Steve Cash: Time Dancers

A few days later an early spring breeze came, bringing with it the wonderful, eternal feeling of renewal and the desire to forget and start again. We all welcomed it and it was good, but for Nova and me, there would still be one thought, one person, one question that both of us knew we would never forget.

Opari had not met anyone like Mitch Coates in all her long life. “There was one man, an Indian prince in Vishakhapatnam, he reminds me of in some ways,” she said, “but Mitch has, how do you say, a ‘joie de vivre’ that is all his own.”

“That is exactly how you say it,” I told her. “And I agree, except for one man you never met—Solomon J. Birnbaum.”

“Yes, Carolina has said the same.”

We were in the bedroom Owen had assigned to us, on the second floor at the far end of the hall. His own unusual bedroom and living quarters were behind the door directly across from ours. It was late Saturday morning, the first day of April. “What was the prince’s name?” I asked, curious because at that point in time, Opari seldom mentioned her incredible history or anyone in it.

“I do not recall the exact name, though I remember several seconds were required to pronounce his complete and formal name and title. I referred to him as ‘Skylark.’ He was an heir to great wealth and possessed the intellect of Pythagoras, along with a rich personality, which Pythagoras did not have.”

“You knew Pythagoras?” I asked with a smile.

“Yes, briefly, however I was in flight to the East and could not linger. I recall the prince was also a ‘Listener.’”

“A what?”

“A translated word for a member of a… bitxi …how do you say?— strange Hindu sect. They believed in organized, no, I should say symphonic ‘listening’ to the spheres for secret meanings, all of them gathering outdoors atop boulders and cliffs to the west, sitting silently for days, ‘listening’ for answers to the most mystical questions of the Veda. In Sanskrit they were known as Abisami, or simply the ‘samupa.’ They would sit grouped, facing all directions, but in such a manner as to never catch the eye of another. Skylark was a known master in this mute music and futile prayer. Their gatherings began in the season when Sirius rises in the east. Sirius, the Dog Star, the star the ‘samupa’ called ‘The Leader.’ According to Skylark, it was sacred to them. I have even heard rumors that remnants of the sect may still exist.”

“How did you meet Skylark?”

“That answer is for another time, my love. The real matter here is that Skylark became the only true Giza friend I could trust. It may have been because he had spent time with one of us—a great deal of time, enough to learn many more things about the Meq than most Giza ever know.”

“Who was the one in ‘one of us’?”

“Zeru-Meq.”

“Ah…of course.” I thought back to the brief time I’d spent with him in China—not time enough to know him well, but I knew I owed him a great deal. He had led me to Opari.

She said, “Mitch makes me laugh; he is full of contradiction and surprise, yet he is a Giza I could trust. Much like Skylark.”

Mitch had awakened us earlier that morning. Just before sunrise, he knocked softly on our door in a distinctive rhythm, then slipped inside, holding a lit candle and whispering, “I want to invite both y’all to a party, a tribute to someone down at my place. Tonight.”

It was a surprise, but not a shock. Mitch had been coming and going at all hours, beginning the day after we arrived. In a week I learned how important he was to Jack and how indispensable he was to Carolina daily, while running his various enterprises all night. Opari was used to the random nature of Mitch’s visits; still, we did wonder when, or if, he ever slept. He wore a tuxedo, which was not unusual, but what he held behind his back was. Wrapped separately in white linen handkerchiefs, he slowly brought forward two long-stemmed white roses, their petals streaked with orange and red. Each rose was about to release into full bloom.

He lifted the candle and stiffened his posture. He began reciting dramatically. “These roses are for you, two of three, and for the rest, go seek the one who waits for thee, the one who wears the other of the three.”

His face relaxed. He winked and said, “These ain’t easy to find in April,” then leaned over the foot of the bed and presented the roses to Opari. “I want both of y’all to wear those on your person when you show up tonight. Then look for someone wearin’ a rose just like ’em. There’s a message waitin’ for you. I don’t know what it is.” He paused. “All right, man, that’s everything I was told to tell, so I did. Now, I’m real busy, Z, and I know you understand, so I’m cuttin’ out of here. I got places to go yet.” He started toward the door, then stopped and turned. “Miss Opari,” he said, “I will see you this evening.” He blew out the candle and shut the door behind him in silence. I thought I heard him talking low to someone at the end of the hall, probably Owen, then he was down the stairs and gone. Dawn was still ten minutes away.

Even for Mitchell Ithaca Coates, that was a strange and theatrical visit, which Opari thought was also charming. After she stared at the roses for a moment, she asked, “What do you think of these…and the speech…and the instructions?”

I picked up one of the beautiful and delicate roses. “I don’t understand it, but there’s only one way to get the answer.”

It was clear why Opari trusted Mitch just as she trusted Skylark. I felt the same. He might surprise you, but he will never betray you. Whatever Mitch was asking us to do, I would be there and follow instructions. We were safe from the “unexpected,” which I’d promised to try to avoid.

By midmorning the temperature climbed into the sixties and the sky was a bright light blue, dotted with a few ragged puffs of clouds. The breeze blew warm out of the south and I had baseball fever. I knew I had to play catch with someone, at the very least. Baseball fever appears in the late winter or early spring and is only contracted by lovers and players of the game. Playing catch will usually scratch the itch.

I found Mama’s glove and rubbed it down with oil. I wiped my fingers clean, then shoved my hand inside and pounded the pocket with my other hand. The glove was broken in well and felt perfect. Opari watched me in silence, dumbfounded. Finally, she chose to ignore me altogether and asked, “Why have we not been called to breakfast? Are we late?”

I stopped pounding and thought about it. “You’re right. We must be late.” I glanced at the clock on the small table next to our bed. The time read at least an hour later than it should have. Almost on cue, the alarm bell sounded and Opari jumped back, shrieking something in a strange language. Opari was completely unfamiliar with alarm clocks. I knew we had never set the alarm, so I knew someone else had staged this, but I had no idea who or why until we hurried downstairs to find everyone already gathered in the big kitchen. Breakfast was well under way.

Each face turned to watch us enter. Each wore a blank expression, except for Carolina, who rolled her eyes, and Jack, who was barely able to contain himself from laughing, but managed to ask, “Hey, where have you been, Z?”

Opari began to apologize and try to explain the mysteries of the alarm clock.

“Hey, Z, your shoe’s untied!” Jack interrupted.

I looked down. Jack finally burst out laughing. “April Fool’s! April Fool’s!” he shouted.

I realized immediately who was responsible for the alarm. “That one is older than I am,” I said. But he knew he’d got me, and I knew it, too. “Let’s play some catch, Jack. What do you say?”