The Country of Ice Cream Star

by Sandra Newman

  And El Mayor say, ‘Why you got to show yourself like that?’

  ‘How you meaning?’

  ‘Wearing unders.’ He swallow at his throat. ‘You know.’

  ‘Ain’t unders. Yo who thinking what I wear? Be later hours.’

  ‘He thinking. Roo be thinking, sure is right.’

  Then I comprehend. Injustice flash into my nerves. ‘You ask me here for this? I thought this nonsense been forgot.’

  He get a look I recognize from jalousies before, like all his mind be burning red. ‘Ain’t forgot by every child who tell your dirt in Metro.’

  ‘Now it be gossips?’ I say hot. ‘And how I even do no filth? Got a dozen children watching, ever I pick my nose.’

  ‘Ain’t mine to know.’ He grit his mouth. ‘In Metro–’

  ‘Metro, shee! And sure, you brave to mention Metro, where you keeping every nights. Guess what you do there.’

  This catch into silence. We look bitter, one to one. And El Mayor say cold, ‘Be only doing what you done yourself.’

  Take a staring breath before I comprehend his meaning. Then the room go small somehow. I say, ‘Nay, truth, you got some girl?’

  He flinch, look to the floor. ‘Why I cannot?’

  ‘But you … you done this real? Ain’t only saying for some punishment?’

  ‘Punishment for what? What you done?’

  ‘I done nothing! Shee you know! You only guilty for yourself!’ My voice break high, ya I be shivering, crossing arms against myself.

  Then something falter in his face. He narrow on me in painful thought. I take a choken breath, feel weightless somehow with my awful. Confusen mind keep saying, ain’t no reason I should hurt. He fleeing me all weeks, we finish. Nor I love him right – but to this thought, my heart go skeering red.

  Then El Mayor say softer, ‘Ain’t mean nothing, what this been.’

  I scoff a teary laugh. ‘You told this girl that she be nothing?’

  ‘Ice, nay. Ain’t no girl. Was girls. You know how.’

  This saying jeer inside my head. Ain’t no girl. Was girls. Cannot see how it be worse, but all my body strange with cold. ‘Should expect. How you be.’

  He shake his head, his eyes gone wisty shame. ‘Ain’t even come to say that. Had some news. It all come wrong somehow.’ He look down to my dress, and all his face be feeling misery.

  ‘News?’

  ‘I seen you there … be like I lose my memory.’

  ‘Shoo, what news you got? Can leave this. Want to leave this now.’

  He gaze at my dress a longer moment, like he finish some thought. Then he look up and say, ‘Think I seen Mamadou.’

  First, this ain’t comprehend. Is like he saying it in Massa – he seen Mamadou in the woods. I even tense in worry that his jalousies found their right object. But then my mind come bright. I say with catching breath, ‘Yo, where?’

  ‘In Metro, in some hinder street. Child been in soldier clothes, alone. But can swear it been himself.’

  ‘Ain’t spoken to him?’

  ‘He skit away before I call. Felipe been with me, I ain’t want to chase.’

  ‘Goddamn, should chase.’

  ‘I know. Was … sure I know.’

  I force my painful mind to think. ‘You figure he fled from Massa alone? He hiding?’

  El Mayor grimace his unknowing. ‘You heard nothing here?’

  ‘Nay, been normal boredom. Navidad and so.’

  ‘Can be some soldier, only look like Mamadou. But I can swear, it been himself.’

  I grimace into thought. Cannot see any reason Mamadou come back alone. Even if they try to kill him, he ain’t never fled – been impossible for pride. A moment, I consider if he murdern all these children – sixty penals, twenty guards and Juan. Return with only Crow–First Runner and slip into hiding.

  Then El Mayor say soft into my thought, ‘I got to go. Felipe wait for me in Metro. For Nochebuena meal, you comprehend. Ain’t be no other reasons.’

  I flinch, look up uncertain. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Ain’t want no girl before you, Ice. You knowing this?’

  ‘Yo sho,’ I say in difficult voice. ‘Can guess.’

  ‘Love you worse than broken legs. Ain’t brave to risk you, all it is. I even think of this, I lose my wants.’

  ‘So they be lost.’ I force a smile.

  ‘Nay, shoo.’

  He reach out to my shoulder. Touch it careful soft, like he be touching to a wound. Yo, I confuse in sorriness. Now Mamadou woken to my heart, can want no other hands.

  But El Mayor freeze in a sudden conscience. Look back to the door.

  Yo, as if his fear call it to life, a knocking come there hard.

  El Mayor startle back. I flinch myself, call up in nervy voice, ‘Yo what?’

  ‘Senyora? Can come in?’ Be the voice of my guard Julio, shy behind the door.

  I look distress to El Mayor. Already he stalken far from me, frown guilty to the wall. I say fretful, ‘Sure, come in. Be here.’

  Julio open quick. Glance to my underdress, then look away with careful face. ‘Senyora, is from Simón Zelote. He want to see you now.’

  Bean peek past his shoulder. ‘He sent a car. It’s down there, if you want to go.’

  ‘Simón Zelote?’ I say footless. ‘How … he saying what he need?’

  ‘They don’t say what.’ Julio shrug. ‘Ask for you, to Loisaida. Is too late?’

  Bean muttern, ‘Seven’s not late. She’s got four hours till church.’

  ‘Loisaida, foo,’ I say unready. ‘Why he ain’t come himself?’

  ‘How he does,’ say Julio.

  ‘Bossy,’ Bean agree. ‘He even sent his guards to bring you.’

  ‘Guards?’ I say misliking. ‘You be sure they even his?’

  ‘They’re his.’ Bean nod with knowledge looks. ‘They was here a lot, when we had the last Maria. Same routine.’

  I look back to El Mayor, who still be frozen in dismays. Now I be fretting if this can connect to Mamadou. If all the search return with him, be there in Loisaida. But ain’t no reason they gone to Simón. They should come here.

  Yo, dark in memory, come Asha Badmouth’s Dead as bacon. Guards be Simón’s – but any a child can send them with an easy lie. And if Simón be dead, these guards ain’t here for no good task. Yo, Anselm’s threats repeat in mind. Can magine how I go to meet a ghost, and die in secret night.

  But I say in hoarsen voice, ‘Ya, can tell them that they wait. I only need some clothes.’

  51

  BY SIMÓN ZELOTE

  Simón Zelote’s car be large in elegance. In its back seat, can stretch my legs out long, breathe only leathern smell. The guards and driver all be Metros, clean in soldier clothes. Try asking what Simón want, but they comprehend no English word. At last, I sit back nerviose and stare the passing streets.

  Loisaida be the neighbor burrow to the south. Place be a wilder dereliction, and its children poor. Got crime in every sort, and starving, every bad unhappiness. Ya, most barracks there, to keep the soldiers’ misbehaviors where it be no worth to harm.

  Come across their border, and the road be sudden rough. Car joggle like a trotting horse. Buildings all got cloudy plastic covering the window holes, and hills of trash beside their doors. Upon this trash, the snow be clean, but all around be trample filth. Most thing I notice, be some littles by an orfanato, chasing pigeons. They wearing blankets, stead of coats, and plastic bags on their sock feet.

  Residencia where we come be drear concree, sans no bellesse. But here the windows all be whole, the road be swept and nice. Wear Mariano flags along the front, flap sad in Cember wind. Yo, as I come out of the car, a redcoat guard step from the door. Call clear polite, ‘Senyora, please to follow. Simón is waiting.’

  The way be simple halls without no pictures, nor no softening rugs. Come to the office door, and it be plain as nothing. Wear no sign. Yo, as I take the doory handle, a last reluctance grip in me. I magine this ain’t Simón. Be tr
aps. Is Anselm’s soldiers there. I open with chilling expectation, squinting from mislike.

  But be an office room like any. Ya, Simón be there, familiar in his soldier clothes. Stand to his feet with Panish courtesy.

  Simón a child of middling height, with handsome looks of houndish sort. Bear himself peculiar straight, like all his muscles fix with hardness. Now he look tired rough, his face be scurfy with unsleep. Can see his age upon – is twentyish in heaviness.

  Ya, I go fascinating to the drawings on his hands. How I know now, these showing ranks of soldiers, and the wars they fought. Simón’s be everycolor stars and numbers, meeting crafty. Thicker on each hand, an L for Loisaida writ in black.

  The office self be picky clean. Smell be piney wash; his desken papers fix in perfect stacks. A pistol on his desk be shining jolie like an ornament. Wall got photo of the last Maria – long-face girl in finery clothes like mine, but black for widowing. Ya, be a photo of myself, in murder dress and hundred diamonds. This Maria picture hang in every city office.

  Once we sat, Simón Zelote dabbit time with pale excuses. Say how he thought, is best we meeting here, be better privacy. He sorry to ask me here on Nochebuena, but is urgent. Talk various shee that children saying, when they dread what they must say.

  Through this, I waiting weak. His tired face look no good news. Mamadou in my fear, and I be watching him with hawken need. I even begin to dread, Simón will take me into prison now; the searchers brought a Christ, and all my usefulness be by.

  But when he creep onto his meaning, pigeon up to it with words – first actual sense he saying be, ‘Maria, are we planning a war against Quantico?’

  Almost, I laugh relief. ‘No sho, we ain’t. Be nothing like.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that, senyora.’ He nod, his eyes still glooming. ‘But if that’s true, I’ve got ask myself why we’re making a ton of new artillery. And I also wonder why Anselm’s telling me different.’

  I startle. ‘Anselm? He said we got war to Quantico?’

  ‘No, he’s Anselm.’ Simón smile sour. ‘The man didn’t tell me anything. But when I asked him, I couldn’t get an answer. Instead, he started asking what I know about their current preparedness.’

  Here I remind, Simón Zelote ain’t been at the clausen signing. Never he heard my tale about the cure, the rooish armies. And then he disappear from sight, been sulking in his home. But sure, he be apostle, ya is general of armies. Ain’t sense that no one told him on the roos.

  I think to tell him, but my nerves be wrong. Ain’t guess why he kept ignorant. Nor I want to step in Anselm’s tangles unbewares.

  I say cautieuse, ‘It be no war on Quantico, truth.’

  Simón sigh tired, his eyes still brooding in their disbelief. ‘Santa reina, how about this: I’ll tell you what I would tell you if you were planning this war – even though I know you aren’t. Can we do that?’

  ‘Ya. Be nothing wrong.’

  ‘Good.’ His face go easier. ‘So, there’s one main idea I want you to leave with. You cannot take Quantico.’

  I shrug. ‘Sure, known we losing twice.’

  ‘It’s not just that. There is no way. I know that sounds extreme, but hear me out.’ He smile, look friendlier now. Unknit his hands and rest them down. ‘So, I’m guessing Anselm told you about the place. They’re not as rich as we are, and their population’s a fraction of ours. Sounds like a good proposition, right? That’s what we thought when we first went there.

  ‘But there’s just one problem. They only have a hundred thousand people. But they have three million land mines.’

  Must be, I look stupid blank. Simón ask careful, ‘Do you know what that is? A land mine?’

  ‘Sure I know. But any million? How they making this?’

  He grimace humor. ‘Senyora, Quantico doesn’t produce much. Their buildings are falling apart, and there isn’t a working car in the place. Pretty much all they make is armaments, and they’ve been at it a very long time. That city’s been attacked by all its neighbors for hundreds of miles around, for decades. And they haven’t lost an inch of ground. The neighbors – they’re all gone.’

  I think of roos attacking there, and start to feel some warmness for these Quanticos. ‘So where these land mines be? It be some circle round the city?’

  ‘Good question.’ He smile encouraging. ‘I’ll give you a quick idea. Take a block like this one. Mostly four-story apartment buildings. No special targets, nothing industrial. So in that block, they’ll have maybe two hundred land mines. You have to walk a maze to get through that street, and that maze is completely invisible. Try going into a building, same thing. Land mines, booby traps. You duck inside, chances are the room explodes. Or it fills with poison gas, that’s another favorite toy.’

  He sit forward, mostly like he gladden to this evil news.

  ‘What else you get, every block is going to have at least one barricade. You’re not taking any vehicle into Quantico. Barricades are mostly made of old cars, patched up with concrete. But they leave some gaps, so they’ll be shooting at you through those holes.

  ‘And they also like to decorate their barricades, for the entertainment of guests, with dead bodies. Since nobody’s attacked them for a couple of years, that’s probably going to be skeletons. But if you fight them for any length of time, it’ll start to be people you recognize. And you do not attempt to retrieve those bodies, because they’re booby-trapped. So that’s not going to kill you, but it’s going to affect your mood.

  ‘Windows above, you get your machine guns, light artillery. They’ll have grenades, including some cute incendiary grenades that basically burn you alive. And the Marines live beside their weapons, not just when they’re at war, but all their lives. You do not catch them off guard. So if you thought you could find the land mines, and dig them out, and crawl over the barricades, and actually go somewhere – you’re doing that under heavy fire from all directions.

  ‘And this is how their kids grow up. From the time they can walk, they learn where to walk, or else they don’t grow up. And those kids fight. Here, we’ll send someone into battle when they’re fourteen years old. So that’s humane, that’s the right thing to do. They don’t even think about that. The only thing they care about, as far as I can tell, is their holy city.’

  Now Simón sit back, eyes set on me with expectation. Catch a pen from off the desk and start to click its nose in–out.

  Been listening with ten attentions, seek to memorize these details. At last, I nod. ‘Holy city. This be Quantico self?’

  ‘Well, yes and no.’ Simón put by his pen. ‘So, if you’ve looked at maps, you probably know the Mall.’

  ‘Nay, ain’t know this.’

  ‘Well, you don’t need to, because you’re never going to see it. Basically, it’s where the old government buildings are, from the United States. That’s what they call Washington – the Mall – and it’s what they’re sworn to protect.’ He smile grim. ‘According to them, everything there’s exactly as it was before the plague. So when they’re not manufacturing land mines, they’re polishing the piano in the old President’s drawing room.

  ‘In case you aren’t getting the point, they’re dangerously insane, and the form their insanity takes is that you cannot take Quantico. And you wouldn’t want to, unless you were as crazy as they are.’

  Only when he pause, and sit back in his chair with some release, I feel my risen joy. I breathe in good content a minute, looking out the window at a partment building set across. Got broken windows with some clothes hung drying on their jaggen edges. I magine Marines with rifles there, aim on a troop of sorry roos.

  When I look back, Simón be frowning puzzlement at my glad eyes.

  I say, ‘Artillery cannot clear these mines?’

  He grit impatient. ‘Some. But say it did. Then you’re looking at destroying every inch of the street. Some people think that can work. They’re mostly people who weren’t there last time.’

  ‘But what – yo
heed. Be only thinking, if you got some planes?’

  Now Simón look queery, like he guess if this be jokes. Say flat, ‘You don’t.’

  ‘Nay, but if. Is theoretical.’

  ‘Fine, santa reina. I’m only speculating, but as far as I can see, you’ve got the same basic problem. You can win Quantico, if you can completely and totally destroy it. So theoretically, you could flatten the entire place from the air, and then take possession of the smoking rubble.’

  Here I begin to grin, ain’t keep my feeling for no sense. Think how I telling Pasha. He sure to find some negative, but I see no badness for myself. Be only usual questions, why no person tell me this before.

  Simón smile back, some careful wise. ‘Did I say something funny?’

  ‘Nay, is only wolfen. They Marines, be feary peoples.’

  ‘Wolfen, right. My boys have started saying that.’ He narrow on me curiose, eyes gone to wary kindness. ‘Have I been making a fool of myself? You really never wanted to attack Quantico?’

  ‘Ya, I said. Got no wants.’

  Here Simón begin to ponder in his bony eyes. Think on our new artillery, or on Anselm’s sneaky hints. Can see, he puzzling different, but he still ain’t get no comfort.

  Then I lose all defenses. ‘Truth, I want no war on Quantico. I only need their help.’

  I told my news of rooish war and pharmacy any times. Can think, I seen all possible reactions to this story. But Simón’s be strange beyond.

  First I mention roos, Simón surprise like any a child. But after this, he only go depressing and depressing. Even when I tell about the cure, he gloom the same. Ya, within this grief, a fury harden in his eyes. He clutch his pen in hand like he will break it for his hatred. Time I telling on the search, he ugly with distress.

  I end my tale with scary conscience. ‘Sure is mally, how they never told you. Cannot figure this.’

  Then Simón sit back. Drop the pen loose on his desk. ‘That’s no surprise. The rest – I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘I know it be unlikely tales. Is why they send a search.’

  He hold up his hand. ‘Senyora, let me help you. The apostles believe you about the cure. They have no doubt that there’s a cure. What they told you – that is not what’s happening.’