Ngũgĩ Thiong - Wizard of the Crow

“Please stop. I beg you man to man, please let me go home this very minute and deal with this treacherous woman.”

“Titus, you know that if it were up to me you could go home whenever you wished. But as we’re dealing with matters of state security, my personal feelings count for naught when it comes to assessing the gravity of a situation. We deal simply with facts. I’m sure, Titus, that if you were in my position you’d understand. So let’s look at the facts as they will be presented to the Ruler when he returns. You employed Nyawlra. The queues started outside your offices and at the very spot where the night before this Nyawlra had planted a billboard. Here are photos of Vinjinia, your own wife, being entertained by dancing women in traditional wear. Titus, let me be very frank with you. How do you propose to disentangle yourself from this mess? That’s why I called you here, to let you know the gravity of your situation so that you and I can put our heads together and see what can be done to extricate you from the tangle.”

Tajirika felt as if he were going crazy. He tried to support his head in cupped hands, then leaned back against the chair and stared at the ceiling.

One indisputable fact had clearly emerged from the conversation: there had been no change in government, the Ruler was still the leader, and that meant that his friend Markus Machokali, the Minister for Foreign Affairs, still held his powerful post. Tajirika somehow seized on this to buoy his spirits.

“Mr. Minister,” Tajirika started in a contrite tone. “I know that you and I cannot be said to be the best of drinking friends. But please believe me when I say that I would never countenance sedition against the Ruler by anyone, my wife and children included. My loyalty to the Ruler and his government is absolute.”

To Sikiokuu, the discernible weakening of defiance in Tajirika’s voice augured well for what he wanted to extract from this encounter. Yet he was not amused by the apparent sincerity of Tajirika’s denials or firmness of his attitude toward the Ruler. Convictions are far harder to smash than conscious defiance.

Sikiokuu replenished Tajirika’s glass with more brandy.

“Here. A little brandy is good for you. As I said from the very beginning, personally I believe you.” “Then help me. Please, help me,” Tajirika pleaded between gulps of the brandy.

“I have never said no to a cry for help. But as you know, God helps those who help themselves. That’s why I told you that your life is in your hands. I cannot help you unless you really want me to help you.”

“I’ll give you half my wealth.”

“I don’t need your wealth or anybody else’s. What’s of most concern to me is the security of the Ruler and his government.”

“Then how do I help myself to get you to help me?” Tajirika asked in a teary voice.

“Let’s start with the question of your illness. I believe that you described it to my men as a malady of words, words getting stuck in your throat, am I correct?”

“Yes. Something like that.”

“Had you ever suffered from this illness before the queuing mania?”

“No.”

“And since?”

“No.”

“And the malady was triggered by your longing to be white? An unfulfilled desire to be a white European?”

“A white Englishman, that’s correct.”

“Now, Titus. I want you to take a deep breath, count to ten, and think about the next question. As a result of your presumptive cure, what did you learn about the real significance of whiteness?”

“What do you mean?”

“You did not suffer from an unfulfilled desire to be a poor white?”

“Okay I longed for the power of whiteness,” Tajirika agreed.

“Political power, military power, the power to rule,” Sikiokuu added quickly, stressing his words as if he were a teacher enriching the understanding of his pupil. “Nay not just to rule, but to create protectorates, colonies, empires; to make the glory of Rome, London, Paris, fade by comparison? Titum Imperium Tajirikum Majestica}”

“No. No. No. Never. I reject that,” said Tajirika, jumping to his feet as if he had accidentally sat on a pin. “I have never thought or dreamt of power to rule, much less of taking it by force. I completely reject those thoughts and dreams,” Tajirika insisted unequivocally. “I simply wanted something that would distinguish me from all other blacks. But not political power - no, not me.” “Titum Imperium Tajirikum Majestica is taking it too far, perhaps,” said Sikiokuu, a little taken aback by the vehemence of Tajirika’s denial. “But how did your longing for whiteness originate? If not with you, then surely with someone else who must have expressed this simple wish, perhaps even indirectly: If only I had the power of a white man. Or, If this government were in my hands, I would be as powerful as a white man. Anyway, something like that. So think, Titus, think and have the courage of your thoughts, no matter where or to whom they might lead you.”

Conflicting thoughts and fears swirled in Tajirika’s head as he dwelled on the compromising pictures, the image of his wife as a guest of honor at a gathering of women intruding into every train of thought. There was no doubt in his mind that the pictures he saw were authentic. He even recognized the dress she wore. But the whole thing was absurd, cruel, and jarring, and he was having trouble keeping up with Sikiokuu’s twists and turns of argument. Instead of responding to Sikiokuu, Tajirika drained the last drops of brandy in his glass and put out his hand for more.

Sikiokuu was quite happy to oblige and went to the cabinet. He could see that Tajirika was weakening and a little confused. Maybe a drink or two more would ease a voluntary confession implicating his rival. The whole exchange was being recorded. A confession was a confession, even out of the mouth of a drunken captive.

“Yes, Titus?” Sikiokuu prompted him as he handed Tajirika another brandy.

“Tell me, please, Mr. Minister. When your men once put my wife in custody did you then know about her association with those traditional women, or did you discover it only after grilling her?”

“You want me to tell you the truth?”

“Nothing can surprise me more than what I have already heard and seen today.”

“We started suspecting her long ago. But Titus, why do you ask about her?”

“Don’t you see? If my wife, the mother of my children, the person with whom I share a bed, could so deceive me and I was unable to see through the deception, who else could have been doing the same to me without my knowing it? Mr. Sikiokuu, I am not sure about anything anymore,” Tajirika said in despair.

Sikiokuu saw the opening he had been looking for.

“That’s exactly what I have been trying to tell you all along. A person like you should not trust people. A certain Frenchman, I think his name is Descartes, says: Doubt yourself. Doubt your closest friends. Doubt everything. I doubt, therefore I am. That’s what they call Cartesian logic.”

“There, you have spoken nothing but the truth,” Tajirika said, assuming Descartes to be a contemporary French version of the biblical Thomas his wife always talked about.

“Which of my truths are you referring to?” Sikiokuu asked.

“That a person should never trust another.”

“That’s the right way to think.”

“Before this, I never had any cause to suspect my wife of any conspiracy.”

“You mean it never crossed your mind that she might have been told to whisper evil thoughts in your ear at night?”

Tajirika felt weaker and weaker. Was this so? Was he the victim of thoughts submitted into his subconscious by his wife at night?