20
Nothing like this had ever been seen or heard of in Aburfria: experts in sorcery and witchcraft, with their paraphernalia, winding their way to the State House to take the first-ever national achievement test in their trade. The sheer number who came forward was astounding. Some were among the most regular attendants at mosques and churches; nobody would ever have suspected these zealots of ever practicing sorcery and witchcraft on the side. There were a few others who knew nothing about sorcery and witchcraft but nevertheless came forward, hoping somehow to pass the test and earn a place in the Ruler’s advisory council as a base for personal advancement. Some had traveled at night, and by the early hours of the appointed day there was already a queue visible by even those at some distance from the gates of the State House.
Ever vigilant of opportunities to capture Satan, the Soldiers of Christ stood watching, but they were puzzled by the momentous proceedings. They were not alone in being puzzled by this gathering, for there were only two people, the Ruler and Tajirika, who knew the purpose of the national achievement test in sorcery and witchcraft.
21
An assistant for protocol fetched sorcerer or witch doctor in front of the queue and led him or her to a waiting room, from where Njoya, Kahiga, or A.G., depending on who happened to be guarding the door, escorted him or her to the testing site.
The test itself was simple. Each competitor would try to cure a man afflicted with a malady of words causing words to become stuck in his larynx. None was told the name or other details about the sick man; none knew that the patient was the Wizard of the Crow.
22
Kamltl had heard Njoya and Kahiga whisper about the impending arrival of a delegation of afrochiatrists to the State House. He gleaned that these were leading African specialists in mental disorders. But he did not know that they were coming up to see him.
Many of the sorcerers went through identical preliminaries: they would do some acrobatics, some even blowing horns or whistles to unsettle the evil spirits that possessed the patient, and then would venture a question to which Kamltl always responded by spitting out the word: if. They all left the room defeated, muttering to themselves that they had never encountered a case of so complete a possession by bad spirits. Some tried to cover their failure by saying that they were going for stronger medicines, that they would surely come back, but there was very little enthusiasm and conviction in their voices.
Kamltl began to feel good about his own performance. It was difficult even for the most astute of doctors to diagnose an illness in which the patient was silent about symptoms. But after dismissing one after the other, he came across one afrochiatrist who terrified him to the core.
This master surgeon started by elaborating on his experience, as if offering his credentials to the two examiners in the room.
“I tell you, it is not just one or two on whom I have operated and removed bits of iron buried deep in their bellies or their joints—their knees, for instance,” he said, confiding in Njoya and Kahiga. “I have operated on many, and seven out of every ten have come out of it alive and well. Not bad, eh? And I do it swiftly,” he added, reaching for the surgical tools in his bag and carefully spreading them on the floor.
Kamltl counted hammers, tweezers, miniature saws, razor blades, needles, knives, scissors, and nails of different sizes and shapes. He did not know what was more terrifying, the array of surgical tools or the master surgeon’s matter-of-fact tone in talking about his past successes.
Kamltl decided to take matters into his own hands. He stood up, walked toward the surgeon, barking, IF! IF! and spraying saliva in the direction of his nemesis, who was counting the tools. The master surgeon imagined that Kamltl intended to infect him and his tools with evil, and started collecting his paraphernalia and putting them back into the bag. It was too late. His gadgets were slimy with spit. A glob attached itself to his face; the surgeon did not wait for more. He let out an involuntary scream, threw the last of his gadgets into the bag, dashed out of the room, and ran as fast as his jingled legs could carry him toward the gates of the State House, moaning loudly for all the world to hear that his things had been bewitched with saliva. Me, too, he added, moaning, “I have just been cursed.” In his frenzy, he felt death knocking at his door. “I am going to die” soon changed into “I am dying,” and by the time the master surgeon had reached the queue outside, the cry had become “I am dead.” When asked by the others what was the matter, he blabbered about his bewitchment and certain death.
When they understood the implications of what he was saying, the remaining candidates took to their heels, initially following him, shouting questions, before dispersing in different directions.
The news of the flight of the sorcerers immediately reached the ears of the Ruler, and it made him very furious. He ordered his security men to chase the candidates and bring them back to be flogged and then complete their tests. How dare these cowardly fellows disgrace afrochiatryr
But it was as if all the sorcerers and witch doctors had vanished into thin air, except one who was unable to run because his left leg was shorter than his right and he could only limp, shouting to the others: Oh, my brothers and sisters in sorcery, don’t leave me behind! Please don’t leave me behind—we are all equal in matters of sorcery!
Oh, we are not leaving you behind, said the security men as they pounced on the crippled sorcerer, and it was only their fear of sorcery that prevented them from raining blows of vengeance on his body.
23
The Ruler ordered that the cripple take the test or be whipped with a sjambok until he revealed where all his brothers and sisters in sorcery had gone. When told that the sorcerer was a woman, he said it did not matter, but if she passed the test she would be spared the sjambok.
The Limping Witch, as they now called the crippled witch, had a repulsive face. One of her eyes oozed, and when not talking her lips twitched; when talking to her, people felt compelled to look away. But she also cut a laughable figure. She had no divining charms, only a walking stick and an ungainly wrap. Her hair was so matted that it became the subject of spirited conversation among her captors, who thought she had taken the idea of dreadlocks too literally.
Kamltl was still in shock from his narrow escape from the master surgeon; he was now grimly on guard for whoever came next. So when the Limping Witch was ushered in, Kamltl jumped up and retreated even farther into his corner, ready to let flow his lethal saliva. I will not turn my back on this one, Kamltl swore to himself: he was highly suspicious of the stick she carried. He and the Limping Witch defiantly glared at each other for a few seconds as if to see who would blink first.
In spite of his alertness, Kamltl did not anticipate the witch’s next move, or see it, for that matter. All of a sudden, her stick was touching his Adam’s apple. Kamltl attempted a few ifs, but they were smothered in terror. Every time he tried to move his neck away, she would press his Adam’s apple a bit more firmly as if to warn him, Don’t play tricks with me, and in the end he desisted. I must be careful about what I do, he thought to himself, or I am a dead man.
“My walking stick never lies. The Devil is hiding there, just where my stick is touching. The foolish and the wise—who is it that cannot see? Speech is the beginning of knowledge. And lack of speech? The beginning of foolishness. But how did the Devil get here? This place reeks of alcohol.”
Njoya and Kahiga exchanged frantic glances. “Tell me,” she loudly insisted, “where did you collect this man?” Once again they looked at each other, unsure as to whether they should admit that they had found the man in a bar. They were not even sure if they were allowed to answer any questions posed by the sorcerers beyond those relating to the requirements. They conferred in hushed tones and decided that Njoya must go and ask what they should do about the question. As soon as Njoya left, A.G., in accordance with the two-man rule, entered the room. But this brought about a few complications for Njoya, who when he returned realized that the same rule forbad
e him to enter. He simply took A.G.’s place outside.
“What did I ask you?” the Limping Witch intoned ferociously at Kahiga. In desperation, Kahiga opened the door, quickly dragged Njoya inside without a word, and replaced him outside. With permission granted to answer her question, Njoya now admitted that he and others had picked up the man in a beer hall; he had been drunk, but since then the man had not taken a drop or even set eyes on alcohol. Having just entered the room, A.G. did not know what was going on. He was peeved at what appeared to be Njoya’s attempt to take credit for the man’s apprehension. He had to set the record straight. And without consulting his partner, A.G. plunged into the conversation.
“True! Haki ya Mungu! I am the one who discovered him in the beer hall, and so if you have any questions about him and alcohol ask me, and if you want to confirm the truth of what I am saying, True! Haki ya Mungu, ask … I mean … if the Wizard …”
He was about to reveal the identity of the man when he realized his faux pas, and tried to cover it with exaggerated coughing, until the witch angrily intervened.
“Stop or else you will contract his illness. One victim of the evil is enough for a day. My walking stick has divined its source and will tell me all …”
A.G. stopped coughing, only too glad to obey, as the Limping Witch now turned her attention to the patient.
“You, listen to me with both your ears,” she said, jabbing the man’s throat with her stick. “I want to speak to the Devil hiding in your voice box.” Kamltl forced himself to look intently at the eyes of the witch, and he thought he saw or imagined he saw her wink. But the runny eyes and the twitching lips repulsed him. Still, he listened to her intonation.
The body is the temple of the soul
Watch -ye what you eat ana drink
Greed maketh death greedy for life
Cigarettes arrest life; alcohol holds mind prisoner
The good comes from balance …
She went on through the entire catechism, with him now almost suspended in wonder and disbelief.
“Now I have ordered the Devil in you to speak to me through you,” said the Limping Witch. “Speak, Devil!”
“IF!” Kamltl barked tentatively, as if challenging her to clear his doubts.
“It is you …” the Limping Witch responded, as if accepting the challenge.
“And I …” he said, and stopped.
“Who were …” said the Limping Witch.
“In the prairie …” Kamltl said, then paused.
“Dancing …” the witch replied.
“Naked …” said Kamltl, to shock her.
“Under the moonlight, the way witches do …” she said, as if to imply that he had failed to shock her.
“Then lead me out of this prison of IF … OH … IF … IF ONLY …” Kamltl said, the Devil inside him begging for release, seduced as he now was by the allure of the Limping Witch.
She turned her eyes to A.G. and Njoya, who were mesmerized by the miracle they had just witnessed. This Limping Witch had done what no other sorcerer, despite their spears, knives, needles, razor blades, and threats, had been able to do: extract a word other than if from the patient. She had managed to put the fear of the Lord in the mean Devil lodged in his voice box. They now eagerly waited to hear what the Limping Witch had to say. “If I am to get more out of him, you must bring him to my shrine, from which my medicines derive their potency. Do so whenever it suits you.”
Njoya and A.G. conferred in a corner. A.G. then left the room. Kahiga now entered. When A.G. returned, he did not stay outside but came right in.
“We have been told to go to your shrine right now,” A.G. told the Limping Witch. “You must fully cure him without delay. Then we shall bring you and him back here.”
Kamltl could not believe his ears. All his doubts about the witch had vanished. Nyawlra has effected a miracle, he said to himself, and it was with difficulty that he held back tears of joy, gratitude, and admiration.
24
The Limping Witch refused to travel by Land Rover.
“Oh, so we are not going far?” asked the three policemen in unison.
“Not very far,” she said. “Over there,” she added, pointing to the horizon.
“Yonder where the earth meets the sky?” asked Njoya.
“Yes,” said the Limping Witch.
“But that is a long way from here,” said Kahiga.
“It is never a long way to a person’s home,” she said. “My power comes from my contact with this soil,” she added, prodding the ground with her walking stick. “I never allow anything to come between me and Mother Earth. Why don’t you go ahead? If you get there before I do, just wait for me.”
“Oh, no,” the police trio said in unison.
“Our orders are that our eyes must not at any time stray away from you,” added A.G.
“When not on foot, what carries you from here to there?” Njoya asked.
“A mkokoteni. A donkey cart. Anything pulled by a living being with feet touching the earth.”
“You want us to travel on human- and donkey-pulled carriages?” asked the police trio in unison.
“Donkey carts and mkokoteni are difficult to find at this time of the day” added Njoya.
For a response she simply pointed at the writing on her garments: shauri yako. My problem? Njoya seemed to ask himself but ignored the insolence.
A.G. guarded the Limping Witch and the “prisoner” while Kahiga and Njoya went in the Land Rover to look for the carriages.
They had not gone very far when they saw a donkey cart and a human-pushed mkokoteni, both full of goods, but they decided to hire the carriages.
The Limping Witch now demanded that she and Kamltl ride in the mkokoteni while Njoya, Kahiga, and A.G. rode in the donkey cart with the Land Rover following in the rear, gas fumes being very bad for the spirits of magic. The convoy of mkokoteni, donkey cart, and Land Rover crept along, slowing down traffic, as the drivers of other vehicles honked with impatience and frustration at its snail’s pace. Above, in the sky, helicopters monitoring the procession of protesting youth pouring into the grounds of the Parliament buildings made for noise and commotion.
Just then a Mercedes-Benz rushed toward them from the opposite direction, the driver ordering the donkey to stop, which halted the entire convoy. It was Kaniürü. Thereafter, nothing but chaos ensued. The Limping Witch immediately ordered the two mkokoteni drivers to take off, which they did as if possessed of wings. In pursuit of the mkokoteni, the donkey cart threw off Kahiga, Njoya, and A.G. The Land Rover picked up Kahiga. Njoya commandeered a bicycle and A.G. followed on foot, running, calling on Njoya to let him get on the bike.
The mkokoteni had the advantage of being able to weave in and out of traffic; the Mercedes-Benz had trouble pursuing it down the narrow two-lane road. The donkey cart blocked the Land Rover. Pedestrians on the sidewalks wondered why a Mercedes-Benz was pursuing and honking at a pushcart, a donkey braying at a Mercedes-Benz while defecating, a Land Rover honking at the donkey cart, a cyclist ringing bells at the Land Rover, and a policeman running and shouting, Simama! They could not figure out whether he was saying stop or calling out to somebody by that name. A.G. was the first casualty of the chase. He stepped in donkey dung, slipped, and fell, passersby describing it as a mighty fall.
The speeding mkokoteni went past the railway, crossing just in time before the red barrier came down and blocked the Mercedes-Benz. “Run for it to Maritha and Mariko’s place,” the Limping Witch told the Wizard of the Crow. “Don’t ask any questions. We’ll talk later.”
The Wizard of the Crow got out and ran, even as the mkokoteni sped off. When the Mercedes-Benz finally crossed the rails, Kaniürü just spotted the mkokoteni in the distance. Go get it, he told the chauffeur.
25
It was later said that a donkey had stood in the middle of the road, impeding traffic until the Limping Witch and the Wizard of the Crow had safely fled. But other rumors said no, all the donkeys of
Santa-maria had lined up and down the road, defecating and urinating, making it so slippery that vehicles could hardly move, and when the police tried to pursue the two they slid all over the place and eventually resorted to commandeering whatever bicycles were to be had.
“Was that true?” Vinjinia asked her husband, Tajirika, the evening of the following day.
“Leave rumors to rumormongers,” Tajirika said irritably, for he was not happy about the news that the Limping Witch and the Wizard of the Crow had escaped. His evolving monetary policy involved the production of foreign currency, naturally grown dollars, and it all depended on the Wizard of the Crow doing the will of the Buler. He feared that the wizard’s flight might put his governorship of the Central Bank at risk.
Vinjinia was a little crestfallen: so the news of the escape of the Wizard of the Crow was just rumor r
“The bit about his escape is true,” Tajirika said. “But he was helped by the Limping Witch, not asses, whether one or many”
“A limping what?”
“One of the sorcerers. The sorcerer’s left leg was shorter than the right, and so the nickname,” Tajirika explained, and then paused. “Vinjinia, your suggestion that we openly advertise for witches and sorcerers to come for a national achievement test at the State House was brilliant. It would have almost certainly borne fruit but for the Limping Witch.”
“A man?”
“No! A woman, and she and the wizard have vanished!”
“How is that possible? I mean, their escape?”
“I can only tell you what I heard Kaniürü teil the Ruler when accusing the guards of negligence, asserting their unfitness to wear the uniform of loyal officers. But you know that the nosy one is a liar and with him it is difficult to tell fact from fiction.”
“How does Kaniürü come into this?” Vinjinia asked, genuinely puzzled.