Steve Cash - The Meq

I found Star’s room easily. The trail of toys was a quick giveaway. It was a normal child’s room in every way but one. The walls were all painted a deep blue, and on the blue there were hundreds of painted stars. But not the cartoonish stars and moons that usually grace a child’s walls. These were detailed, accurate renderings of all the major stars and constellations in the Milky Way, with their names underneath in bold reds and golds. It was almost a work of art. It was certainly a work of science and wonder.

Carolina had silently slipped in behind me. “Nicholas did this while I was pregnant. He said he wanted his son or daughter to have a real sense of place and not just know the address of their house.”

“It’s wonderful,” I said. “Can she place the stars on the wall with the ones in the sky?”

“Not yet, but she knows there’s a connection.”

I turned and looked at her. Her hair was tied in a loose bun and she wore a simple skirt and blouse. No jewelry or makeup. She resembled a schoolteacher and mother much more than a wealthy madam. “How do you make this work with that?” I asked and nodded toward the big house through the windows.

“It’s simple really, Z. I don’t know any other way. Nicholas approves and when Star’s old enough, I’ll answer any question she’s got. She’s loved, well taken care of, and later, she’ll be able to go to good schools. I can’t hide it from her. I’ll tell her it’s a part of life, in my case a business, but certainly not all there is to life. What she does with that information will be up to her.”

“You’ve done well, Carolina. I’m happy for you.”

“Come here,” she said. “I want you to see something.”

We walked to the mantel and she lifted up a small, framed photograph and held it for me to see. It was a picture of herself and a young man with a mustache sitting at a café table and smiling for the camera. They were holding hands under the table.

“This is Nicholas,” she said.

“That would be Nick Flowers to the rest of us, correct?”

Her mouth dropped open and she could only say, “How on earth. ”

“I read the paper on the way over. You know me, sports page first.”

She paused and looked out of the window for a moment, shook her head, then turned back to me. “This was almost five years ago,” she said. “Look at my eyes and tell me what they say.”

I looked again. “You are in love. That much is plain.”

“Yes, and when I first saw you in the ‘Honeycircle,’ I could see it in your eyes. You have met someone, haven’t you? Someone. like yourself.”

I thought about everything I could say, everything I wanted to say, but that would just have made everything else less clear. I still didn’t understand it myself. “Yes,” I answered. “Yes, I have.”

She looked at me strangely, curious for more detail, but knew instinctively to leave it where it was. She drew in a deep breath, placed the photograph back on the mantel, and said, “Where to?”

Without hesitation, I said, “Take me to Solomon.”

“Right now?”

“Sure. Why not?”

She looked out of the window, confused at first, then laughed to herself and said, “You’re right, Z. I’ve never been there, but sure, why not?”

I didn’t get the inside joke. “You’ve never been where?”

“ ‘Chestnut Valley.’ It’s downtown along Chestnut and Market Streets near Twentieth. It’s our ‘red-light district.’ ”

“And that’s where Solomon is?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, but not necessarily for what you may be thinking. He goes for the gambling and the music. He knew the original owner of the Rosebud Café, ‘Honest John’ Turpin, and next door, over a drugstore I’m told, is a gaming room. He’s got a permanent seat at ‘the wheel,’ as he calls it. He hardly ever wins, but he never fails to play. I’ve heard that the music coming from next door is terrific. Honest John’s son, Tom, runs it now. Evidently, he’s a gigantic Negro man, who is supposed to be very nice and play a very wicked piano.”

“Why have you never been there?”

“I’ve heard that there’s a certain amount of jealousy toward me from a few madams in the area. However, it’s never been a real problem, because Solomon spends all his money there and I stay away.”

Now it was my turn to laugh to myself. Some things, beside the Meq, never change. “How is the old man?” I asked.

“He’s fine, but he drives me crazy. Of course, Star loves him and Nicholas thinks he’s some legend out of the Wild West. I just wish he would slow down a little. Anyway, let’s go, and go now, before I think better of it.”

I followed her out of the door and down the stairs. She swung open the wide door at the far end of the lower level, and instead of horses inside, there was a bright yellow automobile. I didn’t quite know what to say and laughed out loud.

Carolina looked it over with pride and turned to me. “Stanley Steamer,” she said. “It’s the latest thing, Z. But first, I have to check on Star and I want you to come with me. I want you to see something.”

She led me to the back of the big house and a separate, private entrance. She said it was Li’s living quarters and the only place Star would take a nap. I told her I had met Li’s cousin, also named Li, in China.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Well, I hope he is a bit more sociable than our Li.”

“He does what he can.”

Carolina gave me a peculiar look and gently tapped on the door. She paused for only a moment, then opened the door. “He never says come in or go away. He never says anything to anybody, except I’ve heard him talking to Star when he wasn’t aware I was listening.”

Inside, it was clean, simple, and spartan in decoration. Li sat in the corner as still as a stone. He was gazing straight ahead at the opposite corner. He looked like a prizefighter between rounds with perfect posture. Star lay on the single iron-frame bed against the wall. She was curled up on her side, sound asleep and sucking her thumb. Under her head, as her only pillow, was Mama’s glove.

I watched her sleeping. I knelt down and listened to her breathing. Inside her breath, I could hear the steady clackety-clack of the heavy railroad wheels and feel the rocking motion of the car, and all the hours, and all the miles across Kansas resting in my mama’s lap with that same glove under my head.

“She won’t sleep without it and takes it with her everywhere,” Carolina said.

I got up and glanced at Li. He hadn’t moved an eyelash. Carolina kissed Star lightly on the cheek and we turned to leave. On the way out, I spoke without facing him. I said, “Your cousin wishes you well.” I paused at the door, but heard no response.

Carolina cranked up the Stanley Steamer herself, put on a wide bonnet that she tied securely under her chin, and we took off, loud and elegant, through the heavy traffic of the World’s Fair and downtown to Market Street and a different world. We didn’t talk much on the way. We couldn’t, it was too loud, but I did find out that Nicholas was in Pittsburgh with the Cardinals and the next day was Star’s birthday. A big celebration was planned along with a trip to the Fair. Carolina said I had to see the Fair without question. “There are no words to describe it,” she said. “It is a visual encyclopedia.”

Somehow, she found a parking place on Market Street. With the heat, the Fair, and all the action that follows such things, the streets and sidewalks were filled with people, mostly black and of every age from nine to ninety. Carolina shut off the engine and stepped down into the chaos as if she’d been there every day. People up and down the street took notice. Between Carolina and the setting sun glinting off the big yellow Stanley Steamer, I was invisible, or at least I thought I was.