Steve Cash - The Meq

Carolina welcomed the chance to rest and bathe, but before she left the room, Solomon asked her for all her sizes from hats to shoes and sent them on to the concierge with instructions to go to Barr’s and “buy properly.”

Ray went straight to his room, tipping his bowler hat to the rest of us. I waited until Solomon retired to his room, then walked over to where Sailor was examining one of the electric lamps.

“I am still amazed at this magic,” he said, holding his fingers close to the light, expecting to be burned.

“Mr. Edison wouldn’t call it magic; he’d say it was electricity.”

“Ah, but I would wager that if you asked Mr. Edison where he discovered this electricity and he was honest, he would say it was like magic — someone showed it to him and he found it for himself.”

“Like you found me?”

“Exactly.”

I watched him in the light. His ghost eye shone like the Milky Way with a black hole in the middle. He was calm. He waited for me to speak. Finally, I said, “I want to find the Fleur-du-Mal.”

“Yes, I know. Is it because he killed the Giza, the sister of Carolina?”

“Yes.”

“Do you wish to kill him when you find him?”

“Yes, I mean, I think I do, I don’t know, I’ve never felt these feelings.”

He took a step toward me, searching my eyes, then turned and walked to the door of his room. I spoke to his back.

“You said you had an offer to make — an offer concerning my feelings toward the Fleur-du-Mal. What was it?”

He ignored my question, opening his door and speaking over his shoulder. “Your father had more reason than that to kill the Fleur-du-Mal and he let it go, he gave it up.”

“My father?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He walked the rest of the way into his room and turned to face me with his hand on the doorknob. I could see his ring reflecting colors in the lamplight.

“Which why?” he said. “Why did he want to kill him or why did he let it go?”

“Both,” I said. My tongue felt thick in my mouth and I couldn’t swallow.

“The Fleur-du-Mal murdered your grandfather,” Sailor said, “and your father wanted revenge for three hundred and sixty years.”

Without thinking, I touched the Stones around my neck. Sailor saw me and nodded slightly. “You are Egizahar Meq,” he said, “you are the Stone of Dreams.”

I drew in a long breath. “Why did he let it go?”

He shut the door, but behind the door I heard him say, “To have you.”

I stood in silence staring at the door. Minutes passed, then I turned and walked to one of the large windows looking downtown. The sun was setting in the west and I watched the black smoke from the hundreds of factory smokestacks and chimneys swirl up in the fading light. It was blowing east, over the river, and it took me with it. Somewhere — east, back, behind, before, I don’t know, but somewhere, and while everyone was resting, I had the first of my Walking Dreams.

I walked across the Persian carpets and down to the lobby. I walked out of the lobby and onto the street toward something or someone, I wasn’t sure, but I seemed to know where I was going, and as I walked, I was a canal, a stream, a passage, and the people, wagons, horses, trolley cars, and bicycles on either side were oblivious to me.

I walked to Union Station and stood under the Whispering Arch. I heard something flapping and looked up to see a bird, a finch, trapped up near the ceiling with no exit and no perch. I thought I heard a voice whispering. I watched the people passing. They didn’t see me. I looked up again and the bird was gone. The voice was louder, but still whispering; moaning. It said, “Beloved, hear me!” Over and over, for several minutes I heard the voice, then it faded like an echo in a canyon and disappeared into the steady hum of a busy train station.

I was awake. I walked back in the twilight to the hotel and up to my room. I lay on my bed and waited for dinner. The waiting felt natural.

I heard Li’s voice first, then Solomon’s, telling waiters and busboys where and how to set the places. I quickly washed and walked into the central parlor where a royal feast was being carried in and presented on the big walnut table. There were two silver candelabras holding a dozen candles each, surrounded by oysters on the half shell, shrimp, roast pheasant, prime rib, fresh peas, corn, squash, and a mountain of mashed potatoes. Solomon had arranged our place settings evenly around the table.

Everyone was in the room, but I only saw Carolina. She was radiant in a dark blue, almost black, velvet dress and a single strand of pearls around her neck. She wore long velvet gloves, which I’d never seen on her before, and she was smiling, which I hadn’t seen her do in a long time. She saw me and walked over, not smiling now and pinching at my clothes as if they were filthy rags. Then, in her most aristocratic voice, she said, “You simply must learn to dress for dinner, Z. What will the waiters think?” She maintained her stern look for a few moments more, then broke into a full, robust Carolina laugh, a laughter whose return I welcomed.

“You look beautiful,” I said.

“Why, thank you, sir.”

“Solomon has good taste. I never knew—”

“Then you should have paid attention,” Solomon burst in. “You would have known, Z, I have best taste in all things beautiful, especially women.” He took her arm in his and led her to the table. “Now we eat,” he announced to all of us and one of the waiters held a chair out for Carolina. Another waiter uncorked a bottle of champagne and filled her glass, then moved over to fill Solomon’s. “Champagne for everyone, young man!” Solomon barked at the waiter.

“The children too, sir?” he asked, glancing at Sailor, Ray, and me.

“Yes, I believe so,” Solomon said with a smile. “I think everyone is old enough.” After the waiters had filled our glasses, they were shooed out of the room by Solomon. We were alone in the room, except for Li, who sat in the corner as still as granite. I caught Solomon’s attention and nodded toward Li. Solomon waved his arm, dismissing any concern. “He won’t eat with me,” he said. “The damn man thinks I am beneath him.” Then, rising from his chair, he motioned for everyone to stand and toast.

Ray stood up first, glass in hand, and I noticed that he had actually removed his bowler hat. I don’t think Ray had ever sat down to such a meal.

Sailor seemed calm and comfortable at the gathering and rose up slowly. I could tell he had done this many times, whether at a campfire or the courts of kings.

Carolina and I stood up together and it was to her that Solomon turned and began his toast.

“Zis is first and last time I say zis. Here is to Mrs. Bennings; a woman I loved, but from too great a distance; a woman of good manners and taste and a woman I wished to see once more, but was denied by fate and the whims of Yahweh. May she rest in peace.”

Everyone drank from their glass and Solomon continued. “And here is to Georgia, the sister of Carolina I never met, but in knowing Carolina, I know her presence too. May she rest in peace. I give them both grand funeral, I promise.” He gave a solemn nod to Carolina and everyone lifted their glass to drink.

“Wait,” I said, “I want to add a toast — a toast to you, old friend, for coming back and for helping all of us.”

“Hear! Hear!” everyone said and we all leaned across the table to touch glasses.

Solomon looked at Sailor, Ray, and me one by one, then he said, “You are the children the old rabbis spoke of, the ‘Children of the Mountains,’ the children of Yahweh, and one of Yahweh’s greatest mysteries. It is my honor to help.”

I looked at Sailor who silently toasted Solomon himself. I looked at Carolina who had tears in her eyes and she made me think of Georgia, which made me think of the Fleur-du-Mal and I had a sudden flush of anger, but I pushed it out. I looked at Ray, who was grinning and clearly enjoying himself. I was sure he had never been treated like this by anyone, Giza or Meq. And I looked at Solomon, white-haired and bearded, full of gladness, sadness, and pride. I knew this was the time to ask him.