The Country of Ice Cream Star

by Sandra Newman

  In sudden change, Felipe hush. Raise both his arms like victory.

  Then all these Metros leap up to their feet, yell heart’s approval. Shout come exploding huge, then break in differences of voice. Be weeping, ya and laughter. People hug each other wild. Can see some mothers pull their enfants up to stand on stumble feet.

  Ya, Felipe gazing at me footless, ravish lost. His face besweaten bright. His eyes be tears. Here I remind uncomfortable, this child believe that I be god. Magine how he say some prayer insane, and I must answer.

  But when he speak, he only say, ‘I’ve got a car waiting, santa reina. We decided it was safest that you come to my house.’

  56

  FELIPE HIS RELIGIONS

  Felipe’s Residencia be a palace huge in white simplesse. Got garden trees around, and lights of Navidad along its brow; is sprucen decorations to its pillars. This night, be any dozen guards around the outside wall. They touch their hats as we pass by. Ya, while we coming up the steps, we hear the guns of our young war, a battering in distance. Shots thicken to a cicada trill of noise, then switch in hush.

  Pasha walking by me, and I catch onto his sleeve. A moment, he only watch on me, is like he love my face. Then he say hoarsen, ‘Ice, we safe here.’

  I shake my head, let go his arm. Been feeling how these warry murders mine, I ask them into life. But I got no words for this. I only look unhappy to Felipe. He halten tense before us, his silver dress swing into stillness. Say low exhilarate, ‘You know, all Loisaida’s come out for us? Simón Zelote’s with us, he’s got five hundred men out fighting. And all the southern barracks – I heard you sent your guards to raise them, senyora?’

  ‘Ya,’ I say distracting. ‘Guess I done.’

  Felipe shake his head like wondering miracles. ‘It’s really happening.’

  Then clack footsteps sound behind the door. A light flash on inside, and tall Felipe shrink somehow. Flinch as the door come open.

  *

  This problem be Felipe’s wife. Girl be prettieuse as heavens, clad in lily garments complicating pink with lace. Is showing pregnant, and even her pooch belly seem an ornament. Ain’t help but wonder if my El Mayor done love with her.

  She lead us in with showing manners. Kiss my ring, do stooping courtesies to Pasha Jesus. Say we must call her by her name, Carola, like this be a gift. She take us to their tree of Navidad, explain its ornaments – and all these be some flatteries on Maria and her Christ.

  But in this, her smile discomfort. Ever she look at Pasha, all her face go stiff like tasting mud. Keep skitting eyes toward Felipe, like she ask some needy question. Can guess without no words, she wish we never coming here.

  When all emptinesses done, she take Felipe by his hand. Say something low in Panish that make Pasha frown his eyes. Then she–Felipe bicker soft, their voices habit bitter. Once, Felipe grimace to me, but this bring Carola worse. Her voice choke up on threatening tears.

  At last, Felipe woof up loud, make stopping gesture with both hands. Carola take her breath, step back. Heely shoe clack loud, is like a stubborn last objection. But she force decency to her face. Say to Pasha thin, ‘My husband wants talk with our lady still. Please, you come with me, I find you a room for sleep. You want some meal?’

  ‘Sí, gracias,’ say Pasha shy.

  Carola beckon her hand and turn with sour glance at Felipe. Roo grimace to me in by-salue. I muttern, ‘Save me food.’

  The room Felipe bring me to be prettieuse bizarre. Walls cover entire by jumbo pictures, showing sleeper children easing in a parque woods. They romp on swings and hug each other in some puffety clothes. Room be lacy green with painten trees.

  As we come in, Felipe pause. Unbutton his silver robe, and sling it careless on a chair. Beneath, he wear a fashion suit, elegant in blackness. He tug this straight, sit on a sofa. I sit by with curiose mood. Be woken from my tired, like war bring its own feary morning.

  ‘Santa reina,’ he say soft, ‘I know this has been a difficult day. But I’ve been wanting to talk to you so badly.’

  ‘Could talk.’ I shrug. ‘It been receptions.’

  ‘But what I have to say to you …’ He cross his arms against himself, eyes shining. ‘And now I don’t know how to start.’

  ‘Shoo, you talking bone.’

  ‘It’s just, I’ve been praying to you so long. It’s just strange.’

  I flinch queery. ‘Sure, your faith.’

  ‘Oh, I know you don’t believe that. El Mayor told me.’ Felipe smile. ‘I’ve figured out how it must be. Really only a true Maria would deny she was a true Maria. If you felt that you were acting for God, you would be eaten up by pride. It would corrupt you. So paradoxically, the fact that you don’t know is a proof that you’re genuine.’

  ‘Foo,’ I say discomfort. ‘I been God, I going to notice.’

  ‘No, it’s the spirit that’s in you, that I can see and you can’t – that’s the gift. It’s obvious – only not to you. That’s the essence of your purity.’

  Feel some worse discourage. Be like arguing with glue. But I try, ‘Your other Marias, they denying this?’

  ‘That’s different.’ He make painful face. ‘Our other Marias were completely ordinary people. But the whole process was corrupt. The last Maria had two abortions, I don’t know if you know.’

  I fidget nervy at my skirt. Find the patch of blood from my cut hand, gone stiff along the lace. Then I say low, ‘You known the other apostles’ plans? About the search in Massa?’

  He flinch, look guilty to the floor. Nod with stricken face.

  ‘Yo, why you never told me?’ I say. ‘If I being God and so.’

  ‘Anselm told us that you knew.’ His voice come rough. ‘Of course, I see it now.’

  ‘Nay, I sent El Mayor to ask you. Why I asking, if I known?’

  ‘But El Mayor …’ Felipe look up nervy. ‘I didn’t trust him. The way he appeared and wanted to be my friend … I thought he might be Anselm’s spy. And anyway, Mamadou came right after that. Did you get the message from Ricky?’

  ‘Been no message, shee. Ain’t even got no Ricky there.’

  ‘No, he’s mine. He’s …’ Felipe catch his voice, look miserable back to the windows. ‘Of course, you’re right. I should have seen. But you have to understand, it’s how we are here. It’s like we’re all asleep. We grow up, we fall asleep, and then the horrors that scared us before – we’re doing them. We’re the monsters in the nightmare.’ Now tears grown in his eyes. His knitten hands be clenching hard. ‘It took you to wake me, Maria.’

  The gunfire sound again, come louder. I ware to this with almost love, how it be solid real. Start wishing I been by this fight, free from these talk insanities.

  When I look back, Felipe’s face be bright in need. He say, ‘Did you know that this is all in prophecy? The cure, the Russians – it’s all foretold in the Bible.’

  ‘Foo, Bible got no roos. Nor it got no posies neither. WAKS, whatever you calling it. Ain’t be.’

  ‘No, listen. In the book of the Apocalypse, it’s there. In the time of WAKS, Satan’s brood – the whites – were cast into the abyss. But in the last days, Satan returns, leading the armies of the unrighteous. You see? That’s the Russian army, now. And after their defeat, the children of God who remain – they live forever.’ He look seeking in my face. ‘They live forever, Maria. It’s the cure, that’s what it means.’

  When Felipe argue, be a beary force of certainty. Ever he talk nonsense, get a weak suspicion that he right. So I only cavil, ‘Ain’t be no forever cure. Pasha definite to this. Can live seventy years or so. Seem like forever to us, but it will end.’

  Felipe shake his head. ‘Many Bible passages have to be interpreted metaphorically. Yes, it seems like forever to us. And so the Bible says: “forever”. It’s written in poetic language, there are hundreds of instances like that.’

  ‘So how we win this war? The Bible telling that?’

  ‘That passage is short,’ he say with knowing gladness.
‘When Satan’s armies come, they surround the city of America – obviously Quantico–Washington. And then God sends a fire from heaven to destroy Satan’s armies. You see how it all corresponds? The fire from heaven – that’s our army.’

  Here my patience ruin entire. Known these metaphorical tales. Metaphorical mean, the story be stupidity beyond. So they pretend it meaning something else, whatever they like most.

  ‘Easy miracles for God. We do them while He sitting lazy.’

  Felipe smile. ‘Yes, El Mayor thinks it’s funny, too. And don’t worry. No one expects you to come to the war. You’ll stay here. If necessary, we’ll evacuate you to the north.’

  This catch me unbewares. I crush my blooden lace into my fist. ‘Shoo, meant no insult to our war. Be certain that I come. Should be out fighting now myself.’

  He startle bad. ‘No, santa reina. That’s – of course you can’t.’

  Another bullet sound, close in the night. We both stir, glance to the window. It reflect its same untelling glamour, curtains furl around.

  Felipe look back to me, smiling tense. ‘The most important thing you can do is to keep safe. No one would want you to put yourself in danger. You’re the city’s soul.’

  ‘And the city warring now. Be natural I going to war.’

  ‘No,’ he say, in straining voice. ‘I could never let you risk yourself.’

  ‘Ain’t let me,’ I say thin. ‘You keep me here in Metro. Ever I want.’

  ‘Metro? Is that it?’ He shake his head with easing smile. ‘But you’ll be restored to the Ministerio, as soon as it’s safe. And did you know that Anselm’s dead?’

  ‘Ya,’ I say in sour voice. ‘I known.’

  ‘So it won’t be like it was before. You’ll be restored to your proper place.’

  Now he gone gazing at a painten picture on the wall. Show a boyish child in weirdo suit of shiny blue. Child kneel by a girlish sleeper, hug his arms around her waist. I watch along and magine myself back in the Ministerio. Life be papers and receptions, always in some skyless room. Yo, be some Metro ermano, give instructions in my Anselm’s place. And so they keep me ever, till they murder me in fresh caprice.

  At last, I sigh my misery out. ‘Felipe? You know, where be El Mayor?’

  Felipe frown. ‘Why? He’s upstairs.’

  ‘In this house?’ I rouse in hope. ‘He knowing I be here?’

  ‘I think so. But he’s been there sulking, ever since Mamadou came, so I’m not sure.’

  ‘Ho, Mamadou come here tonight?’

  ‘A few hours ago. He came in the middle of dinner.’ Felipe smile like funny stories. ‘He appeared in the dining room, and just started telling me what to do. El Mayor actually dropped his fork.’

  I smile discomfort. ‘Sure, he will surprise. But he ain’t sulk for that?’

  ‘No.’ Felipe shrug. ‘I think it was something Mamadou told him.’

  ‘Something – nay, what Mamadou said?’

  ‘I don’t know. Before Mamadou left, they talked alone for a couple of minutes. And then El Mayor came back and asked to stay. That’s all I know.’

  ‘El Mayor ain’t said why?’

  ‘I did ask.’ Felipe laugh. ‘My guess? He’s being a little childish because he was left out of all the conspiring. He was obviously upset, but he insisted there was nothing wrong.’

  I grit into unhappy thought. Truth, El Mayor ain’t preciate that Mamadou boss this war. But that ain’t give him sulks. I try other possibilities – that Mamadou said some insult, or had mally news of Lowells – but these fitting poory also.

  Can only be one answer, what this conversation been.

  I swallow at my nerves, say soft, ‘Where Mamadou being now?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly.’ Felipe narrow eyes in thought. ‘By now, he could be back in Loisaida. He’s got a sort of headquarters in the projects. It’s the Reese, a building in the flooded–’

  ‘Ya, heard this. And El Mayor … can see him now? He waking?’

  Felipe make discomfort face. ‘It’s probably not a good time. When he heard you were coming here, he specifically said he didn’t want to see you.’

  ‘Ain’t want to see me. Right.’

  Felipe smile indulgent. ‘Anyhow, it would have to wait until tomorrow. He’s not alone tonight.’

  57

  TO LOISAIDA BY OUR WARRY NIGHT

  Behind this, I beg weariness. Felipe plead me to some food, but I lie that I got no hunger. My best wish be loneliness and sleep. So he lead me up some stairs of whitish stone to his wife’s sleeproom.

  Ain’t tell me it be hers, at first. Only, when I notice heely shoes left by the bed, I ask. Then I got no words to argue. Ain’t like to rob Carola’s bed, but I be wild beyond no patience. All myself be like a waiting scream.

  When he gone, I sit down on the bed, collect my problems. Fret on Driver, all my Sengles, left in chances of this war. Guess on the fray in reckless night, and if it can accomplish. Worry how Pedro still alive, can tell about my murdern enfant. Then mad Felipe change his love like blinking. Join in burning me, for insults to religion.

  Through this, I keep distracting to the room where El Mayor be with some girl. These walls be catching his familiar sounds, his breathen flatteries. And likely, he know I be here. Take this naked girl against him, and his mind be vengeance.

  What Mamadou told El Mayor, must be the history of our loves. Truth, soon as they two talk alone, can know this secret find its mouth. All it need, one mentioning myself, and both will change behaviors. Then El Mayor begin suspicions. Nor the NewKing slow for hints. Will guess I done with El Mayor, insulting to his wolfen heart.

  And, first in all this yeary day, I think of Mamadou right.

  I stare into my bloody heart, and see a clean ungiving love. Been what we done, a truth beyond all painfulness. Our last spring before these hells, we torn each other out of life. And his scorning furies find me, even in this city’s hundred thousands, in its thronging soldiers, ya in havoc war.

  Then my desperations join into one red decision.

  I stand up from the bed and strip the diamonds from my ears, my wrists. Toss them to the bed, and spit behind. Unhook the murder dress and let it drop in heavy slump. Still the room be warm to my bare sweat.

  Be thinking every twisty plan, but my first hope come right. Sleeproom got two closets and these all be rich with clothes. Is like an evac in a dream, where every marvel loot be whole. I find some blackie jeans, knit sweater. Pull on some socks with greedy love, goods I ain’t had these weeks. Scratch a jacket coat, is thick for winter, light for working task. Last I find some shoes that mostly fit – zip boots without no heels. These I keep in hand, and I go listen to the door.

  Be only muffle voices, closen far into some room. Ya, when I open careful, hall be black. Is only a line of light below one door. From there, can hear Carola–Felipe, arguing unhappy dim.

  My hand be cramping sweaty on the boots as I creep down the stairs. Come in the empty size of the Residencia frontroom, gray in snowlight. Only movement be some shadows troubling at the windows, branches tugging in unheard wind. Tree of Navidad stand lonely, like a hostage from these trees.

  As I crouch to put on shoes, more gunshots come outside. I pause and try to feel their danger. Remind Felipe’s arguments about my necessary life. But I still be Ice Cream Star, last of the Sengle sergeants. Be kin to warry plight and forests. Got no careful heart, nor I will live beyond my pride.

  And I cross simple to the door. The locks undo in one loud second.

  Door open into grandy winter. Steps got fraily snow upon, is thin as paper tissue. Be witchen quiet, cat hours of our war. The only life be guards, stood on a scrabble of footprints by the open gate. These look up questioning to me.

  As I come to them, I duck my head, put one hand bashful to my face. Say in my best sleeper English, ‘I was visiting El Mayor. I go home now.’

  Then I haste past, cold freshening in my breath. Guards watch without no cavil. Only when I reach
the street, one call, ‘Senyorita! You want a car?’

  ‘No,’ I call back nervy. ‘Need no car.’

  ‘Is dangerous tonight,’ he say in disapproval voice.

  I nay my hand and go on hasty. Feel their eyes until I come into the Avenida. Turn there, and I be hid behind the buildings by the parque. Then I go on in stride, my body thankful like it weep its capture. Night be like a self I walk into, my good belief.

  First blocks, ain’t no people by. When I come near Quinta borders, I sprint some way from passion, skidding careless in the snow, and only hold up when I see the Ministerio. Got its usual vanity looks, the windows golden lit. But in its yard be trucks of the Defensa. Soldiers crowd the steps, ain’t tell if they be ours or enemies. I look to the iglesia’s height, scout for my Sengles left, but only see its same bright windows. Hear no fight. So I turn eastward from this risk, go toward the evac street of Madison.

  This farther walk through empty Quinta be a glory rest. I stretch my legs in horsen stride, and all my body wake joyeuse. Even the seldom bullets bring my heart big in my chest. Between the towers show the stars of every night enorme, and sometimes come the glitter sound of breaking glass, like starry voice. In one passing street, I see a band of scouting soldiers. They startle to me, raise their guns, is like a fluttering clutch of birds. But when they see me better, they ease. Got eyes for only risk, and they give no attention as I pass.

  Then be minutes walking south before I see no other children. These coming few, and all be raggity boys. Some stealth by alone, some going loud in swagger groups. But all got bags of heavy goods. One child push a wheelen cart, fill with all clothes and instruments; a tall lamp nod its head atop. Begin to comprehend, they thieving loot, in chance of war.

  One clutch of boys stare after me, call filthy invitations. But even this be pleasure, how it ain’t no guards protecting me. Any terror can be mine. Here first I remind my Pasha, miss him in my joy. Be conscience, how I left him with no word in their unliking palace. But be late for this regret. I only swear myself to fetch him, soon as I get means.