents the Global Ministry of Finance, has not yet issued its report, but we are confident that when they do so they will not forget what they have seen with their eyes: this project enjoys massive grassroots support. The mission has seen for itself the queues cropping up all over the city. And what are the queues and this assembly telling the Global Bank and the world? It is all quite simple. The Aburlrian masses are ready to forgo clothes, houses, education, medicine, and even food in order to meet any and every condition the Bank may impose on the funds it releases for Marching to Heaven. Upward Ever, Downward Never. That is our new slogan. We will not rest until we get to Heaven’s gate. We swear by the children of the children of the children of the children of our children to the end of the world-yes, we swear even by the generations that may be born after the end of the world-that we shall pay back every cent of the principle along with interest on interests ad infmitum. The Buler is not like some of those Third World leaders who are always whining about their commitments, going so far as to ask that their debt be forgiven.”

Those who had thought that the Global Bank was on a mission of doling out dollars directly instead of to the State were a little disappointed; some even groaned in protest, but they assumed that Machokali was only dampening expectations, that the real thing would be announced by the Buler or by the leader of the Global Mission.

Machokali, who did not want a repeat of the public display of interministerial tensions that had surfaced at the birthday ceremony, did not give any other minister an opportunity to speak. After his opening remarks he quickly announced that various performing troupes would now entertain the Buler and his guests, preparing people for words of wisdom from the great leader himself.

First were schoolchildren from Eldares and its environs, singing mostly in praise of the leader’s well-known trips abroad in search of food for the people, particularly in times of drought and famine. His cry on behalf of the people had reached even the ears of the Global Bank, who had now sent a mission to Aburlria to give money for Marching to Heaven. They sang of their hope that the project would be completed as soon as possible. Then the Ruler would be at one with God.

Machokali was ecstatic: the songs had succinctly summarized the major themes of the project. He asked the crowd to give the children a round of applause. Didn’t you hear what they said? he asked the crowd rhetorically. He who is close to God will always be the first to close in on His blessings.

Most of the other groups, including adults, ended their songs and dances with the same praise for the leader and his efforts on behalf of Aburlria in the capitals of the Western world. Holding his customary club and fly whisk, the Ruler received these praises with a broad smile, leaning now toward his guests on the right or left to remark on the detail of the performance. At other times he would simply raise his fly whisk as if conferring a blessing.

And now the turn of the women. The expectation was that their songs and dances would climax in prolonged ululation, a prelude to the main item, the Ruler’s speech. Women’s performances, particularly by those advanced in years, always produced a stir in audiences, as if those present identified with the women’s celebration of youth in age. A similar air of predictable anticipation was now pervasive.

Sikiokuu, who resented not sharing the limelight, now found, in the women, an opening to ingratiate himself. He walked up to the leader to tell him that at some appropriate moment it would be nice and an excellent photo opportunity for the Ruler to mingle with the dancing women and even attempt a step or two himself. He should then invite some of the diplomats to join him, for that way the whole world would see that the Ruler was truly a man of the people. Machokali could not oppose an idea that seemed to please the leader so enormously, but he modified it by proposing that it would be better for the Ruler to do so after his speech, during the grand finale with all the singers and dancers grouped together. The Ruler was pleased with the phrase grand finale and agreed.

And now, boomed the voice of Minister Machokali, here are the women.

The women, Nyawlra now among them, walked in pairs into the arena from every direction, dressed no different from the crowd. Nothing in fact stood out except their disciplined formations and dignified entrance. They were silent, somber, as if in a funeral procession. In response, the crowd, too, grew silent, watching the seemingly endless queues of women with awe. When those at the head of the separate formations reached the part of the arena nearest the platform, they crossed, turned around, and moved toward the seated crowd, where they sat seemingly only to rise and continue their procession. It was difficult, after a few seconds, to tell whether those who were now marching were the same as before. From the platform it appeared as if the formations had no beginning and no end, or rather it was one movement with the end and the beginning being the multitude. Their continuous movement remained extremely disciplined. The Ruler was touched by this display of support expressed with such solemnity; he raised his fly whisk and waved it as a sign of respect for and appreciation of their devotion to Marching to Heaven.

And then the fly whisk fell and his heart sunk; he became agitated, as did everybody else on the platform. The women had suddenly stopped moving. They stood absolutely still, facing the platform, their fingers pointing at the Ruler, and with one voice they shouted: Set Rachael free! Set Rachael free! Their chant was deafening, and those on the platform seemed dazed by their audacity.

“And then, just as planned,” Nyawlra told Kamltl, “all of us in the arena suddenly faced the people, our backs turned to the platform. All together we lifted our skirts and exposed our butts to those on the platform, and squatted as if about to shit en masse in the arena. Those of us in the crowd started swearing: MARCHING TO HEAVEN IS A PILE OF SHIT! MARCHING TO HEAVEN IS A MOUNTAIN OF SHIT! And the crowd took this up. There were two or three women who forgot that this was only a simulation of what our female ancestors used to do as a last resort when they had reached a point where they could no longer take shit from a despot; they urinated and farted loudly. Maybe need or fear overcame them, or both.”

Some foreign diplomats laughed out loud, thinking that this was a humorous native dance, but when they saw that state officials and ministers were not laughing, they restrained themselves and assumed that, pornographic as the act might have seemed, it was actually a solemn native dance.

The Ruler was of course solemn because he did not know what to do: walk away or stay. The police raised their guns, waiting for the order to fire, but even they were not sure at whom or where they should start shooting.

Machokali felt like crying. Why oh why had he asked the women to perform? Why had he not stopped it at schoolchildren and official youth? He knew as well as anybody that no entertainment of state dignitaries such as these would be deemed authentic without a performance by women. Still, in hindsight, a sin of omission on his part would have been preferable to this heinous and disgusting scandal enacted under his very nose.

Although he was not so foolish as to openly show it, Sikiokuu was one of the very few on the State’s side who felt genuine mirth. Anything that brought ruin to his rival’s schemes was always a joy to him. The only thing that nagged him was his having suggested that the Ruler mingle with the women, but he quickly dismissed this concern because fortunately the Ruler had not acted on his initial recommendation, thanks to his rival’s interference. Still, he hated to think of his fate had the women squatted to shit with the Ruler and foreign diplomats mingling among them.