As I walk to, she look up wisty in her blackish eyes. But when she know myself, she brighten gratty.
‘Ho, girl,’ I say. ‘Can talk apart?’
‘Be sure.’ She haste to fetch her sack, and come behind with eagering step.
I lead her to our walking highway, private at this nightish hour. Road be like a valley of sky between the forest’s detail life. Where we come out, a roadsign lean: SPEED LIMIT 65. In woods across, is horses tethern, and one blackish pony look up to us curiose. Munching sprig hang from his mouth.
I sit in the middy road, and she sit to me, smiling. She wear old jeans of Asha Badmouth, patch on both their knees. Look glad attention, like a hound who wait to do his trick.
‘Bone,’ I say discomfort. ‘Only got one question to you.’
‘Heeding,’ she say, and touch her ear.
‘I only wondern, ya. You spoke to Driver of me somehow?’
Her smile weaken puzzling. ‘Nothing you ain’t like to hear. Be all bonesse I got for you, ain’t mysteries in this.’
‘But you told some knowledge? Ain’t got to be a thing is mally.’
‘What sort knowledge?’
I look up at that watching pony. He still gazing, switch his tail against some pester insect. I want to drive away his stare, but he look brainless on.
I say, ‘From Army camp.’
Mention Army camp, her face change inward. She shake head reluctant.
‘All it is,’ I say, ‘when I been hurt there. By they feathers? You callen me the NewKing’s Sengle. Always wondern to this.’
‘Shoo, I known you gone to him.’ She pooch her lips, look cautieuse.
I catch my breath. ‘And you told Driver?’
‘Ain’t guess I done. He never known?’
‘Nay, been something … hurt him if he learn.’
‘Ho, I see. He going to think, been harm in this.’ Her plum lips gather to this thought. ‘You like, I tell him how there ain’t no harm.’
‘Ain’t got to learn I been there,’ I say hasty. ‘Best be so.’
Then her frighten telligence be sharp. ‘I keep this. Never fear me.’
I sigh. ‘Gratty, truth.’
‘Easy favors.’ She laugh happy. ‘Saying nothing ain’t no work.’
‘Ya.’ I brush my hand along the road, pick up a straying pebble. ‘But only wondering … how you known I gone to Mamadou?’
‘Shoo, how you think?’ She grimace sly. ‘The NewKing told all ears.’
I startle nasty. ‘Shee, he told?’
‘Told, the fool he be. Then feathers bother him all right, how he go bring them cooties. Sengle love disease.’ She laugh harsh and cover her mouth.
‘Love disease? He said we doing love?’
‘Nay, ain’t fret.’ She shoo her hand. ‘He got no tempers for a lie.’
Word ‘lie’ come fresh in my relief. I notice my hand be crushing painful on its pebble. Loose it down. ‘So what he told?’
‘Mostly said you got some fight with him. Bringing it to the camp like some big jones will do. But – how he said – you be a skinny girl, is some ridiculous. Some terrify virgin lose her sense. It been …’ She hold and bite her lip. ‘Is how they talking, ya.’
I breathe through my frightening nerves. ‘Ya, I gone to fight. Been once.’
‘And then he want you queen.’ She pooch her lips like preciation. ‘Foo, sister, if you seen they brawls! A Sengle queen, you magine!’
‘Feathers want no Sengle queen?’
‘They fearing murder wars, it been. But all they going to say, your Sengles stank beneath no pride. Call Mamadou a wolf who do with chickens.’
‘Ho!’ I laugh peculiar. ‘Who be chickens? They the chickens.’
‘But you guess, why Mamadou wanting you?’ Her eyes grow sharp with mischief. ‘What he saying, Christwives all been using backwards-forwards by some digger. Or they twelve. He want no twelve. Yourself – be bell, and grown fifteen, and virgin.’ She laugh high. ‘You heed? A virgin, what he want!’
This take me in bad surprise. Almost, I say I be no virgin. Mamadou known this best of any, months before he want me queen. Been work he do himself.
But I catch in sense. I only look back to the pony, want some witness to this rat injustice. Yo, he drowsing now, eyes shut. Lean sleepy to a tree.
‘Truth, Driver told me,’ I say low. ‘How Armies think to take me.’
In my corner-eye, her hand stir on the road, touch there like thought. Fingers spiderish in moon. ‘Yo sho, I warn him self. How Driver known.’
Then I feel the night like blackness ghosts that watch my tensen shoulders. ‘You known him then?’ I say in careful voice. ‘At Army camp?’
‘He never mention this?’ Her face go hurt, but then she nod like thinking. ‘Sure, ain’t going to mention. See this right.’
‘Nay, why he ain’t mention?’ I take shorter breath. ‘Been something wrong?’
‘Now, ain’t wrong.’ She shrug. ‘They times, he kept his sickness quiet. Why he come to OldKing Hak.’
‘Hak?’
‘Hak selling papa. Child who want it secret, go to him.’ She look to me, face shy in memory. ‘Any a child ain’t want to talk to Hak so much. But Driver stop with me sometimes, we talking. Like two friends will talk. I going to warn him how they think to steal you.’
A moment, I only stare and breathe. Then I look down easing to my hands. ‘Been right.’
‘Then Driver never come to camp again. Gone sour on Armies, sure. But I gain him back. You seeing, sugar? All be evens. Give good, or you give evil, it come back to you again.’
I nod, gone staring at the grainy road. ‘Be evens, ya.’
Then the simper touch my arm. I flinch at this but smile up hard.
‘Ho, I got some Lowell wine in here.’ She heft her pinkish sack. ‘You like some wine?’
My shoulders ease. ‘Wine I can use.’
She fetch out a corken brock. Is sleeper glass, with sticker glue still bleary on its sides. She uncork the brock and take a drink. Hand it to me smart.
In this, it notice that her pinkish sack turn round. Show the side she always keep close-held against her belly. Got no written names on this. But in the full moonlight, can see where broidery been yank out rough. A word sketch there in holes. SOLEDAD.
When I look up, she watching on me sweet. I point to the sack. ‘Soledad?’
She flinch, look hasty to it. ‘Ya, Soledad. Been my name, sometime.’
‘Ain’t want this name no more?’
‘I give it up.’
‘Always want to call you by a name. Ain’t like to call you simper.’
‘Can call me Soledad, you like.’ She touch the sack, frown down at her unpicken name. ‘Driver call me this sometimes. Been stubborn to this, but I easier now.’
‘Foo, ain’t need to bide they Armies’ filthen rules. You gone from them.’
‘Nay, I rid this name before. Ain’t lost it to no feathers.’ She look up seriose. ‘When I gone to be Maria.’
*
Maria she explain to me before, for any lengths. Be a matter of her people – children living in a city grandiose in wealth. Got every science there. Is lectric lights and tower buildings; photographs and working cars. Had a cat she call Bigote, drank his water from a glass.
Simper’s town been Christings – though she disrespect this name. How she explain, our Massa Christings be in fallen creeds. ‘Sleeper faith,’ she calling this, and say the sleeper faith be wrong, though how this prove I never learn. Right faith call ‘catolico’. Prettieuse word enough, can be a wolfen name for enfant.
Catolicos believing two-stick Christ. Get all this Bible story with its water-walking and generose fish. How Jesus born to Mary who been virgin. Papa Joseph stand by whistling, got no sex to do.
Their Mary call Maria, and catolico Maria go from unfuck birth to all adventures. Since this been sleeper times, when Jesus grown to size, she living still. Then she become Christ’s queen and bride. Still they do
no sex, is more like animoses here.
When Jesus dying murdern, his ghost go into Maria. Survive in her, so god remain, available to children. And when she die, the spirit move into some new Maria. This repeat in every history. Maria die and be reborn, is usual nonsense gods will do.
In the simper’s people, the living Maria rule the town. This a person child. Ain’t special nothing. Maria walk on feet and eating food and making shee. But they believe god live in her. They do some church accomplish this, with godly clothes and blessing wine. When this finish, she know wisdom, be unblemish right.
Can tell without no wondering these be diggers. Senseless as a moth.
I say, ‘Ho, you try to be Maria? Kept this quiet some. But why you leave your town for this?’
‘Gone to find a Jesus.’ She gaze along the road, bright thinking. ‘How Maria be known.’
‘Easy found, you bear him pregnant. Once you learn this trick, is done.’
‘Foo!’ She laugh up sudden, push my knee with shooing hand. ‘Ain’t looking for no enfant, crazy.’
‘You get a finish Jesus somewhere?’
‘Sure. Take your apostles, go to yonder miles and seek.’
‘What these opossums useful for?’
‘Opossum! You know vally well it ain’t opossums!’ She laugh breathless, press her fist up to her mouth. Then she say, like she bait my mischief, ‘If you become Maria, your apostles going to rule the burrows.’
‘Burrows being what? Opposums living in these burrows?’
‘Known you going to say that!’
‘Foo, burrows ain’t no name to me.’
Her smile go shy. ‘The town be grandy, ya. It rule in parts. These parts is callen burrows. Apostles rule the burrows, ya Maria ruling over all.’
‘So apostles going with Maria, out to catch a Jesus. How you going to know this Jesus?’
She shrug and look down at the road. ‘Jesus ya be white.’
‘How he white?’ I say, though sure I guess.
‘White like roos. They skin, you know how.’ She frown at me, ware some insult. ‘Jesus white.’
Truth be, I embarrass, that any child believing this. Get some stupid animals, but never a fish will worship roos. But I polite her, ‘Ya, can see. Scarce beast, and vally to take.’
‘Scarce, is truth,’ she answer gratty. ‘And sure you know, he only representing Jesus so. Ain’t exactly him. Nor he represent until he do the sacrament. Then he give his spirit for Maria. Only be Jesus for this sacrament.’
‘So any whitish child can serve this need?’
‘If they grown and male. Yo, roos be always this.’ She smile hopeful. ‘See how this be fitting? White and grown and male.’
‘Ain’t you steal our Pasha. Is Keepers’ roo, she definite to this.’
Expect she laugh, but Simper-Soledad frown hard.
‘No sho,’ I say unliking. ‘You got wants for Pasha?’
‘Nay. Is only, Maria being … like yourself. Be virgin.’ She get her Armies look, mouth grit. ‘Look at my face, you knowing I ain’t this.’
Here my sympathy gripe. I take my pebble up again, turn it nervy in my fingers. ‘Ain’t know from scars. Can get scars any way.’
‘Ya. But I ain’t this. Been going to find my Jesus, when I was took. Took by Hak and Bardo, you know how.’
‘Right.’ I grip the pebble hard into my palm.
‘Apostles sleeping.’ She laugh thin. ‘Opossums play dead then.’
‘Shoo, you admit, this story sad as rain. How they done you.’
She shrug, eyes hard in distances. ‘Only been thinking, how Hak dying now. He can be dead, this time.’
‘Ya,’ I say encouraging. ‘Be evens, how you said. He getting what he give.’
‘Ain’t evens, nay. He only sick. Ain’t nothing like he done to me. And Bardo. All they feathers.’ Her face clench like pain. ‘But why they got to be like that? Ain’t want to hate them anyhow.’
‘Going to hate,’ I say confuse. ‘But now they rid. They gone.’
‘Ya.’ She nod distracting. Turn her face by, pulling at a braid. Then she lift her sack in clumsy hands. ‘Be Driver waiting me. If you …’
‘Be right.’ I nod unthinking. ‘Should go sleep. Is tardy hour.’
Simper cork and pack her brock. Rise with conscious gesture, like she flee before my friendship change. Yo, as I stand, she mouth some unvoice by-salue and haste away.
34
OF DANGER ITS ARRIVAL
Be the following night our journey turning desperate strange.
Day been easy innocence. Sky clean with sunlight, and we coming to a stretch of better road. Even got patches somewhere in the holes. Only the roo get superstitions – be these patches, must be evil roading people by. At middy meal, he come to me with some wrap paper in his hand. It be a brownish scrap, got BIMBO writ in washout blue.
‘Ya,’ I say. ‘I seen these papers by. And so?’
He give me disapproval look. ‘Is new.’
‘Foo, how is new? Look how it fading, been through any a rain.’
‘Be paper. Rotting quick.’
‘So, newness be that it exist?’
He grimace to the woods, like he can smell they lurking children.
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Be roading people here who wrap some objects. Prove they want to kill us. Be all any people want.’
‘Ain’t funny.’
‘Been waiting years to murder us particular. Happy day for them.’
‘Need a guard,’ he say annoying.
‘We walking here with guns. Ain’t notice?’
‘Nay, by night. Camp need a guard.’
‘So you guard. I sleeping nights myself.’
Roo crush this paper in his hand, and go off with disgruntle face.
Still, when we walk again, I got some careful nerves myself. Keep scouting to the roaden margins, seeking for no evidence. But be no farther trash nor trace. Even the road look misbegot again, its patches old as silence. Patches needing patches self.
And the sun dim forward, fallen west. Camp be made with normal bother; early night be simple. I sneak apart to El Mayor, and even sleep some time with him, how I begun to do these nights. Learn to wake before the morning even think of dawn.
So it been cat hours, when I sneak from his tent in carefulness, that trouble find myself.
El Mayor keep his tent apart, some walk into unpeople woods. Nor no one wonder at this habit. Lowells expect, will be some secret traffic to his bed. Same reason, my departure from his tent be chancy done. Anyone see me in this place, my tale be known entire.
So I creep slow, with watchful eye for any waking Lowells. Aim for the trees beside the brook, where any person go. But I scarce begun when ABC come barking from the woods.
She jump up and tag her forepaws happy to my chest. When I push her off, she prance around and settle in woofing stance. Bark a loudness conversation, sending woofs in ten directions. Even her tail wag at a noisy bush.
I try shooing her, for all the useless this will be. She only sit and interest happy in my shooing hands. I go and grab her mouth shut, while she wriggle consternations. Yo, here it notice, ABC wear something round her neck. I hunker by.
It be a reddish ribbon, tie there close. My first thought be, was done by our Tequila. Decorate my hound, the same she do to any patient creature. Then I see something on this ribbon. Orange object, piercen through, it cling there like a bauble.
It be a leaf, is curlen tight. Autumn color, but still got younger softness. And something chill in memory. Leaf curl like Crow and me done, when we written secrets so. Yo even in the forest dark, can see the markings on its skin. My every conscience know, is Crow his writing.
But ain’t no Crow in this. Crow been left some weeks behind. All Armies left.
I tear the leaf away. Let ABC go loose, and she run bucketing off into the trees.
Then I stand up feary, head to the road for its good moon. My legs be going clumsy, and some part of me still hear my noise, be
conscious of the sleeping tents. But be no waking noises as I step up to the road. Unroll the leaf in watery light.
Pen gone through the leaf in places, ink been spotting dry. Is tiny wavers where the pen skip over leafen veins. But its words read plain.
WE HERE. THE NEWKING COME FOR YOU.
My skin go cold. Stand in the silent moon, and I stare blind at these dim letters.
First, I struggle to believe the Armies here, in our far woods. Feel like ABC must run the distance back to Massa. But slow, I figure this. They ride on horses, got no enfants by. Be most four days to ride. Only it seem peculiar, they still keep their tired evils – that any a child still care for queens and raids, when all our life be gone.
Come a stupid wish, I can ignore this warning still. Be took to Mamadou his love, and any other futures die. Only I cannot and cannot – be the cure, my Sengles’ need.
Then I conceive the Armies in their raiding camp behind. Hammocks like our own, the same low fire built with reluctant wood. Their capture nets and ropes. NewKing Mamadou in his anger. Crow there, still caring for myself somehow, in darkness of his moods.
My ABC been always sweet for Crow. Must be she sniff him out. He use this chance, sneak separate from the feathers, write this leaf in warning. But sure they cannot steal me. Be two hundred children round myself. Yo, I got Kalash. They feathers come, I shoot them, quick as swatting.
But in my nether mind, a spooking memory be dark. How Soledad said, Hak say they got to kill you. For Karim and Mika. No hundred children, nor Kalash, can save me from one sneaky gunshot.
My heart insist, the NewKing never killing me. Ain’t like himself. But nor I can believe he ride this length to steal me. And in every comprehension, be the roos for mysteries – if they appear, and if the Armies friending with them still.
Then I hear a step behind. I wheel, grab to Kalash. Shadow rise, and I round to it vicious.
Before I know, I point Kalash at Pasha, swallowing fear.
He flinch back. ‘Ice. Is me.’
‘Foo! Creep up on people, damn.’ I loose Kalash down to my waist. Leaf crush up, sweaten in my fingers.
‘Bony done.’ He gesture at my gun.
The Country of Ice Cream Star Page 24
