office, other than my brother’s voice.
“I think everyone listening will agree that it is immoral, indeed evil, to take another people’s land by force— and this is something I would never do.” He held up three treaties. “These are treaties I have signed with the leaders of the former nations of Namibia, Mozambique and Botswana, in which they petitioned me to annex their countries into the Union of South Africa, and since that was the wish of their people, I acceded to their request.”
He paused and looked at the camera. “South Africa did not take their land by force, but at their own request. Any other reason would have been against the laws of God and man. Therefore, I must—in keeping with my earlier pledge to you—demand that the United States of America forthwith return its entire holdings on the North American continent to the Native Americans from whom they stole it. By the same token, I demand that the British give up all claim to…” He ran through a list of most of the Commonwealth countries, then did the same for the French and the Russians.
“I cannot, of course, force these nations to do the right thing, but I will lend my support to those who oppose their policies.”
He stared unblinking at the camera. “Next, I want to address the question of hereditary royalty. I should begin by saying that I am not king because my father was. There is no royal blood in my veins. Indeed, there is no royal blood in the whole of South Africa. I became king by the will of my people, and should I produce a son, he will have no more claim on that title than any other South African. We believe that a throne must be earned, not given.”
A pause, and then a frown. “In keeping with that philosophy, I urge the monarchs of England, the Netherlands, Jordan, Syria,”—he named another dozen countries—“all monarchs solely by the accident of birth, to relinquish their thrones forthwith.”
I glanced at the screen showing the street again. The people were cheering so hard that I was surprised we couldn’t feel the vibrations here in the building.
“I hope that by explaining my positions I have eliminated any misunderstandings,” he concluded. “There have been many lies told about me, and many lies of a different sort told about the people who rule you. Now I have spoken, and I leave it to you, the people of the world, to determine the truth of things.”
The director indicated that the transmission was over, and Tchaka stood up and thanked all the technicians for their efforts. They filed out of the office, taking their equipment with them, and he sent for another iced tea.
“Those lights are hot,” he said, mopping the sweat from his forehead.
“You were brilliant tonight,” said an aide. “Now the rest of the world will leave us alone.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Tchaka.
“Of course.”
“You’re fired.” The aide looked stunned. “There are enough fools abroad in the land,” continued Tchaka. “I do not need any on my staff.” He turned to me. “What will the world do, my brother?”
“They will say that you are an evil twister of words, a madman with designs on the entire continent, a villain not to be trusted.” Suddenly I could not repress a smile. “But I think they will not discuss royalty again.”
He smiled back at me. “They will say all of that,” he agreed. “And they will be wrong.”
“That you are not a villain or that you are not a madman?” I asked.
“That I have designs on the African continent,” he replied.
“Don’t you?”
He smiled. It was an almost terrifying smile. “If you were hungry and you found yourself in an orchard, would you settle for only one piece of fruit off a tree?”
“The world?” asked an advisor, surprised by my brother’s audacity.
Tchaka shook his head. “You still do not understand.”
The man looked at him with a blank expression.
Tchaka walked to a window and pulled back the curtain. “The world is just one tree.” He waved his hand at the heavens. “I shall have an orchard.”
9.
The historical Shaka had a witch doctor whose counsel he trusted. My brother had an astrologer. His name was William James Hlatshwayo, and he had earned his Master of Science degree from the University of California. I preferred to think of it as a Master of Pseudoscience degree, but Tchaka conferred with him daily and waited patiently, not while he rolled the bones, but rather while he read the stars and cast his horoscopes.
I don’t know where my brother found him, or when. All I know is that one day he showed up, and from that day forth he had more influence on Tchaka than any other man alive.
I argued against him. I pointed out that Tchaka had won the Presidency without an umthagkathi—a word I uttered with contempt, for it is the Zulu word for witch doctor—and had annexed three countries without him, and had become king without him, so why listen to him now?
“Because up to this point, my brother,” Tchaka answered me, “I have been only a caterpillar. A successful one, to be sure, but a caterpillar. Soon, though, I shall break out of my chrysalis and spread my wings. There will be no limit to the heights to which I can soar.”
“But—” I began, but he held up a hand for silence.
“Even the butterfly has predators, and the higher he flies, the less they are known to him. If William can warn me of some enemies of which I am not aware, then I would be a fool not to make use of him.”
“And if he is a fraud?”
“Then I am in no greater danger than I was before.”
“You would be better off with a true umthagkathi,” I said, “for this man’s science is no science at all.”
“You know nothing about it,” said Tchaka placidly.
“I know this,” I said. “The science of astrology is based on the calendar, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“And it is three thousand years old?”
“Older,” said Tchaka.
“There you have it,” I said.
“There I have what?” he asked irritably.
“Astrology is based on the calendar, and it uses the calendar, is that correct?”
“You know that.”
“Then explain this,” I said triumphantly. “The science was created more than three thousand years ago, yet Julius Caesar and Augustus Caesar lived less than twenty-five hundred years ago. The months of July and August are named for them, and did not exist when astrology was created, so how true a science can it be?”
“Doubtless the names were substituted for other names,” he replied. “That has nothing to do with science, only with nomenclature.”
“Astrology has nothing to do with science,” I persisted. “If you let yourself be guided by him long enough, eventually your umthagkathi will get us all killed.”
“I am Tchaka,” he said, as if the words were identical to “I cannot die.”
“Fine,” I said. “You are immortal. Your army is not, and your government is not. What good is your immortality if all around you have died because some arrant fraud tells you to do something because the moon is here or Mars is there?”
He was silent for a long moment, and finally he spoke. “I have listened patiently to you, my brother. I have heard your words and considered them.” His expression hardened. “And I have rejected them. We will not speak of this again, and you will never call him an umthagkathi in my presence. Is that understood?”
I looked into his eyes, which were the doorway to his soul, and as usual there was no softness, no give whatsoever.
“It is understood,” I replied.
“Good,” he said. “Because great deeds lie ahead of us. Great deeds.” He paused. “Tomorrow I will meet with
