The Country of Ice Cream Star

by Sandra Newman

  Yo, as my grief occur again, come Mouse and Foxen from the woods. They see myself and scramble toward, exciting in their eyes. Mouse cry, ‘Ice Cream! Must guess the secret!’

  Then both these moron eights be chanting, ‘Guess the secret! Guess the secret!’

  ‘Want no secrets!’ I shout through their noise. ‘Yo leave me rest!’

  They hold with disappointing face. ‘Want, if you known,’ say Foxen airy.

  ‘So tell,’ I say. ‘It need no guessing.’

  ‘Nay!’ Mouse scream. ‘Must guess!’

  Foxen peal a giggle. ‘Be one hint. Is from the Christings.’

  ‘Here be a hint for you.’ I show my fist. ‘Yo leave me rest.’

  ‘Shoo,’ say Mouse. ‘You only stupid. Or you guessing normal.’

  ‘Cannot guess! You shaming cause you stupid!’ Foxen blow her tongue.

  Then come a sound like cows. Be low and high at once. Mouse press his palm against his mouth. Foxen say, ‘The secret!’

  It blare again: ain’t cows but horns. Be the Tophet trumpets, now can hear their plaining tune. When the blaring pause, beneath is christy-nonnies sung. John of Christ’s good basso come familiar through the trees.

  My first thought be gratty. Bugling mean a church been called, for meeting of all towns. Any a child can witness at their churches, though I never done. But this be needful time – can warn them everything we learn of roos. Sure Christings heed, ya Driver heeding better in their company.

  But when the Christings ride into the clear, my gladness choke.

  18

  OF TAKEN QUEEN

  Four riders come. Is John in front, on their big plough-mare Tribulation. Boy Japhet ride behind with Beanie Christwife on a fatten mule. Trumpet hang round Japhet’s neck. These three sing low and weary. Yo their hair be wet, in sign of grief.

  Fourth rider be on Mamadou’s buckskin stallion Beg-No-Pity. NewKing’s feathers, crow-black cardinal-red, is worn in mane and tail. Rider be a girl, is wrapt in gauzy black from head to toe. Black drippen from her feet themself; her head misshapen with thick cloth. Only her brownish eyes reveal. These eyes be scary blank.

  The song die to its final sound. John of Christ remove his hat.

  ‘Be met in Jesus name,’ he say. ‘His greeting on your town from Tophet graced. We bide the Long Agreement.’

  ‘Salue your home. Salue the queen,’ I say. My face feel scalden tight. ‘Was this Susannah?’

  ‘Ya, Susannah been,’ say John. He got spent weeping in his speech, voice sounding all of nose. ‘She sacrifice for all our peace. The Long Agreement stand.’

  My littles gather, curiose. Be thrilling sights to these. Even Villa join this crowd, with plucking pigeon in her hands. And my heart beat slow and weak, bemisery my blood.

  *

  The Long Agreement be the bad remainder from our murder wars. Until this law been made, the Nat Mass Armies took slaves in our woods. Been Sengles taken, and it been occasion, even Lowells took. But mostly these been Christing girls – unwarry people, easy caught. In the simper house, these stolen children lose their name.

  At last, the Christings take a fellowship that they destroy all Armies. The Lowells and the Sengles join in this revenging creed. Then killings follow killings; every day be sad with burials. In these wars, the Lowells build their steely gates, build walls about. The Christings’ cows been murdern, and their fields grown up unkept; most their homes gone fleeing north. Worst battle that there was, been fought about the Christwife Sarah. In this, the Armies burn a home, the Christing Showcase Cinema. There fifty children die in sleep.

  Then was made the Long Agreement, soil of all our better years. Now Armies take their slaves in distant towns beyond all friendship. In Massa, girls be living safe. Our wars lose all their death.

  But in this Long Agreement, be a clause about the Army queen. Christings let one girl be taken for every NewKing made. This queen traden strict in law. Two featherboys ride out to Tophet. Bring godclothes and queenly gems, and name the chosen wife. Then in consenting show, the girl must clad these gauds and veils. Her husband ride her to all towns, and call a queening church. No child must talk to riding queen, nor she can speak her voice. Not till this cloth unbound by NewKing, when she taken in her flesh, can she return to life.

  Return without a name, return apart from all her people. Return to Mamadou his hut. To blood of Ice Cream Star been left upon the NewKing’s furs, and listen to the voice I known, the only love I choose.

  ‘Took queen be praise to Tophet,’ I say rough. ‘Be honor in this choice.’

  ‘Be honor,’ John repeat, and Beanie Christwife say up bright, ‘Be honor.’

  Boy Japhet grit against no words. He scowl and stroke the mule’s brown neck. Behind me, Foxen’s voice say clear, ‘Is wearing chains, beneath. Her nose cut off.’ Keepers reply in hiss, ‘Ain’t so. And you ain’t speak.’ Foxen say, ‘I speak. I speak,’ then everybody hush.

  I make the two-stick sign in air and say, ‘Is well. We will respect the queen for Tophet’s sake.’

  John put his hat against his chest. His eyes blink hard. ‘Church gather tomorrow morning at Tophet house. At first of dawn, be welcome prayer. Follow this with honey meal, for sweetness granten by Our Lord. Then be speech from any child who witness …’

  As he speaking this, reminders inkle in my thought. John tell on – about the later meals and music songs – while it needle in my mind how I must witness on the roos. Yo I can tell about the roo at Army camp, the guns he bring. Never the Christings give Susannah to Armies, once they learning this. Ain’t send her to no camp of roos. Is time, still can be right.

  Then John of Christ conclude, ‘We call your Driver Star to churchen meet.’

  I startle from my thought. ‘Driver? Only he?’

  ‘Ain’t church for friendly talk.’ John shake his head. ‘Queen church be holy met.’

  I look at him, at Japhet and Beanie. A moment I confuse, feel they should know that I must speak. Then I stumble in my words, ‘Sure, myself … I wish to come. Be good respect in this.’

  ‘Only leaders and Christings come,’ say Japhet low. ‘Ain’t happy feast.’

  ‘Must be ceremony,’ say John.

  ‘I keep this ceremony,’ I say. ‘Sure, will keep with any rule.’

  ‘Nay,’ Beanie Christwife say. ‘Ain’t extra children. Cannot feed all Sengles.’

  ‘Queen church written in the Long Agreement,’ Japhet say. ‘Can feed whoever eat but–’

  ‘Ain’t feed all they Sengles,’ Beanie muttern.

  ‘Sure, the Long Agreement,’ John repeat with better certainty. ‘Determine by our fathers so.’

  Then, in my feary watching, Japhet rein his fatty mule. John glance at Susannah, his good face blur with grief. Every slightish motion say they leave.

  I feel how this church will pass. Nor I can trust what Driver do. I feel his sicken face in all my nerves, his papa speaking dull. Then all my panic join, goliath bright inside myself.

  I say, ‘Driver taken with his posies. I go in his place.’

  Then my Sengles staring bright. Their fright be turn to me.

  ‘Must be the sergeant come,’ say Beanie Christwife, sharp.

  John raise hand to Beanie. ‘Driver taken? This be said?’ He squint at me. It seem he try to hear my words in memory.

  ‘In His name, be said.’ My sight be dark, but voice speak clear. ‘The sergeant gone in sickness. I take his place.’

  Can hear the muttern voices of my Sengles, start objection. Keepers’ voice go hissing, ‘Hush, ain’t hear. I got to hear.’

  ‘Driver Star is dead,’ say John of Christ in careful sadness. ‘Heaven call his honest soul.’

  ‘Driver Star is dead,’ I say.

  Story Four Duval begin to cry. I ain’t look at her face. I wish to swallow back my words, but I stand cold. I mouth these words again, in silence, like this stop their meaning.

  Then Shiny Eleven Angels spit into the dirt. She turn and run, her voi
ce yell Crow Doe’s name. All flinch and watch. She run up in the woods, her feet hit crunchen through the sticky briars. Voice weaken in its running.

  John say nervy, ‘Crow ain’t in this? Must this telling wait?’

  ‘Crow be gone,’ say Hate You, shy-voice. ‘Is gone to Armies.’

  ‘Foo!’ Villa sniff. ‘No show, he gone. He sergeant, if no person be.’

  ‘Crow?’ Jermaine say loud. ‘Found what to want! He gone, is better luck.’

  ‘Ain’t Driver dead,’ Cat Fancy Thirteen say. ‘He ain’t so sick!’

  Story Four yell at me, ‘Want no other sergeant! Ain’t want you!’

  ‘Nor me neither,’ say Cat Fancy. ‘Ain’t so sick, he ain’t!’

  Best Creature panic and skree, ‘Where Driver gone? You rid our Driver?’ Now Problem start to cry, and every nervy little catch this wail.

  Cat Fancy shout, as her own tears begin, ‘Driver must be here! Ain’t to decide without him!’

  Then every child be noise and mouth. Susannah’s mount, the buckskin Beg-No-Pity, shy back from this tumult. Susannah sit this graciose in silence, her strong body bow. I call through the reeling larm, ‘I must be sergeant! How it is, my Sengles. Wish it ain’t, goddamn!’

  Then around behind me, silence start. It cast and darken. Soon is only enfants wailing. All faces turn to watch behind.

  Is Driver come back from his hiding meadow, slow with tea. His sicken eyes stare at myself. All his respect be tired.

  My fear see nothing but my fear. Ain’t speech come to my mind.

  Cat Fancy call out nervy, ‘Driver! Make her go!’

  Driver flinch, but keep his eyes on me. Yo Kool Ten begin to call, and Redbook shout her voice. Driver stare beyond this jabber to myself. Take breath, take air in deep. It come back coughing. Chop in parts.

  One and one, my Sengles hush. Ain’t hear but Driver’s cough. Be a helpless sound, like moth that kick against a tenten wall. And Driver look beyond. Look where his sleep remain and can forget.

  He turn away. Put hand up to his face, like he will guard his privacy. Walk to the farther woods.

  My strength go with my brother, leave unsteady to the darken pines. Yo I turn blind to John.

  I gasp the parting words: ‘His grace be on you. Grace go with the queen.’

  John take reins up nervy. ‘All gifts be good from Christ our Lord.’

  They heel their mounts, the horses pick their hoofs toward Lowell path. Beanie start the christy-nonny as they reach the branchen shade. Sing though Japhet never join, nor John of Christ be singing. Her voice sound feary wondering as it dismiss and thin away.

  19

  MY SERGEANT TIME BEGINNING

  I sit to middy meal in Driver’s place at sergeant table. Ain’t notice how we eat. Ain’t know, was this meal cake or wood. I sit and think, nor any child require me with no question. Tequila Fourteen weeping careless, all our girlish thirteens weep – but ain’t no child objecting more. No voice pronounce the name of Crow.

  And when this grim meal finish, I first speak to them as sergeant.

  All it need, I stand up to my feet, and every child go hush. Look to me like I being sergeant always, safe in every help. Only at the enfant blanket, skree go forward, and Hate You’s hushing. This skree be in my heart, is like my feelings’ crying voice.

  First I say, roos come to Massa woods. I tell this careful calm, ain’t make these roos particular risky. Just be so, like we got termites in some chair. Ain’t worth to keep.

  The next words I remember mostly. They repeat again in memory like jeering after. Been spoken in my wildness, in my courage born of grief.

  ‘This move, we wander farther. Leave these woods, like time ago, the Sengles voyage here and prosper well. Our greats been roam for daring miles. Come up from Chespea Water, nor they ain’t had horses like we got. Yo this journey we will take, the Lowells be our trusty help. Tomorrow I request the Christings also. Hope these all be company in our deed.

  ‘Be bell wandering to expect. Can see the stony mountains, see the waters in the leaping ocean. We wander till we seen each inch of sky, drink all its shiny rains. Beyond, we find another woods. Some country where the tatoes growing wild, and every evac full. We go and choose a life joyeuse from every life that be.

  ‘Ya, beyond the farther south, it be a cure for posies. This truth discover past no doubt. Loot dangerous to find – ain’t bring you all to face this risk. But ever it take, I going to rob this pharmacy for … for our good child.’ Then I stop in weakness, watch their feary faces’ hush.

  A wondering moment pass, then Jonah Fourteen say, ‘What be this cure?’

  Now can notice, all my older children watching perilous. I say, ‘I only know it being there. And it fix posies.’

  ‘Fix like papa tea?’ Now Jonah’s face be clenchen with mistrust.

  ‘Nay.’ I say. ‘Fix it entire. Child live sixty years, can be. Ain’t die of posies nothing.’

  Be another quietness. My jones all frowning inward. Is like they seek within themself, to figure if the cure be truth.

  Then Mouse call out, ‘What happen for the Armies? They be bring?’

  To this, all laugh up nervy. Some littles hooting, calling nee-naws at Mouse seriose. Asha Badmouth say, ‘And we bring spiders. Bring diseases also. What we need!’

  ‘Foo,’ say Keepers. ‘Must bring Armies. Who we fight in these new woods?’

  I say loud, ‘The Armies gone to roos.’

  The jabber stop its voice. Their stares bewilder. Can hear Cat Fancy keeping at her crying, through and on.

  ‘How they gone to roos?’ Jermaine say. ‘They becoming roos?’

  Foxen laugh and call, ‘They go turn white!’

  ‘Hush,’ I say in sergeant voice. ‘Will see this at the morrow church. Learn what these Armies do.’

  Before no child can give new problems, I start them to pack the camp. Is complication task, ya every child belabor me with questions. I ain’t get peace to feel my sorrow more.

  And work go to its finish, day walk down to tired night.

  Been thought to wait for Pasha, but he slow in coming back from Lowell. And when the final sun be gone, is sure that Driver sleep. Ya, sergeant be the only child can parley with the dead-among. So my heart insist toward my brother, need his living face.

  I leave Jermaine my deputy. Give him instructions, how the town depart to Lowell mill by morning, while I be at church. Then I head to Driver’s hiding meadow, through the Tophet woods.

  My foot know every hill and stumbling hollow of this walk. Know where the owl will hoo, and where the rusten bicycle been left. On this path, when I been five, I catch a toad and try to teach him speech. Here I drink my first rat booze. I known the mosquitoes’ fathers and their grands and greats; I known the cardinal birds that eat these parents.

  But now my townie woods become a temporary place, a picture where some past life been. I walk through memories gone.

  As I come to the evac roads, a crashing sound break out. My ABC leap from her houndish nowhere. She run left–right before my path, her tongue laugh sideways down.

  ‘Shoo, every creature,’ I say. ‘Every creature in my trouble.’

  Hound trot in front then, looking back responsible and bright. When we come to the hiding house, she dash ahead. Vanish through the tween-yards, where the shadows make a path of blindness. Here I go cautieuse. Can smell his fire.

  Cloud hug the moon as I come to the meadow’s grayer dark. By the dying fire, show Driver’s tent. Tent flaps tied open. ABC sat by, look scouty like she guard this meeting.

  ‘Brother,’ I call low.

  A shadow change inside the tent, but ain’t no word return. I take my breath in this reproach. Say the words is drill: ‘The sergeant will bespeak the sergeant been.’ Then my heart repent, my throat ache with my sorry love.

  But Driver say, ‘Come by.’

  I walk toward and hunker by the tent, go down on knees. He lain, head to the tenten opening, wrap up in a felty blanke
t. Is only hair that show. His face turn down toward the ground.

  ‘Thought we can parley,’ I say clumsy.

  ‘Be gone night. Was sleeping.’

  ‘Sure, is tardy. But, brother … I can sleep here?’

  His head shift, but he ain’t look. Can only see his cheek, cut by a shadow from the tent. ‘You be sergeant. Yours to choose.’

  ‘Is what I wish,’ I say weak-voice. ‘But I respect your wish above.’

  I wait on haunches, all my thinking shame. Feel where ABC be watching, and think about the sleeper hounds is dead inside the house.

  Then Driver sigh, ‘Expect, be rain. You like a tent this night.’

  ‘Sure be rain. Is right.’

  He ain’t say more, but shift himself, make room. I creep inside. Tent scarce is big for two, it take some spidering before I can lay down. A sleeping bag unzip and spread upon the floor, but cold creep through. Can feel the chill of earth. I lay behind him, pillow my head down on my open palm. But nothing in my body rest.

  Then cautieuse, I reach and lay my other hand on top his blanket, on his ribben side. When I touch, my Driver flinch. Be careful held against my feeling.

  I say low, ‘We move the town.’

  His head turn slight, like he present an ear. Can hear him swallow.

  ‘We go to Lowells,’ I say. ‘Like you said, when we been fearing Armies. Yours been right. El Mayor ask this himself.’

  ‘Been right from him.’ His voice come tired.

  ‘Sure. He a trusty goat enough.’

  ‘He fit you, sister,’ Driver say uncaring. ‘Both be birds of hotness.’

  ‘Ain’t fit me while I still can fight.’ I try to laugh, but Driver wait in stillness. Can feel, he wait to sleep.

  I swallow against my guilt and try, ‘These roos be coming. Must be changes round.’

  Driver shake his head against the tenten floor. ‘Talk ain’t war.’

  ‘Yo sho, but if this be. Remember how you say, “Do more than less.” You mind this saying?’

  ‘Can be.’

  ‘Is yours. Cannot be foolish.’

  Then his shoulders tense up quick. My hand upon his ribs can feel his cough mount, how he hold and still. Struggle at this weakness, like his body straining at some weight. Then it only cough beneath his breath. His body ease.