The Country of Ice Cream Star

by Sandra Newman

  At last I say, ‘This why you given me your knife?’

  ‘Sure be so.’ She look at me, eyes prideful. ‘Ain’t had this chance before. But you be worthy well.’

  ‘Shoo, how you know my worth?’

  ‘How I ain’t know? A simper going to know all talk. Know pox on all these Lowell companieros. Foo, you think there be a male in Massa woods ain’t visit simpers? You think!’

  I frown discomfort. ‘Sure, cannot be all boys do this.’

  ‘Ain’t it?’ she say unconcern.

  ‘Nay, think. Be boys is skew.’

  ‘Ain’t skew every day of life. No sho, they try all means.’

  ‘Nay, cannot be every child. Ain’t every male the same.’

  ‘Foo, ain’t distress. Truth, some Christings never come, is finicky. “Go with harlots,” be their talk.’

  ‘And some Sengles, sure.’

  ‘Can be. Ain’t necessary I know all names of Sengles.’

  Something trouble in her then. She get up to her feet, hug jacket round herself like chills. Smile nervy at me, then she cross by to a redhead cat. Stoop, touch soft between his ears. He wake and sniff up drowsy.

  Then she look back, shaming in her eyes. ‘Been talking ugliness. Can feel this. Hope I said no harm.’

  ‘Ain’t harm.’

  ‘Had only Hak to talk with, mostly. Feel I ain’t know how to be.’

  ‘Ain’t got to be no way. Yo, this be by. We going to leave this place. Ain’t be no Armies in this story.’

  ‘Can hope.’ Her mouth fret close. ‘But … you ain’t worry if I say?’

  ‘Say?’ I force a smile. ‘Ain’t knowing what it be. But sure, you tell.’

  She frown back sorry to the cat. ‘Hak say they got to kill you. For Karim and Mika kilt. Mamadou telling how it been your roo, but Hak ain’t want to hear. Go rile the others, sure he do.’

  My mind struggle, try to fix this into sense. ‘How … Mamadou told?’

  ‘That Deema roo can die, be gratty. No one weep for him. But ya Karim and Mika! Hak never care for them before, but now they be his boys. “She kilt my boys,” and all his noise. Mamadou been the one was hurt. He ain’t got nothing at you.’

  ‘Mamadou ain’t been kilt?’

  ‘Ho, I see. You thought he kilt? Nay, been torn up some. He broke his shoulder bone behind.’ She touch herself, close at her collarbone, show where this bullet strike.

  I say blind, ‘I been expect, a person shot must die.’

  ‘Foo, can live. Some children shot three times, can live.’

  I try to think how this can be, but nothing remember in my mind. Been blood on him, Karim crouch by. I touch this blood myself, but never wonder if he live. Ain’t hope.

  I sit back, stare my struggling thought. Mamadou come back in my mind, alive. But now he be the NewKing of the simper’s tales, of laughing rape.

  On a rosta board across, can see where someone writ up large, AIN’T PACK BOOKS. PACK FOR NEEDS. Some other child writ under this, NEEDS: CIGARETTES, BOOZE. Word ‘booze’ bother at me, recall the Army camp its stank. Mamadou hold my hand so gentle, clean my injuries. How he done with every slave. And Deema rape Susannah by, like Mamadou done all years. Ya, in time of NewKing Sayd, he been a feather like another. When they rape this girl, he been among. So been his life. And I always known – but I refuse to know for selfishness. Dream stupidities of love, and never care beyond.

  By the rosta board, a clock be hung. First, I stare through it, gnaw my guilts. But slow, a question bother in me. Can almost laugh when I find that I wonder: yo what time it be?

  Ain’t cleverish for reading clocks, but this be simple news. Both arms is pointing twelve. Then I shock peculiar, pondering this perfect time. Be like an answer spoken. I look to Hak’s girl like she going to comprehend, can share.

  She waken from her thought, frown up. ‘You fretting something? Expect, Hak never chase you. Be his braggeries.’

  ‘Nay, ain’t fretting.’ I stand to my feet. ‘Should only go. Be tardy.’

  Simper startle, budge her cat. He squirm free and brandish tail. ‘Sure, you go,’ she say unhappy.

  ‘Can put you with my Sengles, if you like.’

  ‘Nay.’ She raise her hand, most like she guard from me. ‘Be better here. Only … ain’t think these Lowells rid me?’

  ‘Nay, I go bespeak their El Mayor. Can rest, you safe.’

  ‘Safe.’ She nod uncertain.

  ‘They Armies gone, is surely gone.’ My voice come hard. ‘We leave this place.’

  She nod again, consideration frowning in her brow. Then she turn back to the cat and say, ‘You keep the horse. Ain’t Lowell’s.’

  Simper smiling dreamy, stroking on the cat, as I go out.

  30

  BY MIDDY NIGHT

  My Sengles sleeping hushen when I look into the Weave Room. Pasha there, lain on a sleepen bag, with Keepers curlen to. Hounds is gone. Can guess a Lowell cat been in this history. Ain’t nothing here to keep me, I go on.

  On the stairy landing, I stop by the big back windows. Look down on the tumble bridge, the fussing light on river’s back. Ain’t know how this change, but I come gratty in my temper. Feel like every difficult evil solving into right.

  Mamadou living, but I swear my heart forget his love. Behind the simper’s tale, this love be filth. Be detestations. Get even angry wish that he been dead. Been grief, but clean to feel.

  But always been this better choice. Must only walk some carpet distance, step into a soften room. And in my heart perverse, I crave this choice, like war its wild forgetting.

  In the window, my face show, is ghosten in reflection. Face delicate made, its swollen injuries look pitieuse. Girlish child with skinny collarbone – be small in size and feeding, but her eyes be good feroce.

  Ain’t myself that I been known. Ain’t the feary chit that look at me from Hate You’s mirror. This be the Sengle sergeant. Child who dare her life in war. Do murdering crime, but got no cowardesse. A proven knife.

  I lean forward to the glass. Touch my lips to my ghost lips. Think of every wish, and give this wish into my hurt reflection. Send it to all gods I know – of Armies and of Christings, and the Allah god our greats believe, before he leave them in Two Towns.

  Then I walk on, with ravish shyness starting in my flesh. Go through the stairy door, and carpet self feel like it draw me onward, want my life. Come to the door of 124, and these gold letters shine at me. Be bright with some witch meaning. Is like I see them in a distant memory, when I know what come behind.

  I take the doory handle and I open.

  El Mayor sat on his bed, in his same silken robe and jeans. He startle tense as I come in – and it remind, they knocking on a door in Lowell mill. Ain’t just walk in personal rooms.

  Then my certainty be by. My mind gone stupid white.

  I say halten, ‘Got some business.’

  El Mayor grit his jaw and nod. Watch narrow while I close the door behind. I think inside myself: Open the door, ya, can be nothing. Close the door, this be decision. And it close, and I turn by again. Feel hot across my face.

  He watch on me, unspeaking. Light be only from one lamp, ain’t tell how his expression be. I pull my Patagonia off, get chills where my shirt light besweaten. Cannot look at El Mayor, but sure I feel his eyes as I go put my jacket on a chair.

  When I turn, his face be cold bekept. He say, ‘What business?’

  ‘A simper come from Army camp.’ My voice rise harsh with nerves. ‘Be in the diner now. I ask that she can stay. Be on my Sengles.’

  ‘Can stay. This be all?’

  I look at him all kinds of helpless. It inkle in my mind, he ask me here for only mockery. To prove that I be weak for him. Can be, his flirting been some empty jokes, from its beginning.

  I feel the shame before. But I say, ‘Be middy night.’

  ‘Middy night?’

  ‘So you asken me. Say you be here from middy night.’

  His eyes narrow. Then he stand up to
his feet like panic.

  Sudden, he be grinning. Grin like this be bursting at him, happy bigger than his face.

  ‘Damn,’ he say, and shake his head. ‘Why you talk of business? Turn me any ways with this.’

  ‘Been business,’ I say, grinning back. ‘Ain’t false.’

  ‘I never hope you come. Been sulking here.’

  ‘Said I will think.’

  Then we smiling quiet. He bite his lip and shake his head, like this news ain’t comprehend. Yo his watching eyes feel in my skin.

  He say, ‘Ain’t think no more. This thinking past, we right?’

  I nod somehow. My smile go soft.

  ‘I got to chase you? Or you coming here?’

  Be but two steps to go, but I cross this distance fearing. Feel like I miss somehow, do some mistake. But I come easy to. He pull me gentle to himself.

  Is mostly like our normal meeting, how our bodies touch. Like I should kick his shin, push at his face. But now I put hands soft to him. One hand slip in his robe, find where the hairs be on his chest. Where be only skin. My heart beat scary, like I balance on some risky place.

  He stroke light against my back. ‘You touching me, goddamn.’

  I laugh in teary wise. ‘I touch you any times.’

  ‘Ain’t been touching, this been clawing, bell.’ He stroke up to my head, and gentle it against his chest. Can feel his sigh. ‘Been walking dead with love for you. I guess you known.’

  ‘Shoo, ain’t took this seriose.’

  He lift my chin to look at him. ‘You be here seriose? You going to run from me again?’

  ‘Ain’t going to run.’ My voice come breathless.

  He touch his finger gentle on my lip. ‘You all cut like that. Feel like I going to hurt you.’

  But he bend down and kiss me deep. I let my head weigh back against his hand, my body weak like water. Then all our time come back in me – his kisses that I fought in panic, left in strange regret. Now I release beyond this fear, put arms around him needy. Be kissing desperate while my skin go bright and dark with want.

  It go careless then. Be hungry meant, as right as war. He take me against him hard. I cry inside my throat. Hold him into all my bruises, then be pulling at his roben tie without no sensible thought. His robe go by. My shirt catch on my face as it come off. Then he rid all my clothes while I laugh breathless high, ain’t think to help. He pull me and we go onto the bed, and mad against each other. He muttering, ‘Any Christ, you sweet,’ and kiss me everywhere can reach.

  Then we be facen face again, my leg curl over him. He shift me round until he lie upon. Feel his hardness press against my thigh, I catch my breath. He smile down soft with need. Eyes show a hounden love, ain’t like himself.

  He kiss me on my lips, my cheek. Say gruff with want, ‘Ice Cream. You done this thing before?’

  I laugh thin. ‘And you? You done this thing before?’

  ‘Been asking you a question, mouthy.’

  ‘Sure I done. I ain’t a twelve.’

  ‘Ain’t feel like I can stop. But I stop somehow, if you ain’t want this.’

  ‘Foo questions. I be here.’

  ‘Yo sho, I going to do this now. Ain’t frighten.’

  ‘You be frighten?’

  ‘Hush.’

  Sex a science El Mayor know deep. This secret known to every jones and foaly child in Massa woods. I heard from twenty girlish mouths – until this news be boring. Yo I swear he never use myself. Ain’t care to be the hundredth story of his goat prowess.

  But prowess do what it can do. And on this night, it be my last reliance from my pain.

  Lowell bed itself be strange bonesse. Sheets touch like fresh milk taste. Yo his hands be like he speak some mystery language to my skin. Feel scary fine – like falling from a tree, and falling on for hours so. Landing in a bed with sheets like milk. Someone kissing at your neck and saying nonsense kindness.

  Times, my heart be distances. Body feel its joy, but I be separate in some height precaire. Thoughts crawl in, like unwant ants – of what be real, and what be false, and how my Mamadou been. But other times, I see his face, and ease in thankfulness. It be himself, my goat familiar. While he be inside me, I been thought a thousand times of love, and love, and everything forgot. I scorn my heart aloof, nor ever a person see this heart.

  Ya, when sex be tired, we talk of everything somehow: the simper come; my Driver’s sickness; who will stay at Lowell mill. Most and long, we talk about the destinations of our journey. What El Mayor decide, we going to Connecticut its west. Place be clean of roos, how Pasha figure. This dabbit into arguments about the posy cure, and who should chase to Washington – if Lowells smarter for this task, or if my warry Sengles best. Each discount the other, but this dispute end in more unraveling time of sex and crying speech without no words.

  Once, he asken, ‘When you known you going to come to me?’

  I got no answer here. Can say, I always known. Be some way truthful, but ain’t answer nothing. Can say, Decide this when I known the truth on Mamadou. But I ain’t wish to tell of Mamadou our histories this night.

  I say, ‘I never known this right. Can do some acts, then learn behind you going to do them. You know how.’

  ‘Nay, I ain’t know. Be some psychology of scratchers. I always know what I will do.’

  ‘Foo psychology. Sound like some disease.’

  ‘Can be disease, when it get into scratcher heads.’ He mingle his fingers in my braids. ‘Ain’t guess, why you kept back from me.’

  I ain’t react, I stroke his arm. Fret my heart in quiet.

  ‘Ice Cream?’ His voice come careful. ‘Ain’t never think I feel this. But, you need me to be loyal, I be loyal.’

  ‘Nay, you ain’t!’ I laugh surprise. ‘Be like a hound who promise he ain’t bother squirrels. Next squirrel come, the hound be gone.’

  ‘Can and will.’

  ‘Find out how. You always know what you will do!’ I laugh again.

  ‘Thought this been considerations to you.’

  I puzzle at this a minute, try to find it in myself. ‘Nay, been only fooling, this. What you got for me, you ain’t go feel for no one else. Feeling be particular, can guess.’

  ‘I be jalouse as any brawling imbecile. Cost me nights, worrying who you think upon. Who get your love.’

  Mamadou pass my mind like chills. I say discomfort, ‘Shoo, I ain’t so goatish like yourself.’

  Here I kiss him, but his kiss distract. He pull away. ‘Ain’t know if I like to do you so. Other girls … be shame for you somehow.’

  ‘Who going to know? Ain’t even know we been together.’

  ‘They going to know we been together. How they ain’t?’

  ‘Who telling them?’

  His frown go dark. ‘Ain’t going to be the last time, this. I set myself on fire, you do me so.’

  ‘Nay, nay. I only think, we keep this.’

  ‘Be secrets, what you saying?’ Now El Mayor go narrow on me, like he smelling rats.

  This bring me into conscience. Somehow, been natural to me, amours cannot be daily talk. My love been always warry crimes, kept in some separate night. But ain’t no harm to talk on El Mayor. He be the world’s respect.

  Only, I ain’t want this talk. Feel finicky in every nerve. Can do with El Mayor, but cannot name it like a fact. Cannot.

  Then El Mayor say rough, ‘You got no other secret males?’

  For luck, I laugh surprise. Say without thought, ‘Got any dozen. Keep half your Lowells under silence vows.’

  ‘Can answer questions also.’ El Mayor make a tighten smile. ‘Be asking yes or nay.’

  ‘Nay,’ I say with narrow truth. ‘I got no males. Got zero. Jalouse my pony, if you need. I always love her most.’

  He laugh relief and pounce me, then somehow this turn to kissing. Like magic tricks, my contradictions hush. I ease into my skin. Ain’t got the spirit for no more, we sore in every part. Yo we try, and end in sleep, curl up like animoses. Waken ki
ssing more.

  And then somehow, the birds be singing their bad news of morning.

  Ain’t lighten yet. Be darkness morning when I get up tired. Put on my clothes like they be punishment. When I be clothen, El Mayor come fold me in his arms. Hold me against his naked self, give one more kiss on my raw mouth.

  Then I say clumsy, ‘So we doing this. Evacuation.’

  ‘Quest.’ He cosset at my ear. ‘Ain’t disrespect our quest.’

  ‘Quest sound like a thing grown on your skin. Disgusting somehow.’

  ‘Adventure, ya. Gone sotten with you worse. Ain’t cure for nothing.’

  I smile careful. ‘Got this sickness also. Know I do.’

  Then I feel my duty coming like cold daylight, draw me on. I step away reluctant. Feel scary walking to the door. Is like he be a needful fact I panic to forget. Yo, as I open, he call soft, ‘I love you vicious, Ice Cream Star.’

  I stop with hand along the doory side and say, ‘I love you also.’

  Then, as I turn away, I terrify sudden to my words. Come down the hall with coward step and think: Ain’t lies entire. Yo, it be done. Must love him, all it is.

  31

  OUR LAST DEPARTURE

  When I get down to the Weave Room, all my children woken ugly. Must boss each enfant into clothes, and chase the jones to fetch our meal – ain’t nothing done without my yells. Half my children doing nothing but they thieve from Lowells. Scramble out, and come back with a useless glove or tato. I get no thinking peace, and soon my night with El Mayor become a distance where some good thing been.

  When my tasks be rid, I go up to the second flight to Driver. This trip be risky circumstance – the stairs become an avalanche of Lowells bearing loads. Each step is dodging, shoving, swears. Through this, can hear the cryers’ wail begin, and go on larming. Seem every Lowell callen to some place.

  My head be tired without no sleep, and I come through the stairy door before my dread remind. Then I hold my step. The hallway gape its mally memories. All the number doors remember like a waiting curse.

  First Physician be by door 234, talking in. When she see me, she turn startling. Come down the hall like she confront some trouble.