Ngũgĩ Thiong - Wizard of the Crow

“I don’t think it is a good idea for me to go back there. After all, he did tell me never to come back. I am a very poor liar, Mr. Minister, I really hate lying, and I would not know how to wriggle out of it. I think it would be better for you to invite him to your office and…”

“A sorcerer in my office? Never,” said Sikiokuu, rather vehemently.

“My guess,” Kaniürü went on, “is that he will be so overwhelmed by your presence that he will not even ask for a fee.”

Sikiokuu kept quiet for a while, thinking about Kaniürü’s latest proposal. He wondered whether this fellow might spark rumors that he had invited a witch doctor to his office, the Ruler’s office. No, Kaniürü must not know of the minister’s further dealings with the Wizard of the Crow.

“John. You have done well, and I will certainly never forget your devotion to me. You have been very helpful, and I appreciate your not lying to me. Just leave the whole thing in my hands. I shall figure out the best way to handle it. It is dangerous to mix politics and sorcery. From now on I want you to forget that you and I have spoken about the Wizard of the Crow and any possible role he may or may not play in the hunt for Nyawlra and other dissidents of the Movement for the Voice of the People.”

Kaniürü could not have been happier with the outcome. He may have pushed the envelope a bit, but he had not broken his word to the wizard. And Sikiokuu had not dismissed his idea altogether. If things went wrong and the wizard failed to deliver, the minister could not blame Kaniürü. And if things work out well and Nyawlra… who knew? When he left, he was whistling tunes to himself, savoring Sikiokuu’s having treated him as an equal, almost, and even embraced him as a brother.

Back in the office, Sikiokuu was deep in conference with his trusted lieutenants Njoya and Kahiga.

“It is thanks to your video and masterful questioning. But I want you to be very careful in how you go about this. Wear civilian clothes, and at no time must you mention my name,” Sikiokuu told his loyal emissaries to the court of the Wizard of the Crow.

“I am Elijah Njoya,” one said.

“And I am Peter Kahiga,” said the other.

“We are police.”

“Would you like to see our badges?”

“That won’t be necessary,” he told them. “All are the same to the Wizard of the Crow.”

“We are glad to hear that,” they said in unison.

“What brings you to my shrine so early?”

“We have a message for you from the government,” said Kahiga.

“Your powers with the mirror have reached the ears of the State,” said Njoya awkwardly.

He sensed fear in their demeanor, but this did not signify much.

He had often seen a similar unease, especially among religious zealots, educated professionals, and high-ranking civil servants who on the surface pretended not to believe in the occult. A priest who used to denounce sorcery every Sunday once came to him at dawn, only to bump into one of his parishioners at the shrine. Each had pro-ceded to claim the wizard as a relative and offered this as the reason for their visit. Both had excused themselves and said they would come back another time.

We humans are complex, he thought as the memory of that encounter crossed his mind.

One of the policemen jolted him from his reverie.

“Listen up. We have been looking everywhere for a woman named Nyawlra,” Njoya said, leaning forward and lowering his voice.

“And we have completely failed in our search,” added Kahiga.

“Who might this Nyawlra be?” the wizard asked.

“Surely you have heard of her,” Njoya answered. “She is a terrorist sworn to overthrow the Ruler’s legitimate government.”

“A terrible woman,” Kahiga added. “She has twisted the minds of many”

“Especially women,” added Njoya.

“Didn’t you hear about the women who shamed the site of Marching to Heaven?”

“The Wizard of the Crow does not attend ceremonies of which he is not the master,” said the Wizard of the Crow.

“We want her in custody,” said Njoya.

“And you are the only person with the power to find her,” Kahiga said.

“We are asking you to resort to your mirror,” Njoya said.

The Wizard of the Crow kept his eyes fixed on their faces, but he did not detect any hints of sarcasm or mockery.

“Mine are healing powers,” he told them.

“We are offering you a contract. Money is not a problem. Name your price,” Njoya and Kahiga said together. “You do your part, we do ours.”

“Burl notes are not the issue,” he told them. “Every profession has its own concerns and expertise. You would never ask a dentist to perform a heart transplant. Your skills lie in pursuing those who break the laws of the State. My skills lie in pursuing the forces that threaten the laws of life.”

“But Nyawlra is a disease. By working against the State, she threatens the lives of many,” Njoya said.

“Yes, smoke her out of her lair. She is an infectious disease,” Kahiga said.

“Bring her here to my shrine,” said the Wizard of the Crow. “And everyone who has been infected by her.”

“She has infected a multitude,” they said in unison. “Crazed the minds of youth. We cannot gather all the infected. Arrest the virus to end the infection.”

“Bring me the virus and I will find the cure,” the Wizard of the Crow said in a tone determined to end the discussion. “Are my healing powers now supposed to be an arm of the State? What would my clients think were they to know about it? Would this build trust in me? You might as well invite me to the State House and say to the whole country: Here is Sir Wizard of the Crow. He lures clients into his shrine to help the State catch criminals,” he said decisively.

Instead of getting angry, Njoya and Kahiga looked at each other as if they understood what the wizard was hinting at or what he wanted.

“We will take your message back to those who sent us,” Njoya told him. “Meantime, we ask you to come up with a price for your services to the State.”

“There is nothing more to think about,” he told them firmly. “You are guardians of the State, and I am a guardian of life.”

“Are you sure that they are not just lulling us to sleep?” Nyawlra asked after Kamltl told her what had just taken place.

Since their return to Eldares and despite the occasional policeman who came for magic, they had felt as if an invisible wall protected Nyawlra from the gaze of the enemy. But since Kaniürü’s visit, she felt as if the wall had suddenly collapsed.

“If they ever come for me,” Nyawlra said, breaking their silence about those fears, “assure me that you will never give up the shrine.

Promise me that you will keep faith with the way of the Seven Herbs of Grace.”

“Please stop talking like that. As long as you are hiding among the people, no enemy shall spot you.”

“There is no escape from a spy camped in your courtyard,” Nyawlra said, in a resigned mood. “I don’t know how long I can keep up playing different characters and changing costumes. A cautionary measure is not a measure of cowardice. I would feel more at ease if I could extract that promise from you,” Nyawlra said.

“What kind of a healer would I be were I to abandon those who seek promises of life amid the threats of death? As for the Seven Herbs of Grace, they are a way and that way belongs to us all. I will also extract a promise from you. If ever they took me away, make sure that the work of the Wizard of the Crow goes on.”

“Don’t say that,” she said.

“Okay let’s stop talking as if we are saying farewell,” Kamrö said. “You are not going anywhere, Nyawlra. And neither am I. We are secure in our shrine.”