The Remembering

Sailor raised his head and nodded toward Susheela the Ninth, his eyes watching her every move. I had never seen him look at anyone in quite the same way. “From her,” he said.

You, my priceless locksmith,
all milk and lace, all new and
untraceable.

There are more mysteries in one heart and mind than can be counted. As Susheela the Ninth and Ikuko began peeling a few scrawny carrots and washing some celery sticks, Sailor started outlining his “plan” to Katsuo and me. I was listening, but thinking back to Norway and Askenfada when Sailor had first set eyes on Susheela the Ninth. We were searching for the Fleur-du-Mal and the Octopus. Sailor told me later her mind had spoken to his mind in the voice of Deza, his one and only Ameq. I didn’t give it much credence at the time, or at least thought he might have been exaggerating. Now I knew he had been telling the absolute truth. Once Susheela the Ninth and I had escaped the Fleur-du-Mal’s castle, she must have been “communicating” with Sailor, letting him know where she was and where to go. I know I kept heading toward Urakami Station without realizing why.

It had never happened before, but could it be so? Could a Meq, could Sailor, have found his second Ameq?

“We are all aware of the dangers in traveling together,” Sailor was saying. “However, with Katsuo’s consummate knowledge in theater and skills of expression …” he went on. But I was thinking back. I recalled the moment at Caitlin’s Ruby when Geaxi and I were using “the Voice” to awaken Charles Lindbergh as he flew across the Atlantic in the Spirit of St. Louis. We were joined by someone else, someone Meq. Nova was present, yet the other presence and voice did not belong to her or anyone else. It felt strong and intoxicating. Geaxi referred to it later as male, but whose voice was it? And from where had “he” come? I reminded myself to discuss this with Opari when I saw her next. I wondered where she was. What if—

“Well, Zianno? Do you agree or disagree with this option?”

“I … I …”

“We shall be depending, of course, on an American sense of guilt, as well as good-heartedness.”

“I …”

Sailor’s eyes glanced up at Susheela the Ninth, then settled back on me. “Hawaii is where we need to be, Zianno.”

I had no idea what his “plan” was or what he’d said, but Hawaii sounded good to me. “Yes, I agree … Hawaii is where we need to be.”

Later that night the three of us were in our room, lying in the dark on our tatami mats. The light rain of the previous evening had given way to a steamy, big-city heat. Our three windows were wide open. I confessed to Sailor I had been daydreaming as he elaborated his “plan,” and I was completely ignorant of the whole thing. He assured me not to worry, I had plenty of time to hear it again. We would take no action until the Americans were in Japan and the occupation had begun. “Until then,” Sailor reminded us, “we should stay close to Katsuo’s home, only venturing outside at night to steal food or other necessities. For the sake of Katsuo and Ikuko, we must not be seen.”

“Steal food? Did you say ‘steal food’?” I asked.

“Yes,” Sailor answered. “If stealing is required, then we shall steal. We have no reason to extend Katsuo’s hospitality into providing sustenance for us.” Sailor waited a moment. “I say we should extend and provide his sustenance instead, particularly by pilfering an odd bit or two from the few remaining decent restaurants in Osaka.” He paused again. “This should be relatively easy for you, Zianno. I believe you were at one time a professional thief under Captain Woodget’s tutelage, no?”

I laughed once in the dark. “I think the good captain referred to it as smuggling.”

“Ah, yes, of course, I see my error,” Sailor said with great sarcasm. “A much more honorable position and higher moral ground … no doubt, no doubt.”

I laughed again and Susheela the Ninth, or Sheela, as even Sailor was calling her now, joined in the laughter. We continued talking and covered many subjects, including telekinesis, telepathy, and other phenomena. The talk was loose and open. Sailor did a lot of the speaking, but so did Sheela. Parts of a puzzle were revealed in reverse. She said when she beat us to the Octopus in Egypt, she knew Xanti and three others were also seeking it, but she assumed the others were working with Xanti, not against him. She had no idea one of the others was Umla-Meq. It wasn’t until she was captured and taken to Norway that she learned the truth.

“How long have you known of the Fleur-du-Mal?” I asked her.

“For centuries,” she answered. “I have always thought him to be a considerable nuisance.”

“Nuisance! He is an assassin, a ruthless murderer and torturer!”

“Yes, I know, Z, and I do not mean to diminish his crimes or your abhorrence of them. However, in truth, Xanti is only a sad little boy. I do not think he can help himself.”

“Zeru-Meq once thought the same way,” I snapped back. Sheela said nothing. I took a deep breath and calmed down. “He has since changed his mind. If Xanti is a sad little boy, then he is the most dangerous one on earth.” Despite their longevity, or perhaps because of it, I felt both Sailor and Sheela were being complacent concerning the Fleur-du-Mal. For me, it was personal. With my own eyes I had seen him slit the throat of Carolina’s sister, Georgia, and that was no “little boy” who carved bloody roses into the backs of Mrs. Bennings and countless others. I decided to change the subject. “Sheela, why did you leave the papyrus in Salzburg, along with a note for Umla-Meq?”

Susheela the Ninth sat up suddenly. The lights of the city filtered through the windows and I could see her green eyes staring at me. “Papyrus! You know of the papyrus?”

I sat up. “Yes. I’ve seen it and read it.”

“How is this possible?” she asked.

“A friend of mine, Ray Ytuarte, became good friends with Baroness Matilde von Steichen. She showed him your room, the portraits by Vermeer and Botticelli, and the papyrus. He brought it to us.”

She turned to Sailor, who also sat up. “Umla-Meq, this is so? You have read the papyrus?”

“Yes,” Sailor answered. “Or I should say, Zianno read it to me. I cannot read the old script.”

“No one has ever been able to read the papyrus.”

“Yes, well,” Sailor said and paused, “Zianno Zezen can.”

“Ta ifi dite ifsaah! Z, this ‘ability,’ is it true?”

“Yes,” I answered, “but I have never thought of it as an ‘ability.’ ”

“Oh, but it is, Z, it is … it is a magnificent ‘ability,’ and more fundamental and necessary to the Meq than either telekinesis or telepathy.” She paused a moment and seemed to catch her breath. “You must tell me what the writing says.”

“I will, and then we will discuss what it says and means, but first things first. Where did you get the papyrus, Sheela? Tell me its history.”

She sighed deeply. “Ah, yes … yes.” She waited another heartbeat. “After all this time …” she said, shaking her head and smiling. Her perfect, ancient teeth gleamed white in the faint light. It was late at night and the big port city was unusually dark and quiet. Even the crickets had surrendered.

I suppose I didn’t realize it at the time, yet Susheela the Ninth must have understood intuitively that when I asked about the papyrus, I was really asking about her. She talked softly for two hours that night and two more the next, and then on and off for the next two nights. During these “talks” she not only revealed the history of the papyrus, but she also gave Sailor and me a brief history of her own long and extraordinary life.

We learned that she left the papyrus in Salzburg in order to pursue the Octopus and the possibility of possessing what it was supposed to contain. Her tribe had long known of the five Stones, but their only interest was in the mythical Sixth Stone. Its power was believed to answer all mysteries behind the Meq and our existence. It