Steve Cash: Time Dancers

“Indeed he was, Mitchell,” Carolina said. “He will be missed.” She raised her own glass to join in the toast. “And I’ve still got the opera packed away, Mitchell—you know where.”

“Keep it safe, Miss C. Just keep it safe,” Mitch said with a wink. Then he was off again, to the kitchen this time, laughing and saying over his shoulder, “I got some oysters for you. Wait until you taste ’em. They’re straight from the Gulf—Apalachicola. If you need anything, these fellas in the aprons are here to get it for you. We got some other acts comin’—and the chorus line. Wait until you see that, Z,” he said to me and winked again, then pointed to the lapel of his tuxedo, the buttonhole where the white rose was pinned to my tuxedo. He turned and made his way through the crowd, shaking hands and making toasts along the way. I glanced at Opari and she nodded, acknowledging she’d seen the same thing.

To our wonder and delight, both on and off the stage, it was the dancing that most fascinated all of us, especially Geaxi and Opari. Geaxi leaned over the table and asked Opari, “Have you ever seen such freedom and rhythm of movement? When you crossed through Persia, perhaps?”

“No, no,” Opari said. “Never have I seen such passion and grace together. They are… trebe ?”

“Skilled,” Geaxi translated.

“Yes, skilled. They are skilled and still exploring.”

Willie was absorbed by the sheer energy in the music and the dancers. “Bloody damn good, Z,” he blared across the table more than once.

Star surprised everyone by not only listening and watching, but also joining in. Several times she jumped out of her seat and ran to the dance floor, mimicking the moves and dancing alongside the black women, who clapped and shouted and helped Star learn the steps.

During a slow blues song, even Owen Bramley and Carolina made their way to the dance floor. I must say Owen stood out in the crowd like some sort of animated carrot, dancing and enjoying himself, but definitely to his own beat.

Nova was enjoying the music as well, and yet she seemed more distracted than usual, constantly staring in a kind of trance at the stage curtains hanging behind the band. At one point, I happened to catch her unconsciously grabbing for her Stone, which she was wearing under her starched shirt. I’d never seen her do anything like that before.

After two hours of continuous music and dancing, Mitch himself took the stage. He gave a short speech and tribute to Scott Joplin, then announced a break after the next tune, in honor of Mr. J., “Maple Leaf Rag.” He sat down and started playing the best ragtime piano I’d ever heard, leading the band through the whole tune. By the end of the first chorus, a line of eight showgirls, dressed in matching black tuxedos, black top hats, and black masks hiding their eyes, came dancing across the stage twirling canes and kicking up their legs. They each had a rose in their lapel. Seven of the girls wore red roses, but the last one, the girl nearest us, wore a white rose streaked with orange and red. They danced a choreographed routine with the music, all pretending to be gentlemen on the town. Mitch joined them during the last chorus and the crowd went wild with jeers, whistles, and catcalls. As the song ended, the chorus line strutted with their canes back across the stage and into the wings on our side of the room. The girl with the white rose stared directly at me just before she disappeared from view, whispering two words. Then she nodded toward the door leading backstage, not ten feet from where I sat.

I turned immediately to see if Opari was watching. She was. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what? I heard nothing but the music, then the clapping and shouting.”

“Did you see her nod toward the door?”

“Yes.”

“Well, before she did that she whispered something to me. I guess she was aware no one but me would hear it. But how would she know that?”

“Z, what did she whisper?”

“She said the ancient words of greeting, the formal ones— ‘Egibizirik bilatu.’ ”

Opari fell silent for several moments. Then I noticed Nova quietly take a seat next to mine. She leaned forward, anxious to hear what we had to say. Across the table, Geaxi was talking with Carolina while still paying close attention to everything and everyone.

“What does it signify?” I asked. “That is the Meq’s most secret exchange, isn’t it?”

“It means the message comes from an old one, a truly old one. Only an old one would know of this. My guess could be but one—Mowsel. The greeting was used in the Time of Ice when the element of ‘time’ was involved and complete trust was required. A Giza was always used to deliver the message. By telling the messenger to utter our oldest exchange of greeting and farewell, the sender is ensuring the truth of the message and the messenger. The ritual is called the ‘beharrezko,’ the necessity. It is necessary because in this exchange there is no written document. The message is the messenger.”

“I saw something, I…felt something,” Nova said suddenly. There was fear in her voice. “I felt something coming from the stage…from the girl. I don’t know what it is.”

I glanced at Opari. She shrugged her shoulders and nodded toward the stage door the girl had indicated. I looked around the room. No one seemed to be paying much attention to us. I rose out of my chair and walked to the door and slipped inside.

The girl was standing alone on the top step of a small stairwell. She’d taken off her mask and was leaning against the brick wall. Above and behind her, a single red light burned over the backstage exit to the street. I couldn’t see her face completely, but she seemed to be in her early twenties with distinctive dark eyes and straight dark hair, cut at the shoulder. There was a small scar high on her left cheek. She was pretty, and she was Basque, I was sure of it. Between long, slender fingers, she held the white rose. I could see the veins standing out on the back of her hand. I took a few steps toward the stairwell and stopped in front of her.

“You were looking for me?” I asked.

“Yes, señor. I apologize for this drama and mystery. Mowsel said it was a necessity.”

That proved Opari was right. It was Trumoi-Meq. “What is your name?” I asked.

“I apologize again, señor.” For the first time, she turned and looked behind her. There were a few dimly lit dressing rooms in the distance. I could hear conversation inside one of them, but no one was visible. She turned back and continued. Her accent was slight and she spoke clearly. “My name is Arrosa Arginzoniz and I was sent by Mowsel to give you a message and a warning. There are three who are in danger, three of you. One is the one who wears the star sapphire on his forefinger. Mowsel said you would know who this is.”

“I do. Go on.”

But before she could I heard someone slip through the door behind me. It was Opari. She saw the girl and the rose, then walked over and took my hand in hers.

“You are Opari, no?” the girl asked.

“Yes,” Opari answered and glanced at me.

“Mowsel has told me your name. My name is Arrosa Arginzoniz. I am the last of the tribe of Caristies, protectors of the Stone of Silence.” She paused.

“Unai,” Opari whispered. “That was Unai’s Stone. Now it is carried by Nova Gaztelu.”

“Yes,” the girl said.

I turned to Opari. “Arrosa was telling me she has a message and a warning from Mowsel. She says three of us are in danger. One you know well, as did your sister.”

“Ah, yes,” Opari said, knowing I meant Sailor.

“Who are the other two?” I asked Arrosa.

“Unai and Usoa,” she answered without hesitation.