The Country of Ice Cream Star

by Sandra Newman

Ain’t know what fright I get. First is blackness in my chest, then it be only Pasha. Be normal with his owlen looks, his furry hair be muss.

  I swallow at my fear and whisper, ‘He ain’t dying?’

  Pasha shake his head, make face like this been foolish question. Stand and gesture by. I slip outside the door, be walking stumbly with my nerves. Pasha come, he close the door behind.

  A moment, we stand in this nothing place. Look one to one.

  Then I say nervy, ‘Why you here?’

  ‘Was me who find him.’ Pasha shrug. ‘Been seeking you, gone to the room they say. But you ain’t there. In hall, was Driver lying.’

  ‘Lying in the hall?’

  ‘Lie, ain’t wake. I call, and children come. Make him … bring from stomach?’

  ‘Puke, can comprehend.’

  ‘Ya. Breathe better then. He talking some, is better.’

  ‘What he said?’

  Can see, Pasha ain’t expect this question. Answer pass unpleasant in his eyes, then he say stiff, ‘Ain’t much.’

  ‘Nay, what he said?’

  ‘Ice, he sick.’

  ‘Yo why he come up here? He look for me? Damn, what he said?’

  Pasha flinch, frown to the carpet. ‘He … asking us to leave him. Leave him die.’ Then he glance back nervy, check my face.

  ‘So.’ I clench my hands upon their hurt. ‘You saying, this been meant. He want to kill himself, you saying?’

  ‘Ice, he ain’t think bone. Was pharmacy.’

  ‘Nay, papa never make you … why he want to kill himself?’

  ‘Ain’t reasons.’

  I hiss low, ‘Damn, what he said? Say truth. Can know your fibbing, I will know.’

  Pasha tense all through himself. He narrow on the door across, gold letters 244. Say slow, ‘I ask him if he want you.’

  I flinch, look to the door. ‘And he ain’t want to see me.’

  ‘Ice, he sick.’

  ‘Shee that, what he said?’

  ‘Say you … make him dead. So you can do this. Move the town.’

  I take a painful breath. ‘I make him dead. When everything I do be for himself.’

  ‘He been almost sleep. Ain’t sense.’

  I look to Pasha’s face. Again his whiteness seem like sorrow, is like his blood turn pale from grief. But through his owlen face, I see the NewKing. Feel the gunfire in my fear, again-again, like beating. Pasha shoot and shoot, until the hut smell wet with blood. Pasha look away, face white and nothing. Say, He also?

  Then all the madness of this day go freak. I say, outside all sense, ‘Be strange enough, you found him. How this been? You doing something to him?’

  Pasha flinch, look down. Get a frown like consternation.

  ‘Go thinking,’ I say. ‘Think on all your work. Be well.’ Tears want to start, but I rub at my eyes feroce. Swollen eye hurt vicious, and I swear.

  Pasha say, ‘Ice Cream?’

  ‘My Driver … ain’t believe he say this. Nor he kill himself. Is yours.’

  I turn blind to the wall. Can know, I talking madness, but my heart believe this madness. Never my brother kill himself. Is Pasha’s always lies. Yo, El Mayor been said, Ain’t got to trust him like you do. Roo killing littles, El Mayor been said.

  Then into this blindness, Pasha speak low.

  ‘Can comprehend. You tell me hate, if you got need. Nor you ain’t do mally nothing. At their camp, been me.’

  Then everything be dizzy lost. I lean back on the door.

  Pasha say, ‘I ain’t hurt Driver. You know this?’

  I shrug at my feeling. ‘Ya. I know.’

  ‘Papa change his thinking. Sure I know. Done this myself.’

  ‘Done yourself.’

  ‘Gero, like this papa. Try this.’

  I let my hand ease to my mouth. Look at Pasha now, and try to wonder. Think of his foot upon a murdern little. Hounds eating enfants. Gero.

  ‘Been physicians there,’ say Pasha low. ‘And my soldats, ain’t let me die.’

  I say cold, ‘Should let you.’

  This catch him funny somehow. Roo grin up and muttern, ‘Truth.’

  When I see his teeth, my feeling come precaire. I say in strange high voice, ‘Your Deema. Why he burn this house?’

  Pasha sigh, his mouth go tired. ‘Ain’t guess. Can be, he ain’t know littles there. He fool, is foolish work.’

  ‘Sure he known.’

  ‘Why he will know?’

  ‘You told me roos kill littles, ya. Was lies?’

  He nay his hand. ‘This happen in a yeary war. When danger been, for time. Been stories, burning also. But in this time, with Deema, why?’

  ‘Burning?’ I say sharp. ‘What been these stories?’

  ‘Been story. Some our children, fire a house. Shoot littles when they running out. Been this story.’

  ‘You done this?’

  He take breath, surprise. His hands square into fists.

  ‘You done this? Damn, you answer.’

  His eyes seek at me, like he try to comprehend. ‘Nay. Ain’t done this.’

  ‘What you done?’

  He stare on me, ain’t thinking in his face.

  I say, ‘How you killing littles? What you done?’

  ‘Ice Cream?’ His eyes show grief like light.

  Shame come in me, coursing chill, as blood run from a wound. But I only say, ‘You go. Get out. Ain’t want you here.’

  He nod quick and turn. Go clumsy to the stairy door, push outside like he flee. Can hear his feet uneven on the stairs.

  I turn slow and press my aching face against the door. Take a mally minute before I open and go inside.

  Driver lain just like he been. His hasping breath go by.

  I crouch down to the floor. Get on hands and knees, press one hand hard against my bruisen mouth, and weep like any hound. Weep for my brother, and his ruin face and ruin heart. Weep how Pasha save my life, and kill and kill and kill. How he turn feary from my hate. Weep for small Karim, who love my Crow; and weep for Crow gone to the camp of rape, to hell and filth. Mamadou lie beneath, blood on his chest. I weep until I cannot breathe, my hair be wet, all on the floor be wet.

  And I crush the sound behind my hand. Driver sleep on in his separate dark.

  Be tears, and be the end of tears. Soon my crying fail. Then I sit alone, and all this grief be only damp and aching. Driver breathing on, his unwant life go through himself.

  Then I lay by him on the bed. Ain’t mind if he be woken so, nor I care for his laws. I hug careless to his body – body that feel strange, is only bones and sleeping weight. But he never wake, he never shift against my holding. Sleep gentle in my arms, and my heart settle to his warm.

  When I last look up, that orange light still showing in the window. Yo they birds go wheeling, speckling black, above the city. I think again how we go, leading horses, bearing enfants – march our stubborn trespass into winter. First day we reach the farther edge of what we ever known. Go past the raiding places of the Armies, past all fables heard.

  Yo at the end I see, like gem mysteriose, this cure. In my mind, it be an emerald, lying in a rooish hand. Be the greenish color I see, when I close eyes against this light. And I see again the city, its streets of broken glass, its upheld rooms of rats and silence. City of our final leaving, and our first adventure.

  29

  OF STOLEN CHILDREN

  I waken to my name, and look up nervy in besweaten skin. Night be in its blackness. From the window, only come the skeiny light of Lowell’s outdoor lamps. Ain’t no one by, nor Driver stir. Ain’t figure if my name was spoken real, or been in dreams.

  My brother lain like sleeping water, loose. Arm rest above the covers, and his hand itself look easy. I touch his shoulder careful, and his breath pause like a question. I hold my breath along. Sigh gratty when he breathe again.

  Then I hear the cryers’ dim bewail. ‘Ice Cream Sengle to the bricky gate! Ice Cream Sengle! Bricky gate!’

  I mouth a swear and get
up to the door.

  Hall be empty, ya the mill is silent with the tardy hour. It be the nothing voice of brick and carpet, like no outside hush. As I go, my thinking stray in guesses, who require myself. First, be thought of middy night. Some guilt beware, is El Mayor, complain that I ain’t fill his bed. But he ain’t going to call no fickle girl to bricky gate.

  Then a wish remember Crow. Now Karim be dead, ain’t necessary he remain by Armies. But every conscience know, Crow never come. Is lost to hatred.

  Last I decide it must be Sengles. Likely be, they start a loud predicament. Lowells exasperate and rid my unschool children to the yard.

  But when I come outside, be still. Only a mockingbird give ugly voice into the vacant dark. Moon grown paunchy, blear in cloud. Stood most at middy height.

  I come out on the moon concree. Behind the gate, a tall horse stamp its hoof. A child stand shadowy by. Gate open set, and two guards be before, their rifles idle held.

  Guards is First and Second Library, tired in waking. Can see the burning noses of their cigarettes move jiggy, sketching orange flights. As I walk up, First Library call, ‘Girl only ask for you. Ain’t want to come inside without.’ Her voice sound pologetic, she commiserate my woken sleep.

  I walk toward, watch how this shadow child appear. She wear a leather jacket, legs show naked to the thigh. Hair wrap up in cloth, and she stand barefoot on the pathen dirt. Got cheekbone face, with big plum lips. She ain’t speak out, but when I come up close, can see she watch on me.

  Ain’t recognize this girl for nothing. In the moonish blear, is shy feroce.

  I say, ‘Salue, my stranger. What you need?’

  She tug at her hair-cloth. Say up scary, ‘Brung this horse. For trade.’

  Her voice bruise in my memory. Be the simper from the Armies, girl who given me her knife. And it remind, how I been call the simpers from the camp. Ain’t seen this girl inside the house, but sure she heard this call.

  Now she come, I got all dread against. Be like I cry out in a nightmare, invite its spooks into my day. But I square my heart and say, ‘Be welcome. Sure you come with me.’

  When she step forward, all her shape be fear. Flinch when the horse step close, is like a six who never ride before. She lead him on a halter, and I wonder if she walken all this way on naked feet.

  When she get close, she say, ‘Horse was stolen, this be right?’

  ‘Ain’t need no horse. You bring yourself, my simper.’

  ‘Yo, I be stolen also.’ She set her mouth, defiant frighten.

  Truth, Lowells ain’t take stolen loot. Be people living on their trade, ain’t like no disagreements. But I say firm, ‘They laws be by. Nor theft got shame among my people. Sengles’ help be yours, you keep by us.’

  ‘Ain’t ask no help for help,’ she say in pitchy voice. ‘Got trade.’

  ‘Yo sho.’ I nod to First Library. ‘My First, will take this horse for me? Can speak to El Mayor tomorrow.’ I give her meaning look, ain’t want no squabbles. But she nod and smile.

  Then Second Library start to close the gate. The simper tense and stare at this, and when the gate lock to, she close her eyes and mouth a word.

  ‘Ain’t hold you here,’ I say. ‘Can leave, if this become your wish.’

  She look round sharp at me. ‘Nay. Going to stay.’

  I smile back nervy. ‘Bone. Come by inside.’

  Got no knowledge where to take her. So I lead her to the diner, empty in this nightish hour. This be a grandy tilen room. Got booth tables fixen to the wall, with petty sofas to. Yo be other various tables, set with wooden chairs. On the wall is all their rostas, wiper boards writ up with task.

  Most times, this be a pigly stew. Mess faster than it clean. But this nighting hour, the diner washen plain as silence. Only on the sofas, heren there, be cats asleep.

  As she come in, the simper laugh. Muttern something to herself, sound most like fisher Panish. Then she say in happy nerves, ‘They eating here?’

  ‘Yo sho. The diner be.’

  I start the lights. As they flash on, the simper catch her breath. Cats look up riling from their sofas.

  I say, ‘Be lectric light. Ain’t risky none.’

  ‘I know. Be sure I know.’ She stretch one hand up toward the lights, like she will feel their heat. Now it notice, from her shoulder, swing a pinkish sack. Is cloth, and got a face embroider. Most this face be worn away. One eye be only dangle threads. Smiling mouth half gone.

  ‘I grown in a place, been most like this,’ she say.

  ‘Before they took you?’

  ‘Yo sho, lectric place. Been finer. But is lights like this. Whole city like.’

  Most every simper say she from a wonder town of all richesse. Brag how her people going to come and war for her with brave explosions. But these science children never appear. So I ain’t heed this much. I only say, soft as I know, ‘Can come and sit. You safe by us.’

  I go to a table, sit myself in wooden chair. Then the simper laugh again. Come to her chair unnerven, seem to question how it use. But before I can explain, she sit and smile around. Smile pinch down queery, like she bite her joy.

  Yo, in this showing light, can see her face be scarren every way. Eyes blackish prettieuse, but got one eyelid skew and thick. Her nose been broken sometime, take a gentle corner in its length. Along her skin entire, be nicks and lumps.

  And on one cheek, it be two blacker spots. Can think, they scars alike. But from all days I watch on Driver’s skin, I know them straight. Be posies.

  I look down nervy at the table. Got smears of soap upon, some small custodian ain’t wipe it proper. My hand inspect this surface, and I say, ‘What be your name?’

  She scoff breath. ‘Foo, I be a simper. Use no name.’

  ‘Must call you something, sure.’

  ‘Call?’ She pooch her lips uncaring. ‘Who I be, they call me Hak’s girl.’

  ‘Hak’s girl? OldKing Hak’s?’

  ‘This be myself. Thought you may know.’

  ‘Ain’t Sengles knowing much of Armies.’

  Her eyes change in some puzzling, like she magine how this be. Then she laugh nerviose. ‘Ain’t know much. Can see this right. Heed, you know how simper girls be took?’

  ‘Sure.’ I shrug unliking. ‘Bound and took.’

  ‘Nay, what doing after.’

  Must be, I look finicky, for she give her scary laugh. ‘Ain’t mean they doings, sure this be … Shee, they rapes. Shee.’ Then her face go twisten. Tears come up, she rub them as they come. Get a stubborn look in this, like these tears be put on her.

  I say low, ‘Ain’t got to tell me nothing. Be no need.’

  ‘Nay, story be wolfen. You like this.’ She look friendly through her tears. Like she offer a gift, hope it can please.

  I swallow at my unwant. ‘Yo sho.’

  ‘How it being, so. Myself been took by Hak and Bardo. Hak ain’t been King or nothing then, a feather like another. Sure they ruin me well, ain’t any mystery how Hak be.’

  ‘Can guess.’

  ‘Nay, you ain’t guess.’ She laugh up harsh, rub at her teary eye. ‘You think a million times and never guess. What they do first, they break my leg, so I ain’t flee nowhere. Then all they feathers trying me. I lose two teeth in this, been choking blood. And they all laughing, glad. No sho, you guessing how this be.’

  ‘Sure,’ I say weak. ‘Ain’t know.’

  Then she recollect herself. Sniff nose and say, in lower voice, ‘Ya, when this finish, how they do. Taken girl be sobbing well. Mostly will be bleeding, but ain’t no child bear this prettieuse. Then the NewKing come. Ain’t show himself before, no sho. He give them plenty time.

  ‘So, NewKing going to the feathers, “How you hurt this child, this poory girl?” Go chase them off. And he bring her to his hut, he give her any care. Pet her. Clean her wounds.’

  I shiver, stare some loathen feeling. A memory pass of Mamadou, how he daub me with booze. Clean your hurts. Is what we use.

  Simper
say on, ‘Yo he talk, “You feary, child? Ain’t fear no more, I keep you safe.” Girl, she ain’t know nothing. Feel this be the only child she trust. So he tend her there, and when she heal … how you thinking? What she do?’

  ‘She stay?’ My voice come dry.

  ‘Ain’t leave for nothing.’ Simper laugh hard, grimace her face. ‘Sugar, they simpers never leave. Seen when you call them out? “You free! Can go to Lowell mill!” No sho, they leave. Ain’t never be in life.’

  She give her thin-kept smile. And here it realize, she hide her teeth. My stomach gripe again. ‘This been with yourself? This … cleaning wounds?’

  ‘Ho, my story. Right.’ Her scars all work in smiling. ‘So, in my time, been NewKing Sayd. He take me to his hut, but I ain’t talking. How I been, no sho. And he go on his “Where you hurting, treasure? Now you safe.” Try to pet my head. Myself …’ Her face grit up in sudden hate. ‘I push him in the fire.’

  A moment pass. She pinch her mouth, scorn past me at this memory.

  I say low, ‘Was vally done.’

  ‘I be from other people.’ She wave her hand around. ‘People like this here. Never was handled by no male before. Cannot like no handling.

  ‘So yo, continue like this, me and Sayd. He try some times, then he tell Hak, “You like this bitch? She yours.” I ain’t fight no less with Hak, but this ain’t worry Hak. Yo, how he using me, I ain’t been prettieuse to any another. Been nothing good to see.’

  She laugh hard, grimace her face. Reach in her jacket pocket, get a cigarette. Light her match with one hand. As she suck this cigarette, she look at me with bliss content. Like all her hopes accomplish.

  I look down to her pinkish sack, set floppy on the table. Now I see, along its cloth is written words in filler pen. Ink wash out mostly, lines is pale. Words go in twos, and every pair been written by a different hand. Nor these words ain’t recognize.

  Then it comprehend, is names. Was written on her bag in friendship. And slow, it follow in my mind, these been from children in her home. Must be, she keep the bag through all this time.

  Then all my misery be, how this been years. I try to think what years it be since Sayd been NewKing of the Armies, but my mind go flat and tired.

  Sack written: Tino Alvarez. Maidali Guzman. Camilo Araujo. Cari Guzman. Ink washen grayish light.