17
Even Tajirika thought that he would soon be a corpse. After arresting him they had blindfolded him before throwing him into a dark chamber. A tiny light above from a source he could not see was his only companion. The wardens brought him food and water in darkness and, like his captors, answered none of his questions. Day and night, amid painful silence, he was taut with anxiety. The thought that he might lose all his property was unbearable. There was nothing he would not have done to save his property, even if he had to prostrate himself before those responsible for his incarceration. But who were they?
He was struck by one suspicion after another. Had his wife, Vin-jinia, lied about him while in custody in exchange for her freedom? Or had Nyawlra been arrested and implicated him in her crimes?
He was desperate to face his captors in order to counter any lies told about him and show his readiness to repent whatever omission or commission he was accused of.
Sikiokuu had assumed as much. He knew that Tajirika’s present state of mind would result in all manner of unsolicited confessions. The wretched fellow was prepared to be even more at Sikiokuu’s mercy. Sikiokuu could then toy with various options.
Vinjinia’s intervention before the press, entirely unexpected, scuttled those plans, compelling Sikiokuu to extract as much information from Tajirika as he could before news of his arrest reached the Ruler in America. He ordered his people to start interrogations immediately.
They moved Tajirika from the dark chamber into an interrogation room and threw him into a chair. Nearly blinded by light, he blinked uncontrollably; at first he could not make out anything distinctly. Soon he understood that he was seated at a table in the middle of a room and that opposite him sat a man in a dark suit. For Tajirika this marked a big improvement on the dark chamber of his present captivity, but, pricked by humiliation, he breathed heavily with barely suppressed anger.
“Don’t be afraid. I am from the police,” the man said, and put his arm across the table to shake hands with Tajirika. “Call me Assistant Superintendent Njoya, Elijah Njoya.”
Tajirika ignored the hand.
“Do you know who I am?” Tajirika asked angrily, having forgotten his vow to himself to plead for mercy on bended knee.
“Of course, Mr. Tajirika. Who in all Aburlria can say he does not know of you?” Njoya said smoothly and matter-of-factly, annoying Tajirika even more by his seeming indifference at the outrage done to the chairman of Marching to Heaven. At the same time, Tajirika was flattered to hear that he was well known throughout the country.
“Why am I in police custody?” Tajirika demanded.
“In custody?” Njoya asked in a puzzled tone. “I am sorry, but there must be a misunderstanding,” he added in English.
“There is no misunderstanding. You apprehended me in Golden Heights, in my house, in front of my wife and servants.”
“When was that?”
“Are you trying to tell me you know nothing about this?”
“I learned of your being here only last night. So I presumed you must have arrived yesterday.”
“Yesterday? You should be talking of months instead of days. And I didn’t arrive’ here. I was thrown into the back of a Land Rover like a bundle of wood or a block of stone and dragged to this hellhole.”
“I am so sorry, Mr. Tajirika,” Njoya said, and indeed he spoke in a seemingly sincere tone, with the proper mix of fear, humility, and respect vis-ä-vis someone of Tajirika’s stature. “Mr. Tajirika, I am definitely going to look into this. You, as an employer, should know about subordinates. You might tell them to bring just one item and they bring ten instead. In fact, had it not been for your wife …”
“What about my wife?” Tajirika growled.
“Well, I believe she is the one who called late last night to alert the police that you were missing, and she wondered if you were here at the station.”
“You mean, she let all this time pass without alerting the police? Suppose those who abducted me had been thugs? I would have been a corpse feasted upon by worms.”
“Please don’t blame your wife. Maybe she did not know where or how to start. You know how it is with rural women …”
“My wife is not rural. She is very highly educated. She has a school certificate.”
“Excuse me. I am sorry. Whatever the case, she did a smart thing in letting those in authority know about the situation, and that is why I myself came to see you instead of sending a junior officer. By the way, as to your wife, please call her on the phone and assure her that you are in the hands of the government and that she should not worry unduly.”
Like a master conjurer, the officer produced a mobile phone from his pocket and handed it over to Tajirika. Holding the thing, Tajirika felt as if a bit of the life he had known had come back to him. He punched the numbers with firm authority and leaned back as he would have in his own office. Superintendent Njoya tiptoed out of the room as if out of respect for Tajirika’s privacy. Tajirika did not speak much because he was annoyed with Vinjinia for her tardiness in reaching out to the authorities. He told her, almost as if bragging, that he was in the hands of the government and she should not worry about him, that her duty was simply to look after their home and the business. He ended the call without asking her about either herself or the children and without giving her a chance to respond. Njoya now returned to the cell followed by another person who pushed a trolley with a plateful of hot chicken and rice.
Tajirika ate ravenously: it was the first tasty meal he had eaten in many a day. The aroma of good coffee capped his enjoyment, and as he belched with satisfaction he started thinking that maybe this Njoya was not such a bad person after all and that he might even turn out to be a friend of the policemen that Tajirika used to treat with Christmas gifts at the Santamaria post. Yes, he must be a friend of my friend Wonderful Tumbo. Or maybe a friend of a friend of his own friend Machokali.
“Thank you,” he told Njoya sincerely.
“You are most welcome,” Njoya said. “Now, Mr. Tajirika, I am sure you want to know why we asked you to come here. We just want you to help us clear up a few things, and then you will be a free man.”
“So you admit that I am not free}”
“It is just a manner of speaking. But let me advise you as a friend. It’s only an infant who does not understand the implications of things. You are clearly not an infant, and you do not appear to me to be a thickheaded fellow. Every person of means has enemies. You are no exception, Mr. Tajirika. There is no better way of defeating one’s enemies than by unburdening oneself. Your responses and manner are very important. Let out whatever troubles you. That is my honest advice.”
“Ask, for no person was ever taken to court for asking a question. I have nothing to hide or cover up. I have always sung the praises of the Ruler.”
“That is the spirit. But as you well know, there are some who sing praises to the Ruler all day and plot against him all night. So tell me this. Why didn’t you obey the summons to appear before the Commission of Inquiry into the Queuing Mania, as the commission was set up by the Ruler?”
That was not the kind of question Tajirika was expecting. He was about to say, You mean the commission chaired by my deputy? But he held back so as not to fall into the trap of appearing to split hairs when it came to the wisdom of the Ruler.
“I was ready, but things came up and I overlooked the day and time. Such a person as I needs to be given enough notice so that I may organize my affairs accordingly. We businessmen have a saying: time is money.”
“Like the English, eh?”
Flattered by the presumed similarity, Tajirika was about to say yes but recalled his recent illness when words had remained stuck in his throat, the source of the malady being his aching to be white. He shook his head from side to side.
“Well, please tell us about the queuing mania,” Njoya continued.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything. There is not much that could have escaped your notice.”
“You have spoken.”
“The queuing started at your place?”
“You have spoken.”
“What?” Elijah Njoya asked, a little irritated by the “you have spoken” business.
“I don’t know about all the queues, but I do know that one of the queues started outside my office the day Minister Machokali announced that I had been appointed the chairman of Marching to
Heaven. It was a short one, and the people dispersed after I had dealt with their needs, but even so I could see signs of bigger queues to come. You see, many businesspeople, on hearing about my elevation, started phoning me immediately; many came to my office to congratulate me and to introduce themselves. They so crowded in the reception area that my secretary had to ask them to form a queue to ensure more efficient service on a first come, first served basis.”
“A very good principle indeed. What did they want?”
“They’d heard that the Global Bank was about to release funds for Marching to Heaven. They wanted to make my acquaintance before the construction started so that later I would recall their faces when it came to awarding contracts for the completion of the project.”
“What about the workers, the job seekers, the wretched … whatever we may call them. What about them? Did they also hope to secure lucrative contracts?”
“I don’t know much about that because on the day when my appointment as chairman of Marching to Heaven was announced, they were nowhere in sight. But just before we called it a day, my secretary came up with the idea of engaging temporary staff to deal with the volume of calls and the number of businessmen visiting in person. All that—attending to the telephone, receiving distinguished visitors, keeping meticulous records—could not be handled by one person. I thought it a good idea. So I authorized her to plant a billboard inviting applications. The new signpost would replace the old one that said No Vacancy.”
“And who is your secretary?”
“Oh, please don’t remind me of her—she is evil,” Tajirika said furiously.
“What’s her name?”
“Nyawlra.”
“The terrorist?”
“The same.”
“Was she the one calling the shots in your firm? Or did she terrorize you until your head spun and you said yes to whatever she wanted?”
“No, in those days she appeared to be a good person and quite mature in her thoughts and in the way she carried out her tasks.”
“And physically? Was she also good-looking?”
“She was very beautiful, it is true.”
“Outstandingly beautiful?”
“Beauty itself.”
“The kind of beauty that makes all other beauties pale in comparison?”
“Oh, you should have seen her. Those cheeks. Those breasts. The way she walked. And those clothes that seemed as if the Creator Himself had outfitted her!”
“It seems that even today your mouth waters at the very thought of her.”
“My mouth is watering from bitterness, not love.”
“So there was a time it used to water with desire for her? Let me be direct, or shall I ask directly: was there something between you and her?”
“Our relationship never came to that,” Tajirika said, slightly agitated by the tone and tenor of Njoya’s line of questioning.
“You mean you never wanted to become acquainted with what was between her thighs? Why? Are you one of those Jesus is my personal savior’ employers?”
“Me?” Tajirika asked, reacting to what he saw as a challenge to his masculinity. He even laughed. “I have shown many a woman a thing or two. But Nyawlra was a little intimidating. Not that she spoke aggressively. How can I put it? It seemed as if her eyes could see straight into a person’s heart. Those eyes and the way she carried herself could make even the most lustful of males go limp. Perhaps if she had stayed longer I might … a real man never takes no for an answer, and when it comes to women my motto is Never Give Up.”
“So you lusted after her? Were you in love, perhaps?”
“That’s not exactly what I am trying to say, but …”
“I know, I know,” Njoya hastened to add. “As a man I know that once a man’s heart has become captive to a woman, there is nothing he would not do for her. I understand you completely, Mr. Tajirika.”
“But I have just told you. Nyawlra was like a firebrand without a handle.”
“So I understand you to be saying or trying to say that you longed for the firebrand but it had no handle.”
“No, no, it is not how you are putting it. But let me tell you, if today, this very day and hour, I were to hold that woman in these arms, I would wring her neck until she was dead. She is a traitor,” Tajirika declared with venom.
“Okay. Let’s set Nyawlra’s case aside. Let’s assume that she was only a secretary. You mean to tell me that your secretary comes to you, her employer, and tells you to hire more labor, and you agree and even okay her request to put up a billboard outside?”
“Yes,” Tajirika said, although he still did not like the way Njoya strung words together, making them sound so sinister.
“How many tempas were you hoping to employ?”
“Say about three,” Tajirika said. “Possibly five.”
“And for three people, possibly five, she persuaded you to put up a billboard to announce to all Eldares that there were jobs to be had?”
“How else would we have put it?” Tajirika asked. “There was more than one job available, so we had to put it in the plural.”
“You assented to her putting it in the plural, suggesting the availability of thousands of jobs?”
“I can’t recall the exact wording,” Tajirika said, feeling a little helpless before this professional twister of words and their meanings.
“You left it to her to arrange the words any way she wanted?”
“Look here, Mr. Officer. She was my secretary. A boss gives a good secretary a general notion of what he wants and it is up to her to respect the letter and spirit of his command.”
“And so it would be correct to say that Nyawlra was in general interpreting your wishes and carrying out your orders?”
“Yes, when she was on my premises. Beyond that I made no claims on her time.”
“Okay A good interpreter of your wishes while on your premises, and a free agent outside the official orbit, right?”
“Right. You can put it that way”
“So how did the queue of the workers begin?”
“You see, for some time after the day of my extraordinary elevation, I was not able to go to the office …”
“Why?” Njoya interrupted.
“I succumbed to an illness.”
“You were ill?”
Tajirika paused. How was he going to explain his strange illness to the inquisitor? An illness without a name?
“A heart problem.”
“No, just heart trouble.”
“A heart condition? That is very serious for a man of your age and bulging flesh. I am so sorry to hear of this, Mr. Tajirika. How long were you in hospital?”
“I didn’t actually go to any hospital.”
“You saw a private doctor?”
“Yes … No …”
“Is it yes or is it no?”
“Both.”
“What do you mean?”
“I went to see a diviner. I am not sure we can quite call his kind doctors.”
“A witch doctor. So you are one of those! Afathali Mchawi type?”
“It is better to call him simply a diviner.”
“But Mr. Tajirika, what if you had needed a bypass or a transplant? Would your witch doctor have managed?”
“Mine was not an illness of the organ itself,” Tajirika tried to explain. “I meant the heart as mind. Something like that.”
“You mean you were mad? Crazy?”
“Nooo! Hapana! No, no!” Tajirika denied the suggestion in three languages for emphasis. “I meant heart as when we say so-and-so is heartless or so-and-so is full of heart.”
“A psychiatric disorder, something like that, is that correct?”
“I don’t know much about the names of illnesses. But I think that a diviner could be called a psychiatrist of sorts.”
“Mr. Tajirika, let’s not worry about names. Whatever its name, your heart condition must have been very serious for you to boycott your office soon after becoming chairman of Marching to Heaven. Unless … ?”
“What?”
“It was a ploy, a diplomatic illness,’ or what in our line of work we call an alibi. You draw the plan and you leave the execution to others. Is that not what you told me that bosses do?”
“What do you mean?” asked Tajirika, a little confused.
“Supposing, and we are just supposing, that Tajirika wants an illegal assembly of workers, the riffraff of our society, say potential rioters, to queue outside his office, might he not want to absent himself and leave everything to the trusted interpreter of his wishes? You see, should he be called before a commission of inquiry he would say I was not there’ and produce his alibi, a hotel bill or a hospital admission slip or a doctor’s letter. You know the story of the thumb and four fingers? They used to be together, all five, a kind of brotherhood of the fingers. Then one day Thumb proposes, Let’s go. Where? the others ask. To Mr. Ndego’s bank, says Thumb. To do what? the others ask. To rob the owner, to rob the bank, Thumb says. What if we are caught? they ask. Hey! I will not be there, Thumb says, and up to this day Thumb remains his innocent self, apart from the other four, who remain bound together by their crime.”
Tajirika wanted to pick holes in the story. In the traditional, it is the little finger that comes up with the idea of theft and there is no mention of a bank. Njoya had also mixed up the story of the thumb with a very different one in which a mother, avoiding a direct answer to her child’s question as to where she is going, talks vaguely about a visit to a fictional Ndego’s home for a meal consisting of one bean only. But Tajirika did not. He was angry and terror-stricken at the drift of Njoya’s inquiry and tone, which smoothly implied treason and death.
“I don’t like what you are insinuating. I am a loyalist. To be very frank, I was taken to the shrine of the diviner without my knowledge. I was that ill. And I missed work not just one day but several days, more than a week. Why should I risk my life’s work and property for the sake of starting a queue of riffraff and job seekers? A job-seeking queue is not exactly a beauty pageant.”
“You claim that you were away from your workplace for days, even weeks. Did you close the office?”
“No.”
“Who ran the office in your absence?”
“The secretary. I mean, she was the only one there who …”
“By the secretary you still mean Nyawlra?”
“Yes … but my wife, Vinjinia, later went there and was in charge. Completely in charge. What did I tell you? She is not a village woman. She is highly educated. She has …”
“So Nyawlra and Vinjinia were the ones present when the queuing mania started? Is that what you are saying?”
“Yes!”
“So only those two can give eyewitness testimony as to what occurred?”
“You have spoken.”
“What?”
“Only those two can give a proper account because they were there. All I know is hearsay.”
“When did you go back to work?”
“After the convocation at the site for Marching to Heaven.”
“The one held at Eldares Park?”
“You have spoken.”
“Spare me the Jesus speak. What are you implying, Mr. Tajirika? That I’m Pontius Pilate to your Jesus Christ?”
“No, no, no. There is no way I would even dream of such a thing. I am human. I am a sinner.”
“Then confess your sins!”
“What do you want me to confess?”
“I was not there when you sinned.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Answer my questions fully and simply. The day you say you resumed work, was that the same day you got cured?”
“By that time I was already cured. A couple of weeks before, in fact. I had been resting at home, not doing much of anything.”
“Mr. Tajirika, you confuse me even more. Please clear this up for me. Are you telling me that between the day you learned that you had been appointed chairman of Marching to Heaven and the day of the dedication of the site, you never once went back to your office to see for yourself how things were?”
“I did go there once, on the morning that I left the doctor’s …”
“You mean the witch doctor’s shrine?”
“Yes, the diviner’s haven. To be very frank, that was also when I beheld the queues for the first time and, believe me, Officer, it was an overwhelming sight. A frightening sight. The queues were all over Santamaria. My own offices were almost under siege. I slipped in through the back door, a special entrance.”
“Let me see if I am getting this right. On that day, you were not ill?”
“I have told you that I had just then come from the doctor.”
“The witch doctor?”
“Let’s not quibble over a word. What I want to know is this. You were then completely free of your illness?”
“I assure you that I was completely cured. I never felt better in my life.”
“So now, Mr. Tajirika, why did you then stop going to the office even after you were cured? Or did your heart troubles start up again at the sight of all those queues?”
“You said I should speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”
“And the truth shall make you free. Is that not what the Bible says?”
“But you said that I was not in custody.”
“It is just a way of talking. Tell the truth and shame the Devil.”
“You see, after I had managed to sneak into my office, I telephoned Machokali.”
“The minister?”
“There is only one Machokali in the country, and he is my friend.”
“I just want to make sure. We policemen are like doctors. Modern doctors, not your witch doctors or diviners as you call them. A good modern doctor makes sure that he knows all the facts about a malady. For only then can he prescribe the correct drug. We police detectives are truth diggers, and we like to base our case on facts. So do I take it that when you mention Machokali, you are talking about Machokali, the one and only Minister for Foreign Affairs in the government of the Buler of Aburlria?”
“That’s right. I was calling him to ask him whether he could arrange for armed forces to come and disperse the crowd.”
“That’s strange. Had the minister ever told you that he had powers to call on the army to do this or that?”
“I thought that as a minister he would know whom to contact.”
“Tell me, Mr. Tajirika, had the minister ever told you that he knew of any person or groups of persons other than the Buler who thought that they had the power to authorize actions by the army?”
“Oh, no, no, no. Nothing of the sort. But what he told me made me look at the queues in a very different light.”
“What did he tell you?”
“He told me that those queues were very important.”
“Yes, because the queues served to show that the people fully supported the Marching to Heaven project. The queues were demonstrations of support.”
“Go on. What else?”
“As a matter of fact, it was the minister who advised me not to go back to work, that I should stay at home as if I were still ill …”
“Pretend that you were ill? But why?”
“So that the queuers would not disperse after their job-hunting needs were settled one way or another. As long as they waited for me, they had some hope and hope would keep the queues alive.”
“So what he told you is that you should lie and say that you were still ill even though you had never felt better in your life?”
“No, not the way you are putting it. He just wanted the queues to remain in place for as long as the Global Bank mission was in the country and not disperse before the dedication of the site for Marching to Heaven.”
“Okay Let’s see. You are in this grip of a false illness. You have agreed to stay home to recover. Who was looking after your business?”
“Vinjinia, my wife, became the acting manager, with the … the … you know … the secretary as her assistant. A helper.”
“You mean Nyawlra?”
“The same.”
“And because Vinjinia was not very experienced, it was really Nyawlra who was entrusted with managing your affairs, is that not so?”
“Yes, Nyawlra had more experience, but she was definitely not in charge. She was a minion.”
“Demoted? You know how women are: they are jealous of one another. Some women are not satisfied unless they are the only woman in a male domain. The One Woman syndrome.”
“No, she was not demoted and there was no jealousy. To make her happy and ensure continued loyal service in my absence, I had given her the quite meaningless title of assistant to the acting manager. But she was nothing but a glorified receptionist.”
“Machokali … were he and Nyawlra acquainted?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“But Machokali used to call you at your office?”
“And all his calls went through the receptionist.”
“Sometimes. But he also called me direct. I would say most times.”
“Did Machokali ever visit you in your office?”
“Yes, but not often. Only when passing through this side of Santa-maria. Eldares is a big city, you know. Several towns in one, if you ask me.”
“And so if Machokali and Nyawlra had made private arrangements to meet elsewhere in this city, which, as you say, contains multitudes, you would not know, would you?”
“That is right, but I somehow don’t think they ever met outside my office.”
“But if they did, you would not know?”
“That’s right.”
“When was Machokali’s last visit to Santamaria?”
Tajirika hesitated. He could not remember whether their last encounter was supposed to be a secret or not. But he decided to err on the side of truth. Besides, deep down he did not mind showing this police officer that he, Tajirika, was well connected, that Machokali was his friend.
“He came to see me just before he and the Buler left for the USA.”
“He came to the office?”
“No. We met at the Mars Cafe.”
“So he did not come to the office to say good-bye to Nyawlra?”
“I think that Nyawlra had fled by then.”
“But you have already admitted that if they had made secret plans to meet, you would not know?”
“I really and honestly don’t think they met.”
“How can you be so sure? Did you know where Nyawlra was then hiding?”
“No.”
“And you were not with the minister all the time, everywhere?”
“No.”
“No to what?”
“To the suggestion that I might have been with the minister the whole day. We met at the Mars Cafe, and after our talk he left me there.”
“So all that you can say is that you never saw them meet?”
“Yes, but that does not mean that I believe that they did,” Tajirika continued assertively, sensing a trap.
“But you cannot swear in a court of law that they never met on that or any other day?”
“That I cannot swear,” Tajirika hastened to say, alarmed at the mention of a law court.
“What was the purpose of his visit? Why did he want to meet with you?”
“He came to say good-bye. We are friends.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing.”
“Let’s go back to your illness. You say that you were taken to a witch doctor for a cure. Who took you there?”
“My wife, Vinjinia.”
“How did she come to know of the witch doctor?”
“The secretary told her about him.”
“Nyawlra?”
“Yes. Nyawlra.”
“So in everything, be it your business or personal and family matters, this Nyawlra was somewhere in the background? A chief personal and family adviser?”
“Please spare me the name. Were I, with all that I now know, to catch that Nyawlra woman, I …”
“… would wring her neck until she was dead,” Elijah Njoya finished the sentence as if echoing him in mockery. “I know exactly what you would do powered with hindsight, and I commend you for it. Now, Mr. Tajirika, let’s be serious. I want to assure you that you have been very helpful and that if you continue cooperating with us you will see a change in your circumstances. The only thing I would warn you against are lies. Remember? Only the truth shall make you free. Are you sure that you have told me everything?”
“I have told you all the truth I know.”
“There is nothing you are holding back, a little detail, anything?”
“Nothing.”
“And by the way, what is the name of the sorcerer who cured you?”
The question caught him unawares. He was about to say the name, Wizard of the Crow, when the implications of revealing it suddenly struck him. Money. The three bags of money. What if the diviner revealed the existence of the three bags of Burl notes and, worst of all, that they were “visiting cards” from those who hoped for later gains from Marching to Heaven? The last thing Tajirika wanted anybody else to know was that he had already pocketed money from a scheme involving the Ruler. The three bags of Burl notes must remain a secret buried forever in the innermost recesses of his head.
“I don’t know his name.”
“Are you sure? You don’t know the sorcerer’s name?”
“A diviner is simply known as Diviner. I am not alone in this. Many who visit these healers don’t bother to remember their names. A diviner is not exactly someone you would have over for a party or a tete-ä-tete in your office.”
Njoya laughed at this.
“You have a sense of humor, Tajirika.”
“Thank you, Mr. Officer …”
“Call me Elijah. Your friend.”
“Elijah, my friend,” said Tajirika. “Can I go now?”
“Why not? Let me see about your transportation. Good luck, Mr. Tajirika.”
At first Tajirika felt a sudden depression at being left alone. But as he reviewed the encounter, he felt relief and even triumph as he realized that not only had he deftly thwarted all attempts to link him to NyawTra, the queuing mania, and Machokali’s supposed plots, he had also avoided telling details of his illness, had gotten away with lying about the name of the Wizard of the Crow, and, most important, had not revealed anything about the three bags of money. Besides, he had won Njoya over and turned him into a friend and by tomorrow he would be lying in his own bed in Golden Heights.