by Steve Cash
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.
The next day, after finding a home for the girl, they learned Pello Txopitea and twenty-three of his closest family and friends had perished. His son, Koldo, alone survived, but only by pure chance. Earlier in the afternoon, he had experienced an upset stomach and decided to leave Guernica and return to the compound. When Geaxi and Mowsel finally made it back, they asked Koldo if there was some way they could help. Koldo thanked them but told them they should probably leave Spain as soon as possible. He said there was nothing Geaxi and Mowsel could do. This was a Basque tragedy—the tragedy was theirs, the war was theirs, and it was only the beginning. Geaxi and Mowsel stayed long enough to say their farewells to Koldo and the remainder of his tribe, then walked out of Spain and began their journey to Cuba and Finca Maria.
“Why did you go to Spain in the first place?” I asked.
Mowsel answered. “There was a man in Pello’s tribe who contacted me on Malta. While blowing a bridge for the Republicans, he said he had exposed a cave in the rocks underneath. Something unique was found inside; however, he did not say what it was in the letter. Geaxi and I were too curious to stay away.”
“I only wish we had,” Geaxi whispered, “things might have been different.”
“You must put that thought out of your mind,” Opari said.
We were in Luis’s courtyard, sitting in the cane chairs around the oak table. Jack and Luis were grilling the lobster and shrimp not far away. Geaxi glanced at Trumoi-Meq, sitting proud and blind, tilting his head toward the drifting smoke, then leaning forward and caressing the stone sphere with his fingers, still feeling for the truth behind the symbols.
“What do you think, young Zezen? It is ironic, no?” Geaxi asked.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Geaxi.”
“As we learn more about the Remembering…little by little, we are falling apart.”
8. Puxika (Balloon)
When is childhood truly left behind? Is there a certain place, or place in time where this occurs? Is it inevitable? Is it in the mind, body, or both? Is it gradual, as the apple ripens, or is it in the moment the apple falls? Perhaps the answer lies with a grand balloon seen rising silently to the top of the sky; a terrible balloon that is not a balloon at all and shall never, ever be a toy.
We spent two continuous weeks in La Coloma under fair skies and on calm seas. We found no trace of the cave, but Ray and Nova fell in love with the underwater world of skin diving. I discovered Ray to be an excellent swimmer and faster below the water than any of us, including Luis. Geaxi said she had been diving since she was a child, but never with rubber fins and goggles. Mowsel always insisted on going along, though he stayed in the boat with Jack while we were underwater. Each day we sailed the coastline and every night we ate fresh fish and drank Cuban beer in the courtyard with Luis and Jack. It was a good and healthy two weeks for all of us. As we were preparing to leave, I asked Mowsel where he thought Sailor and Zeru-Meq might be. I was certain that wherever they were, they would have heard about the Spanish Civil War and realized our planned rendezvous in Spain in 1937 was out of the question. Mowsel said he had no idea and I should not hold my breath while waiting to find out. Sailor might inform us from time to time, if it suited him, but Zeru-Meq had never informed anyone of his whereabouts at any time. But that was before we returned to Finca Maria. The moment Jack pulled the old DeSoto to a stop, Carolina handed me a letter from Star. In the letter, Star said Arrosa was alive, well, and staying in Paris with Mitch Coates and Mercy Whitney. She had attempted to reach Spain after the bombings, but Koldo insisted she go back to England until the war was over. She fled to Paris instead. Arrosa had been devastated after learning of the deaths of Pello and the others. The only good news lay in the fact that she was now safe and out of harm’s way. Also, folded inside Star’s letter there was another letter, a one-page note and envelope postmarked six weeks earlier. The letter was addressed to me and had been mailed to Caitlin’s Ruby from Singapore. Opari translated for me because it was written in Chinese and in a style I didn’t recognize. She said the peculiar technique had gained popularity only during the T’ang Dynasty. I did recognize the signature at the bottom. The letter was from Zeru-Meq.
The literal translation was this:
The old one and this one assume no meeting in the homeland. The old one sails for the northern islands. All treasures need maps. Where two great rivers marry, in the city of the Saint, the “List” lies hidden in the wall. The old one requires the names. Meet this one in the city on the eighth day of the sixth month.
Zeru-Meq
I asked Opari to read it again. I knew “the old one” referred to Sailor, “the city of the Saint” was St. Louis, and the date was the eighth of June. The rest was a complete mystery to me. “Does anyone know what this means?”
“I only know Zeru-Meq has never written to us, nor has he ever been to America,” Mowsel said, bobbing his head back. “This ‘List’ must be of extreme importance. Que es, Geaxi?”
“No se,” Geaxi answered, then glanced at Opari. “Have you ever heard of a ‘List’?”
“No,” Opari said. “I am unfamiliar with this.”
I looked at Ray and Nova. “Do either of you know anything about a ‘List’ hidden in a wall?”
“Ain’t got a clue, Z,” Ray said.
“Neither do I, Zianno,” Nova added.
I looked at Jack. He was listening, still sitting in the driver’s seat of the DeSoto with the door open. To him, it was all gibberish and riddles. He shrugged his shoulders. Carolina stood a few feet away from the car, shielding her eyes from the sun. “I know what it is,” she said suddenly.
All heads turned to Carolina. She was staring at me, but her eyes were in the past.
Quietly I asked, “What is the ‘List,’ Carolina
?”
“It was 1904,” she said, “just before the World’s Fair. Solomon had helped many diverse people from the Far East, people he had met and befriended in his travels before his eventual encounter with Sailor.”
“Yes,” I said, “at Solomon’s ‘remembering’…all of them were there.”
“That’s right, Z, but there were some among them with something else in common besides Solomon, something you did not know.”
“What?”
One at a time, Carolina glanced at Ray, Nova, Geaxi, Mowsel, Opari, and then back to me. “Some had knowledge of you…of the Meq. Solomon said the names of these people were written on a list, a special list, which he gave to me to keep in my safe in Georgia’s room.”
“And Sailor…did he know about the ‘List’?”
“Yes, but…”
“But what?”
“Solomon told me there were a few names on the List he thought Sailor did not know about.”
Geaxi interrupted bluntly. “Who were they?”
Carolina glanced at Geaxi. “That I don’t know. I never read it. I simply locked it in the safe and forgot about it.” She turned back to me. “Until now.”
“We must leave soon,” Opari said. “Zeru-Meq will not be late; however, he may be early. It is an old pattern of his. I know it well.”
“I agree,” Geaxi said, “as soon as possible.”
I looked at Carolina. “They’re right…we’ve got to go.” I watched her. She still held her hand up, shielding her eyes. “Are you ready to go home, Carolina?”
“No, Z…not yet. I’ll give Jack the combination to the safe.” She dropped her hand and took hold of Opari’s hand, then mine, and the three of us turned and started walking into the house. “I believe I’ll stay here with Ciela a little longer,” she said.
By making a single telephone call to Washington, D.C., Jack made it possible for all of us to travel together and still pass through United States Customs without suspicion or delay. The customs agent in Miami was waiting for our entourage and ushered us quickly through a separate entrance with only a quiet smile and a wish that we “have a nice stay.” I asked Jack the identity of the man in Washington and Jack said he had never been told his real name, but Owen assured him the man could be trusted implicitly. Owen gave Jack the number in confidence five years earlier, along with instructions not to use it unless absolutely necessary. Owen called the man “Cardinal” and told Jack to always say the password “sunrise” when the man answered. Mowsel and Geaxi appreciated the assistance of “Cardinal,” as we all did; however, Mowsel expressed concern about not knowing the man’s true identity, while Geaxi wondered out loud if Owen had compiled a “List” of his own. Jack said he was not aware of one, but opening Carolina’s safe might answer the question. In five years, this was the first time Jack had called the number. It would not be the last.
Winding through the Deep South, our train passed through parts of Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, and Kentucky. Life in the rural areas seemed much the same as it always had, but when we slowed down, weaving our way through cities and towns, the effects of the Great Depression could be seen in each one. Whole blocks of buildings and businesses were closed, boarded up, and abandoned. In every city of any size, I witnessed men, women, and families on the move with little to eat and nowhere to go. Jack said, “Believe it or not, Z, things are better now than they were a few years ago.” As we crossed the Mississippi River and entered St. Louis, I saw the same effects. Still, it was midday June 1, the sun was shining, the city was bustling with more traffic than ever, and it felt good to be there. I turned to Opari. Before I could say a word, she whispered, “Welcome home, my love.”
Outside Union Station, Jack hailed a taxi and we loaded what little luggage we had into the trunk. Jack sat in front with the driver, while the driver watched the six of us in his rearview mirror, piling into the back, including a blind Mowsel in a beret, who grinned wide when he felt the man staring at him. He tilted his head in the man’s direction and removed his beret. “I smell the scent of the great river,” Mowsel said, “but tell me, sir, how is the baseball team faring, the one named for the Cardinal? I have heard much about them.” The driver continued to stare at Mowsel in silence for several moments, then turned to Jack. “Where to, mister? And is that kid for real?” Jack gave the driver Carolina’s address, then looked straight ahead and smiled. “You’ll have to ask him,” he said, “but as far as I can tell, they’re all for real.”
It was a tight squeeze for us on the ride to Carolina’s house, even with Opari sitting on my lap. I sat on the far right side and Mowsel sat on the far left with Geaxi to his right. Whispering in his ear, Geaxi described for Mowsel the people, automobiles, buildings, churches, trees and parks, anything and everything we passed, while he leaned his head out the open window to catch the changing scents and sounds along the way. Mowsel wanted to remember it, but more as a guide and internal map than an aesthetic experience. Ray sat in the middle and Nova sat pinched in next to me. At the intersection of Olive and Grand, I felt something prodding my right side and lower back. I asked Opari if she could reach down behind me and find what was causing it. She did and pulled out an old Post-Dispatch newspaper, rolled up and wedged between the seat and door. Opari unrolled it and read the date—May 7, 1937. The front page was covered with an enlarged photograph of the German zeppelin, Hindenburg, burning in the sky over Lakehurst, New Jersey, on the previous night. We had heard of the event in Cuba, but none of us had yet seen a photograph of it. In the photograph, underneath a massive ball of fire exploding above them, people could be seen running for their lives. None of us spoke. The photograph itself defined the horror of the tragedy. Opari began to roll the newspaper back the way it was, but Nova reached out and grabbed the newspaper and kept staring at the image and the photograph. She didn’t say a word or make a move. She didn’t even blink. She was frozen. Finally, Ray glanced at me, then ripped the newspaper from Nova’s hands and threw it out the window, which prompted the driver to yell something back at Ray. Ray ignored him and gently lowered Nova’s eyelids with his fingertips, then held his hand in place over her eyes. Gently, he pressed her head down on his shoulder and she relaxed, falling asleep the rest of the way.
“She has done this before, no?” Opari asked Ray.
Ray looked up at Opari and nodded, then whispered, “More than once.”
“Is she also having visions again?”
“No…not visions.”
“What then?” Opari whispered.
Ray turned his head as far to the right as he could and looked at me. “Dreams,” he said.
Carolina’s neighborhood was in full bloom. Overhanging trees and thick green hedges made her house barely visible until we turned into the long driveway. The driver let us out under the stone arch and Jack unlocked the big house first, then the carriage house above the garage and swung the louvered windows out wide. He told Ray to let Nova rest in Carolina’s room overlooking the “Honeycircle.” Jack said a soft breeze filled with the scent of honeysuckle might be just what she could use.
Geaxi, Opari, and I opened all the windows of the big house, letting the fresh air circulate. Jack had closed everything tight when he left for Cuba, nearly two months earlier. As I walked from room to room the hot, slightly musty air made the house seem old for the first time. In Caine’s room, I paused, then remembered something. I looked in his closet. I was fairly certain it would be there. I reached up and pulled down the shoe box where I knew he kept it, along with neat’s-foot oil and a clean cotton cloth. I took the lid off the shoe box and picked it up. It was small, made for a child, and old, a relic by modern standards, but the stitching still held and the leather was soft. I put one hand inside and pounded the pocket with the other. It was Mama’s glove and it fit me perfectly. I rubbed the pocket slowly with my fingers and thought about Mama. I could see her cutting and stitching the leather. She’d laughed at my first dream, which was baseball, but she’d also created with he
r own hands and imagination the means to pursue it. Mama gave me her glove and Papa gave me his baseball and they both gave me what was inside—the Stone of Dreams. Unconsciously, I reached down and felt for the ancient egg-shaped black rock. I took it out and held it in my palm, staring at it, wondering what it truly was, what it truly meant.
“Z…where are you?” It was Opari and she was standing in the doorway, but she didn’t see me in the closet. I walked out, holding the Stone and still wearing Mama’s glove. She glanced down at my hands. “Zianno, what are you doing?”
I paused, then slid the Stone back in my pocket, placed the glove back in the shoe box, and put the shoe box back on the shelf. I turned and walked over to Opari and took her hands in mine. I held them up to my lips and kissed her palms. I looked in her eyes and they were black as coal, just like Mama’s. “I suppose I was dreaming,” I said.
Opari smiled and kissed the back of my hands. “Then I must wake you,” she said, leading me toward the door. “Come, my love. Jack is about to open Carolina’s safe.”
We hurried downstairs and through the alcove leading to the little room Carolina called Georgia’s room. It was her sanctuary in the big house and always had been. Books filled the oak shelves and Georgia’s piano still sat in its place against the wall. Carolina’s beautiful cherrywood desk and Tiffany lamp rested in front of the only window in the room. Her desktop was crowded with photographs of Jack, Star and Caine, Owen Bramley in various parts of the world, and one picture each of Nicholas and Solomon. As we entered, Jack was opening the window for fresh air. Mowsel sat on Georgia’s piano bench, staring somewhere beyond the little room, and Geaxi sat next to him.