Time Dancers

“I’m goin’ after her,” Ray shouted.

“It is too late, Ray,” Opari told him and held his arm. “You will never find her. She has already planned her escape.”

“I think it is high time we leave this place,” Carolina said. She was still sitting in her chair, holding Caine to her chest with both arms around him.

“I think you’re right,” I said, looking directly into her eyes. I saw genuine fear and firm resolve. “I’m sorry, Carolina. You know I wish I could change things. This should never have happened.”

“Yes, Z, but as Opari just said—it is too late. Besides, all of this is not anyone’s fault. Now, let’s go home, and quickly.”

“Right, right,” Owen added, helping Carolina to her feet. Sunny Jim removed Zuriaa’s knife from Mama’s glove and handed both over to me. He said, “I won’t say a word about this, kid.” Jack and Biscuit helped Ciela with the baskets and blanket and all of us hurried through the crowd with Owen Bramley leading the way. Ray kept scanning the crowd for his sister. I had never seen so much concern in his eyes.

“What was the name you shouted to Zuriaa, Ray?” I asked.

“Ikerne,” Ray said quietly.

“Who is she?”

“Our mother.”

Geaxi’s wing walking “ballet” merited a small headline and story on page three of the Post- Dispatch. The headline read, “Spider Boy Spins Magic Over Lambert.” The writer had no way of knowing it was also the Great Geaxi’s final barnstorming performance. That same night, Opari, Ray, and I learned it was not a decision she made out of caution or fear of Zuriaa or her own death. Her decision to stop wing walking came from a completely different place. She said it was time for her to return to her true job—finding the Egongela, the Living Room, our “destination” as Sailor likes to call it. And she feared for Nova. Nova and Star were currently traveling in Scandinavia on a promotional tour. Geaxi wanted to warn Nova of the danger from Zuriaa in person. Nova needed to hear this information from her, she said, otherwise Nova might not take it seriously, or even care. Nova’s “visions” had become her obsession. When Ray heard this, he insisted on going with Geaxi. After that, he said, he would begin searching for his sister, Zuriaa. She had to be saved from herself, if possible…or stopped. Opari then insisted she accompany Ray. He would absolutely need her assistance to find Zuriaa, she said, and it was something she should have done long ago.

Opari looked at me. “You must remain here, my love, in St. Louis with Carolina and Caine. I am certain when Star hears of this incident, she will be returning. You must be a good shepherd for these good people, Z. Unfortunately, the Meq have once again brought terror and insanity into their lives. Now we must remove it.”

We were standing in the “Honeycircle.” There were only a few more minutes of daylight. I stared up at the big oaks and maples surrounding Carolina’s property. All were still in full leaf. A few were beginning to change color, showing hints of red, yellow, and gold.

“Zianno,” Opari said, “you are agreeing, no?”

“Yes, I am agreeing.”

Haste became essential. Not only had the Fleur-du-Mal proved himself obsessed and unpredictable, but now his living ghost, Zuriaa, had entered the equation. Nova and Star were vulnerable. They must be told as soon as possible.

Events happened quickly. Opari and I had little time to say good-bye. Three days after the air show, Ray, Geaxi, and Opari boarded a train in Union Station bound for New York. Geaxi wore her black beret and Ray wore Kepa’s old red beret. Their Meq presence seemed to glow, at least to me. Ray and I rarely said good-bye and this was no exception. I reminded him to tell Geaxi and Opari about Susheela the Ninth and the Octopus.

Geaxi heard me and asked, “By the way, young Zezen, how was Africa?”

“Complicated,” I said.

“As always, as always. There is something you must see, Zianno. I will leave it with you for study. Nova saw a clear image in one of her ‘visions’ and I asked her to write it down.” Geaxi handed me a sheet of paper with two intersecting lines of written script in the shape of an X. The script was the old Meq script that only I could read. I translated it instantly. The lines intersected through the word “in.” They read, “The Son is in the Daughter, The Daughter is in the Son.”

“Where were these lines in her ‘vision’?”

“Floating. Floating in water.”

“What do you think it means?”

“I will leave that to you, and Sailor when I see him,” Geaxi said, then adjusted her beret and headed for the train.

Opari and I embraced on the station platform. It was not a common embrace of twelve-year-old children, and much too passionate for a brother and sister, but we were oblivious to the comments and stares we might have caused. I wonder if there is a word for a singular force and living bond beyond lovers and friends? If so, we were there, we are always…there.

Early the next morning I had a dream. I was riding bicycles with Sunny Jim Bottomley and Carolina and the Fleur-du-Mal. The Fleur-du-Mal was smiling. His teeth sparkled. Carolina was twelve again and wearing a yellow dress. Her hair was blond and stringy. Sunny Jim wore his Cardinals uniform and cap. He said, “Come on! This way!” He led us into Forest Park, but it was an area I had never seen. The street signs were written in Meq. “Where are we?” I shouted ahead. The three of them were pedaling up the hill in front of me. They didn’t answer and none of them turned around. They crested the hill and I put my head down, pedaling furiously, trying to catch them. My bicycle began to wobble and shake. The spokes bent and twisted and popped loose, flying in all directions. “Wait! Wait!” I yelled. “Come on, Zianno, hurry!” Sunny Jim shouted from over the hill. “Come on! We’re going to Ithaca!”

I opened my eyes.

“Come on, Zano, come on! Wake up, Zano!” It was Caine. He was at eye level and shaking the bed. His dark hair was tousled and tangled from sleep. I remembered his mother waking me in just the same way to go to the World’s Fair. She had called me “ZeeZee” that fateful morning.

“Pancakes,” Caine said. “Granny made pancakes.” He tugged on me and smiled, showing the gap between his two front teeth, which were still baby teeth.

His smile and voice brought on a wave of emptiness and sadness I could not explain or hold back. It was strange. I knew the sudden departure of everyone was not the reason. The reason was a state of mind common to many Meq, more like an infinite ennui that appears out of nowhere. Opari had warned me of it. For the Meq, she likened the experience to a “time disease.” It comes on suddenly and has no focus or form, but if left unchecked, can feed like a virus on the weeks, months, and years to come.

Luckily, my spirits lifted only a few hours later. The date was October 10, 1923. The World Series was beginning in New York between the Yankees and Giants at Yankee Stadium and it was the first time a World Series game was broadcast coast to coast on radio. We gathered in front of Carolina’s big Edison radio and it seemed like magic to hear a play-by-play broadcast all the way from New York. That was the first thing to make me feel better and I knew it would. The second I never expected and it has never been explained to me since. Maybe it had something to do with Zuriaa’s return, but whatever it was, it was a miracle to all of us, especially to the skinny, dark-skinned orphan, now seventeen, from the streets of New York, renamed Oliver “Biscuit” Bookbinder.

Carolina and Ciela (in Spanish) had always included and spoken to Biscuit as if he were an active part of any conversation. However, Biscuit had not spoken a word and remained mute ever since he witnessed Unai and Usoa’s murder on the Orphan Train. He and Jack were best friends and went everywhere together, but Jack did all the talking. Carolina taught him a similar kind of “no speak” communication she and Georgia had developed naturally. Sunny Jim didn’t speak to Biscuit at all when he visited. He didn’t have to. Baseball did it for him. For a boy his age, Biscuit was one of the best fielding shortstops I had ever seen. Sunny Jim spent hours with him and taught him every fundamental of the game. Their conversations together were a pleasure to watch, full of silent power, grace, and balance.

The announcer’s voice boomed out of the radio. Owen Bramley had turned up the volume in the seventh inning. We sat scattered on the floor and in chairs and cheered for the Giants. All of us, particularly Biscuit, hated