The Country of Ice Cream Star

by Sandra Newman

  ‘You know.’

  ‘Yo, been remember. Give to Deema’s use, she doing for this animal now.’

  Be times, the NewKing tell me any unheart thing, to rile my hate. Like to bring me hot and yelling, his arms receive my fight. But he never lie. Ain’t think to lie. Is straight as blood.

  Now his bitter stare return. Eyes watch with all their thinking, and ain’t no amuse in his respect.

  I say flat, ‘This rape bring murder.’

  ‘Myself, I never like no struggling girl. Some meat that suffering while I eat, this be sad work. Deema, he ain’t bother.’

  ‘Sure you die for this.’

  ‘Girl ain’t wish to be no queen, can be a simper like another. Choice been chosen by herself.’

  ‘Yo tick of all disease! You kilt their Japhet! Try to burn their littles, enfants in a locken room. Ain’t know how you can live. How you go live beyond–’

  ‘Slow, slow.’ He put his fingers toward my mouth.

  I flinch back, and booze flash from my cup, sting on my scratchen hand. I swear in underbreath. Switch the cup to other hand, and I suck at this crawling hurt.

  ‘Sengle,’ Mamadou say, ‘ain’t be no littles in this case. A boy been kilt, he got his gun to thank. That girl with Deema, she my goods. But ain’t no littles in this.’

  ‘Littles been lock inside. You light the house. Been burning when I come.’

  Mamadou watching on my face, like he inspect some lie. ‘Ain’t nothing done like this.’

  ‘I know a fire set.’

  ‘Been no fire. Can spare your talk. Expect you set some fire behind. A Sengle habit, like your boring lies.’

  Then something freaken in my heart. I yell with all my breath, ‘Ain’t lies! Yo unheart cockroach! King of filth, you be the shee of Hak! Your blood be piss! Can see you die, this blood stank every tree of woods.’ Then I catch my breath, go suck my hand again.

  He watch this speech with face surprise. But when I suck my hand, he break up grinning. All his anger pass, he laugh out hard. Yo, he step toward and take my chin in his big hand. Hold fast.

  ‘You ain’t change none, my Sengle. Seen you beaten, worry this will calm you.’ He laugh again.

  I put my hand up to his chest, like I will push him back. But my hand remain there, like a fact.

  I say uneven, ‘Beaten, shoo. Your feathers fighting weak.’

  ‘Sure, is slaving work. Wish the girls to fear, not that they spoil.’

  ‘What fear? Been like our normal wars.’

  ‘So this handling by my feathers been your joy, can comprehend.’ He grin, his broken tooth appear mischieviose. Godscars go into deep furrows.

  Under my hand, can feel the muscles shifting in his chest. Then my body remember him, ain’t courage can forget. My feet themself awaken, fur feel sweetish in their toes. Knife shape feel sweet.

  And he say with low particular softness, ‘Hold, I clean yourself.’

  He step back toward his hanging stores. Go hunting through some various clothes. Reach about, he go as graciose as naked shadow.

  Yo I drink my whiskey, feel its burning and my stinging hand. Force myself to think of what I do, and what I owe. The whiskey feel like weakness in me, and I think of leaving here. How I get this knife. But it ain’t magine somehow. Ain’t seem like nothing going to happen after this.

  Mamadou take a cotton tee, a flask. In by-thought, he turn to the hanging rifle. Yank away its magazine and toss this in a farther corner. My mind distract at this, can feel his thought. I may reach the rifle, but ain’t time to run for both. And I feel some gratty strength, he fearing me somehow.

  Then he come back. Open his flask and splash its wet onto the tee. Can smell, is low rat booze.

  I waken from my thought. ‘What this be for?’

  ‘Clean your hurts. Is what we use.’

  ‘Yo, I can do this. You ain’t got to touch me nothing.’

  His fingers tensen on the tee. Look in my eyes with something bitter. Ain’t know what happen in me then, but when he take my chin in his sure fingers, I go calm. He sigh, say low, ‘Got cuts behind, ya. Better I do this.’

  He start upon my face in silent mood. Rat sting malicieuse. Yo, this cotton tee come back with any dirty streaking. He clean along my arms, and find new hurts I never known was made. Bend my head and take time with the sticky cut left in my hair. He hold my injure hand in his, and work in tiny gentleness. Face show but what he do. Then he hunker down, his hand go searching up my scrapen leg.

  Cannot even say how I become in this. I think of pain while I can try. But my body be one seeking memory. And when he leave his work and stand and watch into my eyes, these eyes tell every story. Mamadou’s face be cold without no joy.

  Then, how it begin – how it beginning every time – he say my name.

  Ain’t words for what this be. Be something make all honor small. No life nor honesty remain, and every strangeness, every stopping pain, become bellesse. We speaking words like love, like you, that ain’t mean nothing. Words waste in air. Nor ain’t knowledge of this losten hour, is gold you cannot see. Cannot find out what it been. Yet this blind thing be more real than life.

  And then it finish. I lie upon the sheepskin like I done, yo twenty nights of evil. Lie naked in myself.

  Mamadou lie, one arm upon my belly. Ain’t sleep, but stare beyond. Nor I ain’t look to see him. Wish this been forgot.

  I watch the changing firelight. How it catch on points of objects on they walls. Every object seem like some sad proof. A string of books. A leather jacket with a rip sleeve.

  Outside the hut, the feathers sing. Can hear this dim and eerie. Be a simper song, weak with all feeling feathers never get. Tell of the pain they cause. Song repeat: ain’t no kin, ain’t no help, ain’t no help remain.

  And I think of Driver knowing what I done. Susannah with the roo, left in her misery. How something in me come to Army camp for this. I stood before the littles at Tophet home, and squawk my lies, while in my heart, been wanting this.

  Ain’t be the hero of my mind. Ain’t even normal made.

  And all my losses wake, and every task I ain’t perform. I grit against this, but it rise with every pain that breathe inside my flesh. The howlen singing. All the helpless things that I must help, that going to waste.

  Then inside this misery, something inkle. Be looking straight at Mamadou’s rifle.

  Magazine in farther corner. Ain’t going to get this magazine now. Mamadou catch me easy. Be only one act that can work.

  Then it be careful work to get my knife. Knife lodge by my lower shin, ain’t reach it, how he hold myself. Yo, if I move from under, he will rise and watch on me.

  I hook my leg around, show like I scratching on this knee. In this, I work the knife out with my toe.

  My mind repeat, this must be killing. No Mamadou threaten by a knife, can laugh at this small weapon. Take this knife before I strike. Must kill him while he never fear. Be for my freedom and the Christings’ freedom. Be for Susannah’s rape, and for the littles capture in this fire. Be done and then consider.

  After, I will take his rifle. Drive the feathers off with bullets, or I die in this. If I ain’t die, I go to the simper house. If it be feathers there, they ain’t wear guns. Can hope they ain’t. Tophet Christwives free, run in the woods. Be done if I ain’t die. Then I must find this Deema Roo. This be a second murder, must be done without no thought.

  I bring the knife out with my foot. Be finicky work, to catch it so. Begun to sweat when I bring it into reach.

  Then it go without no thought. I grab it with my hand and turn. But as I go to strike, is like the knife catch in some cannot. Ain’t hurt him. I pause in air, when Mamadou’s hand fly at my hand. Knock it wild, and I pull back, but he grab quick and catch my wrist. Hold on and grip feroce.

  First his face surprise. Then it clear to a bitter preciation of the knife. He rise and force my arm back. I fight my other hand, but this be caught, he pin me on my back. Straddle over me, his hand
s go painful on my wrists.

  Then I ain’t help myself, I smile. Be my relief, this task been took from me. Ain’t mine to help this now.

  Mamadou watching cold. He shift his weight on my knife hand. Work at the fingers, dig them loose, and take the knife himself. Look at the blade, like he inspect its sharpness. My freed hand go to his throat.

  There it rest. Ain’t try no hurt. I be smiling helpless, like this been a pleasure game.

  He rest the knife blade flat against my nose. ‘Sengle, you ain’t never disappoint.’

  ‘Christings be my friends.’

  ‘Been told, I never burn their house. Ain’t got no listening sense.’

  ‘Be thirteen girls you keep.’

  He stroke the blade along my cheek. ‘Agreement broken by themself. Be murder war this is.’

  ‘Shee, found a thing to want.’

  ‘Ain’t liking war, I guess. You ain’t.’ He make a face, and rest the knife point at my beating throat.

  I swallow against this knifepoint. ‘Every fool see how you thinking. Roo bring guns to you, your prowess rule.’

  ‘Truth easy. How it be.’

  ‘You trust this Deema, you be blind.’

  ‘Ain’t trusting any a child.’ He raise and waggle the knife before my eyes. ‘Shoo, you be one can speak of trust. You funny, Sengle. Noisy, but you funny.’

  ‘Yo,’ I say in scorn, ‘and what these roos will gain from this? You know we got a roo ourself. He tell me of this gain. Your end be pity.’

  Here his thinking pause. Eyes narrow, and he reach behind and find the flask of booze. Uncork and drink, still watching on me. ‘So, what the roos will gain?’

  I try to make my spirit think. Mamadou watching me with hate, with interest. Drink booze and watch me past his knife.

  I catch my breath and say, ‘I trade this news. You let these Christings–’

  ‘Shee.’ He sit back cold. ‘My trade be this. I feel too lazy tired to kill you. Be tired with this discussion and your knives and nonsense talk. Going to tell you what will be. Can be my queen now, Sengle, this the final time I give this chance. Then you tell me what I ask, because you doing what I ask. Or you be a slave like any. Can try your luck at fighting feathers, will be cherry entertainment. But you never leaving here. Must know this be the end, when you come running to this camp.’

  I chill in my blood. ‘Choice of worm and cockroach. Ain’t no different to my mind.’

  ‘You see the difference when I let my feathers take your precieuse self. You feel some difference then.’

  ‘Fool, you got a nothing brain, same as you got a nothing heart. Be no death I fear. Go kill me, ya.’

  ‘Got no killing mood. Nor I ain’t mention no third choice.’

  Then we staring, hate to hate. Can see the muscles tensen in his neck.

  I say, ‘Prefer to be a simper. Will be bone variety.’

  He raise his arm behind, and bring it down with all his force. My head ring false, can feel my teeth. Sight go in hurting blur.

  He say in weaken breath, ‘Ain’t want no girl I got to beat. Ain’t like sad work, been told you this.’

  ‘Go kill me, fool. Ain’t slap me like an eight.’ But I be trembling, cannot tell if this be fear or rage.

  Then something come, be stranger than no blows. Mamadou’s face go stark. He put his palm flat to my cheek and hold the place he hit. Ain’t stroke nor press, he only feel me, like he ain’t certain it be me.

  And tears shine in his eyes.

  My heart beat uncanny. I reach up to his face, but he push hard, rise up and stalk away. A moment he only stand, his back move with his angry breath. Then he fling the knife back to myself. It land beside my knee. I ain’t look to it, I watch the NewKing with all beating fear.

  ‘Goddamn.’ He wipe his eyes hard, like he want to tear them out. Walk to the wall, look at the rifle like this thing ain’t recognize. Yo, when he speak, he speak toward the gun.

  ‘Ain’t let you go, should know. Nor my feathers accept this weakness. Come running here, you going to be my queen, if I must keep you bound. For truth, I never leave you to them. You ain’t for that.’

  He put one hand up on that gun. His jaw go gritting, shoulders tense. ‘I know the things you say, you talk to me like … damn, I ain’t no fool. Know well this roo ain’t honest. Got any roos behind, I know they ain’t want nothing good for me.’

  I catch breath to this. ‘Nay, what he promise you, your Deema?’

  ‘Now you asking questions.’ He look at me feroce. ‘Tell you this, ain’t going to be no Sengles or no diggers here. People be mine or took by roos. What you thought was happening, if you even do no thinking?’ He turn by and hook some jeans down from the wall, begin to pull these on. I watch, feel how I never seen him do this normal task before. Resent my own insisting love, and I say, ‘So, roos help you to this power, you think?’

  Mamadou finish with his jeans and look back at me cold. ‘Nay, I know. I helping them. But cannot see how power can hurt me. You going to fight them with that knife, I guess.’

  ‘Can leave. Ain’t got to stay by them.’

  He make his scorning face. ‘Thought you been smarter. Leave, they find me in my weakness. Then it be no promises from them, be other stories. Think you going to flee from them, you need to find another world.’

  ‘Better chance in this. You let me go, we see who living longest.’

  ‘Nay, you heed. You going to be my queen, because I want you, all it is. Fight me if you like my beatings. Guess you prefer to be some rooish keep. Talk like you knowing something. You ain’t even knowing what you be.’

  ‘I be some goods, I guess.’

  ‘To Deema? Yo, can meet him, you begin to comprehend.’ His face change into different hatreds. ‘Tell you this, some chance become, we war against these roos. And sure, if war be made, mine be the people gain this war. They digger rabbits die in easy blood without myself. Your Sengles, sure be enfants, going to die.’

  He shake his head, reach up and lift the gun off of its hook. Cross to the magazine and fix it on. Then he look back with measuring eyes. ‘You bone? Ain’t hurt too much?’

  ‘How you meaning? Sure, ain’t nothing.’

  His face go easier. ‘Yo be right. I going to fetch this Deema. Best he understanding who you be, before he do no grossness. And heed, you ask him on the fire. Deema stay behind at Tophet, but he never spoke of fire. Be truth, this interest myself. And be easy with your knife. Deema ain’t so soft with noisy females, like I be.’

  I watch his eyes, and my heart waste in hurt. I say without no thought, ‘Ain’t wish to kill you, for yourself. Sure you know.’

  He swear some filth beneath his breath. Show his tired grin and say, ‘You be a year of misery, Sengle.’

  Then he duck outside the hut. Can hear him swearing as he go.

  24

  OF DEEMA ROO

  Belief be food to courage. Yo, never been my courage hungrier than on this day. I crave for any madness hope, so it be hope and not despair.

  So it become that I resolve to be the Army queen. Will beg the Christings’ freedom for my love, all I can do. Then I make war against the roos with Mamadou the NewKing. Can fight the rooish cure from them, my Driver healing quick.

  This endure for wishful minutes. It last while I put on my filthen silver dress, inspect its ruin. Yo my strange belief continue while I drink the last of my rat booze. Cut a hiding for the knife into the silver skirt, can hold it ready by my thigh – and I believe. Believe while Mamadou return, and yo I wish to speak, to tell him that I stay. Ain’t no love been like what I desire, while he come watchful in. His rifle slung upon, it hanging careless at his naked chest. He say, ‘Is coming. Mind my word,’ and every shame be gold.

  But when Deema come, this madness die.

  He come with arm around a feather who bear up his drunkenness. Roo wear only whitey underpants and mudden boots. Paunch show sweaten hairy, and his face be pink as ugliness. Ruin ear look like melt wax. Got a k
nife himself, thrust in these underpants, the lastic hold it sloppy to. Yo ain’t this grossness spoil my faith.

  The bearing feather be Karim. He got his greenish feathers, loose untie and straggle down. And his face can recognize, though I ain’t thought that I will know his face.

  Be handsome made, but low in height. This height mark Crow’s Karim, and how his beard be shapen on his chin. Eyes is careful nervy, like he struggle with his patience. He look at me with knowledge, and I look at him with hate.

  Then everything I feel be nothing in this visible sight. Cannot go the sinking path of Crow.

  And here it recognize how I be caught. I been a hundred fools that I come here. Even if someone guess I be here, all they Armies wearing guns. Ain’t nothing Sengles do against. Mamadou said, You never leaving here, he spoken with true meaning. Been my stupid pride that I ain’t heard this seriose.

  I feel the world be shrunken to this hut, these men in flickering dark. Ain’t no future out of this. No Ice Cream ever be beyond. Sure is almost pleasure when the roo distract with his bad noise.

  ‘Mamadou! My king!’ call Deema Roo in slushen voice. Then he laugh like this been enfant joke. Hunt his hands around himself, surprise when he find only skin. Mamadou understand this, reach the rat flask out.

  ‘I thank gratty,’ Deema say. Grab the flask and put it to his mouth, try drinking through the cork. Then he look annoyance. Pull the cork out, drop it on the floor. Drinking go in pulses down his neck.

  Mamadou look intention at me, like he show some point. Yo Pasha’s speech of Deema remind: Be fool soldat. Ain’t bone for nothing. Now I struggle in thinking all this fool soldat can mean.

  Deema finish his drink and hand the flask to green Karim. In this, he notice me. Come toward sway-foot and stop at talking distance. Ain’t so tall as Pasha, but is grandy size enough. Yo his fattish sides make weight.

  And close, I see his face be ruin queer. Got creases in his brow and cheek, the skin bag loose below. Pink color in his cheeks ain’t regular. Be tender lines of purple branch along his cheeks and nose. Be like a face in sleeper pictures, looking all disease.