Steve Cash - The Remembering

“We felt your arrival yesterday. It was thunderous.”

“Yes, Sailor,” Zeru-Meq said. “Just how many are with you and Zianno?”

“Everyone,” I answered. “That is, everyone except the Fleur-du-Mal.”

“Zianno, my friend, it is good to see you,” Zeru-Meq said, “but, if you please, let us leave him out of this.”

Geaxi turned to me. “Hello, young Zezen. You look well,” she said casually, as if she’d only been gone a week or two.

“So do you, Geaxi,” I said, trying not to smile.

She went on. “We have much to discuss and this is not the place.”

“Agreed,” Sailor said. “We have rooms in a hotel not far from here, all provided by Cardinal. The others are there waiting.”

“I will be glad to finally meet this ‘Cardinal,’ ” Geaxi replied.

“He has been more than helpful. He is resourceful and reliable and truly wants to protect us.”

“Is that so?” Geaxi said, raising her eyebrows slightly and glancing at me. We both knew Sailor rarely, if ever, praised a Giza.

Sailor motioned toward the marble stairs. “Shall we go?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Lead the way,” Mowsel said, angling his head up and to the left. “I have been in here too long as it is. I abhor it.”

Sailor walked over to Mowsel and gazed into his eyes. “What do you not like about being here, Trumoi-Meq?”

“I abhor the emptiness.”

“But you cannot see.”

“I can see the emptiness, old friend. I can see the emptiness.”

We returned to the hotel just as the third call to prayer of the day echoed across the city. Zeru-Meq said he thought the calls themselves were one of the most beautiful aspects of Islam. Inside, the lobby of the Empress Zoe was nearly empty. The desk clerk and his assistant were playing dominoes and smoking cigarettes. The heavy, pungent aroma of Turkish tobacco swam through the air. Cardinal was the only other person in the lobby. He sat in a chair reading the newspaper. He stood up and his eyes widened as we approached. He had not expected to see three more Meq.

“This is quite a surprise, Zianno,” he said, “but a pleasant one, a pleasant one.” He looked at the three new faces. He seemed instantly enchanted by Geaxi and her attire, and he studied Mowsel for a few extra moments.

“Dr. Bikki Birnbaum,” I said, “I would like you to meet Geaxi, Zeru-Meq, and Trumoi-Meq, also known as Mowsel.”

“It is an honor and a great pleasure,” Cardinal said, nodding to each one of them.

“The pleasure is ours,” Geaxi replied, then added bluntly, “You are Ainu, no?”

Cardinal laughed. “Ainu-American,” he said, “thanks to Solomon J. Birnbaum … and Owen Bramley.”

Geaxi glanced away for a second, then put it together. “Ah!” she said, “you are the missing Hiramura brother.”

Cardinal laughed again. “Guilty.”

Sailor had been scanning the lobby. He turned to Cardinal. “Are you alone?”

“No,” he answered, then looked over his shoulder and nodded toward an arch and a corridor leading off the lobby. Everyone’s head turned except Mowsel’s. Cardinal seemed to take notice. “They are in a small courtyard and flower garden waiting for you. I have a few errands, but I will return in time for dinner. I have information to share with all of you concerning Blaine Harrington, Valery, and the Russians.”

“Good,” Sailor replied. “We shall welcome it.”

Sailor motioned for us to follow him. Cardinal watched the five of us as we walked by, especially Mowsel, who never hesitated or got closer than five feet from Geaxi, yet never missed a step. “Excuse me … excuse me, please,” Cardinal said. Everyone stopped and turned. “Mowsel, if I may call you that, I have a personal question. I do not mean to pry or offend, and you do not have to answer.”

“That is quite all right,” Mowsel said, leaning toward Cardinal’s voice. “Yes, you may call me Mowsel, and by all means, ask your question.”

Cardinal paused a moment. “How long have you been blind?”

Mowsel stood motionless. Geaxi looked stunned. Mowsel’s blindness was virtually undetectable to most Giza.

Sailor seemed amused. “Answer him, Trumoi-Meq.”

“Since Guernica,” Mowsel said, “1937. I was hit by flying debris when the bombs dropped.”

“But there is no noticeable scarring,” Cardinal said.

“All else … healed.” Mowsel angled his head up slightly and grinned wide, fully revealing his gap. “Why do you ask, Doctor?”

“Have you ever heard of an ophthalmoscope?”

Geaxi broke in. “Yes, of course. I believe it is the instrument with a mirror centrally perforated for use in viewing the interior of the eye, especially the retina.”

Cardinal smiled. “That’s correct,” he said. “Before dinner, I would like to examine your eyes, Mowsel. I may be able to help.”

No one moved. Geaxi, Sailor, Zeru-Meq, and I all stared at Mowsel, awaiting his response. Being examined by a Giza, any Giza, for an old one like Trumoi-Meq was a difficult decision. For thousands of years old ones had only survived by never allowing such things to happen. Mowsel’s grin faded, and even though he was blind he looked directly at us, one by one. In his mind, he knew exactly where we were standing. Then his grin began to return. He laughed suddenly and found Geaxi, winding his arm inside of hers. He looked in Cardinal’s direction. “Hail, Hadrian!” Mowsel said and laughed again. “Why not, Doctor, why not?”

“Excellent,” Cardinal said, picking up his newspaper and turning to go. “I will see you then.”

After he left, we walked single file past the desk clerk and his assistant. They never looked up from their domino game. A blue haze of tobacco smoke surrounded them. To no one in particular, Geaxi said, “I think I like this ‘Cardinal.’ ”

We entered the garden at the rear of the hotel by walking through an arched, bronze gate. Across the top, the gate was inscribed with a curious quotation— Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Who will keep the keepers themselves? The space itself was open-aired and hidden from surrounding streets by an eight-foot wall on three sides. Tulips of every color, lilies, and crocuses encircled a small stone fountain and five stone benches. Opari and Nova sat on one bench, Sheela on another, and Ray stood by the fountain, twirling his old red beret on his forefinger. Zeru-Meq was the first to enter the garden, followed by Geaxi, Mowsel, and Sailor. For some reason, I hesitated and hung back, watching everyone as they greeted each other. I felt odd, separated, as if I was suddenly suspended in a dream. I looked up. The sky was a clear and brilliant blue. I could hear the drone of traffic beyond the walls, but it seemed miles away. Excluding the Fleur-du-Mal, I realized that all Meq, all of us who were still known to exist on earth, were gathered together in this one tiny garden in Istanbul. Without warning, I shuddered inside. I felt cold and lonely. Even with our powers, we were so few, so vulnerable. We were the last ones, I thought, the last of our kind … the last. Then I felt her fingers sliding gently between the fingers of my right hand. I blinked twice and looked into the beautiful black eyes of Opari. “This way, my love.” She led me over to a place next to her on one of the stone benches. We sat down and she kissed the palms of my hands. She looked at me and smiled. So young, so old.

“First,” I heard Sailor say from somewhere near the fountain, “we must discuss the Remembering. Then we must discuss our enemies.”

Our meeting lasted three hours. It was serious in tone, almost solemn, and felt like a tribal council in the truest sense. From Nova, the youngest, to Susheela the Ninth, the oldest, everyone spoke, all with equal voice and import. Sailor began the “discussion,” then deferred to Mowsel, who spoke at length, reiterating in great detail everything the Meq knew and did not know about the Gogorati, the Remembering. He recited a litany of names, places, ancient translations, insights, dreams, and mystical, elliptical riddles with multiple solutions. He spoke eloquently, often using old Meq phrases for emphasis. Because of the absolute truth and passion in his words, his blindness and the gap of his missing tooth were irrelevant. Trumoi-Meq had always been the historian and the recorder. He was the conscience of the Meq. He ended with one of his own poems. It was a short and strange poem, but its meaning was clear. “Tie a knot in the air and pull tight. How does that feel? Ah, precious truth.” None of us, not even Mowsel, knew what to expect at the Remembering.