as he always had to me. I would miss him for many reasons and many years.
In the time that passed before Luis arrived with the doctor, Carolina talked about Owen Bramley. Carolina talked and Opari and I listened. We walked out of the house and across the road to a narrow strip of beach between two outcroppings of rock. The sea broke hard against the jutting rocks, then lapped up gently onto the beach. We took off our shoes and let the water come up to our knees. Carolina said Owen had always loved her for the very best of reasons, never the easy ones. Opari smiled and said, “Carolina, you are a wise woman.”
When Luis and the doctor returned, the doctor conducted an examination of Owen and confirmed he had died of a heart attack. He then asked Carolina what she wished to do with the body. Indio interrupted, saying he would be honored and pleased to take care of the arrangements, whatever she wished to do. He added that it was the least he could do for Senor Bramley, a fine man. Carolina did not hesitate. She said Owen had been as happy here in Cuba as he ever had, and she would bury him at Finca Maria.
Before Indio and the doctor took him to the mortician, Carolina washed Owen’s face and smoothed his hair. For burial dress, she told Indio where to find clean clothes in the DeSoto. Indio mentioned that Jorge Fuentes was anchored in La Coloma awaiting word from Senor Bramley. He said he would give Jorge the sad news instead. The doctor and Luis carried Owen out to the car, laying him down carefully across the backseat. Indio started the engine. The doctor climbed in and the big sedan pulled out onto the road and sped away. The three of us were left standing on the steps with Luis. No one said a word until the DeSoto was completely out of sight.
Carolina turned slowly and asked Luis a question, not with words, but by signing with her hands. She and Georgia had never needed the skill, but Carolina had since learned to do it on her own.
Opari leaned over and said, “I must learn this language of the hands.”
Luis answered in rapid movements and fingering, then Carolina thanked him with spoken words in Spanish. She looked at Opari. “Luis has given me directions to a nice beach only a mile or two from here. Would you walk with me? You’re welcome to go along, Z, if you like?”
I looked in her eyes. I knew them well. “Maybe later, Carolina,” I said. “I think you need to be with Opari now more than me.”
Carolina smiled faintly. Then she and Opari removed their shoes and walked away. Opari reached for Carolina’s hand and they kept walking, an older red-haired woman and a dark-haired little girl. Luis and I watched them. They didn’t speak. It wasn’t necessary. We watched until they disappeared in the distance, across the road and through a line of palm trees. They were still holding hands. Often, the best and longest-lasting gift is in the smallest package. I loved them both at that moment more than ever before.
Luis tapped me on the shoulder and crooked his finger, motioning for me to follow, but before we turned to go he touched his heart and pointed in the direction of Carolina and Opari. I stared into his eyes. They were dark brown and he had the same smooth, broad face as his brother, Indio. Luis was only in his mid-twenties and looked even younger, yet he already possessed the poise and awareness of a much older man. He knew instinctively there was something curious or odd about Opari and me, and he respected it. To Luis, we were simply another mystery in the world.
He smiled, then turned and led me through his small home to a courtyard in the rear, which was larger in area than the house itself. White stucco walls enclosed the space on three sides. Inside the walls, several fully mature orange trees provided shade at all times of the day. Dozens of stone sculptures and pre-Columbian stone heads, some of them Olmec, were scattered throughout the courtyard. Luis led me to a few cane chairs covered with bright-colored cushions. The chairs were clustered around a long, low table made of oak slabs and in the middle of the table sat a solid stone ball, perfectly round and about a foot and a half in diameter. The ball was gray-black speckled granite and must have weighed two hundred pounds. It was slightly cracked and missing chunks of stone on one side. The surface had been ground, sanded smooth, and polished. The stone was old and had been worked by experts. There were strange markings carved at five intervals in a broken line around the ball. The ball was unique, I had never seen anything like it, but it was what covered the top that stunned me. A handprint, a small hand, wider than mine and with shorter fingers, but a child’s hand for certain, had been carved across the top of the ball. I glanced at Luis, then looked closer at the markings. Suddenly I recognized one of them. It was the symbol in Meq script for the word “is.” I had seen it in the Meq cave in Africa, in the center of an “X” that translated, “Where Time is under Water—Where Water is under Time.” The symbol appeared in the palm of the handprint and at all five intervals in the broken line around the ball. My heart jumped.
“Where did this come from, Luis?” I asked, then remembered he was mute and I didn’t know how to sign.
Luis motioned for me to wait where I was and turned to go inside. He was back within thirty seconds carrying an old photograph and a map of Cuba. He pointed to the photograph and put his finger on one of two boys who were standing on both sides of a man wearing a fishing hat and grinning ear to ear. They were standing on a pier with an enormous blue marlin hanging upside down behind them. The big fish must have been twelve feet long and weighed six hundred pounds. Luis touched the man’s face in the photograph, then touched his heart, and I knew the boys were Luis and Indio and the man was their father. Then Luis ran his finger along the entire southern coast and western tip of Cuba. He pointed at the stone ball, then the map, and then to his father, and I got my answer. Luis’s father had found or purchased the ball on the southern coast of Cuba when Luis was a boy. But I had many more questions and decided to wait for Carolina before I asked them.
Opari and Carolina were separated by over three thousand years in age, one being Meq and one being Giza, and yet I could tell the instant they returned that the walk along the beach had served its purpose. Carolina loved Owen in a different way than she had Nicholas, perhaps not as intensely, but just as deeply and for a much longer time. Opari helped Carolina cope with the suddenness of losing Owen, though she never mentioned him by name. She told me later they talked only of their sisters, Georgia and Deza, and how little time they had been allowed to spend with them, and how much they missed them still. There was sadness in Carolina’s eyes, but she seemed resigned to what had happened.
The three of us had a quiet conversation about informing Star and Jack in St. Louis and Willie Croft at Caitlin’s Ruby in Cornwall. We discussed whether to wait for a burial and Carolina made the decision there would be no funeral or formal service. We would bury Owen at Finca Maria ourselves, simply and privately, just as Owen preferred to live.
Indio was due back soon and Luis was waiting for us in the courtyard. I told Carolina and Opari I wanted them to see something and led them through the house and out to the long low table with the perfect granite sphere resting in the middle. Opari made her haunting trilling sound when I showed her the handprint on top of the ball. She ran her fingers slowly over the stone, marveling at the expertise of the workmanship and the smoothness of the surface. She commented on the age of the stone, wondering aloud how old it might be. “Old,” I told her, then I showed her the Meq word “is” among the strange markings at the intervals, and especially in the palm of the handprint.
Opari gasped. “Where did this ball come from, Z?”
“Right here. Right here in Cuba!”
“Where in Cuba? How does Luis come to have this?”
I turned to Carolina and looked in her eyes. “That’s what I’d like to find out,” I said. “If you’re up to it, Carolina, I could use your help with Luis. I need you to sign for me so I can ask him some questions.”
“This ball is important, isn’t it, Z?” Carolina asked.
“It could be, but if you don’t feel like it, I understand. We can always do it later.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, “let’s do it now. God knows Owen would.”
Indio returned two hours later and in that time we learned everything Luis knew about the stone ball. His father had discovered it while diving after a major hurricane passed over western Cuba and rearranged miles of coastline, exposing features previously unknown and unseen. The ball was on the floor of a cave nearly thirty-five feet below the surface. Luis said his father was able to dive and hold his breath for five minutes or more at a time. Even so, it took two men two days to get the ball into the boat. Luis said his father kept the location of the cave secret, not telling Indio or Luis where it was for fear that being young they might be tempted to tell someone. He said his father and the other man both died within the next few years before ever revealing the exact location. Luis only knew that it was somewhere from La Coloma west to Playa Maria La Gorda, or along the southern coast of Isla de Pinas. I asked Luis why keeping the location secret had been so important to his father and the other man. When
