4
OF CROW MY ANIMOSE
Riding home, we trace Road 27 through the older woods. This be an hour at a walk, and ain’t no trotting on they broken roads. Be only holes and humps. Horse walk akimbo like a drunk.
Is dusking, and the birch trunks glamour white like paths of moon. A birch leaf yellowing here and there, for autumn now begin to start. Maple crowns patch red and orange, and Road 27 sprinklen somewhere with these color leaves. Be houses on this stretch, but all got ruin roofs, insides gone rotten. Telephone poles still leaning in their rows, but all the wire been scavenge. Heren there a blackness show where we been burn a sleeper house. Some already gone to aspen, some be starting meadow flowers.
Where we turn off 27, stand a sleeper sign, bright orange metal with black letters: ‘BLIND CAUTION CHILD’. Behind it be Blind Caution Pond. This night, the frogs all creaking loud. Where there be frogs, is twenty times mosquitoes, and the night gone chill. We dabbit here to put on jackets.
My jacket’s sort be Patagonia. This word stitch upon its chest. Be light, but unroll to a greedy size. Can wear two shirts beneath. Now I got my pistol in my jeans, nose chilling underneath the belt against my skin. When I tighten Patagonia’s string, gun poke my belly. Then I feel the gunfire that there was, and how this gun been pointing at my face.
When I turn to look, the roo lie still as sleep. He bound upon the sledge from foot to neck, with rope and orange cord. Only be his fingers loose. But his ghost eyes look and blink. He be cold color like a gun. A feary birchen child.
Keepers been riding queenish on him. When we start, she perching backward on his chest, watch to his face. She guard our safety so. But Keepers quick to bore. Soon she climbing up and down; stand on his thighs precarious. Roo, he got no choice but to endure. So Keepers warm to him in sympathy.
Now she get a blanket, tuck it round the roo against mosquitoes. But this blanket wet for killing flames. The roo begin to shiver.
‘Roo suffer,’ Keepers notice.
Asha Badmouth saying to Driver, ‘Been some blind child drowning in the pond. Become a caution to the others, ya. Blind caution child.’
‘This sign ain’t make no sense,’ say Driver. ‘Mean nothing, be like writing on a shirt.’
Jermaine go whistle in disgust. ‘Foo, you said that last time. Told you then why it be wrong.’
Driver cough, but keep on talking. ‘Sure I say it twice, and it be true both times.’
‘Be foolish every hundred times,’ say Asha.
Keepers shout, ‘My roo be suffering!’
Everybody look. The roo lie in his ropes and shiver. Ain’t look so grandy, lain like that. But his face got a spookery. Bluish eyes look like they knowing thoughts a child ain’t made to hold. I get a shivering fear myself. Driver tense behind me.
‘Ain’t necessary he a roo,’ I say. ‘Can be a sleeper or nobody know what.’
Keepers frown her dignity at me. ‘This one alive, ain’t sleeping. And cannot call it sleeper. This give children fear.’
‘Children name of Keepers,’ say Jermaine.
I say polite, ‘He need a jacket, ya.’
‘Yo sho,’ say Keepers, and polite me back, ‘this be a kindness for myself and for my roo.’
I laugh. ‘Be Keepers’ roo, nobody touch this roo without permissions.’
Yo I unzip Patagonia. All my skin dislike this notion, but I throw it to delighting Keepers. She pull the sogging blanket off the roo, and all his body ease. Is like the shiver strip from him. Then the jacket make his face go kind.
This be the moment that he speak, his birchen eyes on me. The word so simple everyone must hear. He say it clear. ‘Spaseep.’
We all frighten then, as if this talking been a weapon. Driver close his arms about me hard. I breathe against his strength.
Only Keepers ain’t concern. She shake her moppy head. ‘Nay, you must say, “Be thanks,” my roo. Or must say, “Be gratty.”‘
‘You ain’t know what his blablabla mean, small,’ say Asha Badmouth, cricket-sharp. ‘He saying, “I go kill you, I go eat your head with sauce.”‘
‘My roo be thanking,’ Keepers say, contain and lofty. ‘In his words, this be spaseep.’
Driver laugh. Then everybody laugh, and Keepers shout, ‘I got a keeping roo! My roo can speak! My roo go eat up Mouse’s head with sauce!’ We all giggling breathless. Horses shift and snort confusing. Asha Badmouth laughing in her warry melody; the girl can sing her voice into a valley of space. Ya, is always breathlessness in dusking woods somehow. Is everything insane and starry fine.
As the laughter ease, my Driver got me in a pinching grip. I buck my head against his chin. He laugh and loose me, swat my head. I want to laugh again, but all my laughter gone somehow. Be only conscience, how our laughter small in all this night. Gun chilling at my skin.
Then Driver take his jacket off for me. We wrestle some, but I allow the gift. Will not insult his care. When Money pick up walking, I got his Carhartt on, can feel his warm still in the cloth.
Our path go by and time walk with us. Soon the light become all moon. Yo, this been an hour to ride, and Driver only cough but once. I hold this in my mind. Mind make a fist on it. Some time, I think on my ghost brother, Mo-Jacques Five. When our mother Shasta die, I had him to my keeping – scrambly piglet with a mouth like Keepers. He been the brother of my arms. A small child die of posies quick, ain’t ugliness nor hardly pain. Yet now tears swim down my face. Feel like they fill with moonlight, feel like they be sadness color.
Where the aspens done, is open night. The farming fields of Christing Tophet show in squares of different dark. Their home and barn got sleepy looks. Windows wave a reddish light that mean a fire lit, and wisty smoke come from their chimney. Sky be full with coldness, and this smoke go warm into its heart. Ya, John of Christ, their husband, be standing on the porch to greet whoever come, as Christing husbands do at dawn and sunset. These times be callen guesting bells. But we ain’t turn down their road.
Then Sengle town begin to smell between the trees. It be a sweetish stank, as comfortable as my own farting, or as Money’s farting. Smell puey in a friendly way, my town.
Sengles be unmannerly with trash, ain’t civilize on this. Got cans and apple cores and papers, mix with leaf and piney needles, everycolor on the ground. Though we dig privy pits at distance, be some littles fear to use them. Stray off paths near town, you put your foot in something you regret.
As we come into this townie smell, I loose the reins. Money pick her feet up, trotting glad. The path go sleek and clear, and soon can smell a campfire through the pue. Because it be no noise, can know the littles gone to nighting camp. Ain’t nothing waiting but the stank and dark and Crow Sixteen.
Crow be stood with my hound ABC beside the fire. Fire is banken low. Its minnow flames go crack and smoke. Crow eating Nillas from a box. My ABC be munching one herself and got some lain between her paws. They two look sleepish in the shallow light.
Crow an uggety child, all froggen mouth with scarce no chin. Yo, his eyes be prettieuse, black-sweet and lashy. Face look like his heart, sly and wrong-made. But my ABC love Crow, and he keep kind to her. When she been a puppy, Crow and I been animoses. Friends be close as grass and clover; animoses close as grass and green. So been our truth. We eaten every breakfast from one bowl. We set our snares together. Both was warry children: my bones rung with Crow’s beating and his skin been always sore from me. We slept in one hammock, tangle-fashion, loose as cats.
Then he gone doing sex with Mari’s Ghost. Mari get an enfant from this, when she been only twelve and Crow fourteen. Then Crow ain’t speak to me no more. I set my snares alone.
Ain’t no bitter like an animose is lost. What Driver say, it ain’t no love like hate. Be days, I crave to look at Crow to hate his boogly face. I never want to murder Crow, for once he die, my hatred left alone like me.
Now Crow be fire-blind a minute, while my ABC come run to me, then wheel back to her Nillas – Crow standing, squint
ing at the roo. We all dismount but Asha Badmouth. Be a fine relief to come down to the sparking warm.
Keepers curlen on the sledge still. Got a cigarette lit. She smoke and give it to the roo to suck. Roo smoking glad. His winter-color eyes look round at everything; the fire, Crow, trash.
Now Crow swear quiet. He say, ‘First I thought you fetch some Army back, but this.’ His uggety head be tense. Then a strain come over all.
Keepers say, ‘It be a roo or sleeper. Found it in a sleeper house.’
‘Sleepers dead. Yo why you bring it here?’ Crow grin, except the grin be angry.
‘Can be living sleepers,’ I say sharp. ‘Be science that they know.’
‘You bring this here,’ say Crow, and half his face be grinning teeth. ‘Ain’t want no roos nor sleepers. Going to eat it?’
Keepers suck her cigarette, and speak a blast of smoke: ‘My roo go eat your head with sauce. Crow head with crow sauce.’
Then Driver step towards the fire, and everybody ease. Yo, soon as Driver speak, it be like no one spoke before. We heed. He talk to Crow in quiet friendship, tell about the fire and roo. Crow nodding like a thoughtful horse; he love my brother yet, despite his ruin heart. Only when Driver telling how I take the gun, Crow look at me and his black prettieuse eyes go wide.
Then Driver talking on, but Crow ain’t listen. And when my Driver finish, Crow say vicious, ‘Expect the girls will save a handsome male. Yo, Ice Cream got eyes for this.’
Inside my stomach and my head, my hatred scratch. Crow look at me, Crow look away. My animose, he know my evil, but forgot my good. My skin be hot and thin with being known.
Keepers say, ‘This roo be mine. Ice Cream be here nor there.’
Then Driver laugh the most of all. Jermaine and Asha Badmouth hoot and call to me, while Keepers looking strict. She keep one hand upon the roo his shoulder. Shake her head while every person laughing through her pride. Roo look far-off with frosten eyes and grief on his pale mouth.
When people quiet, Crow look to my belt. He say, ‘I like to see the gun.’
I give the gun like Sengle give to Sengle. Give for asking. Driver there, it never worry me what happen next. Crow take my pistol. Lay her blackish nose across his palm.
Crow’s evils be: vain, blame others, liar, make plans, ain’t worry if somebody hurt. Give Mari’s Ghost a baby when she only twelve, she hurt each morning of her life from this. Crow never care for Mari’s Ghost, he ruin her without no heart. Crow’s good I ain’t recall, his good be doubt and mist. One day Crow brought a trout and say, ‘Fish got a diamond in his gut.’ I ain’t believe him, so he throw the trout back in Blind Caution Pond. We watch for it to float up, but it never come. His good be like that diamond lost.
Now my mood fall in with Crow’s. The jolie gun lie to his palm, warm from my belly. His fingers curl to grip it and his other hand slide out the magazine. That sliding click, delicieuse exact. He free a bullet, hold it to the firelight. Crow and I smile. (Crow a locken door in winter, Crow a poison well. Crow lost. I call him in my mind: Crow Ruin.) Behind me, Driver cough.
I say whispern, ‘Be one prettieuse gun. Ain’t try yet if she shoot. What you believing, Crow?’
Then be silence. ABC look to my face and wag, but Crow ain’t look at me. He narrow on that bullet. Then his fingers shut on it and his eyes go to Driver.
‘You be oldest,’ Crow say.
Driver say, ‘Is truth. And so?’
‘Oldest choose his weapon.’
‘I be oldest, got a gun already.’ Driver give his nod to me.
‘Second oldest be myself,’ Crow say. ‘My gun ain’t working.’
‘Villa second oldest,’ I say. ‘She deserve this gun. She shoot your legs and drag you to her hammock, greedy.’
Jermaine and Asha Badmouth laugh hard. Villa live for males and nothing else. She cannot hunt her foot if someone tie it down. Cannot hunt a roasten fish.
Crow say, ‘Driver favoring his sister, all it is. Gun should be mine.’
Jermaine say, ‘Damn, you wasn’t there.’
‘Villa need that pistol, Crow,’ say Asha Badmouth, laughing yet. ‘She hunt your meat, be sure.’
‘I give the gun to Ice Cream,’ Driver say. ‘Can finish with this talk.’
Then the fire dip and darken. The forest seem to grow and lean towards us, angry dark. ABC make noise inside her throat.
Crow slip the bullet back into the magazine. He fit the magazine into the gun. All looking at the gun, and Crow say, ‘Driver choose to bring a roo back to the town. Choose to give a gun to little sister.’ He say this with sucking anger. ABC shy from his voice. Crow shy himself and look at ABC with nerves.
Then he turn sharp, and aim the pistol toward the roo. Keepers squeak and duck. Then pride hold her still. Feary Keepers strain her body away, but make herself stay on the sledge.
The roo go shut his eyes. If he frighten, it ain’t show. Likely, he been frighten all this time.
Driver say, ‘You shoot a stranger who be bound and cannot move. What you being then? You be how vally then?’
Crow’s hand ease from its aim. Driver standing quiet, though I see him swallow. He say, ‘Crow, give that gun to Ice Cream. Ice Cream, Jermaine, you tie the horses. Can leave the roo tonight. I be at nighting camp.’
His voice be angerless and tired. Then he leave, my brother pass to darkness in the farther trees. Nobody else hear, but I hear him cough a minute down the path. I hear him coughing hard.
Crow reach the gun to me. I take it careless. When our fingers touch, I look at Crow’s face. Someday I look at Driver’s face, when Driver been already dead. Everybody lost.
And Crow turn away and follow Driver down the nighting path. I slip the pistol in my belt.
‘Ain’t go to nighting camp without my roo,’ Keepers say with pleasure.
Asha Badmouth say, ‘Myself, ain’t go without Big Smoke. Ain’t walking on my feet.’
‘This be different cases,’ Keepers say. ‘I love my roo.’
Asha scoff her breath. ‘He loving you, I guess?’
I say, ‘Cannot take no roo to nighting camp. He go escape and eat us all.’
‘With crow sauce,’ say Asha Badmouth.
‘I fetch us hammocks,’ say Jermaine. ‘We sleep here and keep the fire.’
Then Keepers joying in her eyes. She say in happy voice, ‘Spaseep, Jermaine. Mean gratty in their rooish.’
Our nighting camp be kept a minute’s hike from town, clear from its trash unpleasantry. Summer grown thin then, so we strung hammocks in the reddish maples back of Christing Tophet. Hammock high enough, mosquito never think to go. Brook nearby, and everything the pure reverse of town. Is wild and tall with star bellesse.
But this night, is comfort sleeping in our townie stank. All person smells be warm somehow, surround you with their unwant life. Yo, is Money by in friendship, and my ABC. Even the roo seem kinder in my fear, now Crow dislike him.
Jermaine bring back four hammocks, but we only using three. Keepers nest up on the roo, where he be on the sledge. Yo, she start to speak roo language. Any word he speak, she parrot. Then me–Jermaine go parrot after, we all rooing to the stars. Spaseep. Ott vyazee mnya. Bolna, syo takee. But soon the roo gone silent, he look starward with his birchen eyes. Keepers curl against his ribs. His grandy hand be held in Keepers’ hands and they be snug as twins.
5
MY PARLEY TO THE CHRISTINGS
No child ever know a time be happiness until it gone. Time Pasha come, when we still raiding in the Massa woods, I swore to worry. Yet this been before the Nat Mass Armies took no Massa child. Driver bell and vally still, he rule and never weaken. We live wolfen through our wars.
This morning when my trouble wake, Driver send me out to beg a housing for the roo. His judgment be, this perilous beast ain’t safe to keep with Sengles. Must go where there be walls to keep him. Ya, the Christings own a cellar built for prisoning. Kept Armies there, in murder wars that been. So this morning I leave my Jerm
aine to watch the roo. Ride to see the digger folk at Christing Tophet house.
Before the murder wars, it been ten Christing homes in Massa woods. These people mostly fleeing north, whoever can survive. Now only Christing Tophet stay. Ya, in time before and time remaining, Christings live the same. House got one husband ruling it, with any-number wives and every enfant that they breed. And all believe a god who live in two sticks. Each Christing wear around their neck a string with two sticks crossing – and truth, is healthy people. Can think, this god do something, they live fatter than no Sengle child.
They growing corn and tato and got apple trees and milking cows. They can make cheese, and Sengles bring them venison to smoke for winter. We catch them parrots also – Christings partial well to these. Parrots through the Massa woods caw ‘Repent ye of your sins’ and ‘Jesus save’. Yo, Christings gave me Angry Bitch Cub, my Vermonter Stalking Hound, when she was a puppy and I been a puppy child of nine. Anyone give me ABC, that person treasure in my mind. I going to go and love the Christings then, and never stop.
I ride out by whisker morning. Worries be my company; about the roos, about my brother’s cough. But most, I fix my mind upon my ask. Can know without no questions, Christings want no housen roo. So is problems, how I trick them to this unwant gift. It be a sort of mischief I accomplish any times, and soon my Sengle heart be brightening, grin its wolfen lies.
Then Tophet’s edifice and barn show whitish in their pastures. Red cows look up with one feeble mind. I canter Money at the lower fence. She jump it easy as a cat, and all they cows come bumble to her. She put head up pickety. Act like cows be itchy, and go trot sideways away. Then John of Christ call from the step, where he got cider on the table in a glassen brock.
John of Christ a kindly man, and slow with pleasant life. Child keep thirteen Christwives dutied to his single love. These wives the same that chosen John, is how all Christings choosing husbands. Wives pray three days to Jesus for advice, then vote a male. Ain’t know what Jesus say, but every husband of Christ be cake for eyes – is catly-faced and tallish bell. But Jesus never care for brains. A Christwife told me once, John telligent enough to hear advice, and they ain’t need no more. I never met the person who cannot like John.
The Country of Ice Cream Star Page 3
