4

Nyawlra would always recall the morning of that Tuesday with trepidation. The Monday and the Friday before had been declared public holidays in honor of the dedication on a Saturday. Tuesday was her first day of work after the drama at Eldares. Later, describing the events of the fateful morning, she talked about how she had woken up at her usual hour in a state of bliss, quickly showered, and set out for the bus stop. The bus to Santamaria had been on time. In the bus Nyawlra was in a zone all her own—she felt like singing to celebrate being a woman. The victorious drama at Eldares was still fresh in her mind. She knew that security forces would be on the lookout for the members of the movement, but she did not feel unduly concerned about her own personal safety. She believed that nobody could possibly connect her with what the women had done. In Aburlria, politics was strictly a masculine affair; men would never think that women could plan and execute anything like what had happened. Ever since she started working for Tajirika she had covered her tracks well, acting the perfect secretary—a bit priggish, perhaps, which had earned her Tajirika’s respect and that of his circle of friends, who kept their lustful thoughts to themselves. She got off at her usual stop a few blocks after the Santamaria market. She crossed the Ruler’s Avenue and Parrot’s Way and went down Main Street to the offices of Eldares Modern Construction and Real Estate. She was very keen on getting to the office to glean gossip from Vinjinia. Vinjinia had not been at the scene on Saturday, but she surely would have picked up a few tidbits from Tajirika.

Nyawlra knew that he had been at the meeting because a few days before the dedication, Tajirika, according to Vinjinia, had suddenly recovered from his so-called illness, saying that the queues had already served their purpose and swearing that no illness, real or fake, would keep him, the chairman of Marching to Heaven, away from participating in so historic a day.

She thought of stopping at the Mars Cafe for a cup of coffee before going to the office. Giddy with bliss, Nyawlra never entertained the possibility of encountering Kaniürü. At the thought of the aroma of fresh hot coffee, she did, however, think of Kamltl all alone in the forest, but she quickly shooed the image away. After all, Kamltl had freely chosen to dwell among the fauna and flora, and if he was happy with that, who was she to tell him that he was missing good coffee at the Mars Cafe on a glorious Tuesday morning? She did not envy him, and she most certainly did not miss the frosty morning air of the mountains.

She was a few blocks from Mars Cafe when she felt somebody touch her right shoulder. She ignored the brush, casually shifting her handbag to her left shoulder and moving on. It happened again and she turned around quickly. It was A.C. Nyawlra started ever so slightly. She had never seen him in daylight other than at her place, and not since the morning that he had come to tell of his promotion. What is he doing in plainclothes in Santamaria so early in the morning? Trying hard not to show surprise, she at first acted as if she could not tell who he was.

But A.C. was already murmuring gratitudes. What is the man talking about? she asked herself, but she had no way of getting a word in edgewise.

“I recognized you in the distance but I just wanted to make sure,” A.C. bubbled, lowering his voice as if he did not want anybody else to hear what he was saying. “Me? There is no way I would not recognize you even if you were to turn yourself into a bird or a turtle. True! Haki ya Mungu. And don’t think that I don’t know that you can change yourself into anything. Where did you go? I sent some other friends to you and they found the shrine closed with a notice that you had gone away …”

Now Nyawlra realized why he was thanking her so effusively, and it was with some effort that she managed to hold back her laughter. She recalled that ever since the flight from Paradise, A.G. had taken it into his head that Nyawlra and Kamltl were two manifestations of the same identity: the Wizard of the Crow. Nyawlra did not attempt to dissuade him, and she was sure that even if she had A.G. would not have believed her. In any case, she did not want to prolong the conversation. He was keeping her from coffee at the Mars Cafe and work. It would be easier to get rid of him by just going along with his madness. So she half nodded in agreement and played at the role of the Wizard of the Crow:

“Don’t you dare tell anybody that you saw me in the streets. If you do …” she said, and then paused as if the consequences of so doing were simply too awful to contemplate. “I don’t want anyone to know who I am,” she added, deepening her voice.

“Oh, trust me, Sir Madam Wizard of the Crow. Your every wish is my command. True! Haki ya Mungu! How can I ever forget what you did for me? Have you been away on safari, or what?”

Nyawlra confirmed that she had indeed been away, to collect herbs in addition to legs and tails of frogs and lizards, skins of hedgehogs and porcupines, and horns of chameleons, not to mention skins of grass snakes to make more potent magic, and, oh yes, she had also gone to get mirrors that could capture a person’s shadow no matter how far he was and a person’s thoughts even before that person himself had thought the thoughts. She would be returning to the shrine soon, she told him, and if ever he was in trouble he should not hesitate to come back. A.C., whose eyes grew larger with awe and admiration, was visibly delighted at the invitation. But Nyawlra realized she had made a mistake: what if he should come tomorrow? So she was quick to add:

“Mark you, it will take a while before I return. The new powers must mature. But what are you doing this early in Santamaria? I know that all is well with your new job.”

“You truly amaze me with the way you read my mind,” A.C. said. “My affairs are going smoothly,” he added boastfully, “and all this thanks to you. Let me tell you …”—he lowered his voice even more—”I am here on a special mission. I have been sent to these parts by no other than Sikiokuu himself, and not as just anybody but as the director of a very special operation. True! Haki ya Mungu! And imagine this: in all the years I had worked in the force before you empowered me, I had never been given any task with the word special’ attached to it. But now look at me. I am coordinating the entire operation, and that’s why you see me in the streets. Three of my men are waiting at the Mars Cafe and two others at street corners covering the way in and out of the office. There is no escape route. As you can see we are in plainclothes. I myself cannot go inside the Mars Cafe, because as you know I used to work in these parts, and the criminal, who I understand goes there for coffee sometimes, might recognize me and suspect something is afoot.”

“But who is this criminal? A murderer, a bank robber?” she asked, now bored, a little impatient even. She was anxious to get to the office. She might even have to give up on coffee—no, she wouldn’t give up, she told herself; she would dash in and order it to go.

“Worse than a bank robber or murderer,” A.C. whispered, presuming a bond she found irritating. His next words shattered her composure. She felt goose bumps all over her as she became fully alert.

“Between me and you, Sir Wizard, what those women did at the site of Marching to Heaven is very bad, really shameful. True! Haki ya Mungu. But we now have a suspect. Minister Sikiokuu has ordered us to capture her and take her to him directly. I personally don’t know who she is or what she looks like, but that’s not a problem. We have a very cooperative young man who will identify her for us. Sikiokuu likes him very much. To tell you the truth, and speaking like a professional and a well-trained police officer, I don’t much care for these youthwingers who think they know everything. Still, we the police depend on tips from informers, and this Kaniürü seems to have used his nose quite well in sniffing out this woman.”

Nyawlra felt drained of energy. She feared her knees would buckle, but she summoned inner strength not to let her face or voice betray her. She asked him a few more questions to determine how much they knew about her. She was very grateful for being mistaken as the Wizard of the Crow and would assume the role no matter what happened.

“This John Nose, where is he now?” Nyawlra asked.

A.C. burst out laughing, making Nyawlra apprehensive. She had not intended to be funny: was he playing a game of cat and mouse with her?

“Sir Madam Wizard of the Crow,” A.G. said to Nyawlra’s relief, “we the police have nicknamed him the same, Johnny the Nose, and when one of us mentions the nickname we break into laughter. But we don’t underestimate him—oh no, not me. He is quite smart. After all, he is the one who offered up this Nyawlra. He is now in the Mars Cafe with two of my officers, Kahiga and Njoya. I must go now. Let me not delay you,” A.C. said apologetically. “I’m sure you have a lot to do, but when you return I will certainly take you up on your invitation and come for the more potent stuff,” A.C. said, and went away still laughing and muttering the name “Jonn Nose.”

Nyawlra made as if she were entering the nearest shop, but only the better to sneak a peek at the direction A.C. had taken. For a second she toyed with going past the Mars Cafe just to make sure that Kaniürü was indeed there, but this would have been like putting a finger in a hornets’ nest. She left the shop front and walked as if continuing in her original direction, but at the end of the block she quickly turned the corner.

“I had never felt so grateful at the presence of so many people in the streets of Eldares,” Nyawlra told Kamltl.

Wizard of the Crow
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