The next day we were delayed repeatedly on our way through Indiana and Illinois. Finally, well after dark, we approached the Mississippi. We could see the lights of St. Louis across the river and, all along the waterfront, fireworks. At least six different celebrations were taking place at once. Sunny Jim leaned over to watch from our side of the train.
Ray said, “Looks like they’re giving me a surprise birthday party, Z.”
I looked at Ray without speaking, waiting for the punch line, but none came. “Those fireworks are birthday celebrations for America, Ray. This is the Fourth of July, remember?”
“How could I forget? Me and this old country were born on the same day, only eleven years apart.”
Ray was smiling, however he was not joking. He was simply telling the truth. “I never knew that,” I said. “I knew the year but not the day. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Well, it’s clear as a tear, ain’t it, Z? Like Sailor said, you never asked.”
I started to laugh and changed my mind. “Happy Birthday, Ray.”
Sunny Jim slapped Ray on the shoulder and said, “You got a great imagination, kid.”
With fireworks still exploding in the distance, we said our farewells to Sunny Jim on the steps of Union Station. He invited us to a ball game, adding that he might be able to wrangle us a job as batboys for a game or two, if we were interested. Ray told him we’d be there and promised to wear his red beret through the rest of the season in honor of the Cardinals.
Our original intention was to walk the entire distance from downtown to Carolina’s, just for old times’ sake. Ray said it was too damn hot for that. I agreed and we caught a taxi instead. Ray grinned out the open window almost all the way. The Jazz Age was everywhere. He stared at the cars, people, clothes, and the frantic pace of life, the action. He turned to me and said, “I think I’m gonna enjoy this catchin’ up, Z.”
Gradually, the traffic thinned and we pulled into the lush and quiet privacy of Carolina’s neighborhood. I had the driver let us out on the street in front of her house, which was dimly lit. He glanced once at the big stone mansion and told us what we owed him, looking us both up and down. “You two live here, do you?”
“You bet,” Ray said. He twirled his beret on his finger, then gave the man a double eagle, which was ten times our fare. “Thank you for the ride, sir,” Ray said politely. “And please keep the change.” The driver started to laugh, then sped away. Ray turned and looked up the long driveway toward the house. “Let’s go see some folks, what do you say, Z?”
Overhead through a canopy of oaks and elms, only a few stars were visible. There was no sound, except for occasional bursts of fireworks in the distance. A single light came from the first floor and another flickering light shone behind a window on the second. We walked under the stone arch and found the entrance leading to the kitchen. The door was open. We slipped through in silence and saw a figure with his back to us, sitting at the far end of the long kitchen table. He was a black man wearing a formal white shirt. The collar was unbuttoned and his sleeves were rolled up. He was eating a large piece of peach pie and humming a tune I had never heard, a beautiful slow ballad, which he seemed to be improvising.
After several moments, I interrupted. “Mitch?”
He turned as if he had been expecting us. “Hey, Z, man! I’ve been waitin’ for you. Everybody already left to catch the fireworks display in Forest Park.” He paused and wiped his mouth. “What kept you?”
“Trains,” I said.
“Well, you look good. You, too, Ray. Good to have you back, both of you.”
“You gonna eat that whole pie by yourself, Mitch?” Ray asked.
Mitch laughed. “No, man, I wouldn’t do that. Get over here and have a piece. It’s the best peach pie you ever had.”
“So, you’re all alone?” I asked.
“Well, no, not exactly,” he said and hesitated.
“What do…”
I was about to ask what he meant, but it wasn’t necessary. I heard small footsteps coming down the stairs from the second floor. Then I heard the voice that only I am able to hear—the silent touch, the Whisper, the Isilikutu. “Beloved,” the voice said, “welcome home.”
“Z, you all right, man?” Mitch asked.
I blinked and turned around in time to see her walk into the kitchen. I stared into her dark eyes coming out of the darkness, coming toward me. “Opari,” I whispered, knowing only she would hear. I took a step to meet her. I could smell her skin. I could see her lips. “Come to me,” I said.
Ray and Mitch must have been eating and talking behind us, but I never heard them. For several minutes Opari and I embraced and held each other without speaking. I kissed her eyelids and nose and lips. She wore a long cotton tunic, Berber in design, and I could feel the warmth of her body underneath. The Stone hung from her neck and I swung it aside to bring her closer. I tasted tiny beads of sweat on her forehead and neck. “I missed you more than I ever thought I would or could,” I told her.
“And I you.”
“I have so much to tell you.”
“Tell me now.”
“Now?”
She wanted to know everything I’d done, everywhere I’d been. I only wanted to sit and look at her, so I spoke in a low voice and watched her listen. I talked and rambled on. I was unaware of what I was really saying until Opari’s eyes opened wide and she put her finger to my lips to stop.
“What did you say, my love? Did you say it may have been Zuriaa who murdered Unai and Usoa?”
I hesitated. “Yes…according to the Fleur-du-Mal. I don’t know why, Opari, but I believe him. I think he is telling the truth.”
Opari stood motionless, staring away, remembering something. “Yes,” she said finally. “This is so and I should have seen it—the missing blue diamond in Usoa’s ear—the Fleur-du-Mal might have stolen the ear but never the gem. Also, the Fleur-du-Mal would never lie about an assassination. He thinks it to be
“So he says,” I answered.
“I was afraid of this.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid of this knowledge, Zianno.”
I watched her carefully. Every feature on her face seemed to change slightly and her dark eyes filled with a calm and compassion I had first seen in the eyes of Geaxi, a look of innocence drowned in experience that is only found in the eyes of an old one. “Ray wants to ask you some questions,” I said. “About Zuriaa.”
“And I need to speak with Ray, but first, my love, there is something I must tell you.”
Just then Carolina burst through the side door and into the kitchen, followed by Ciela, Jack, Owen Bramley, a teenager I assumed was Biscuit, and a boy with dark, wavy hair about five years old—Caine. They were loud and laughing and in high spirits from watching the fireworks in Forest Park. Carolina saw Ray and me immediately and told everyone to hush. They stopped laughing long enough for her to say, “You two are late.” Before I could respond, Jack, who was now almost six feet tall and beginning to look exactly like Nicholas, said, “Yeah, Z, you’re late by about three and a half years.” Everyone began laughing again, and for the rest of the night and throughout the summer of 1923, we did nothing but laugh, celebrate, and “catch up.” Ray and I caught up with the times and we all caught up with each other. Only one day from early July to early October was filled with anything but joy and good news for everyone. It was the day after our arrival and the day Ray learned a hard truth about his sister from Opari. It was not what he wanted to hear and the decision had been mine whether he heard it at all.
The first moment we were alone, Opari told me what she knew concerning Zuriaa. Afterward, she asked if this knowledge was knowledge Ray would want to learn. She had held it back from me because she assumed the problem had been resolved. That was before she heard the Fleur-du-Mal denied murdering Unai and Usoa. Now she realized the problem had never been resolved, but had evolved and resurfaced. “Tell Ray everything you told me,” I said without hesitation.
