The Country of Ice Cream Star

by Sandra Newman

  But Asha Badmouth and Jermaine go spy like natural rats. They visit Santiago in his palace Residencia; then they go shooting cans with English scratchers in a field of garbage. One night entire, they boozing at a soldier barracks of Inúd, and Asha return with soldiers’ names writ uppen-down her legs. Yo, every place, they asking–sniffing for all gossip known.

  Most they hear be tales fantastic. Get fables on myself, how I do sex with Jesus, or with Pedro, or with some mystery child name Tony whose existence be a question. Be worser talk on Pasha, how he got a tail beneath his pants. Roo eating insects at all meals, or babies – anything but food. Also be whispers, showing that some gossip leak about the cure, although this story always suffern some peculiar change. Strangest version be, that roo meat cure all maladies. Eat Jesus’s body and you live forever. My sixes heed this seriose, and soon they picking Pasha’s hairs from furniture to swallow.

  But be one story all my guards approve for simple truth. Is on Simón Zelote de Loisaida, sad apostle. How rumor tell, Simón ain’t only be the general of armies. In last Maria’s time, he rule the city mostly by himself. Other apostles been some nothings, living scary to his will. Even Anselm stick in second place.

  First, this cheer me wonderful. Can hope, Simón become my friend against all Anselm’s threats. He doing with the last Maria; never he be indignant that I going pregnant once. Ya, he must hate Anselm, how this weasel rob his power.

  But, before I start no plan, a worser rumor come. This tell that Anselm kilt Simón Zelote for some politics. He keep this careful quiet. Simón be popular in the army’s love.

  This be a time when Anselm and myself be most like friends. All my reception hours, we exasperate at fools together, and when they go, we ease in scabby jokes. I got my trono chair, but he must stand his aching feet. So when receptions finish, Anselm splay himself upon the floor. Ya, become my careless habit that I lie longside. Sometimes in this, he stretch against the floor in catly luxury. Rest cheek to its stone – and I will stretch and rest cheek to the stone in thoughtless kinliness.

  So, in this question of Simón, I go ask Anselm straight. And he agree the tales about Simón Zelote his old power. Tell all disgusting memories of the horrible this been. ‘He would summon us to his house in Loisaida, all hours of the day and night, to issue his instructions. Often from his bed – and sometimes, Maria was in the bed. But no matter what he did, Simón was beloved.’

  How Anselm explain, Simón be Metro; his Maria been Inúd. So every spaniel glad to them. Ya, the English give Simón respect as vally general. ‘The worst thing about a war, senyora, is that it produces war heroes.’

  But when I ask about Simón his murder, Anselm only laugh. ‘Now he’s dead? How thrilling. I wonder if anyone’s told Simón?’

  ‘You saying it ain’t true?’

  ‘It ain’t true, and Simón ain’t dead, and the word is isn’t.’

  ‘Then why he disappearing, if he loving power so?’

  ‘But he didn’t disappear, senyora. His Maria died, and he lost his support in Inúd, and with it went his power. And one of those losses – I won’t guess which – struck him down with terrible grief. But I’m sorry to say, it didn’t kill him.’

  I bring this story back, and Asha Badmouth say annoying, ‘How you even ask that rodent? Sure he going to lie. Heed my word, Simón be dead as bacon.’

  All this leave me in suspicions past no toleration. Yo, two weeks be gone, and never a budge been taken toward my war. So now I go in personal hunt to find a friend important – anyone who know secret pox, and ain’t in Anselm’s ruling.

  First want be for Simón Zelote, if he living anyhow. So one night when no one watch, I go with Julio-Bean to his apostle home in Loisaida. But we can only meet Simón’s own guards outside his door. Nor these Loisaidas will agree to take no message. They say, Simón depressing since his old Maria die; dislike all politics for his resentments to the living world. We roam around the house, but all we seeing be shut curtains. Come back frustrating tired, to Asha Badmouth’s jeer of ‘Dead as bacon’.

  Next I seek Soledad, but this sad child be lost entire. What my Sengles heard, she live by Pedro in Inúd. Yo, when I ask Pedro, he swear ignorance to this – but his eyes false. I send Jermaine and Asha scouting there, but be no help. Pedro’s Residencia got all guards with mally temperaments. Ain’t want no Sengles setting foot, nor they admitting they know Soledad’s name. My children watch some days, but see no trace her face. She gone like breath.

  In final desperation, I think on poisoner Felipe. Ever he try to kill myself, he hating Anselm right. Yo, now it seem peculiar, he ain’t coming to receptions. Is like Simón Zelote – but Felipe living to all eyes. Every morning, he give noisy sermons in their Metro church.

  I ain’t try to go myself. Cannot want Anselm knowing. Felipe be his worst mistrust. So I think a foxery, how I send El Mayor. Child need good distraction, and he love politics like food. Nor no spy beware him, how he droop pathetic all these days.

  First I asking, El Mayor give only nays and miseries. He cannot, and ain’t want to, ya be moron enterprise. When I insist, he asking vicious, why is mine to choose. Talk stank on Sengles, and fifteens, and gods who cannot use a fork.

  But when I coming back from church next morning, he be gone. Hate You say he left to Metropolitano for my task, and Asha Badmouth add, ‘He looking prettieuse. Clean as a dish.’

  When El Mayor return, is tardy night. He stomp in glad bedrunken, shining face like he infatuate. Tell laughing stories of Felipe’s brainy talk, his snobben wife, his Metropolitano Residencia that be palaces beyond. How they got a boy to serve their food who wearing whitish gloves. Give demonstrations, how he talk to them in sleeper English, sounding like peculiar books.

  I ask him cautieuse, ‘You starting anything of politics?’

  ‘Foo, bell,’ he say. ‘I had a cat, I naming it Felipe’s Secrets. Yo it changing names before it learn to answer. Fact be truth.’

  Behind this, most his days be there; yo, all his talk be stories, how he win Felipe to his love. No time be gone before he sleeping at Felipe’s Residencia, get his selfen room. These nights ain’t pleasure for myself. I known his goating habits. But cannot cavil, when he only doing my requests.

  First news he bring, Felipe got psychologies on myself. Ever Maria come in mention, Felipe hush like sudden hurt. When El Mayor go ask on this, Felipe get a pickety face, like it be ghetto questions. Say, ‘Religion shouldn’t be a subject for casual conversation.’ No asking get a different answer. Be a closen door.

  But soon Felipe starting his own questions, how I be to know. If I be nice or evil; be like normal or be strange. Now El Mayor get entertainments, lying on my holy self. Explain my hatred to all sex; how I save deer from cruel hunters. Say how I weep sometimes, when children only mention violence. Ya, Felipe heed this seriose, and only look for more.

  One night, when they both gone in wine, Felipe start his own insanities about my perfectesse. Say any child who seen myself must know, god living in me real. I be compassionate and pure, cannot kill even roos.

  Through this, El Mayor be mostly choking not to laugh. At last, he ain’t resist his mouth. Say in sleeper wise, ‘It’s strange you tried to kill her then.’

  Felipe startle awful. ‘You – she knows?’

  ‘Sure, she knows that,’ El Mayor say. ‘Nor she doesn’t blame you, brother.’

  This ruin Felipe’s face entire. He go in boozen tears and start to gabble all his murder tale. Say how he try this poisoning, for selfish politics. But God defeat his evil, though God must use Anselm’s hand. Best El Mayor can comprehend, Felipe knowing this been tricks. But he still believe this been a miracle somehow – as if no basic child can fool himself, is supernatural strange.

  Yo, now Felipe do all godly sorriness for this unmurder. Go days without feeding, give free money to needy beggars. And he praying to Maria god, that she forgive his crime. This Maria be myself, but ain’t myself – all skewball notions. But why he ne
ver coming to receptions, been for guilt. He shame himself before his human god.

  ‘I lost my faith in the last Maria’s time,’ Felipe say. ‘I don’t think anyone could know that woman, and still believe. But when I gave Maria – our Maria – the wine, I realized. As soon as I saw her face, I knew. But it was too late then.’

  El Mayor get pities now. Say soft, ‘It’s not too late. She’s living, see that.’

  ‘No,’ Felipe say with tragedy looks. ‘I mean, it’s too late for me.’

  Behind this sad exposure, El Mayor go bold in questions. Ask on the search, the war, and even say I sent him for this cause. But now Felipe lose his drunken face. Go scary quiet. At last he only say, ‘Please tell her she doesn’t have to be afraid. As long as I’m here, she’s safe.’

  In this, another week gone by. Is Cember 21, and still from Massa be no whisper. Search been gone some twenty days, is twice our expectations. And now my sleeping nights become all terrors, how the search destroy. Keep waking from nightmares where the searchers capture in a burning house. I trying to save them, but I got no hands, roos cut them off. Or it be Money burning, trotting normal like this fire ain’t notice, and all her burden be the NewKing, dead. And I wake in fright, and cannot sleep again. And cannot sleep. Nightmares leak their panic into morning, and in church I sometimes hold to Pasha’s hand. Only then I sleeping fearless, head down to the wooden rail.

  Times, in my waking nights, I go to sit by Driver’s bed. Be foaly in uncertainties, I yearn toward my brother. Yo, he soften to me now, his bitterness forgot. Will call me fondly names like treasure sister and potato, like he done in better years.

  But all this time he weaken. He sleeping in the middy noon, gone into pharmacy time. His posies grown to sores, and every movement be a wincing hurt. Yo, all his talk be sickness. Ain’t even try to fool me that he got no other life. He give his coughing speech and gasp it back – and all be of physicians’ sayings, or of pills the Marianos give for pain. His breathing be a weary labor, and can see that Driver frustrate sometimes, wish this task been rid.

  Once I try to sleep by him, from clinging lonesomeness. But I ain’t sleep for nothing, only listen how he stir in pain. Think how the cure come slow across the ocean, and rage to swim out to these boats, with gun between my teeth. Fret through the night at all my feeble helplessness.

  Now I start telling Anselm, we must send to Quantico for parleys. Must start our war without no extra proof, it cannot wait. But he only heed me like a hound that yap in dull annoyance. The only change I win, the weapons factories start their tardy work, creating bullet-guns. But even here, is problems. How my guards warn, this bring the city perilous in gossip. Every fool believe we going to fight the Quantico Marines.

  Come a day, it be a marching manifestation in the streets. Some thousand children yell their hatred to this unexisting war. And soldiers grabbing people from, bring them to prison in their blood. Next morning, when I walk to church, is children kneeling by the road. Say nothing, but they wearing black in token of their grief.

  Day of manifestations bring some mystery joy to Anselm. In sudden change, his manners smile. Go laughing–joking through the day. Yo, all apostles happier kept. They grin in meeting, and their eyes share in some glad conspiracy.

  This bring me into scary moods, what trickeries be forward. My Sengles know no telligence; nor El Mayor heard nothing strange. Yo, questioning Anselm be no use. He say his nothing and nothing else, and smile to my frustration.

  Next day, these complications bring me–Anselm into open strife. Been in our privy hour behind receptions. We lain together on the floor, our habit from more friendly time. Yo, I ask what we do, if no one coming back from Massa.

  In days before, this question going to bring his snapping-turtle face. But now he answer light, ‘Let’s think. We send another search? No, let’s wait peacefully for death.’ He gesture to the painten ceiling. ‘Heaven will receive us.’

  ‘Shee,’ I say annoying. ‘Least we do, we tell the city. They all in pointless frights about Marines.’

  Anselm taken with a yawn. He rid this slow and say in sleepy voice, ‘Yes, they’re halfway to insurrection. So you believe it would help to say we’re actually planning to fight white demons – who may not exist?’

  ‘Roos exist, goddamn. Kilt half my children with their stank existence.’

  ‘Senyora, I’m pointing out that nobody will believe it.’

  ‘Believe it, if we tell them right. If apostles telling, they believe.’

  ‘Because our apostles are known for their perfect honesty. I understand.’

  I sit up frustrating. ‘They going to learn it be the truth. Ya, cannot be no worse. Go on like this, it be rebellion total.’

  Anselm shut eyes like simple peace. ‘And if there is rebellion total, we will squash that rebellion totally. It won’t be the first time, sadly.’

  ‘Kill your own people, for some misbelief? Been prettieuse.’

  ‘Yes, regrettable. But if we didn’t, there would be rebellions every month. We’ve had that also.’

  ‘Foo, you trying to fret me now. Ain’t even mean this awfulness.’

  To this, he only nay his finger. Look like he mostly sleep, his body loose in its long dress. And he muttern from shut eyes, ‘War is evil, but is sometimes needful.’

  At first, I still believe he only pesting me. I even consider tickling him, how he lain unbewares. But then a nasty inkling come. Stop awful in my breath. Why they making extra guns, it ain’t to fight no roos; ain’t even been to please myself. These guns prepare against rebellion. They made to kill our selfen people.

  Almost, I rid this thought. Remind, the guns begun this strife. No person thinking to rebel, until the guns been made. But cannot lose my doubt. It stick and stick like evil smell.

  I look on Anselm, where he lain in his same peacefulness. I say, ‘You do this filth, it be without myself. Know this.’

  ‘You’re joining the rebellion?’ Anselm open curiose eyes. ‘Brave girl. But shouldn’t you check with Felipe first? I know you place such reliance on his advice.’

  ‘Ain’t seen Felipe since the clausen signing,’ I say stiff. ‘Be no Felipe in this story.’

  ‘That’s nice to hear. I like to hear nice things.’

  Our eyes meet in some bad comprehending. Then Anselm sit up and arrange his dress around his knees. Fold his hands and say like simple task, ‘About your baby.’

  I scoff breath. ‘Shee, known your threats. They old.’

  He say on unheeding, ‘At this moment, two people know about that incident. Pedro and myself.’

  ‘And physicians know.’ I shrug annoying. ‘So?’

  ‘No, actually, there are only two people.’ He look to me with teaching face, wait for my understanding.

  My gut go cold. ‘You saying, they dead? You murdern they physicians?’

  Anselm flutter his hand toward the cloudy ceiling. ‘Yes, sad. But getting back to the point. Pedro does not know about your advances to Felipe. And I’d advise you to keep any thoughts about rebellion from him also. I actually like you, santa reina. I would miss you if you were gone. Pedro …’ Anselm make a sour mouth. ‘He isn’t so enamored.’

  This fight been Cember 23, when my Maria life seem like it been a year of winters. Must walk to church and sit in meetings, sign my name to papers. I scarce remember how the earth can feel to naked feet. My body start to feel unclad without Maria dress; sometimes I startle that my Sengles ain’t stoop down to greet me. I terrify for the search, I fight my voice for war, think madness plans – yo these despairs come normal now. I scarce expect no other life.

  But it been only one more day when all this misery shatter. Ya, my Maria life go shattering, lost into the past.

  50

  OF VANISH PEOPLE THEIR APPEARANCE

  This ending start on Nochebuena – night before their Navidad, the birthing day of Jesus baby. All the city be in tinsel ornaments and sprucen rings, and half our guards–ermanos gone to festival in
their homes. But my Maria work been long the same. Send me to my iglesia rooms with sad and skinny moods.

  Then I be in the sofa room, lain flat in silken underdress. Got church at middy night for Nochebuena pookery; I rest my pinchen skin before the worser grooming this will need. Keepers on the floor beside. She got a bitty plastic cow, is trying to saw its head off with a meat knife. Pasha telephoning cocktails, our new habit in this time.

  Through this, Jermaine be reading the Marias Bible out to us. Be mostly like the Christings’ book, but got some scandal differences. Jermaine been Christing born – his early brains been pickled in their nonsense – and now he angering how the Marias Noah take extra children in his boat, a whitish pair without no morals. God want to drown all whites and leave the world to Noah’s blackish get. But Noah foolish in his pity. Cannot leave all whites to die, whatever stank they be.

  Seem funny to myself, and I be laughing when El Mayor come in the door.

  I saying, ‘God some helpless mouse, cannot just kill these roos? Squitch with fingers, they be done.’

  ‘He strike them at His will,’ Jermaine say seriose. ‘But you ain’t seeing–’

  ‘Ice,’ say El Mayor with nervy looks, ‘can talk to you apart?’

  I sit up hazy, smiling to him.

  Pasha cover telephone with hand and say to El Mayor, ‘Want some cocktail?’

  El Mayor look cold to this. ‘Nay, I need no cocktail. Ice Cream?’

  ‘Yo sho.’ I get up hasty. Be mostly fearing, been some trouble down to Metropolitano.

  He say nothing till we gone into the sleeproom by. Then – how he never done these weeks – he close the door behind.

  My heart unbalance, guessing he invite me into love. But when he turn, his face be all resenting misery.