I continued in the same exquisite balance and strange state of being here/not here for another year, learning the nuances and shadings, and learning how to “extend or contract” as Opari had said I would. There were odd “side effects,” which Opari said were normal. One I welcomed and one was a trade-off that frightened me. When I thought about Opari living in this state for two hundred years or more, I gained new respect for her and all the old ones. I welcomed the fact that while I was in this state I had not one thought or dream concerning the Fleur-du-Mal. He simply was not relevant. What frightened me was that I also began to lose my ability to feel beauty of any kind, in anything, from Opari’s beautiful face to pink and golden Cuban sunsets in the Vinales Valley. I saw the beauty in things, but I was unaffected, empty, and numb to it. Beauty, like the Fleurdu-Mal, was not relevant. I now knew old Meq had to endure long stretches of time without one of the true joys in life. There are many trade-offs in extreme longevity, but that was one bargain I wasn’t sure I could accept. I also realized I had no choice.
Only Opari knew of my curious state of mind. I showed no outward signs or symptoms and to others I seemed no different. I was able to watch Biscuit play baseball in crowded Havana ballparks or talk politics on the veranda at Finca Maria with Indio. I ate well, I laughed, and I explored. I welcomed Willie Croft, who came for a short visit in 1934 and decided to stay at the request of Star. Carolina even taught me the skill of signing, which enabled me to have endless conversations with Luis about the cave and the stone balls. We heard nothing from Sailor and Zeru-Meq, or Geaxi and Mowsel, and the Fleur-du-Mal was not only out of mind, he was out of sight, silent, and his presence was never felt. Then, in March 1937, I began to return to my normal state of mind. Each day felt as if I were walking through a large house from one small room to another. In weeks I was outside and in the open air. My mind was once again clear and focused, and my love of Cuban sunsets returned, along with an active and palpable hatred for the Fleur-du-Mal.
On the last day of the month Opari and I went diving with Luis. The day was overcast and colder than usual. We were exploring a small rocky inlet near Cabo Corrientes. On our first dive of the day, Opari, who was not wearing her rubber fins, slashed her feet severely on a patch of coral none of us had seen. Blood streamed from the wounds and spread through the water around us. Luis and I each grabbed one of her hands and swam for the surface. Once we were on the boat he tried to clean the wounds, but she continued bleeding profusely. Each gash was a half inch to an inch deep. Opari remained conscious and calm. She said when she stepped on the coral it felt as though she had stepped on a bed of razor blades. Luis went to get fresh towels and bandages. When he returned, he dropped the bandages where he stood and stared at Opari and her feet. Her wounds had all closed and the bleeding had ceased completely. In minutes, several deep open cuts had become a few jagged red lines, which would also disappear within an hour and leave no scars or even a trace of one.
“What are you?” Luis signed. “You must tell me. This is magic I have witnessed—magic or a miracle!”
Opari spelled out the answer. “We are called the Meq.”
“What are the Meq?” he asked.
Opari glanced at me and smiled. “Dendantzi,” she said out loud, then signed “Timedancers.”
In early April, Jack arrived for a visit and a celebration of his birthday later in the month. He was going to be thirty-one years old and was now a well-respected reporter and correspondent whose columns covered everything from Dizzy Dean to Mohandas Gandhi. He resembled Nicholas more than ever. Before he said hello he handed me a letter from Geaxi. It had been sent from Malta and he received it a week earlier. I opened it immediately. It was a strange letter with only two enigmatic sentences, one in Basque and one in Phoenician. I could read the Basque, but Opari had to translate the Phoenician. The letter read: (Basque) “Have found something UNDERWATER—we are on our way to Pello’s.” (Phoenician) “Many Ports, One True Harbor.” Neither Opari nor I knew what she meant, but the word “underwater” intrigued me.
We had already planned a big fiesta for Jack’s birthday, but Ciela saw no reason why we should wait. Within an hour she and the girls had prepared a delicious ajiaco, which they served outside, along with the American beer that Jack brought with him. As the celebrations were beginning, we had two surprise guests, a boy and a girl who arrived in a taxi all the way from Havana. The boy wore an old red beret and grinned at me with dazzling white teeth. The girl wore heavy black eye makeup, reminiscent of Cleopatra. It was Ray and Nova.
Nova went straight to Carolina and gave her a long and warm embrace. Ray looked at Carolina, Ciela, and all the girls, then glanced at Willie Croft, Jack, Star, and finally Caine, who was now nearly eighteen and stood a foot taller than Ray. He turned to me, taking off his beret and fanning his face with it. “Damn, Z, I thought this was supposed to be Cuba.” He waved his beret in the direction of Carolina, the girls, and everybody else. “This ain’t nothin’ but South St. Louis.”
I laughed out loud. It was always good to see Ray. “How was New Orleans?”
“We only spent a few weeks down there, Z, then took off for Mexico. New Orleans has lost its charm if you ask me. We were in Veracruz until last week. I called Jack and he said he was goin’ to Cuba. When he told me about Owen, I thought we ought to come for a little visit.” Ray glanced at Carolina. “I know it’s been a while now. How’s she doin’, Z?”
“She’s all right, no, she’s better than that—she’s remarkable. We buried him over there,” I said and pointed to the “Honeycircle.”
Ray looked off in the distance at the surrounding hills and the three mogotes standing guard on the horizon.
“Damn good spot,” Ray said. “Owen’s gonna like it here.”
Jack brought us all up-to-date on current events everywhere, including the state of Major League baseball in America, the Depression, FDR, fascism in Europe, the Spanish Civil War, and several long and hilarious tales involving his most recent girlfriends. Carolina was prompted to say he should be ashamed of himself. Of course, Caine loved these stories best and begged Jack for more. Opari and I were concerned with what Jack told us about the war in Spain. We learned that as recently as March 30, the Nationalists had opened an offensive in the Basque region. The Nationalists had also enlisted the help of the Italians and the German Luftwaffe. The fighting was bitter and bloody and Spain itself was being torn apart. Jack said this was only the beginning—it would get much worse for Spain, the Basque, and their homelands. Opari had not seen her homeland in over twenty-eight hundred years, but she thought this news to be especially foreboding. My first thoughts were of Pello and his family and tribe. If the war came to them I knew they would fight, and fight to the death. What I couldn’t understand was why Geaxi and Mowsel were traveling directly into a civil war. The Meq have never involved themselves in Giza politics or war and try to avoid all war zones, even in their homeland.