I paused, then slid the Stone back in my pocket, placed the glove back in the shoe box, and put the shoe box back on the shelf. I turned and walked over to Opari and took her hands in mine. I held them up to my lips and kissed her palms. I looked in her eyes and they were black as coal, just like Mama’s. “I suppose I was dreaming,” I said.
Opari smiled and kissed the back of my hands. “Then I must wake you,” she said, leading me toward the door. “Come, my love. Jack is about to open Carolina’s safe.”
We hurried downstairs and through the alcove leading to the little room Carolina called Georgia’s room. It was her sanctuary in the big house and always had been. Books filled the oak shelves and Georgia’s piano still sat in its place against the wall. Carolina’s beautiful cherrywood desk and Tiffany lamp rested in front of the only window in the room. Her desktop was crowded with photographs of Jack, Star and Caine, Owen Bramley in various parts of the world, and one picture each of Nicholas and Solomon. As we entered, Jack was opening the window for fresh air. Mowsel sat on Georgia’s piano bench, staring somewhere beyond the little room, and Geaxi sat next to him.
“Where’s Ray?” I asked.
“He stays with Nova,” Geaxi answered.
Just then, Ray burst through the door. “You ain’t opened it yet, have you? I love to open safes. You never know what you might find.”
I looked at him. “How’s Nova?”
“Asleep,” he said. “She’ll be fine in a while.”
I glanced at Opari and her expression said differently. She was concerned for Nova.
Ray walked over and ran his fingers along the edge of Carolina’s desk, admiring the grain and color of the wood. He sat down on the corner of the desk. “Where’s she hide it, Jack? No, don’t tell me. Don’t even move. Let me look around first and I’ll tell you where it is.”
Jack laughed and said, “All right, Ray—where is it?”
Ray had his beret in one hand. He placed it at the proper angle on his head and scanned every wall of the little room, then took three steps over to a space between the bookshelves where an oval mirror in a white frame hung on the wall. He grinned at the rest of us and gently pulled on the bottom of the frame. The mirror swung out on its hinges without a sound, revealing a square wall safe with a black combination lock. “Sometimes, it’s obvious,” Ray said. He removed his beret and took a deep bow, waving his beret in front of him.
We all laughed, including Mowsel, though I’m not sure he knew why, then Geaxi said, “Open the safe, Jack. Let us see what this ‘List’ contains.”
Jack read the numbers Carolina had given him and turned the lock four times, twice right and twice left, and the door opened. He shuffled through a few papers, mumbling to himself, “Deeds…contracts…property.” He took out the papers, along with pieces of jewelry and a few other things belonging to Carolina, and set them on the desk. He looked in the safe again and removed two items that were behind the papers. One of them I recognized. I’d seen it once before on the day it was put in the safe, the day of Solomon’s “remembering” in 1904. Scott Joplin had surprised Carolina and me in the little room and requested a favor. He had written an opera especially for Lily Marchand to sing, but she had disappeared. He wanted Carolina to keep the manuscript for him until she was found. Unfortunately, I was the one who found her two years later, butchered and murdered by the Fleur-du-Mal during a hurricane. Scott Joplin died a decade later without ever knowing what happened to Lily. Jack read the title of the piece, “A Guest of Honor—an Opera.” He also read an attached handwritten note that said, “This one’s for Lily, and only Lily—Scott.”
The other item was an elegant black lacquered box, probably Chinese, with the initials S.J.B. painted on top in crimson red. The box was old, yet still in excellent condition. Jack unfastened the tiny latch on the front and lifted the lid. He looked inside. “It’s a letter,” he said. Jack took the envelope out gently and laid it on Carolina’s desk. The paper was yellowed and fragile, but the ink of the writing was visible and clear. The letter was addressed to Solomon J. Birnbaum, Hotel de Mondego, in Macao. It was stamped and dated September 1, 1885. Jack handed the letter to me. “You knew him best, Z. You should read it.”
I took the two-page letter out of the envelope and unfolded it carefully, making sure not to tear the paper at the creases. The first page read:
Monsieur Birnbaum,
Please excuse my English. Within this letter you will find the names of all the men I have met in the Orient who have done business with the Magic Child you seek by the name of Sailor. I have also included five names of men I know who knew another, only this one is not familiar to me. His name is Xanti Otso. Beware, these men are of doubtful and dangerous character. I now consider my debt to you, sir, to be paid in full. Adieu and God bless.
Capt. Antoine Boutrain, Bourdes Co.
Shanghai, 1885
The second page of the letter was filled with three columns of names. The first two listed the Giza who had known Sailor and the third listed the five who had “done business” with Xanti Otso. The names were in a dozen different languages and beside each name Captain Boutrain had written the man’s country of origin or the port where they had met. I read the lists out loud to everyone and no one recognized any of the names. Silently, I read over the lists again to myself. Suddenly one of the names looked familiar, then a face to match the name came to mind. It was the face of an old Ainu man I’d first met on the train to St. Louis, then again at Solomon’s “remembering.” There, through his granddaughter Shutratek, he asked me, “What do you keep alive?” It was an unusual question to ask and I never knew why he asked it. Still, I answered with the truth. I told him, “The Meq is what I keep alive.” My answer seemed to please him, but it definitely did not surprise him. Now I knew why. Sangea Hiramura was his name and I started to speak the name aloud and tell the others. I never got the chance.
Before I could say a word, Nova came stumbling in the room wearing only a torn cotton nightshirt. She was barefoot and covered with bleeding scratches on her arms and legs. She fell into Mowsel and Geaxi on the piano bench, sending them all to the floor. Ray rushed over to help Nova, while Geaxi got up on her own, pulling Mowsel up with her. Nova was conscious, but her eyes looked glazed and vacant, and her face was ghost white, except for ruby red lipstick smeared across her mouth. Tears mixed with heavy black eyeliner ran down her cheeks in black streams.
“Nova,” Ray said softly, holding her by the shoulders. “Come back, Nova…come on back to us…you can do it…you’re safe, Nova, you’re safe…come back now, darlin’…please…come back, baby.”
Nova’s knees buckled and she collapsed, but Ray held her shoulders and knelt to the floor with her slowly, letting Nova’s head come to rest in his lap. Opari hurried over to check her breathing and take her pulse. Jack said he’d get some water and a wet cloth from the kitchen and left the room. Mowsel asked Ray if Nova was conscious. Ray said, “I don’t know…maybe…her eyes won’t focus.” Ray was worried. This was much worse than anything Nova had been experiencing recently.
“Kiss her,” Geaxi said suddenly, almost laughing.
Everyone turned and looked at Geaxi. Mowsel angled his head sharply to the right and gradually, as he understood what Geaxi had said, opened his mouth in a wide grin and nodded his head up and down.
“What did you say?” I asked.
Geaxi looked at me, raising one eyebrow slightly. “I told Ray to kiss Nova, young Zezen. Was I not clear?”
“Yes, but…I don’t understand.”