A relieved Machokali stopped at the reception desk to make sure that everything was fine. The receptionist handed him a neatly folded piece of paper. “This has been lying in your box for more than seven days,” the receptionist told him. Machokali was about to ask him how he knew this, but then he decided against it. He was feeling good at the success of Hotexit, and why should he let the chatter of a nosy receptionist get under his skin? This is old news, he told himself, and he was about to throw the piece of paper into a garbage can without opening it when he changed his mind and put it inside the inner pocket of his jacket as he rushed to the waiting limo and on to the airport.
Arrangements were made for two planes: a jumbo jet with seats reconfigured for the Ruler, his security team, personal physician, biographer, and one or two ministers, and a smaller one for the rest of the delegation.
“The loading of the Ruler onto the plane indeed proved to be a wonder yet unseen. The pushing and squeezing, the huffing and puffing! True! Haki ya Mungu!” A.C. was later to say. “When I saw how we were struggling and worrying ourselves to death, I asked myself, If the Wizard of the Crow were here, would we find ourselves in this mess? I am sure he would have found an easier way of getting the body onto the plane. To be honest, I had not given up hope. So during the ordeal I kept looking back behind me in the expectation that I would see him running across the tarmac to help us.
“Just before we boarded the plane, I tried to talk to Machokali about the unknown fate of the Wizard of the Crow. I showed him a newspaper I had bought, in which every other story seemed to involve the arrest or the shooting or the imprisonment of a black male. And hostility to immigrants was not unknown. Didn’t he think we should consult with American authorities about the wizard? Machokali was unmoved. Let him rot in an American jail, Machokali grunted back, and added that he would have nothing more to do with sorcerers and their disappearing acts. But for my part, I never stopped worrying and thinking about him. True! Haki ya Mungu!”
26
Machokali felt tight as he got into the same plane with the Ruler, Dr. Wilfred Kaboca, Dr. Luminous Karamu-Mbu, and A.C. and the security men, and it was only when they were aloft that he regained his composure. He took off his jacket, folded it twice, and placed it on the empty seat beside him. Now he would have the time to ponder things in their proper perspective. In all his years as Minister for Foreign Affairs, he had never been on a mission plagued with so many twists and turns, and he did not know what had complicated matters more: the Ruler’s special condition or the Global Bank’s dragging its foot. The Ruler’s illness had made it impossible for him to take initiatives to enhance his and the Ruler’s advantages, including the United Nations General Assembly address. But that was just as well, he now thought, as Marching to Heaven was on hold until the money from the Global Bank was forthcoming. Machokali saw a ray of hope in the fact that the door to further negotiations had not been slammed shut. The return to Aburlria would buy time to enliven the scheme without his having to worry constantly that the Ruler might explode into bits in a foreign land.
During the Ruler’s marathon talk to his ministers at the hotel, Machokali had been able to discern, in the thicket of the verbiage, further arguments for Marching to Heaven. Upon his return to Eldares, he would convene a group of leading economic experts from the business world and academia to embellish the Ruler’s case, the better to impress the Global Bank. He might even hire additional experts from America and Europe to bolster the Aburlrian team. As he dwelled on the matter, he reached for a handkerchief in his jacket pocket and felt the folded piece of paper handed to him at the reception desk. He was feeling good inside and he did not want to bother with this triviality, so he crushed it in his palm. He was about to throw it away but thought: Who was this who had left a handwritten message for me? Could it be Mgenzi? Yunice Immaculate Mgenzi, the Deputy Ambassador of Aburlria in Washington?
Machokali never ceased to marvel at the Ruler’s way with women, especially this woman, who stopped being an ardent follower of Mao Tse-Tung to become a faithful lapdog of the Ruler!
When they first arrived in America, Yunice Mgenzi had a few private sessions with the Ruler in his chamber, some lasting a whole night. But since the onset of the Ruler’s malady, the two had not seen each other. Machokali and the other ministers had decided that it was not a good idea to allow any woman to see the Ruler in his present condition. Yunice Immaculate Mgenzi had kept on phoning and asking to speak to the Ruler, compelling Machokali to concoct all sorts of stories about how the Ruler was totally immersed in delicate matters of international diplomacy. In the end he told her that the Ruler had said that he himself would call her back, and even then she threatened to come in person. What if the Ruler and Mgenzi later found out that he had not passed on her note to the Rulerr
Machokali quickly unfolded it: information was power.
The four lines did not make sense. He turned the note over to see if there was more. Nothing, so he read it again. I have no pass. Take care of yourself. The country is pregnant. What it will give birth to, nobody knows. It was initialed WOC. The Wizard of the Crow, of course. No pass! So he had gone out and found himself unable to get back to the Ruler’s suite! Machokali admitted to himself that he, the minister, was to blame for the wizard’s disappearance. As he scrutinized the wizard’s enigmatic note, he wondered whether it was addressed to him personally or to him in his capacity as a senior cabinet minister who was to bring it to the attention of the Ruler. He wished that the other ministers were on his plane, for he would have sought their views. What if he suppressed the contents of the note only to have the Wizard of the Crow suddenly reappear to claim that he had left him a formula for the cure? This might even be a trap laid by his political enemy, Sikiokuu, using the sorcerer to carry out his evil designs. He had to cleverly unburden himself to the Ruler. He would gauge his mood and might even broach the subject of the return of the queuing mania, and again voice his fears about the possibilities of a coup. The Ruler would thereby be forced to focus not on the disastrous visit to America but on Sikiokuu’s treachery.
He went to the section reserved for the Ruler. The engineers had been unable to devise a chair or a bed large enough to contain him, so the floor was all he had.
“And what do you propose to do about your Marching to Heaven?” the Ruler asked, without giving Machokali a chance to say what had brought him before his august presence.
“The Global Bank did not slam the door completely” Machokali responded. “What we need is a moment to arrange everything you told us into a manageable memorandum. I was thinking that as soon as we get back to Aburlria, and with your blessings and guidance, I shall put together a task force from the business community, the University of Eldares, and a few universities abroad, with the sole duty of putting your views and vision into written form. Then we shall send the memorandum to the Global Bank. Memorandum Addendum.”
“Memorandum Addendum,” the Ruler repeated, clearly pleased with the way the phrase rolled off his tongue. Machokali felt as if he had been congratulated.
“The last word, we shall tell them,” Machokali said in a triumphant voice. “Our last stand,” added the Ruler. “Do it as soon as we get home.”
“Your word is law unto me,” Machokali said humbly.
“Say, Do or Die!” added the Ruler.
“Do or Die!” Machokali chimed in. “That’s your real name.”
“But these directors of the Global Bank are acting as if they have never heard ofthat name,” said the Ruler.
Machokali now saw an opening to bring up the wizard’s note. With a casual “by the way” he asked the Ruler if he still remembered the man who helped unlock his voice. But neither by word nor by look did the Ruler show any sign of remembrance of what Machokali was talking about, a time when words got stuck in his throat, let alone any awareness of anybody having treated him. It was as if his entire ordeal of speechlessness had never occurred. Machokali had to ask again, and this time he
made sure he mentioned the name Wizard of the Crow.
“A sorcerer?” the Ruler interrupted him. “Why do you people keep on pestering me with questions of sorcerers, even in America? The other day a policeman came to talk to me about sorcery. And now you. Is it because you think that sorcery is responsible for the queuing and husband beating back home? Not to worry. Just wait and see! We are going to take care of business.”
Afterward, when things around him had begun to crumble, Machokali would ask himself time and again why he had not obeyed his inner voice telling him to leave the matter of that note alone and go back to his seat once he saw that the Ruler did not remember a thing about the Wizard of the Crow. But too much fear fuels misery, and the thought that his political enemies might be plotting against him made him ignore his better instincts as he handed the note to the Ruler. The Ruler read the four lines and turned the page over, as Machokali had done. Finally he raised his eyes.
“Who wrote this?” the Ruler asked in a cold and even tone.
“The Wizard of the Crow,” Machokali said.
The Ruler leaned back and closed his eyes as if trying to recall a dream forgotten or a distant memory.
“I don’t know if I am dreaming or not, but when I close my eyes I seem to see or hear a person answering to that name. It is as if he and I are talking, or, rather, he is talking to me. But no. How is that possible?”
“Your Mighty Excellency, you are not dreaming,” Machokali hastened to say, hoping to channel the Ruler’s suppressed anger toward the Wizard of the Crow. “There was indeed somebody like the one you now think you saw.”
Machokali reminded the Ruler how his words had gotten stuck in his larynx, and how even Professor Din Furyk and Dr. Clement C. Clarkwell had failed to come up with a satisfactory cure, and how the Wizard of the Crow had managed to restore the power of speech to him.
“He was sent to us to deal with this, eh, this, I mean, this problem of your expansion, but now …”
“Where is he?” the Ruler interrupted.
“I don’t know. Maybe he returned to those who sent him,” said Machokali, trying to distance himself from the Wizard of the Crow.
Who sent him?” the Ruler asked, his eyes still closed.
“Sikiokuu.”
‘Sikiokuu? Did he not have his hands full with my assignments in Aburlria? How did he know to send me a sorcerer? How did he know of my malady?”
Machokali hesitated. The Ruler opened his eyes and fixed them on Machokali.
Why do I have a vague recollection of you yourself asking me about the Wizard of the Crow? Asking me if he could come to America?”
“It was not really my idea. Anything to do with sorcery and divination, I try to keep a …”
Whose idea was it?” the Ruler snapped.
A.C. Arigaigai Gathere.”
“Gathere who?”
“The one who once wrestled with djinns until the break of day”
“I thought he only pursued the djinns, not wrestled with them?”
“Yes, he pursued them across the prairie. There is something odd and strange about that policeman.”
And since when did you appoint A.G. your assistant minister?”
“Your Mighty Excellency, you know very well that I would not and could not even dare to dream of taking it upon myself to … !”
“Is that why he came to tell me about the sorcerer of the crow when all the others were busy packing their things?”
“Your Excellency, I did not even know that A.G. had come to see you. What did I tell you? That policeman …” Machokali was hoping that the subject of A.G. and his strange ways would supersede the note, but his hope was quickly dashed.
“Read this note very carefully,” the Ruler told him, handing him back the piece of paper.
Was the Ruler being sarcastic, Machokali wondered, or was he merely luring him into the range of the club? He could not very well say no and walk away. Machokali took two steps forward, reached for the note, and instinctively stepped back, acting as if he were looking for better lighting to read.
No matter how hard he looked at it, how often he turned it over, Machokali did not see anything beyond what he knew to be there. When Machokali lifted his eyes, he was startled to see in the eyes of the Ruler a light so intense that for a moment Machokali feared the worst.
“Your Mighty Excellency, I must confess that before coming to see you I had already read these words to see if they implied any hidden messages. But I failed to see what the Wizard of the Crow was trying to say, and that is why I brought you the note.”
“Read it again and tell me what you think is not so very clear about the meaning of those words.”
Machokali pretended to reread it silently, but in truth by now he knew each and every word by heart.
“I did not ask you to read it silently to yourself,” the Ruler said. “Read it aloud and firmly like a man. Substitute the word Ruler for the country, as I am the Country.”
Machokali cleared his throat. He started reading the note. “I have no pass. Take care of yourself. The Ruler is ….” Machokali stopped abruptly, like a person who finds himself on the edge of a precipice.
“Go on. Read it,” the Ruler told him impatiently. “Finish and tell me what’s so unclear about the meaning.”
“The Ruler is pregnant. What he will give birth to, nobody knows.”
What’s not clear? Tell me!” His Mighty Excellency said with mounting anger.
“Oh, no,” Machokali said when the full meaning and implications of the words struck him. “I swear that if ever … that man …”
“Machokali,” the Ruler again interrupted him, as if he did not much care to hear what Machokali was swearing to. Machokali was now unnerved by what he detected as a slight change in the voice of the Ruler. It sounded broken, more teary than icy. “You are a very highly educated man—is that not so, Markus?”
“Yes, Your Holy and Mighty Excellency.”
“You know the history of the world.”
“I would not make such a claim, but, yes, I would not say that I am totally ignorant.”
“In all the books that you have read, have you ever come across the case of a pregnant ruler?”
“A pregnant ruler? No! Unless he is a woman … Definitely not.”
“Can’t you see what he is saying? That this self-induced expansion is a pregnancy of sorts?”
The Ruler started laughing, and Machokali wondered whether he should join in to show that he too got the joke, whatever it may have been. There are times when silence is golden but this was not one of them, for Machokali took the occasion to ingratiate himself with the Ruler and prolong the laughter by boldly saying:
“Congratulations! You are making history. It is a good thing that I arranged for the Wizard of the Crow to come to America. I even personally went to meet him at the airport. I think we should call a press conference and announce this to the world.”
The ensuing silence dampened his enthusiasm and made Machokali realize immediately that he had just made a profound blunder. He started searching for words to extricate himself even as he slowly retreated, step by step.
“You? You! Even you?” said the Ruler, wagging a finger at him, blind with rage. “So you were in cahoots with the sorcerer? You took it upon yourselves to insult me, in my face, just because I am hobbled? You call me a woman?”
He tried to raise himself to jump all over Machokali but could not. He tried to grab his ceremonial club to hurl it at the big eyes of Machokali, but he could not reach it. Machokali stopped walking backward when he saw that the Ruler could not reach him with his club, but he kept eyeing it on the floor. Shielding oneself against a blow was prudence, not cowardice. He chose to do so with words.
“I was extending congratulations solely on account of your quickness in seeing through the chicanery of this fellow who calls himself the Wizard of the Crow. I said that I did a good thing to make arrangements for his coming to America because had he not come for you t
o see through him, he might have lived to a ripe old age, deceiving millions with his slanderous lies about your being pregnant.”
“So you enjoy saying it over and over again, you smelly cunt of a man. You piece of dirt. A poor excuse for manhood. Away from my sight,” said the Ruler, waving him away. Even before the Ruler had finished calling him names, Machokali was in full flight back to his seat.
“Wait!” the Ruler shouted at him. “Come back here. Give me back that note! Or are you planning to share it with the others?”
Machokali had forgotten that he was still holding it. He returned and gingerly handed it to the Ruler. As Machokali backtracked, he was agog: the Ruler had grabbed the piece of paper, put it in his mouth, chewed it, and swallowed it, all while staring at Machokali.
“I must never hear this matter out of anybody’s mouth.”
SECTION II
1
It was the sound of the plane landing that announced the return of the Ruler from his famous visit to America, for it was louder than thunder. People said that only His Mightiness could produce thunder without lightning and rain, but there was something wrong with it, people added, because the Ruler came back home under the cover of darkness, like a thief. The procession of diplomats, ministers, and dancers that always greeted him at the airport whenever he returned from visits abroad was nowhere in sight. And when he did not appear on television, people confidently asserted that, yes, something had to be wrong; the Ruler always appeared on live television whenever he returned from abroad. When after many days there were still no photographs or television footage of his return, people started whispering: had his corpse been shipped back from America?
Even when Big Ben Mambo, the Minister of Information, issued a statement that the Ruler was in retreat in the State House to think about the future of the country, the rumors did not abate. If anything, the statement only added fuel to their fire.