Wizard of the Crow

to suggest that the project promised future riches. He thought no more of the coins until he went home and he too started thinking about the wealth untold to be generated by Marching to Heaven. “The coins left in the envelope were nothing much, only tokens of appreciation, but they obviously triggered something in my mind that made me start imagining ever-increasing wealth. The worst was yet to come. For I soon imagined people being envious of me, crowds of the envious coming at me from every direction. I ran and locked myself in the bathroom. And still they came, wanting to tear the skin off my face. Imagine a man without a face. Haunted as I was by my wish to be unimaginably rich, I lost my ability to express myself through words. My body truly staged a coup against me. Imagine thought without words, what a curse! In the end, all the thoughts, all my feelings and emotions, were bodied forth by the word if.”

Tajirika stopped abruptly and looked about him as if he did not quite know where he was; then he snapped back to awareness of the cell and Njoya, his inquisitor.

“And what steps did your witch doctor take to stop you from barking the word?”

“He showed me that the ifness had resulted from my longing to be white. Officer, I wished to become a white man. It was a severe case of white-ache.”

Njoya burst out laughing, holding his belly while pointing at Tajirika.

“You? You? A white man? A white European? With those lips, that kinky hair, and that skin? And that pouch? So, how did he bring about a cure?”

“He showed me that I would end up a poor white and somehow this did it. I believe that my white-ache is now in total remission,” Tajirika hastened to add, a little offended by Njoya’s derisive laughter.

“Well, it’s a good thing that you’ve been cured,” Njoya said. He coughed a bit, then cleared his throat. He was now serious, businesslike again. “Mr. Tajirika, you have really helped to clarify some things: I will do my best on your behalf on your assurance that you have told me everything. Now I must take leave of you.”

And saying so, he stood up and started for the door.

“Am I now free to go?” Tajirika shouted the question after him.

“Not just yet,” Njoya said, stopping near the door. “I will show the footage of our conversation to my superiors, and I hope they will see what I myself saw: that you did open a little window into your soul…”

Tajirika was a little down, but impressed by his cleverness in dealing with the issue of the money. He had given an inch for a yard. Were the Wizard of the Crow to mention the money, Njoya and company would think that he was referring only to a few inconsequential coins. And of course he had conceded nothing to the allegations of a Machokali plot and would never do so. But soon he was weighed down by grief and self-pity. Why had the interrogation been recorded? He felt his knees weaken; he held on to the bed to avoid falling. Would he survive this ordeal? he wondered anew.

SECTION II

1

When you, research scientists and historians of this country, come to write about this era we hope you will not overlook the role played by the Tajirika video confession, not so much for its content but for how it was taken by Sikiokuu and Kaniuru. Timing can also affect the course of history and the destiny of nations, and the time of its release may have been an even more significant factor in the video’s influence.

Sikiokuu, as it turned out, got his copy soon after he had already received a call from the Ruler’s camp that the delegation would be returning any day now, certainly not the most welcome of news. Like a mosquito in the dark, the Ruler’s unequivocal order that by the time he came back from America he should find Nyawlra in custody, kept on z-zinging in Sikiokuu’s ear. Nyawlra’s capture had always been a priority, but now, after the call, the z-zinging intensified: she must be taken into custody. While waiting for the video, and now as he was about to play it, he thought of nothing but her. Was she in the country or not, dead or alive? The undercover agents engaged to comb the entire country had not brought news that was even remotely useful, and it was with some justification that he felt that he had turned over as many stones in the land as he could. Was there a stone left unturned? he now wondered.

Yes, perhaps the video. Sikiokuu, who had found the results of Njoya’s and Kahiga’s interrogations unsatisfactory, had himself ordered the video interview and had hoped that by examining it himself he would be able to detect in Tajirika’s words, tone, and body language significant leads to Nyawlra’s lair. After all, Tajirika had been her employer, and Sikiokuu did not believe his denials that he had nothing to do with her. As soon as his copy arrived he gave strict instructions that on no account must he be disturbed. He locked himself in his office and tied his long ears behind him so that their shadow would not interfere with his study of Tajirika’s every gesture and facial expression.

Sikiokuu was not known for his humor. Few people had ever seen him laugh or even smile, except sarcastically, but the image of Tajirika as a white man made Sikiokuu suddenly laugh, just as Njoya before him, and he continued laughing till his ears fell loose and his ribs ached. Tajirika, a white man?

After the entire video, his laughter ceased, replaced by anger and frustration expressed in Useless! Nothing in this about Nyawi~ra! He was about to throw the cassette into the dustbin when he was struck by indecision. He leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and replayed it in his mind, frame by frame.

Even as he reviewed it through his mind’s eye, there was much that was still unclear, but what now impressed him as odd in the narrative was not only Tajirika’s claim that words had gotten stuck in his throat but his use of the word coup to describe his illness. Had he slipped up in some way, a Freudian slip? This suspicion triggered a host of questions, including: why did Tajirika get well only after learning that his destiny as a white man was abject poverty? Sikiokuu experienced a burst of clarity, opened his eyes, placed the cassette on the table, and started whistling and stroking his earlobes. All along, he now concluded, Tajirika’s use of the word white had been a code for power. Tajirika had longed for Whiteness as Power and must have hoped to get it by force of arms, for how else in Aburlria could one attain power? But Tajirika did not look to be the type who initiated things; he was more a follower than a leader. His longing must have been set in motion by the plans either he and Machokali had hatched or that he had heard others talk about. The latter was more likely, for just as there are those who can only repeat what has been spoken by others, there are those who can only recycle the thoughts of others. That would explain why the words had gotten stuck in his throat. The thought had not originated with him, and he had either forgotten or jumbled it. And since Tajirika was as unlikely ever to hold power as he was to be white, the longing must have appeared impossible, hence the ifs. Moreover, even the dumbest Aburlrian knew that dreaming about, wishing, or imagining the death of the leader under any circumstance was an act of treason punishable by death. That explained not only why the man’s thoughts refused to express themselves through words but also why, when eventually forced to do so by whatever tricks the witch doctor had used, the actual desire for power came out coded as a desire to be white.

Sikiokuu stood and proceeded to prance about his office, and even when he stopped jumping up and down, he trembled from excitement that things were looking up for him. The capture of Nyawlra was no longer a matter of life and death. If he could simply prove that there were plans to overthrow the government, that in itself would be a great triumph. With that one stone he could kill two huge birds: take attention away from his failure to capture Nyawlra and also get at his political archrival, the big-eyed Minister for Foreign Affairs. But Sikiokuu knew that he needed more than his surmises and inferences. He needed proof, to be gotten from only one person: Tajirika. Sikiokuu had to find a way of persuading Tajirika, through words, physical coercion, or both, to join his side and testify against his friend Machokali. And he could do so only by confronting Tajirika with the reality of what he, Sikiokuu, supposed.

He took the video, kissed it, and put it in a safe place. He did not reflect further. There was no time for delay; he sent for Tajirika.

“Your life is entirely in your hands,” Sikiokuu told him.