Ngũgĩ Thiong - Wizard of the Crow

“Mr. Minister. You have to look into your heart. Are you very sure that one is never prosecuted and convicted for asking questions? Even in Aburlria?”

Sikiokuu thought about the question. He was beginning to grow a little concerned about the wizard and the mirror.

“Well, sometimes we do actually imprison people for asking questions, but only those that question established truths or that undermine the rule of law or how this country is governed.”

The mirror became still. “The mirror has stopped shaking,” said the Wizard of the Crow as he wiped sweat from his brow. “I told you to listen to my questions carefully. You must answer truthfully, for you have seen that a mirror is not something to be trifled with. Does this mirror belong to you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you the only one who uses it?”

“Why?”

“What did I tell you? A mirror is so ordinary, and yet it is a most incredible instrument. A mirror captures shadows of ourselves. Shadows that pass through the mirror don’t go away. Traces remain, reflections of ourselves, our hearts, the effects of our actions on ourselves. The only problem is that shadows can intermingle, preventing now one, now another, from being seen clearly. This could very well be the case with this mirror if others have touched it. In addition, Mr. Minister, there might be some shadows you don’t want seen by eyes other than your own. That’s why I am asking whether others besides you have used this mirror. But if you don’t mind my seeing their faces, it is all the same to me. I am very discreet.”

Sikiokuu recalled the faces of the women, especially other people’s wives, to whom he had made love in his bedroom. One of them had turned out to have been a regular bed-maker for the Ruler. The Ruler was very protective of his bed-makers. He did not want to know of any other person having touched them before or after. How many husbands had he exiled abroad, giving them jobs far away, that he might have unfettered access to the woman? One person, a prominent businessman, had lost his head for dating, and boasting about it, a lady known to be one of the Ruler’s favorite bed-makers. Without further ado, Sikiokuu launched to grab the mirror.

“I will get you another one,” he said.

Again Sikiokuu dashed into another room, looking for a mirror that only he had used, and brought it to the Wizard of the Crow.

“And you are now absolutely sure that you are the only one who has used this mirror?”

“I am not one hundred percent sure. But let’s try it.”

“And you know that traces of your own shadow have been retained in the mirror?”

“Where am I going to get a mirror that I have not used before? Divine with the mirror you now have and let me deal with the consequences.”

“You know that if you lie or don’t answer questions honestly you may interfere with the search for the object of your pursuit?”

“I will answer all your questions, but remember that I am not here to take a lie detector test. And if I may remind you, you are here to look for Nyawlra, not me.”

“I just wanted you to know how the mirror works so that you can make an informed decision whether we should go forward with the search or not. It’s all up to you.”

“Let’s get on with it,” Sikiokuu replied, a trifle impatiently.

“Kneel down, close your eyes, put your hands together as if you were praying, a supplicant at an imaginary shrine. Focus on the image of Nyawlra in your head. On no account must you take your mind’s eye away from the image or let thoughts of another intrude.”

Sikiokuu tried to do as he was told but his mind kept wandering from subject to subject. He was glad that he had asked his two lieutenants to stay in the waiting room. What would they say if they were to come in and find him kneeling before a sorcerer, the lights dimmed? He jumped up and hurried to lock the doors to the other rooms from the inside. He even took the telephone off the hook to ensure that no calls, not even from the Ruler, would interrupt the proceedings. He resumed the posture of a supplicant. Even now no clear image of the woman would form in his mind, only vague intermittent silhouettes, but he kept trying. Sometimes he would peek at the Wizard of the Crow, and he felt better about what was transpiring when he saw the sorcerer’s eyes fixed on the mirror. The voice of the Wizard of the Crow now pierced the silence of the room, as if responding to what appeared in the mirror. Sikiokuu would have liked to look at the mirror himself but did not dare, awed as he was by the solemnity of the occasion.

“Here comes a shadow. There. It stopped. It walks. It walks. Now it’s gone; it’s back. It is the shape of a woman, not very clear, but, oh, yes, it is a woman. A young woman. She is running like an antelope in the woods. Her shadow merges with the trees. There, there, she’s crossing a river. She enters a hole as in Alice in Wonderland. Darkness. Light. She is coming out of the hole. I see her in the woods again-no, no, among people. She is lost in the crowd…”

“Stop her. Please stop her,” cried Sikiokuu. “Or follow her. Follow her and find out where she is going or who she will be meeting or talking to, anything, but don’t let her out of your sight…”

“Ssshh. Another shadow has appeared, superimposing itself on the scene. It is huge, blurry. Good. It’s clear again. It is the shadow of a man of power and confidence. He looks like a minister, a government minister. He is dressed in clothes that look like those of… Let me stop there. I don’t want to see more,” said the Wizard of the Crow, taking his eyes away from the mirror.

“Why did you take your eyes off the mirror?” Sikiokuu asked, also opening his own.

“Are you sure that you want me to go on?”

“What did you see? Whose shadow was it? Was it Machokali? Was he following the female? Did they talk, greet each other, look at each other? Tell me. Tell me everything that you just saw…”

“It was yours.”

“Leave my shadow out of this,” Sikiokuu said in frustration. “Go back to the mirror and see if you can bring back the shadow of that woman. Try hard. Concentrate on her.”

No matter how many times or how hard he tried, the Wizard of the Crow reported the same scene: the shadow of the woman would always appear running in the woods, crossing a river, only to disappear in a crowd, and precisely at that point, Sikiokuu’s shadow would cover up the crowd.

“Wow! Your shadow has a lot of power…” said the wizard, as if complimenting Sikiokuu.

“Power? Did you say power}” asked Sikiokuu, his interest in his own shadow now aroused.

“Yes. It’s as if all the other shadows fear it.”

“Fear? Forget Nyawlra for a moment and find out more about my shadow. What does it look like? How is it dressed?”

“It’s your spitting image. It is dressed like the Ruler… and it walks with a similar gait…”

“Wait a minute. Stop. Look for, no, no, let me think clearly… let me think this through…” said Sikiokuu, panic in his voice.

Sikiokuu was trembling. What was the meaning of all this? Had something bad happened to His Mighty… Or was this simply a sign of things to come? Was it Sikiokuu’s destiny to become…?

He was dying to know. But how to ask the Wizard of the Crow to look into that particular aspect of his future without compromising himself by uttering a word of what was in his mind? He closed his eyes and tried to imagine a different future, but no matter how hard he tried his thoughts always went back to the image of himself in a suit that looked like that of His Mighty Excellency. The same gait? He saw himself walking, inspecting the military standing at attention in salute… The Wizard of the Crow had said the mirror could capture… Suddenly things came to a standstill. Had this mirror captured one of his most secret performances of power?