by Steve Cash
We had already planned a big fiesta for Jack’s birthday, but Ciela saw no reason why we should wait. Within an hour she and the girls had prepared a delicious ajiaco, which they served outside, along with the American beer that Jack brought with him. As the celebrations were beginning, we had two surprise guests, a boy and a girl who arrived in a taxi all the way from Havana. The boy wore an old red beret and grinned at me with dazzling white teeth. The girl wore heavy black eye makeup, reminiscent of Cleopatra. It was Ray and Nova.
Nova went straight to Carolina and gave her a long and warm embrace. Ray looked at Carolina, Ciela, and all the girls, then glanced at Willie Croft, Jack, Star, and finally Caine, who was now nearly eighteen and stood a foot taller than Ray. He turned to me, taking off his beret and fanning his face with it. “Damn, Z, I thought this was supposed to be Cuba.” He waved his beret in the direction of Carolina, the girls, and everybody else. “This ain’t nothin’ but South St. Louis.”
I laughed out loud. It was always good to see Ray. “How was New Orleans?”
“We only spent a few weeks down there, Z, then took off for Mexico. New Orleans has lost its charm if you ask me. We were in Veracruz until last week. I called Jack and he said he was goin’ to Cuba. When he told me about Owen, I thought we ought to come for a little visit.” Ray glanced at Carolina. “I know it’s been a while now. How’s she doin’, Z?”
“She’s all right, no, she’s better than that—she’s remarkable. We buried him over there,” I said and pointed to the “Honeycircle.”
Ray looked off in the distance at the surrounding hills and the three mogotes standing guard on the horizon.
“Damn good spot,” Ray said. “Owen’s gonna like it here.”
Jack brought us all up-to-date on current events everywhere, including the state of Major League baseball in America, the Depression, FDR, fascism in Europe, the Spanish Civil War, and several long and hilarious tales involving his most recent girlfriends. Carolina was prompted to say he should be ashamed of himself. Of course, Caine loved these stories best and begged Jack for more. Opari and I were concerned with what Jack told us about the war in Spain. We learned that as recently as March 30, the Nationalists had opened an offensive in the Basque region. The Nationalists had also enlisted the help of the Italians and the German Luftwaffe. The fighting was bitter and bloody and Spain itself was being torn apart. Jack said this was only the beginning—it would get much worse for Spain, the Basque, and their homelands. Opari had not seen her homeland in over twenty-eight hundred years, but she thought this news to be especially foreboding. My first thoughts were of Pello and his family and tribe. If the war came to them I knew they would fight, and fight to the death. What I couldn’t understand was why Geaxi and Mowsel were traveling directly into a civil war. The Meq have never involved themselves in Giza politics or war and try to avoid all war zones, even in their homeland.
Two weeks later, Willie Croft received a cable from Arrosa in Cornwall. In it she said Koldo had left Caitlin’s Ruby for Spain. He was headed for Pello’s compound of small estates and caserios only a few miles outside Guernica. Opari told me the town of Guernica was considered an ancestral and symbolic home for all the Basque. On Jack’s birthday, the twenty-sixth of April, before Willie could cable Arrosa an answer, we heard the shocking news of the bombing of Guernica and all the nearby towns and villages. It was the first known aerial bombardment of civilians with the intent of total annihilation. Squadrons of German planes dropped bomb after bomb starting about four o’clock in the afternoon on market day and continuing until darkness, creating a firestorm that burned the town into oblivion. Men, women, and children died by the thousands under the bombs, bullets, and falling buildings. Many were gunned down in the surrounding fields while trying to flee.
“So this is the twentieth century,” Opari said, barely in a whisper. Her eyes were the most beautiful and sad I’d ever seen. “The Modern Age, no?”
We waited for word from Spain or from Arrosa and heard nothing for three days. Finally, Willie Croft made the decision to leave immediately for Caitlin’s Ruby. Star surprised no one by announcing she was leaving with him. Star and Willie had been living together as a true couple for months. It was Caine who surprised everyone, particularly Carolina, when he announced he was going along. He said he’d always wondered about Caitlin’s Ruby and he wanted a chance at attending Cambridge. Caine had been home-schooled in Cuba, but he also had amassed a large library at Finca Maria and read voraciously. I thought he had a decent chance and wished him well. Carolina beamed with pride and I think Star saw, possibly for the first time, a little bit of Jisil come clearly into focus through Caine’s eyes. Willie gave Caine a wink and said, “I know just the man to reach. He’ll make certain you get a damn good crack at it.”
Carolina and Indio drove Willie, Star, and Caine to Havana where they would catch a ferry to Miami, then sail for England. The rest of us said our farewells to them at Finca Maria. Star leaned in close to me as she turned to leave and whispered, “Should Caine and I still worry about the evil one?” There was no true answer, but I didn’t want Star or Caine living in fear, even if that fear was justified. I also knew they were powerless against the Fleur-du-Mal. He had proven it over and over again. So I lied and answered, “No.” That same night, rain began to fall throughout the Vinales Valley and most of western Cuba. It rained for six long days and nights. The temperature never fell below eighty degrees and the humidity soared. On the afternoon of May 4, my birthday, a taxi arrived from Pinar del Rio. Inside, there appeared to be two children in the backseat, a boy and a girl about twelve years old. They both got out slowly. The girl wore a black vest held together with leather strips attached to bone, ballet slippers for shoes, and she carried a black beret in her hand. I saw a profound weariness in her eyes. The boy seemed to need assistance from the girl and placed his hand on her arm for guidance. Once outside, he jerked his head back and breathed deeply, taking in the heavy, humid air and filling his lungs, straining to catch the rich, sweet scents of Carolina’s “Honeycircle” in the distance. The boy’s hair was dark and it curled around his ears and over his collar. He wore a white cotton shirt, loose black trousers, and despite the heat, leather boots laced to the knees. His eyes rolled back in his head and he grinned wide, revealing the gap of a missing front tooth. It was Trumoi-Meq and he was blind.
I walked out to meet them. “Buenos dias, young Zezen,” Geaxi said. She paused and looked around, stopping to stare at the mogotes, three humps of gray-black stone and green vegetation barely visible on the horizon. “I assume this is Finca Maria,” she said softly. Her voice was as weary as her eyes.
No one spoke of Trumoi-Meq’s blindness or asked Geaxi the reason for their sudden appearance. Opari and I simply welcomed them to Finca Maria and everyone, including Ray, embraced, then Carolina led us all inside. Mowsel walked beside Geaxi, sensing her movement more than touching her, and moving with equal grace. His blindness seemed almost undetectable or somehow irrelevant.
Ciela prepared a simple meal of black beans and rice, which we ate in the kitchen, pulling up chairs around the table or sitting on countertops. We limited our conversation to local gossip and the latest news from Biscuit in Havana. Indio and Jack discussed politics and Cuba’s current dictator, Fulgencio Batista, but the civil war in Spain and the massacre at Guernica were never mentioned. Everyone respected Geaxi’s and Mowsel’s silence. We each knew they would take us there eventually, when the time was right and they were ready.
After dinner, it was Jack who suggested coffee and sweets on the veranda. Carolina, Ciela, and Indio stayed inside while Jack and the rest of us sat outside on wicker chairs facing west. The sun had just disappeared behind the mogotes and the rain had finally ceased. Two dogs barked in ragged dialogue somewhere far in the distance, however I might have been the only one who heard them. Geaxi and Mowsel sat quietly. Ray glanced at me once, saying nothing. Nova never spoke and held Ray’s hand, as Opari held mine. Jack broke
the silence, lighting a cigar and saying, “Z, I think we ought to take everybody down to La Coloma tomorrow. I think you ought to go skin diving.”
I looked at Jack and smiled and thanked him with my eyes. I knew instantly going to La Coloma was exactly what we should do. Opari squeezed my hand, thinking the same thing. “Yes,” I said without hesitation. “Let’s go to La Coloma. Tomorrow!”
We rose early and packed what we needed into the old DeSoto, then headed south. Jack had the wheel and he handled the rough Cuban roads as best he could. Geaxi remained attentive, but spoke rarely. Mowsel was more animated and asked question after question about the Cuban landscape and climate. Ray asked Mowsel if he’d ever been to Mexico. To my surprise, after such a long life and countless journeys, Trumoi-Meq answered, “No, I have not.”
Approaching La Coloma, I decided to bring up something Geaxi had said in her letter from Malta, before she and Mowsel left for Spain. She was staring out the window. I leaned over and tapped her on the knee to get her attention. She turned her head toward me slowly. “You said you found something on Malta, something underwater,” I said. “What was it, Geaxi?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because where we are going, there is something unusual that was found here and it was also found underwater.”
Geaxi glanced at Mowsel. His eyes were focused elsewhere, but his head was turned and tilted in my direction. “What is it, young Zezen?” she asked.
“A sphere or ball. A perfectly round, solid granite ball.”
Mowsel opened his mouth in surprise. “With engraved markings and symbols?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And a strange, small handprint engraved on top?”
“Yes.”
“This sphere, it was found by a diver?” Geaxi asked.
“Yes, in an underwater cave by the father of the man who lives here. His name is Luis and his father died before Luis could learn the location of the cave. He still searches for the others.”
“Others?” Mowsel asked, tilting his head in the opposite direction.
“Yes. His father said there were other stone balls in the cave. That’s what we have been doing here all this time—searching for the cave.”
Just then, Jack came to a halt in front of Luis’s home a mile or so west of town. Luis was gone, probably at sea, however his door was never locked. Everyone in the tiny community knew and loved “the nice man who spoke with his hands.” Jack said he was going for supplies and would be back within the hour. He left in the direction of La Coloma and we hurried inside. I led everyone through the house and out into the courtyard and the shade of the orange trees. Mowsel followed easily, and without touching anyone or anything. Nova mentioned the many sculptures and admired the Olmec heads scattered throughout. Ray said he liked the orange trees. As we neared the low oak table, Geaxi saw the stone ball resting in the middle and stopped dead in her tracks. “It is the same,” she said in a hushed voice.
Mowsel reached his hand out. “Where is it, Zianno? Let me touch it.”
I took his hand and leaned over, placing his fingers directly on one of the markings, the old Meq symbol for “is.” “Do you recognize this?” I asked.
He said nothing for a moment, then smiled wide, exposing his gap in front. “This was in the cave in Africa!”
“Yes, it was.”
“What does this symbol mean?”
“It is the old word for ‘is.’”
“What do the other markings mean? Can you read them, Zianno?”
“No…not yet.”
Geaxi looked at Opari. “What do you make of this?” she asked. “Had you ever heard of these spheres, or seen them before?”
“Never. Zianno and I have debated the possible meaning for years. Nothing has been revealed. We are certain the sphere is old, very old, from before the Time of Ice, however its purpose remains an enigma.” Opari looked once at me. “And now we know there are other spheres in other parts of the world. What can this mean? Does this have anything to do with the Gogorati, the Remembering? If it does, we must decipher it.”
Mowsel had both hands on the stone ball and his fingers traced over the markings again and again, furiously following the lines and curves of the carved symbols. At times, his eyes rolled back in his head as he concentrated. Suddenly he asked, “How deep was this cave?”
“Thirty-five feet at least,” I answered. “Why?”
“Because the cave on Malta was approximately the same depth. This is important, do you see?”
“No.”
“Think, Zianno. With the melting of the ice, sea levels have risen since the world of the stone spheres existed! The face of the Earth itself has altered. Perhaps…just perhaps, the Meq have as well.” Suddenly he laughed out loud. “Yes, Opari,” he said, tilting his head and searching for her scent and presence. “These spheres have everything to do with the Remembering.”
“Then why am I unable to read this writing, except for one word?” I asked.
“Because the spheres have nothing to do with our Remembering.”
I looked at him blankly. I didn’t understand, nor did anyone else.
“Do you not see, Zianno? The answer is as simple as it is mystifying.” He paused again, staring into space.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“There has been another, earlier Gogorati. Ours will not be the first!” He laughed again. “Who is to say, perhaps there have been many?”
The thought raced through each of our minds and instantly, intuitively, we knew Trumoi-Meq was right. The idea was outrageous and mind-numbing to think of the expanse of time involved, but somehow we knew that it was true. And that made the Gogorati seem more confusing and fearful than ever. What was it?
Jack came back sooner than expected, saying he had hit the jackpot in La Coloma. He opened the trunk of the DeSoto and displayed two wooden crates full of lobster and shrimp, harvested that morning by a local fisherman. Jack bought the fisherman’s entire catch plus rubber fins and masks his children no longer used. “Enough for everybody,” Jack said, then asked if I would mind picking up some fresh fruit at a little stand he saw not a mile from Luis’s house. Geaxi decided to accompany me and we set out walking under a brilliant blue sky with towering white cumulus clouds building to the south.
Two children, a boy and a girl, ran the fruit stand. There wasn’t much to buy in the stand, but what they had looked delicious—coconuts, ripe bananas, lemons, limes, and a Cuban passion fruit called guerito. Ciela served it often, by itself or mixed with other fruits. Geaxi held one of the apple-shaped fruits in her hand and asked the children in Spanish if they knew where the fruit got its name. The children said no and Geaxi told them the name came from its flower, which was known as “flor de las lagas, or flower of the five wounds.” At first the children showed no understanding, then they beamed, smiling and saying in unison, “Ah, sí, sí, Pasion de Cristo!” I paid for our fruit and turned to leave, but Geaxi lingered, talking and laughing with the children. I watched her carefully. When we returned to Luis’s house, it seemed as if she had been partially renewed, in a manner similar to the way our bodies heal, only this was a wound that could not be seen. Ten minutes later, without anyone asking, she gave us a full account of what happened in Guernica and to whom. She started talking and didn’t stop until the awful tale was told.
Geaxi and Mowsel entered Basque country on the night of April 25 from the north, through the Pyrenees using secret trails and hidden routes they had known for centuries. Pello and several Basque compatriots met them outside Pamplona. The men all wore berets and most carried rifles. Geaxi said their faces each reflected the stress of war and their eyes knew death at close range. In stolen trucks, the men drove through the night, arriving at Pello’s compound of caserios before dawn. After sleeping through the morning, Pello suggested going into nearby Guernica for market day. War or no war, Pello wanted to have a feast to celebrate Geaxi and Mowsel’s arrival. In Pello’s tribe, the ritual was
older than the country of Spain itself and he had no intention of letting a few fascists from Madrid break the tradition. A group of twenty or so men, women, and children, along with Geaxi and Mowsel, piled into two open trucks and started through the hills for Guernica. At that time, Guernica was an open town far behind the lines of fighting and Pello felt there was nothing to fear.
Geaxi said the sky was a clear, soft blue and the market was full. Peasants crowded in from the countryside and all the neighboring villages. The women shopped and gossiped, the men smoked and relaxed, and the children spilled out in five directions. The afternoon passed. At 4:30 P.M. a church bell rang the alarm for approaching airplanes. Five minutes later a single German bomber dropped three or four bombs in the center of town. Fifteen minutes later came another bomber, then more and more, wave after wave of bombers followed by fighters demolishing Guernica and murdering innocent people indiscriminately and without mercy, killing anyone, even machine-gunning children trying to run away through the fields. Geaxi and Mowsel were trapped in the town along with everyone else. She saw Pello trying hard to get his people to safety, but there was too much chaos and they were too scattered. Building after building began collapsing. Geaxi said she and Mowsel took refuge in a sewer, standing six inches deep in water until the attacks subsided. People screamed with pain everywhere. Most were missing arms or legs or both. Blood pooled and ran in the streets and people were dying all over the crumbling town in piles and heaps. Geaxi and Mowsel waited, then made their break for safety. As they were running past the church of St. John, Mowsel saw a girl wandering aimlessly, in shock and completely oblivious to everything. Just then, the incendiary bombs began to fall. Mowsel stopped and tried to get the girl to take his hand, but she only stared at him, then backed off in horror. He tried again. Suddenly she turned to run into the church and Mowsel reached out and grabbed her just in time. The church of St. John exploded and stone, glass, and splintered wood knocked them all back ten feet. The girl was left unconscious, but alive, and Geaxi was unhurt, except for several cuts and bruises. Mowsel had taken the blow directly in his face. Hundreds of tiny shards of glass ripped into both eyes and destroyed the optic nerve. Instantly, he was blinded and probably beyond normal Meq restoration and repair. He was also bleeding. Geaxi quickly tore her shirt into strips and wrapped a temporary patch around his head. With Mowsel holding on from behind, Geaxi carried the girl to safety in the hills, where they stayed the night. Geaxi said she never slept, and all night long she watched the most ancient town in Basque country become an inferno.
