by Steve Cash
“Unai and Usoa,” she answered without hesitation.
I stared up at her for a full three seconds, then eased closer so I could see her eyes.
“You know them well, don’t you, Arrosa?”
“Yes, señor. They are also my godparents. My father was Aita. He…” Suddenly she let out a long sigh and the white rose dropped to the floor.
“This sounds complicated,” I said, “and you look tired.” I glanced at Opari and she understood. “Would you be able to leave this dance troupe now, Arrosa? And I really mean now. Can you gather your things and go with us? Stay with us while you tell us everything? Also, there is someone who needs to meet you and you her. I think she has already sensed your presence anyway. Can you come with us?”
She took a deep breath and seemed to be relieved of a great burden. “Thank you, señor. I will welcome the rest and I have much to say, much to ask.” She peeked behind her. “Give me one minute,” she said.
She was back and carrying a single suitcase in less than a minute, more like thirty seconds. She smiled down at both of us. “Thank you again. It is my honor.”
“And ours,” Opari said.
We turned to leave, and from somewhere in the semidarkness, I heard Mitch’s voice and a girl’s voice coming toward the backstage exit. “Go ahead,” I told Opari. “I’ll catch up. I want to thank Mitch for the evening.” Opari agreed, saying she would tell Owen of the change in plans. I turned back to wait for Mitch.
Mitch’s voice was calm, yet he seemed to be almost scolding the girl, not like an employee or dancer, but like a daughter. The girl was whining and begging him to let her stay. The two of them finally got to the stage door and stood under the red light.
“You can’t be hidin’ in here anymore. I told you a hundred times already,” Mitch said as he started to open the door. I was only twelve feet away, but neither he nor the girl had seen me yet.
“But how else will I learn? I got to learn the steps,” the girl complained.
“Not yet, you don’t. And not in my place.” Mitch opened the door. “You got to go. I mean now, right now.”
She started to leave, then spun around and leaned back into the light. That’s when she and I made eye contact. She was just a kid, maybe thirteen or slightly older, and she smiled at me—a genuine, ear-to-ear grin that radiated mischief and joy. I smiled back. Mitch noticed me and gently pushed her out the door.
Without ever mentioning the girl, he walked over and asked how everything went and I told him the “white rose” was coming home with us for a few days. He then asked how I liked the club, the sound of the band, and the tribute. I told him it was a great and glorious evening and all of us appreciated his generosity. I waited for him to volunteer some information about what I had just seen, then realized he was not going to offer any, but I was too curious.
“Who was the girl, Mitch?”
“Aw, just some girl from around here. She won’t stay out of my club, and I can’t allow it, Z.”
“What’s her name?”
“I call her ‘Tumpy,’” Mitch said, “but her name is Josephine.” He went on to tell me she was a good kid who had probably seen too much too soon and wanted out of her home and out of St. Louis. He was trying to help her, but she was anxious and he was worried she wouldn’t wait.
Fifteen minutes later we were in the Packards and on our way to Carolina’s. I was riding in the same car with Carolina and Arrosa. Carolina had readily accepted and welcomed Arrosa into her home, and she was in deep discussion with her about the new music the band had been playing. What did she think of the improvisations? What was it called, or did it even have a name? Arrosa answered with a word I had never heard before. She called it “jazz.”
Nova rode in the other car on purpose. She had acted nervous when Opari and I introduced the girl to everyone at the table, then I watched her consciously wait for Arrosa to step into our Packard before she scurried to the other one. I asked Geaxi to ride with her and explain to her what Sailor had explained to me years earlier when he introduced me to my Basque protectors and my Aita, Kepa Txopitea. “You come to them,” he said, “they do not come to you.” Nova seemed a little more like herself once we got to Carolina’s, but something was still bothering her. However, it had been a long day and night and I decided to talk to her about it another time.
The size and opulence of the big house astounded Arrosa. As Owen and Carolina showed her upstairs to her room, she was genuinely humbled and thanked Carolina profusely, saying she might sleep forever in such a comfortable place. Carolina said she certainly hoped that didn’t happen because Ciela would have a hearty St. Louis breakfast ready and waiting for everyone in the morning.
A short while later, Opari and I were also turning out the lights. Opari whispered, “The first day of April in America is a beautiful day, no?”
I laughed and agreed, but as I lay back on the pillow, over and over in my head, I kept hearing Jack’s voice saying, “Hey, Z, your shoe’s untied…your shoe’s untied.”
At breakfast we mostly made small talk. Everyone who was living in the house was present except Nova. Several times during the meal Arrosa complimented Ciela, at one point saying, “I have only tasted flavors like this in the small Cuban neighborhoods of New York.” Ciela laughed and kept the food coming. “Sí, sí,” she said, “es verdad, es verdad.” After breakfast I found Nova and asked if we could talk somewhere. She said she wanted to talk to me, too, and we strolled out to the “Honeycircle,” where the crocuses were still wet with dew. We walked over to Baju’s sundial and within minutes I knew I’d been wrong about why Nova had acted nervous around Arrosa. Nova had seen something the moment Arrosa stepped onstage at Mitch’s. She said when she looked at the white rose Arrosa was wearing, her real vision blurred and another reality, another vision, took its place. In this alternate vision Nova saw Arrosa’s throat being cut. The knife was flashing in bright sunlight, making it difficult for her to clearly see the one with the knife, but she could make out three things: the attacker was Meq, he had green eyes, and he wore two red ruby earrings. There were other images in the vision that came into focus and blurred again, including a gold mask and eyes that never close, a bleeding rose, and torches moving through airless darkness. Nova said she snapped out of it only after Arrosa left the stage. She asked me what it might mean and before I could even respond, I felt the old prickly feeling of the net descending. I didn’t know what the other images meant, but there was just one who could be the one with the knife—the Fleur-du-Mal. But what would he be doing attacking a young Basque girl, who meant nothing to him, in a vision of someone who has never seen him and probably never heard of him? I knew he was unpredictable, but it made no sense whatsoever. Also, I had to respect Nova’s “ability,” and yet I wondered if she could sometimes get it wrong, like Ray. Nova’s “ability” was the most baffling to me of all the varieties we possess. Even she seemed bewildered by it. Was she able to see real events to come, or did she see symbols of events; feelings and projections of her own fears and demons? And time was never part of the vision. For all I knew, each vision could be in some sort of dreamtime that has nothing to do with real events. However, if the Fleur-du-Mal was even remotely connected, I could not afford to ignore any “vision.”
It was clear why Nova was avoiding Arrosa. She knew the Meq are expected to be completely forthcoming and honest with their Basque protectors, and the same is true for them. It has been that way for countless generations and it presented Nova with a dilemma. Should she tell Arrosa what she had seen? Should she remain silent?
Sailor had told me in Cornwall to serve the family. I thought this was a good time to do just that. I made the decision for her and told her to stay silent. I advised her to establish close ties with Arrosa and learn as much as she could from her, but for now, stay silent about the “vision.” I told her we must first find out Mowsel’s message, then we could decide about what should or shouldn’t be revealed.
“Message?” Nova asked.
She was truly surprised and I realized she was unaware of Arrosa’s hidden mission. “That’s why she came. She has a message to deliver from Trumoi-Meq. It concerns Unai and Usoa.”
“Oh…I see,” she said, staring down at the crocuses. “And who better to deliver the message, right? The last in the line of the tribe of Caristies.”
“Right,” I said. I searched her eyes and their expression was enigmatic. I could read nothing, and the heavy Egyptian mascara gave her the appearance of wearing a mask. “Nova,” I said quietly, “you and I—” I stopped. I made sure we were looking at each other eye to eye. “We—you and me—are the only ones to be born in the West, in America, and carry the Stone.” I paused again. “We have much to learn, you and I.”
“I know, Z. I’m trying.”
“Get to know her, Nova. Learn from her, even though she is young. Learn the long history of your Stone and her tribe. Don’t worry about what you saw in your vision.”
Nova smiled and picked a few crocuses, gently shaking the dew from their long petals. “Arrosa probably needs our help,” she said, almost to herself.
“Most likely. More likely my help since I was close to Unai and Usoa shortly before they crossed in the Zeharkatu. No one knows exactly why, but Opari said that makes a difference. The Zeharkatu is our deepest mystery. It is the moment and place where our bodies become like the Giza and we begin to age. It is an act of ultimate surrender to your Ameq, and it allows us to procreate.”
“But—”
“I know, I remember what you said at ‘the slabs’—‘The old way will not work. The old Zeharkatu will not cross in the old way.’”
“I don’t even know why I said that, Z.”
“One thing at a time, Nova.”
“Come on,” Nova said and turned to leave. “Let’s find out the message. I know just the place to go.”
I gathered Geaxi, Opari, and Arrosa. We all followed Nova the short distance to Forest Park. It was early afternoon and the fair weather was holding. The park itself was crowded with people of all ages and descriptions. We passed around a nine-hole golf course that had been in existence for a few years, but was new to me. Several of the caddies removed their oversized caps and whistled at Arrosa, who ignored them entirely. I got the impression she had heard worse and dealt with it many times. Geaxi shouted something back to the caddies in a strange language I’d never heard and we kept on walking, laughing all the way.
Eventually, Nova steered us to Art Hill and on to a natural amphitheater nearby. Plays were performed there in the summer, she told us, with enough chairs for a thousand people. We stood at the top of the hill and below us were two large oak trees that framed the raised ground of the stage. Behind the stage there was a small bridge that spanned a creek called the River des Peres.
“Down there,” Nova said, “to the bridge. It’s a good place to talk.”
We bounded down the slope like kids playing tag and spread out on the bridge. Nova was right—it was a good place to talk. We could speak freely and listen without interruption. Geaxi and Nova took seats atop the wooden railing on one side of the little bridge and Opari and I sat across from them on the opposite railing. Arrosa paced back and forth between us and, for the next half hour, told us Mowsel’s message and warning, using his exact words whenever possible. She spoke rapidly and we learned many things in a brief amount of time, the first of which was the reason Trumoi-Meq was not with her.
Although Arrosa continued to refer to Sailor as “the one who wears the star sapphire,” we learned that Mowsel was worried about his “old friend” and was off to a mysterious destination in the Canary Islands. We were all worried about Sailor and without having to say a word, all of us, even Geaxi, agreed with Trumoi-Meq’s decision. Then we heard the sad and heartbreaking story of Unai and Usoa. Arrosa prefaced this part with a few personal anecdotes about both of them and how much they meant to her, especially Unai, who had saved her from despair and became her best friend following her father’s death. He knew people in New York and was instrumental in her move there and introduced her to other painters and artists.
When Unai and Usoa’s child, a boy, died from influenza, Arrosa didn’t hear about it until Mowsel told her six months later. By that time they had disappeared into the mountains, living hand to mouth and moving daily on an endless journey in search of the haunted vision that drove Usoa—she believed their boy had been switched with another and was still alive and kept hidden from her. It was insane, but Unai loved her from a place with no boundaries and told himself he would “see” what she “saw” if that’s what it took to live in this world, because he had decided long ago he would not live in this world without her.
Kepa and his family followed their movements and made sure they did not accidentally endanger themselves, but often they were hard to track because Usoa changed her mind or “found” a new direction and they would leave without warning. For a long time now they had not slept in the same place two nights in a row. Still, nothing about this worried Mowsel until he found out they had suddenly left Europe for New York.
Arrosa stopped her tale and looked at me. “And that is why I was contacted and sent to you, señor. Mowsel thinks you should be the one to be warned.”
“Me?”
“Yes. His words were, ‘Tell Zianno first. Go as swift as the train will take you!’”
I glanced in the eyes of Geaxi, Nova, and Opari. They gave nothing away. “Warn me of what?” I asked.
“Unai and Usoa search in vain for their child. It is fact that he died. They are helpless and pitiful and someone is using them and their unbearable grief. They were sent a letter from New York City, the New York Foundling Hospital, informing them that a young child, a boy, had been left at their doorstep and the baby could be Usoa’s ‘missing son.’ The letter also mentioned the child had one green eye and one brown. Mowsel said there are less than five people who know this fact. Unai and Usoa left within days of receiving the letter and have not been sighted since.”
“Is this unusual?” I asked. “Haven’t they been duped before? Anyone that delusional and fragile in spirit will be vulnerable to almost anything.”
“Yes, they have. But Mowsel sent me to talk with Reverend Bookbinder, the one who sent the letter. The child was left with a note pinned to his clothing, stating Unai’s full name and the only address in Spain where he can still be reached, a small town called Barakaldo, not far from Bilbao.”
“How would anyone know that?”
“There is more, señor. Mowsel said to tell you the Reverend caught a glimpse of the one who left the child. He said it was impossible to say whether the person was male or female, but the person was young, had green eyes, and wore red ruby earrings. Mowsel said this was necessary for you to know as soon as possible.”
My heart jumped and in my mind I could see his smile, his white teeth, hear his bitter laugh. I glanced at Nova and there was fear and concern in her eyes. Geaxi groaned and cursed. Opari placed her hand on top of mine. The Fleur-du-Mal, it had to be him.
Arrosa sensed our unease with the news. “Mowsel wants me to return to New York, either with you or without you, señor. He said you should follow your heart and choose carefully. But either way, I am to find this child and thereby find Unai and Usoa.”
“Of course,” I said, thinking not only of Unai and Usoa, but Carolina, Star, and the baby Caine most of all.
“Is there a danger for them, señor—Unai and Usoa?”
She waited for me to respond. Finally, I glanced up at her. I didn’t realize I had been staring down at the River des Peres. It looked polluted and puny, more like an open sewer than a creek.
“Yes,” I said in an even voice. “There is a danger.”
“Young Zezen,” Geaxi said suddenly in a firm voice. “There is no choice for you. You must stay here. I shall go with Arrosa. I know the danger well enough.”
Before I could even respond, Nova said, “I am going along. I need to go with Arrosa.�
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I looked at Nova and she was staring hard at me, with no intention of letting me say no. Opari squeezed my hand and said, “Geaxi is right, my love. You cannot leave St. Louis now. You know this one better than anyone. You know his nature, his obsessions.” She paused and waited for me to look at her.
I turned and Opari gasped slightly. She must have seen an old companion of mine returning behind my eyes, because I could feel it there, cold and clear. She must have seen the hate.
“Nobody knows him,” I said. “Nobody.”
Except for Jack’s birthday on the twenty-sixth, I found little joy during the rest of April. Arrosa, Geaxi, and Nova left for New York two days after our Sunday in Forest Park. Arrosa thanked Carolina for her hospitality and kindness and promised to return in the future. Nova told Owen Bramley she was going along just to see New York, and Geaxi gave no explanation at all for her leaving. I had already decided in Forest Park not to tell Carolina the real reason for their hasty departure. I wanted to help Unai and Usoa, but it could be a ploy the Fleur-du-Mal was using to lower our guard. I still felt the guilt inside for the Meq changing her world and her life forever. Geaxi advised me that the Meq should ignore guilt when it comes to relations with the Giza. I told her this was not just the Giza, this was Carolina and her family. Geaxi understood, though she disagreed, and let the subject drop.
After the three of them were gone, I retreated into a cocoon of constant worry. Opari was worried also, but not about the byzantine and deadly Fleur-du-Mal. She was concerned for me and reminded me that I would be no help to Carolina or Star or Jack or anyone else if I was only seeing my own thoughts and fears.
It wasn’t until the first of May that we finally heard something from New York. Arrosa sent a telegram saying the Reverend Bookbinder had mysteriously disappeared and no one else on the staff at New York Foundling Hospital seemed to have any knowledge of the child. She said she was “SEEKING OTHER SOURCES.” Then on the fourth, my birthday, I got another telegram with news I never expected. Unai and Usoa were on board the “ORPHAN TRAIN” and headed for the Midwest. Arrosa’s message ended simply with the words: “HAVE OBTAINED RELIABLE INFORMATION FROM FORMER NURSE—TWO-YEAR-OLD CHILD IS WITH THEM—WILL PASS THROUGH ST. LOUIS MAY 12.”