by Steve Cash
The other item was an elegant black lacquered box, probably Chinese, with the initials S.J.B. painted on top in crimson red. The box was old, yet still in excellent condition. Jack unfastened the tiny latch on the front and lifted the lid. He looked inside. “It’s a letter,” he said. Jack took the envelope out gently and laid it on Carolina’s desk. The paper was yellowed and fragile, but the ink of the writing was visible and clear. The letter was addressed to Solomon J. Birnbaum, Hotel de Mondego, in Macao. It was stamped and dated September 1, 1885. Jack handed the letter to me. “You knew him best, Z. You should read it.”
I took the two-page letter out of the envelope and unfolded it carefully, making sure not to tear the paper at the creases. The first page read:
Monsieur Birnbaum,
Please excuse my English. Within this letter you will find the names of all the men I have met in the Orient who have done business with the Magic Child you seek by the name of Sailor. I have also included five names of men I know who knew another, only this one is not familiar to me. His name is Xanti Otso. Beware, these men are of doubtful and dangerous character. I now consider my debt to you, sir, to be paid in full. Adieu and God bless.
Capt. Antoine Boutrain, Bourdes Co.
Shanghai, 1885
The second page of the letter was filled with three columns of names. The first two listed the Giza who had known Sailor and the third listed the five who had “done business” with Xanti Otso. The names were in a dozen different languages and beside each name Captain Boutrain had written the man’s country of origin or the port where they had met. I read the lists out loud to everyone and no one recognized any of the names. Silently, I read over the lists again to myself. Suddenly one of the names looked familiar, then a face to match the name came to mind. It was the face of an old Ainu man I’d first met on the train to St. Louis, then again at Solomon’s “remembering.” There, through his granddaughter Shutratek, he asked me, “What do you keep alive?” It was an unusual question to ask and I never knew why he asked it. Still, I answered with the truth. I told him, “The Meq is what I keep alive.” My answer seemed to please him, but it definitely did not surprise him. Now I knew why. Sangea Hiramura was his name and I started to speak the name aloud and tell the others. I never got the chance.
Before I could say a word, Nova came stumbling in the room wearing only a torn cotton nightshirt. She was barefoot and covered with bleeding scratches on her arms and legs. She fell into Mowsel and Geaxi on the piano bench, sending them all to the floor. Ray rushed over to help Nova, while Geaxi got up on her own, pulling Mowsel up with her. Nova was conscious, but her eyes looked glazed and vacant, and her face was ghost white, except for ruby red lipstick smeared across her mouth. Tears mixed with heavy black eyeliner ran down her cheeks in black streams.
“Nova,” Ray said softly, holding her by the shoulders. “Come back, Nova…come on back to us…you can do it…you’re safe, Nova, you’re safe…come back now, darlin’…please…come back, baby.”
Nova’s knees buckled and she collapsed, but Ray held her shoulders and knelt to the floor with her slowly, letting Nova’s head come to rest in his lap. Opari hurried over to check her breathing and take her pulse. Jack said he’d get some water and a wet cloth from the kitchen and left the room. Mowsel asked Ray if Nova was conscious. Ray said, “I don’t know…maybe…her eyes won’t focus.” Ray was worried. This was much worse than anything Nova had been experiencing recently.
“Kiss her,” Geaxi said suddenly, almost laughing.
Everyone turned and looked at Geaxi. Mowsel angled his head sharply to the right and gradually, as he understood what Geaxi had said, opened his mouth in a wide grin and nodded his head up and down.
“What did you say?” I asked.
Geaxi looked at me, raising one eyebrow slightly. “I told Ray to kiss Nova, young Zezen. Was I not clear?”
“Yes, but…I don’t understand.”
“Geaxi is right,” Opari said. She looked up at me and smiled. “This is something you should know, my love, and I had nearly forgotten. It is older than all of us.” She looked back to Ray. “Kiss Nova on the lips, Ray, and she will wake, and wake as herself because she is your Ameq. This ancient gift is yours now, Ray,” Opari said. She reached out for my hand. “And ours, Zianno, if we should need it.”
“You got to be kiddin’ me,” Ray said. “Somethin’ that simple?” He didn’t hesitate and kissed Nova with passion. Nova’s smeared lips responded and she moaned once, as if she were being pulled from some other place. Ray held her close and after a few more seconds, backed away and looked in her eyes. She blinked several times, then focused and found Ray’s eyes. She lifted one hand and ran her fingers back and forth over Ray’s lips. No one spoke or moved. Slowly, deliberately, Nova turned her head to see where she was and who was in the room. She gazed down at her bare feet and felt the scratches on her arms and legs. Then she stared directly at me.
“What happened, Nova?” I asked.
“I had a dream, Zianno.”
“What about?”
Nova turned and glanced at Opari, Geaxi, and Mowsel. She touched Ray’s lips again and smiled, only it was a timid, fearful smile. She looked up at me and started to laugh, then stopped herself. “A balloon,” she said.
“A balloon?” I glanced once at Opari, then back to Nova. “What kind of balloon?”
Just then Jack ran into the little room with a glass of water in one hand and a dampened towel in the other. Nova looked up at him from the floor. “Nova!” Jack shouted. He was surprised to see her conscious. “Here,” he said, handing her the glass and giving the towel to Ray, who wiped Nova’s eyes, cheeks, and mouth clean, then helped her to her feet and into Carolina’s chair behind the desk. Nova took several sips of water and thanked Jack twice. He asked if she was all right, if she needed anything else? Nova said no, she was fine, and sat back in the chair. The faint scent of honeysuckle drifted in through the open window and across her face. Nova turned her head toward the scent and breathed in deeply. She closed her eyes once, then turned back to the rest of us, completely awake and alert.
“Tell us your dream, Nova…if you wish,” a voice said gently. It was Mowsel’s voice and even though he was blind, he knew Nova was herself again.
She turned to me. “It happened so fast, Zianno, it was terrifying…and it didn’t feel like a dream…it felt real.”
“Where were you?”
“In the dream, I awoke as I would in this world, except I was standing by a gate at the entrance to a castle. I don’t know where I was, but I was waiting for someone. It was late morning on a beautiful summer day and the castle was deep in the hills. I could see the coastline of a large bay in the distance to the west. The only sound I could hear was the sound of wind blowing through pine trees. Then the gate opened and an old woman walked out. She was no taller than me and kept her head bowed. Her hair was elaborately braided and she wore a blue silk kimono covered with embroidered pink and white cherry blossoms and birds of every color. ‘I am Murasaki Shikibu,’ she said. ‘I see you have found me.’ She raised her head and smiled, staring at me with green eyes. She had brilliant white teeth and her smile was bitter and sardonic. ‘Look to the west, Nova,’ the woman said, and I knew who she really was. I turned and far to the west across the bay I thought I saw a balloon rising high in the air and changing colors like a kaleidoscope. Yet, somehow, I also knew it wasn’t a balloon; it was something else, something evil beyond description. The old woman turned to me and threw off her kimono and wig, laughing long and loud. It was the Fleur-du-Mal. He looked me in the eye and inside I felt the deaths of a hundred thousand souls passing through me at once. I screamed and tried to run away, but I don’t remember where I ran. I just ran and ran.” Nova looked down at the scratches on her arms and legs. They were already healing. “I must have jumped out of Carolina’s room into the honeysuckle bushes. The next thing I remember is waking to Ray’s kiss.”
For a moment no one spoke. I
glanced from face to face to see if anyone knew what the dream might mean or portend. Geaxi asked Nova if she had dreamed of the Fleur-du-Mal before. Nova said, “Never.” Mowsel leaned forward and asked if she had ever been to Japan. “Never.” Opari asked the central question: “If the balloon was not a balloon, what was it?” Nova couldn’t answer; she only knew it was unspeakable. I asked, “Who is Murasaki Shikibu?” Nova shook her head back and forth. “I’ve never heard of her, Zianno.”
“I have,” Jack said. He was standing by Carolina’s bookshelves. He scanned the shelves until he found a certain book and tossed it to me. “The Tale of Genji by Lady Murasaki,” Jack said. “Her full name was Murasaki Shikibu. Most people think it’s the first novel ever written. She wrote it almost a thousand years ago.”
I looked at Nova. “Have you read this book?”
“Never.”
A few seconds passed in silence. No one knew what any of it meant, but we were all in agreement that the appearance of the Fleur-du-Mal in Nova’s dream must not be ignored. Geaxi said, “Zeru-Meq is due to arrive soon. Perhaps what he has to say will shed some light.”
Ray walked over to the open window and looked up through the trees, surveying the sky. It was cloudless and bright blue. “Well, I just hope he don’t come tomorrow. He won’t like it.”
“Why not?” Jack asked.
“There’s gonna be thunder, rain, and lightnin’ all day long, maybe worse.”
“How do you know that? Today’s a perfect day.”
Ray swiveled his head and grinned at Jack, but didn’t say a word.
I said, “Because he’s the Weatherman, Jack,” and Ray gave me a wink.
Ray was right, of course. Just before dawn, booming thunder woke us all and by the end of the day three separate storm systems had moved through St. Louis from the west. Ray grinned every time he saw Jack that day. On the sixth of June, the Cardinals played a doubleheader against the Phillies at Sportsman’s Park. Jack, Opari, Ray, and I went early and took our seats in Carolina’s box. Opari had become an avid fan of baseball. She even wore a Cardinals’ ball cap to the game, but took it off when she overheard someone behind her say, “What a cute little girl!” The Cardinals won the first game 7–2 and the umpire, “Ziggy” Sears, ended the second game early by calling a forfeit in the fifth inning and giving the win to the Cardinals. The Phillies had gone into a stall, trying to slow the game down until the Sunday curfew would cancel the game. The fans booed the Phillies off the field. On the way home, Opari asked about the unusual event. I told her in the game of baseball, the Phillies had tried a tactic that was more cheating than strategy, and such a play was against the rules. And in baseball, the umpire starts the game and can end the game, if necessary. On the field of play, he is the final authority.
“Zeru-Meq will find this game amusing,” Opari said. “He will like these odd nuances.”
“Speaking of Zeru-Meq, I thought he liked to arrive earlier than expected. Where is he?”
“I said he may arrive early, it has been one of his patterns, but nothing about Zeru-Meq is expected or predictable, my love. Zeru-Meq is his own umpire.”
“Yes, I know,” I said, groaning slightly. “I remember China.”
June 8 passed uneventfully and without a word or sign from Zeru-Meq. No one expressed concern. On June 13, the Browns played the Yankees in a doubleheader. Ray and I decided to go, even though we rarely attended Browns’ games. Both of us were anxious to see the second-year center fielder for the Yankees, Joe DiMaggio. Jack was covering the doubleheader for the Post-Dispatch and let Ray and me sit with him in the press box. In the second game, Joe DiMaggio smacked three home runs and made several great defensive plays. DiMaggio’s third home run towered over the center field fence and was caught by a kid who made a spectacular bare-handed catch. The kid waved the ball high in the air, then removed his cap and took several deep bows, which drew laughter from the big crowd. I couldn’t see the kid’s face clearly, so I borrowed Jack’s binoculars and focused on the center field bleachers, but the kid had already disappeared somewhere among the fans.
That night, long after dinner, Opari, Ray, and I walked the short distance to Carolina’s “Honeycircle” to have a quiet conversation about Nova. While we talked, Ray was catching lightning bugs and then letting them go. Opari stood by Baju’s sundial and I was sitting on the grass next to her. At one point, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow moving silently into the opening of the “Honeycircle.” I turned my head slowly. In the darkness, I could see the dark figure of a boy, standing with his legs spread wide and his hands on his hips. I panicked at first, remembering the Fleur-du-Mal’s figure standing over me in almost the exact same place the night he slashed every tendon in my knees and shoulders. I jumped to my feet and faced him. There was just enough moonlight to see he was wearing boots laced to the knees and some sort of gem on one hand because it sparkled in the faint light. He started toward me and I knew he wasn’t the Fleur-du-Mal.
“Zeru-Meq?” I asked.
The boy took another step. “I should think not,” he said, and kept walking until we could all see his face easily.
Opari laughed and said, “Hello, Sailor.”
Sailor tossed a baseball he was holding to me. When I caught it, he asked, “Did you see the catch, Zianno?”
I didn’t understand until I glanced at the ball. It was an authentic Major League baseball. “That was you today, the kid in the center field bleachers?”
Sailor didn’t answer, but asked if I was aware of the fact that the stitching on a baseball was remarkably similar to an ancient design for infinity. Then he asked, “Did you find the ‘List’?”
“Yes,” I said. “What about—”
Sailor cut me off. “I will explain later, Zianno.”
“But the letter from Zeru-Meq?”
“A necessary ruse,” Sailor said, glancing over at Baju’s Roman sundial. He stood in silence for a few moments admiring the ancient timepiece before he spoke. “Last week, on the eighth of June, in the Pacific and on the coast of Peru, there was a Bitxileiho. Totality exceeded seven minutes. The last time this occurred was over eight hundred years ago.” He paused. “Baju and I were there,” he said, then looked away quickly. He offered his arm to Opari and she smiled, folding her arm in his. “Shall we go inside?” Sailor asked, and started walking toward the big house before Ray or I could move.
“Damn,” Ray said.
“I suppose that means yes,” Sailor said over his shoulder.
I was surprised Sailor didn’t ask to see the “List” the moment we stepped inside. Instead, he suggested tea in the kitchen. Geaxi and Mowsel had gone for a walk in Forest Park. Nova was washing dishes and Jack was sitting at the table writing a letter to Carolina and Star. The popular song “My Funny Valentine” was playing on the radio in the next room. Sailor greeted Jack warmly, then walked over to Nova and embraced her. “How is my niece?” he asked quietly. I had never heard Sailor address Nova as “niece” and he seemed to be acutely aware of her recent fragile state of mind. Nova assured him she was fine. Jack left to turn the radio off and the rest of us took our seats around the table. Except for his boots, Sailor was dressed like any other kid in America. He even had a floppy, snap-brimmed cap exactly like the caddies at the golf course in Forest Park. He said he wanted to hear everything that had happened to Pello and his tribe in Spain. He knew there had been many deaths, but he wanted to know the extent. Opari prepared the tea while I tried to relate some of what Geaxi had told us about the bombing of Guernica. Sailor listened without moving. His “ghost eye” glazed and clouded and swirled. He was horrified. I hadn’t yet told him of Mowsel’s blindness when the kitchen door burst open and in walked Mowsel himself, followed by Geaxi.
Mowsel almost bumped the table. He stopped short and felt his way to an empty chair. He was mumbling something about glass greenhouses and light. Geaxi saw Sailor instantly and stood still in the doorway. Sailor watched Mowsel without saying a word. T
hen Mowsel suddenly fell silent and turned his head toward Sailor, but his eyes focused somewhere on the ceiling. He grinned and said, “Do I smell the sea or is that merely the scent of an old mariner?”
Sailor made no response. He glanced once at Geaxi, who said nothing. He moved his chair closer to Mowsel and held his hand up in front of Mowsel’s face. Mowsel continued to stare at the ceiling. Sailor leaned even closer. “How long have you been blind, old friend?”
Without hesitation, Mowsel answered, “Since Guernica.”
Sailor paused. “Do you think it is permanent?”
Mowsel dropped his grin and angled his head in the opposite direction. He seemed to be remembering something, maybe Guernica. “It is possible,” he said.
Sailor looked up to see if Jack was in the room. He wasn’t. Sailor’s jaw was set tight with anger and he twirled the blue sapphire on his forefinger round and round. I hadn’t seen him that way since northern Africa when he told me about the Greeks who traded and sold the bones of the Meq who had been slaughtered in Phoenician temples. Sailor turned to me. “These Giza…” he said bitterly, “they will kill us yet.”
