The Meq

time. I had to see if the Stones were safe.”

“What about the Stones? Are there many of them?”

“There are five, at least there were five when Umla-Meq saved them in the time of Those-Who-Fled.” She climbed up ten more feet diagonally. “They were given to five separate families for protection.”

“Did you say Umla-Meq?”

“Yes, Umla-Meq.”

“One of the last things Mama said was ‘find Umla-Meq.’ ”

She was already up the scaffolding another ten feet. I could barely see her in the shadows. She shouted down at me, “Then you better get busy.”

“But where? How?” I shouted back. “And who’s Sailor?”

I could hear her laughing somewhere up in the darkness, a spider safe inside her web. Suddenly she leaned her head into a lone shaft of sunlight and looked down at Carolina and Georgia. They were leaning against each other at the entrance to the alley. She shouted to me, “Beware for that one.”

I turned and looked at the girls, then up to her and yelled, “Which one?”

Geaxi was gone, probably up and over one of the buildings, but gone. She never answered.

Georgia and I helped Carolina walk back to Sportsman’s Park. The bleeding had stopped and she balked at our helping her, but we did it anyway. We found Mrs. Bennings in our seats sitting with two of the St. Louis Browns. She was glad to see us, but several rounds of beer and the attentions of two baseball players sort of made us invisible. I told her I was taking the girls home, because Carolina had cut her knee and Mrs. Bennings thought that was a grand idea and said she’d be right behind us. Several hours later she made it home and, before she passed out, told us that the Spider Boy of the Pyrenees never showed and Corsair Bogy had been booed and showered with debris. Several fights broke out and that’s when she said she took her leave. “After all,” she said, “public brawlin’ is nothin’ but bad manners.”

That night, Carolina asked me the first of a thousand questions about what she had seen. I don’t remember my answer, but I clearly recall the dream I had later.

I was in a cave or cell made of stone. I was staring at a single opening in the wall above me. I felt desolate and defeated. I saw a spider crawl into the open space and begin to spin a web across it. Four times she spun her web only to see it break and fall. On the fifth try the web held. I reached up to touch it and the strands were razor sharp. I cut my fingers and the blood poured out and kept pouring out until it covered the floor.

I kept bleeding and the blood around me kept rising. I was sure I was going to drown in blood. Just before it reached my mouth and nose, I looked up and saw the spider, alone in the center of her web, waiting.

I awoke then and one word filled my mind — Meq.

4. MUGALARI (SMUGGLER)

By the dim light of a new moon, his ship slips through the dark and deadly rocks of the headlands and sails into the secret cove. He navigates by instinct and memory and every sense is alive and alert. He is familiar with the delicate balance of fear and calm. He expects the unexpected. His ship is fast and sleek and manned by a loyal crew who know their mission well. He is a smuggler, as was his father before him, and his father’s father before that. His contraband is not gold or guns or rum. He carries something else; stowed safe and warm, waiting for the swift moment of exchange, is the Dreamer. The Dreamer, who must be delivered in darkness, entrusted to another with only a silent nod and never spoken of again. He has done this before. In his dreams, he has never stopped.

For the next few months, Mrs. Bennings ran the best and most respectable boardinghouse in south St. Louis. The girls had willingly handed over to her their “welfare” money from the Browns and Billy’s fans. She used most of it on improvements to the house and a brand-new, hand-painted sign out front that read: “Mrs. Bennings’s House — A Proper Place — Visitors Welcome.” A good sign and a simple sign that reflected perfectly the character of the owner. She was a good woman, a loving woman, and I think maybe her only flaw was the hole in her heart created by the total absence of Solomon. She was haunted by it, I could tell, but still we never spoke of him.

Along with improving the state of the boardinghouse, she grew obsessed with improving the minds and manners of the girls. She bought new clothes and books and enrolled both of them in school, making sure everyone from the principal on down understood that even though Georgia was mute, “her mind was as sharp as the sting of a bee.”

For some reason, maybe something instinctual, Mrs. Bennings never mentioned the possibility of me going to school. It was not discussed, nor was the fact that the girls were changing physically and I was not. But all around me I was sensing and learning what Ray had told me—“You gotta keep movin’ when everybody’s gettin’ older and you ain’t.” I could feel the lingering stare of a neighbor or hear the unasked questions if my name was brought up among the boarders. I began to stay away from the boardinghouse more and more, especially during the day, and spent most of my time wandering through Forest Park or Henry Shaw’s gardens, alone, thinking about who I was and what I was. Carolina went with me sometimes and it was there in Forest Park on the first day of winter that I finally told her everything I knew about myself and the Meq. I told her everything, but naturally she thought I was crazy.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, “something like that just can’t be.”

“Well, it is,” I said.

We were walking in the heart of the park, not along the laid-out paths, but through and around the trees, kicking dead leaves as we went. She stopped and looked at me, waiting for me to explain. I couldn’t.

“You mean you’re just going to stay twelve and that’s it?” she asked.

“I guess so. I don’t know.” I wanted to tell her more and make it clear for her. She was my best friend and we shared everything, but I knew I couldn’t. She was Giza, I was Meq, and I was learning the difference.

“How do you know any of that stuff is true,” she said, “and how do you know what we saw that girl do in the alley wasn’t just some trick?”

“Because I know.”

“But how?”

I took off my jacket and rolled up one of my shirtsleeves. I reached into my trousers and pulled out my penknife. I opened the blade and held it up in front of her. Sunlight glinted off the steel blade. She started to speak, but I made a motion for her to keep quiet. I slowly dragged the sharp edge of the blade across my forearm. Carolina jumped back.

“No, Z, what are you doing?” she screamed.

She put her hands to her mouth and looked at me wild-eyed. I stared back at her with as steady a gaze as I could hold. The knife blade hurt.

“Wait,” I said.

“Now I know you’re crazy,” Carolina hissed with real anger.

We both watched as the blood poured out of the cut and down my arm. A minute passed, then Carolina said, “Please, Z, stop this now. Let me put something around that.”

“Wait,” I said again.

In less than three minutes the bleeding had stopped and the wound began to close. Carolina stared in fascination. In another minute there was only a dark red line where there had been an open wound. I knew that even that would be gone by the next day.

“You see,” I said, “I’m not like you, Carolina. I’m something different. something else.”

Carolina stood still and straight, barely breathing. I watched her face. She had a band of freckles that crossed her cheeks and nose and were barely visible unless she was flushed. Right then, I could count every one of them. She was still angry, but confused and amazed at the same time.

“I don’t believe it,” she said, “I saw it, but I don’t believe it. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I know it doesn’t make sense. That’s why I’ve got to find some things out,” I said.

“But, Z, that’s a miracle. It’s something out of the Bible.”

“It’s not out of the Bible,” I said. “It’s in my blood.”

She reached down and grabbed a handful of leaves, then walked over to me. “Give me your arm,” she said. I