adapt quickly. The Giza are shrinking the world with their inventions in communications and travel and they have only just begun. Our old ways must change or we will be swept away, obliterated and forgotten. It will be very difficult for many of us, but we must do it or none of us will live long enough to see the Remembering. The twentieth century, if we are not alert, could be the extinction of children such as us.” Going east, I watched the cities, farms, faces, fashions, noises, and spaces and I knew he was right. Especially, thinking of Baju and the Fleur-du-Mal, if we were going to kill our own kind.
The two men never spoke the entire journey, neither to me nor to the woman. She offered me a rice cake once in silence and I accepted in silence. Twice I exchanged glances with the older man, once while passing through Colorado and once while crossing the Meramec River, just before we arrived in St. Louis. As we were preparing to leave, the old man whispered something to the woman. It sounded like a series of low belches. She looked over at me and in very broken English said, “Grandfather say you have very old eyes for so young one.”
I looked at the old man. He was looking out of the window at the traffic in Union Station. I said, “Tell Grandfather he has very young eyes for so old one.”
We bowed to each other a final time and I thought I saw a trace of a smile on her face.
I stepped from the train and was hit by a wall of heat and humidity. I had almost forgotten the infamous St. Louis summer. There were people everywhere speaking in a dozen different English accents and in another dozen foreign. St. Louis had always been a hub for railroad and river traffic, but now it was the center of a wheel of international culture and commerce. The World’s Fair was in St. Louis and St. Louis had attracted the world.
I tried to focus and concentrate. It had only been eight years, but for some reason I was disoriented and walked aimlessly through the crowd. The men all seemed to wear the same flat-topped straw hats and the women all had parasols, which reminded me of the last time I’d seen Carolina in her yellow dress with her yellow parasol in hand. I kept thinking the same thought I’d had for weeks—“I may be too late.” I felt dizzy and couldn’t catch my breath. I made my way the best I could through the noise and bustle and finally came to a halt, slumped against a cool marble wall. I let my head fall back and closed my eyes. What was wrong with me? Was it the heat? I tried to relax and breathe deeply. Somewhere in the back of all the noise in Union Station, I heard music and the unique sounds of a calliope. I opened my eyes and walked toward it. I passed under the Whispering Arch and looked up at the cavernous ceiling. There were no birds flying. Beyond the arch and in the open was a small carousel crowded with children and their families all around. As the calliope played, the children rode in a circle on painted lions, tigers, giraffes, and elephants. Vendors on either side sold pins, ribbons, and flags announcing St. Louis and the World’s Fair. The strange, hypnotic sound of the calliope drew me closer. I looked at the faces of the children on the carousel. One had Opari’s nose and lips. Another had her eyes and eyebrows. Still another had her hair and lips again. She was everywhere. I saw Opari in a part of every child in front of me. My temples throbbed and my breath caught again. I turned and looked back through the arch and saw something else, something I never expected, something that brought my mind into focus instantly. I walked back toward what I saw. I wondered how close I could get without being seen or felt. I didn’t get far. Still thirty feet from them, they stopped what they were doing, turned in unison, and stared at me. They stood next to a woman speaking in rapid French to several porters at once. They wore loose black trousers tucked into leather boots laced to the knees. Both had white cotton shirts with broad collars. I smiled at them. Unai and Usoa smiled back.
They nodded toward a shoeshine stand next to the wall and I walked over to meet them. I could see the outline of the Stones with the gems still intact under Unai’s shirt. Usoa still wore the blue diamond in her ear. We stood three feet apart and looked at each other in silence. The shoeshine boy, who was about our size and busy with a customer, glanced over at us. He looked at our faces for a moment, astounded by our similarities, but then looked down in obvious admiration of Unai’s boots, which were of the highest grade leather and craftsmanship and polished to a high sheen. He looked up again and shouted over to Unai, “Man, where did you get those?” Without a moment’s hesitation, Unai turned and said, “In Barcelona, after the Romans left.” The boy turned back to his customer laughing and repeating the words, “Right, right.”
Unai turned to me. “
“Hello, Unai. Were you expecting me?”
Before he could answer, Usoa grabbed my hand and said, “You do not look well, Zianno. Are you all right?”
I looked at her. How many years now since I’d seen them? Ten? Eleven? She was exactly the same, only now she wore barrettes in her hair similar to the ones Eder had worn. I was still amazed by us, by the Meq. “I am fine, Usoa. Exhausted perhaps, but fine.”
“I suppose coincidence occurs, even for the Meq,” Unai said, “but this is extraordinary. What brings you here, Zianno?”
I looked in his eyes, and Usoa’s, and saw a blend of honesty and uncertainty. “How much do you know?” I asked.
Unai grabbed the front of his shirt, holding the Stones tightly. “We know about this,” he said, “and we know about Baju. We thought you were somewhere in China with Sailor and Geaxi.”
“Then you haven’t heard from them recently?”
“No,” Usoa said. “We have been in St. Louis for two months with the woman, Isabelle, and watching another.”
“Another?” I asked. “Do you mean the Fleur-du-Mal?”
She paused a moment or two. “Yes,” she said.
Instinctively, I looked around as if I might catch him darting between parasols and luggage. “Have you seen him?” I blurted out. “Has he done anything? Has he harmed. anyone?”
They exchanged a look between them, one that held a world of information. It was a look that I’d seen pass between Mama and Papa, between Baju and Eder. A look that held the deepest possible trust in each other and one that I thought I’d glimpsed in the eyes of Opari.
“He has gone,” they said in unison. “He harmed no one, not even your Carolina Covington.”
“You know Carolina?”
“We know of her,” Unai said, “and of her sister’s tragedy.”
I looked hard at them both. I was slightly dizzy and my breathing was shallow. “He must be stopped,” I said.
“He will be,” Unai said, “at the proper time. ”
“And in the proper manner,” Usoa finished.
I looked over to the scene of the woman still struggling with the porters in rapid French. She was craning her neck, searching for Unai and Usoa.
“Is that Isabelle?” I asked. If it was, she had not fared well through the years. She was made up like a clown and had dyed her hair red.
“Yes,” Usoa said. “Sad, is it not?”
“Yes, it is,” was all I could manage.
“You know, old Captain Woodget is still her escort, after a fashion. He retired from the sea and lives across Lake Pontchartrain. He visits her twice a month and spends the rest of his time in his garden. A quite beautiful one, I am told.”
I was glad to hear Captain Woodget’s name and that he was alive and well. He had helped and taught me a great deal. I let the moments pass in silence, a state in which Unai and Usoa were most comfortable. They were old ones. They had survived a very long time on will, sharp wit, and the love they shared. It was strong and carried its own presence. I couldn’t believe they had not yet crossed in the Zeharkatu. I looked them both in the eye before I said it.
“I have found Opari.”
They drew in a quick breath. Together, they whispered, “Where?”
“It is complicated, very complicated. More than you know, more than I can explain.”
“But then, that brings me back to my initial question,” Unai said. “Why are you here?”
“That also is complicated, but the answer is the Fleur-du-Mal. I will not let him kill again. It’s as simple as that.”
Unai looked at Usoa, then put his hand on my shoulder. “It will not happen here, my friend. Be certain of that. Whatever ‘business’ the Fleur-du-Mal had in St. Louis, it is concluded. We have reports he is already back in New Orleans.”
