18
But his new friend Njoya did not come back that night or the next or any other, for that matter, until Tajirika stopped trying to measure the passage of time. And then one day they came for him and blinded him as before, and when later they removed the blindfold he found himself seated in the lone chair in an otherwise empty room, amid a circle of light. All else was darkness. At the edges of the circle of light he saw what looked like traces of fresh and dried blood, confirming his worst fears. They were going to do to him what they had done to countless others, whose blood on the cement floor attested to their menace. He got up and wandered into the darkness in a daze. The spotlight followed him, and out of still more darkness came a voice.
“Who told you to get up?”
“Who are you?” Tajirika asked in terror, stopping dead in his tracks.
“I am Superintendent Kahiga, Peter Kahiga.”
“Where is Njoya, Superintendent Njoya? He promised me … What happened to my transportation?”
“That all depends on your answers to my questions.”
“I have already told you all that I know. What have I left unsaid?”
“Only you can tell us. And I want you to know that I am hardly as understanding as Njoya. I am not easily swayed by tears. I am as hard as a rock. If you fool around, your feet will soon be hanging from the roof.”
What do you want from me?” Tajirika asked, getting an eerie feeling as he addressed the disembodied voice.
“Back in your chair,” the voice demanded.
Engulfed by light, Tajirika did as he was told.
“Answer all my questions, even the least. Why did you really go to the witch doctor?”
“You mean the diviner? I told Njoya that I had gone there because I was ill.”
“How would you say you felt after he healed you?”
“At peace. Happy”
“So you were elated by the person who healed you?”
Would you be sad after being healed?”
“I ask the questions around here, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“And, now, Tajirika, having been healed so well that you felt so good, so peaceful, so happy, were you not even mildly curious about the person who had wrought such wonders? Not curious enough at least to learn his name?”
Tajirika felt pushed into a tight corner. He had lied about not knowing the name of the man who had healed him for what he then thought were good reasons. But now he started questioning the wisdom of his lies. It seemed as if the unseen Kahiga knew something about the diviner. Had his wife, under threat of torture, told about the money? No matter what, Tajirika would stick to his story.
“I just forgot his name. Everybody forgets things sometimes.”
He had not expected the blow, and so when it came, a full and forceful slap across his face, Tajirika saw a thousand stars in the darkness of his mind. His instinct, when the dizziness subsided, was to rise and fight, but how do you fight a shadow in the dark? He felt tears of rage and frustration streaming down his face.
“Why did you hit me? I have not refused to answer any of your questions!”
“I told you that my name is Peter Kahiga, not Elijah Njoya. Come clean with me. I’m not here to play word games.”
“I have nothing to hide.”
“And you still claim not to remember the name of your witch doctor?”
“No. Forgetfulness is not a crime.”
“I will bring you friends to help jump-start your memory …”
Even as Kahiga was completing his sentence, Tajirika felt presences behind him, but before he could turn around two of the men grabbed him by the shoulders and the neck and pinned him against the back of the chair. The third yanked Tajirika’s hand behind him while a fourth stuck a needle under the nail of his index finger. Tajirika struggled, but pointlessly
“I beg you, stop. I’ll try to remember. What do you want to know?” he asked the men in the shadows.
“How many times must I repeat myself?” the voice in the dark asked. “We want to know everything about the witch doctor, or whatever you choose to call him. I mean everything, every word he said to you, the number of times you met, even the clothes he wore.”
“Then ask your men to take their hands off me,” he said.
“What men?” Kahiga asked. “No one is touching you. Are you hallucinating?”
Tajirika was able to move his hands freely. He quickly turned his head around and saw no one. Am I out of my mind? Or are they playing mind tricks?
“Where are the men who were just here?” Tajirika asked.
“They have gone back whence they came, but they will surely return if you don’t stop asking questions. Now about the witch doctor …”
“I met him only once. The clothes he wore, I cannot remember, but I think, well, I only saw his face.”
“And his name?”
They were definitely on to something, he sensed: there was no point in claiming loss of memory anymore.
“The Wizard of the Crow. That is his name.”
“And why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“The effects of aging. As you get older, memory weakens.”
“Is there anything else about the Wizard of the Crow that you want to tell me? Aside from your cure, what else did you two talk about? Did he mention Nyawlra or Machokali or anybody like that? Have you been to see him since he came back to Eldares from wherever he went?”
Tajirika did not know what they knew and didn’t, especially about the three bags of money. Should he continue to hold back? How could he account for the witch doctor’s possession of his money? He could see where they were headed. If he could give the witch doctor three bags of Burl notes, surely he must have hundreds of them hidden in his house or at his farm. Upon not finding the money they might kill him out of frustration anyway. So Tajirika decided to hang tough. He now knew what to say.
“To tell the truth, I have not met with this Wizard of the Crow since the day he healed me. I did not even know that he had left Eldares and come back. But there was one other thing that he and I discussed, and you can understand that the subject is a little embarrassing since it has to do with property. Just before I left the shrine I asked him to arm me with protective magic so that my property would not be blown away by the wind and my life would meet with no harm from my enemies. In short, I asked and got protective magic against harm to my life and property.”
An awkward silence followed this disclosure. Despite the fact that he could not see Peter Kahiga, Tajirika felt that what he had said about magic had had some effect on his inquisitor, whose next question was not about the Wizard of the Crow.
“Now, what about Machokali? Know this: if you lie to me again, there is no magic in the world that can protect you from my wrath. Now, why did Machokali come to see you in Santamaria?”
“To say good-bye. Isn’t that what I told Njoya?”
“Stop answering me with questions. Tell us what took place between you two, word for word. And don’t take this matter lightly”
Tajirika told the story of his meeting with Machokali at the Mars Cafe, mentioning that the minister was curious about the kind of questions Vinjinia had been asked when she was in custody.
“Why did he want to know that?”
“I don’t know. He did not say. And I did not ask him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Just what Vinjinia herself told me: that the questions were mostly about Nyawlra.”
“How did he react when you mentioned Nyawlra?”
“He said that she was the biggest enemy of the State and if one is asked any questions about her one should tell all one knows.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes. I don’t think he was particularly interested in talking about Nyawlra. He just wanted to see her in custody. I remember him consoling me and telling me that I should not worry myself to death over the fact that I had employed her. The sins of the employed cannot be visited up
on the employer. Or something to that effect.”
“So when he saw you show concern and remorse over the fact that you had engaged the services of a traitor, he, the minister, was telling you not to worry?”
“Not in the way you’re putting it. He consoled me because he saw that I was badly shaken by the discovery of Nyawlra’s true identity.”
“He himself did not show any anxiety over the matter? He was quite calm even though he knew that a traitor had eluded the police?”
“No, he did not seem anxious about her.”
“He did not show any anger at Nyawlra’s treachery?”
“It is not as if we talked about Nyawlra all the time.”
“What else did you talk about, then?”
Tajirika said, among other things, that Machokali did let him know that Kaniürü was going to be deputy of Marching to Heaven.
“And what did you feel when you heard that?”
“I was quite happy to get a clerk to help me with my work.”
“Was it Machokali who told you that Kaniürü was going to be a clerk?”
“I assumed as much.”
“Why?”
“What is a deputy, after all? Is he not the person who keeps the seat warm for the man in charge when he is not around?”
“How many times must I tell you not to answer me with questions? I’m warning you. That you took him to be a clerk, might this be the real reason why you refused to obey the summons issued to you by the chairman of the Commission of Inquiry into the Queuing Mania? You dared to look down upon a person who had been appointed to his post by the Ruler? Or were you afraid of appearing before the commission?”
“No, I had nothing to hide.”
“Didn’t you say the same thing in the previous interview? And yet as it turned out to be the case today you had left out quite a lot about the Wizard of the Crow?”
“That’s correct, but now I am telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God.”
“How am I supposed to know that? If you were not afraid of appearing before the commission, then the only reason you did not appear was because you disrespected its chairman, the Ruler’s choice!”
“No, no,” Tajirika said, alarmed at this accusation. “Ask Machokali himself—he will tell you that far from feeling bad about the appointment of a deputy, I saw his help as enabling me to suggest that perhaps I should be a member of the delegation going to the USA. It was Machokali who didn’t think this was a good idea.”
“Why?”
“I cannot recall exactly the reasons he gave, but he did talk about my being his ears and eyes here while he was away”
“Did he actually talk about ears and eyes? Are you sure?”
“I am sure he mentioned those organs.”
“What did he mean? Have you ever heard of M5?”
“Yes, His Mighty’s eyes, ears, noses, legs, and hands?”
“So he wanted to form his own M5?”
“I don’t think he meant it that way”
“Why? Could you read his mind?”
“No.”
“Then why are you defending him?”
“I am not trying to defend him …”
“Are you sure that he did not leave you behind to organize a network of eyes, ears, noses, legs, and hands to rival that of the Ruler?”
“I am sure.”
“Is that all you talked about?”
“That’s all.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am very sure.”
“Where did he park his car?”
“He did not come in his car.”
“What do you mean? He came on foot? Or in a bus, donkey cart, rickshaw, matatu, mbondambonda, or mkokoteni?”
“I believe he came and left by taxi.”
“Tajirika, do you take the government for a fool? Do you want to tell us that the Minister for Foreign Affairs, busy as he was preparing for the American trip, still found the time to come to you just to say good-bye, to hear about the kind of questions that Vinjinia had been asked while she was in custody, and to inform you about Kaniürü’s appointment as your deputy? Is that a plausible story? About Vinjinia, he could easily have found out by simply looking at the files on her. To say good-bye and tell you about your deputy, he could easily have done so by phone. And why did he come in a taxi instead of a Mercedes-Benz? You had better confess the details of the plan to overthrow the legitimate government of the Ruler.”
“Me? Talking about overthrowing the government of the Ruler? Never. At no time then or ever did Machokali and I discuss any such thing …”
“You will tell us everything. The mouth that told us more about the Wizard of the Crow will now tell us about the anti-government plans that you and your friend were hatching at the Mars Cafe.”
No sooner had these words been uttered than the circle of light disappeared and Tajirika was dragged into the darkness. They tortured him day and night, with needles and whips, drowning, and electric shocks. Each act of torture was accompanied by a fusillade of questions about the impending coup d’etat he and Machokali had planned, but Tajirika refused to acquiesce, screaming only what he had already told them: “That was the last I saw of Machokali. He has not once called me from America …”
He cried, “Please, I beg you, don’t torture me for things I never said or did,” and yet, deep inside, he felt good that he had not said a word about the three money bags and had resisted their attempts to make him say that Machokali had been plotting against the Ruler.
Still, it went on day and night, torture by unseen hands, until Tajirika finally collapsed, unconscious.
19
He woke up to find himself in bed on a soft mattress and pillow, under clean white sheets and a blanket. Daylight streamed through a window. He could not believe his eyes. He got out of bed, pain shooting through his knees, and hobbled toward the window and tried to open it. His fingers smarted and he could not get a firm grip, but eventually the window swung open inward. Looking through the wire mesh, he saw the walls of other buildings across the yard. He surveyed his new room. At one corner was a sink and next to it a shower and toilet. He felt a need to relieve himself and soon after, he felt his body lighten. No, he cannot have been dead. Next he stripped, piling his clothes on the floor, and showered with avid resolution. He was about to put on what he had been wearing when he saw in another corner a table with two chairs. On one of the chairs there was a suit, to his amazement. He tried it on. It belonged to him but, emaciated as he was from being tortured, it was now a size or so too large. What was going on? His eyes drifted to the door. Maybe it was open. Maybe he would be released secretly. Was the Ruler back? Had fear of what his friend Machokali would do to his torturers sent them packing?
As he reached the door, it opened as if by itself. Tajirika did not know whether to shout for joy or to scream in anger when Njoya entered and carefully closed it behind him.
“So you found your clothes?” Njoya said, as if responding to the perplexity on Tajirika’s face. “Your wife, Vinjinia, sent them. Did you ask her to send them?”
“No,” Tajirika said curtly.
“Ah, well, women and clothes! I am so sorry, Mr. Tajirika. I know I should have come back earlier—a man must keep his word, you know—but every time I asked about you they told me that you were fast asleep.”
“What do you mean?” Tajirika asked in English. “No one told you what they have done to me? Even the donkeys of Santamaria market are treated with less cruelty.” “Is that so, now? Take it easy. Let’s sit down and you tell me all about it. But have you had a bite this morning? Some breakfast?” Two men entered bearing eggs, bread and sausages, and a steaming teapot, placed everything on the table, and left the room. Tajirika was overcome by hunger, and Njoya noticed how Tajirika’s hostility was abated by the food.
“My nails hurt. My knees are aflame from the beatings,” Tajirika complained, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his right hand. “And you claim not
to know anything about it?”
“You don’t always know what your subordinates are up to, even in your absence, do you? You yourself told me that you didn’t know that Nyawlra …”
“Is Kahiga your subordinate?” Tajirika asked quickly to deflect the talk from Nyawlra.
“Superintendent Kahiga? Oh, dear, he is the one they sent to you? May I let you in on a secret? That officer? He is crazy. He has killed many in the course of his interrogations. And you know what? The matter ends there. Tajirika, I want to help you and get him off your back. But if I am to help you, you must level with me. I must also level with you. Let’s say, we must level with each other. Let me start. Look at the far corner. What do you see?”
“Nothing unusual,” Tajirika said.
“Look very carefully.”
“Ah, yes.”
“It’s the eye of a camera, a video camera. Everything that takes place between us will be captured on film. I don’t want you to leave here claiming that I too have tortured you. If there is anything you want to say off the record, let me know right away and we can go elsewhere to talk. Mr. Tajirika, should we leave the room?”
“That won’t be necessary. I have nothing to hide,” Tajirika said promptly, for he did not want to imply by word or gesture that he had any secrets left.
“As I said, let’s first ignore Kahiga’s deeds or misdeeds. They shall be investigated; I will make sure of that. I want us to revisit our first interview. Did I torture you?”
“Oh, no, no, you and I shall become friends.”
“You promise?”
“Yes!”
“I just want you to clear something up for me, just one thing. It is a puzzle, and it concerns your illness. I want to paint a scenario with words, and I really want you to weigh the matter carefully, the better to appreciate the problem we have in believing your story. You are now the judge. Here are the facts of the case. Early one morning the radio announces that a Mr. Tajirika has been appointed chairman of Marching to Heaven. This is a rare honor. The same evening, Mr. Tajirika falls ill. The following morning queues start forming outside his office. After a while, call it a week or two, Tajirika is hale and hearty, the picture of perfect health. But instead of Tajirika resuming his business, he is told to resume his illness, and he does so. You will agree with me that a reasonable person would not be wrong were he to conclude that this illness was like a hat that can be put on and off at will. Now comes a time when all the queues that had formed outside Tajirika’s office head toward the site of Marching to Heaven. And lo and behold, the same Tajirika is once again hale and hearty and he readily joins the flow of humanity to the ceremonies. After the ceremonies, he resumes work. An unbiased observer cannot be blamed if he were to wonder: Why did Tajirika become well only after the queues had accomplished their intended goal? And the goal? Not a soul in all Aburlria is unaware of the shameful deeds of those women. And note an even more curious fact. Nyawlra, who had put up a billboard precisely where the queues began, turns out to be one of those performing the acts of shame. And she is Tajirika’s trusted secretary. As for your bizarre illness,” Njoya said, as if addressing not a judge but a culprit, “let’s say I believe that you had a heart attack or what you described as heart trouble. Mr. Tajirika, explain this to me: instead of getting yourself admitted to a private or state hospital, you chose to head straight to the shrine of a witch doctor? Even assuming that you have no faith in modern Aburlrian medicine, you had the option, which by the way you didn’t even consider, of flying to London. If the famed Harley Street surgeons can give your friend