The Country of Ice Cream Star

by Sandra Newman

  Then I cannot help my mouth. ‘Ain’t need to kill him, ya.’

  Crow scoff breath. ‘What that Simón said. “Keep the Jesus, he be useful.”‘

  ‘Shoo, useful. Child ain’t got no goddamn feet. Ain’t harming peoples so.’

  Crow wave dismissing hand. ‘Is politics, what Mamadou say. So no one make a new Maria.’

  ‘So Mamadou shooting him?’

  ‘Nay, some penal doing this.’ Crow get admiring smile. ‘The NewKing, he fought where they fighting back. Foo, he run out of bullets once, and this Inúd come at him, shooting. Mamadou, he come straight back at the man and grab his gun. Same gun that shooting at him! Inúd surprise so much, he trip his feet, and Mamadou shoot him straight. Child vally, damn.’

  I narrow sideways to him. ‘Thought you ain’t like Mamadou.’

  To this, Crow hush. Frown soft, like trying to remember distances. ‘Sure, then,’ he say uncertain. ‘Ain’t like no one then. Hate everything for being.’

  Can feel him start to bob his toe in nerviose habit. Want to kick him, make him quit, but I still be shy from this. I shift away, say cautieuse, ‘Hate me for being, I guess.’

  ‘Yourself?’ He give an anxy laugh. ‘Ain’t mysteries why I hating you. Thought every person seen.’

  ‘I ain’t, sure.’

  I look to him and find his eyes unhappy on myself. He swallow, say in clumsy voice, ‘How you was.’

  ‘How I was?’ My voice break strange. ‘Ain’t been so nasty then.’

  ‘Nasty, shee.’ Crow look away. ‘Lucky, what you been. Every person loving you, best genius ever made. Yo, how Driver favor you, it give me other malice. Shoo, when he given you that horse, remember to you?’

  ‘Horse been from El Mayor. Driver only let me keep her.’

  ‘El Mayor.’ Crow grimace. ‘Right. All males be one big ball of want for Ice Cream Perfectesse. Myself …’ He catch his voice. Crow’s foot keep bouncing nerviose, while his face pinch resenting.

  I want to cavil, Crow’s life been no awful differences. Had all I had, except this pony. No person force him gunpoint to be skew. But when I look to him, his unchin face be its own argument. Froggen looks be poory luck enough for seven lives.

  ‘Been harder years for you,’ I try. ‘Fourteen and so.’

  ‘Shee right. Fourteen.’ Crow huff his breath. ‘Fifteen, was worser anything. But been my foolishness, that I expect the world be fair to me. How Mamadou say, you only got what justice you can make.’

  This crush my pity whole. Ain’t comprehend how Mamadou’s sayings turn to no religion. I kick Crow’s niggling foot and say sarcasty, ‘So he making justice?’

  Crow’s foot halt. He tense beside me. ‘Sure he do. You ain’t dead, is you?’

  ‘Only be thinking, maybe you make his sayings to a book. Be a chapter all on slaving.’

  ‘He been an Army, how he going to do? Children change into their circumstance.’

  ‘Guess Mamadou saying this?’

  ‘Whoever saying it, be truth. I changen.’

  Crow flinch clear from me, and we grit at each other sideways. But, as I think our yeary hatreds wake, Crow ease his face. Smile to some funny thought.

  ‘Sure, you got other feelings,’ he say. ‘Like how Mamadou be about yourself.’

  ‘Nay, what you saying?’

  ‘Saying, it be familiar shee, you stanking on him in his bed.’

  I start to cavil, this ain’t what he think. But Crow begin to laugh – his bravo laugh, big like his singing. Then it come funny to myself, how I been sniffing at the NewKing’s coat, but cannot hear him praise.

  I laugh along with heaten face, and Crow shove teasing at me. He say, ‘Goddamn, I wish you seen him when he got to say “Maria”. Look like he swallow a whole potato. His face gone all–’ Crow try to make this face, but cannot change his laughing mouth.

  ‘Guess he hating me this time,’ I say with moron smile.

  ‘Hate you? Mamadou glad to hate you, once he use you seven years.’

  ‘Foo. It need that filth?’

  He squeal a worser laugh. ‘Right, you a virgin. Pudy for no sex.’

  Then Crow go telling humor tales about my virgin self. How penals asking Crow on me, and he must lie about my purity. ‘ “Oh, nay, she innocent right.” I get a nosebleed, how I choke my laughter. And Mamadou gleering at me, like he eat my head if I say wrong … Ya once, this penal Donx come telling stank on you and Pasha. Mamadou gone as green as paint. Go pounding down the stairs, can hear him down there shooting rats. And Donx say, all confusing, “Didn’t think Mamadou was religious.” Shee, it mostly kill me. Swear, the rats was laughing while they shot … And when we plan your rescue, some child tell Taco, “Watch yourself. She going to be afraid with penals. Don’t say no bad language.”‘

  Here, Crow lose his final brains. Laugh till he bringing tears. He see that I quit laughing, and go leap on me and tickle my armpits. Become a squallen fight, both yelling, giggling twenty–forty. I only rid him when I find my knife and ware it at his face.

  After this, we slump in bed, go talking townie memories. Is nothings of our robbery tricks, and scraps we had in tennish age; winters in the Tophet barn, and wars we fought among their hay. Be the conversation that I always wish to have with Crow, all years he keeping spiteful. But now every remembrance wisty, how this life be gone. Ya, be sadder hearing, when he talk about Karim their love. He mention this in shy half-sayings, watching careful to my face. Then I begin to weep my shame. Ain’t brave to tell confessions – it be no forgiveness in this crime – but my eyes keep dripping sorry.

  Crow say soft, ‘Should tell you sooner. Ain’t trust no person in they times.’

  ‘Nay, you was right,’ I say. ‘I been some fool to judge. You right.’

  And we gone in dreaming sorrows, smoking Mamadou’s cigarettes by the candle’s final gasping light, when footsteps come loud down the hall, and voices rough joyeuse.

  Be Taco and a band of scrabble penals, calling me back to rule.

  61

  THIS MORNING ITS BONESSE AND EVIL

  Is fourish darkness when our car start toward the Ministerio. Who come be Taco–Crow, ya Donx. This be a long and skinbone child, look like he made of elbows. We take a car that been ‘donation’ from apostle Pedro. This meaning that the penals rob it from his dispatch yard.

  As we pass through Loisaida, streets be empty strange. Is only seldom cats and rats, all scuttling hasty in the cold. Yo, worse in my discomfort be the city’s warless silence. Ain’t notice when the gunfire quit, but now its missing voice be awful. Feel like the city kill itself entire, leave only stone and sky.

  And we pass from Loisaida’s ruin onto cleanly road. Come up Madison, where the stores all lost their windowglass. Some goods spill messy in the street, but most be gone to thieves. Donx drive slower here, keep squinting forward at the road. Only noise be our car’s groan. It grow and wash out small in echoes from the closer buildings. Somewhere be lights of Navidad, shine heedless to the warry mess. And no one there and no one. Now ain’t even rats to see.

  Then, in the forward darkness, rise a boiling thrill of voice. Ring strange among the towers, cannot tell if it be rage or gladness. Seem like it raining from above, and shiver in the air. Be thousand children yelling, breathless long like cricket voice.

  Donx stamp the brakes in fear reaction, slow the car to creeping. Crow swear, go crouching low. I start guessing brainless, how our soldiers give up shooting. Solve this fight with shouting argument.

  Donx say low, ‘It’s not guns, anyway.’

  ‘Ain’t mean we got to drive into it, damn,’ Crow say. ‘Best we turn back.’

  ‘No,’ Taco say. ‘I want to see.’

  I ware up, frightening now. ‘If it ain’t fighting, what it is?’

  Donx stop the car, half to the crossway. ‘Look there. There they are.’

  In the forward street, can see a mass of thicker dark. Is moving toward us slow and various like drifting smoke. Be a crowd of ch
ildren, shifting gradual down the street. Can hear, the voices come from there; can guess its shifting shadows. Yo, as they come into the crossway, and moon lighten them, can see they all be walking backwards. They watching to the farther crowd, in ignorance to us.

  Thick among be soldiers, but is also brown ermanos. Even be some orfanato littles in their number coats. Some thirteen girls be stood in nighting dress, with blankets round their shoulders. These strain on tiptoes, scouting past the other children’s heads. Then one girl notice our carlights. Squint to us, and shout some word. Then all the thirteen girls turn round, wave like inviting us to festival.

  Yo, through the ferment come a horsen neigh, particular like music. I sit up, waring breathless. When it whinny up again, my heart go weirdo bright. Then I be fumbling for the doory handle, running from the car. Crow shout behind, but I be sprinting heedless. Come to the mass of children as they break apart, shift toward the roadside. First, I think they recognize me – give Maria room. But then I see the littles coming slow along the street. People all be stepping back to let these enfants pass.

  Be any hundred littles there, in dirty clothes of moth appearance. Their coats stuff fat with paper; heads be mostly lost in scarf. Got packs upon their back, so each look like a shamble bear of cloth. Bigger tens be pushing wheeler-carts with nests of baby twos, who skree appalling to the crowd. And down the street, as far as eyesight, be more littles come the same. All dragging in exhaustion – but soon it realize, they also slow because they eating food. Yo, as I watch, a Mariano girl come from a house with bread in hands. She pass this to a scruffety eight, and soon the bread be torn in pieces, stuffing in all enfants’ mouths.

  Then, tall among this littlish mob, I spy my pony Money. Her spotten flanks be queer like maginations in this muzzy light. Before I think, I yell my voice. Then she spark feet, come barging glad. First Runner small astride – is yanking at the reins, while Money scare all littles from her path. They skeltering in all directions, like a splashing wake. Then Money nosing in my face while I reach to First Runner, laughing breath, my blood spectacular with joy.

  First Runner cry in high frustration, ‘Leave my mare! She biting peoples!’

  I call brainless. ‘You ain’t hurt? You bone?’

  Now she recognize my voice. Go startle, gape her mouth.

  ‘You bone?’ I cry again.

  ‘Ice Cream?’ she say in breaking voice. ‘You all alive? And Mamadou?’

  ‘We bone! All be the same!’

  ‘Then why–’ She look to the littles, who be pausing back, uncertain. An eight yell something to her, but she wave a nay ferocious, frown to me. ‘Truth? You ain’t lying?’

  ‘Swear my head, they bone!’

  She cry perilous mean, ‘Why no one come? Been walking days, and no one come. We starving there!’

  ‘My ten, we never known!’

  ‘But – El Mayor be bone? Ain’t lie!’

  ‘Ain’t lying! Bring these to the Ministerio! Be all rooms there empty.’

  Now she recollect her pride. Snuff nose, and say in pickety voice, ‘Thought this ourself. But where it be?’

  ‘Can follow our car! We going now!’

  As I turn to point, Crow be there, crashing to me huge. He grab my collar scruff and yell, ‘Damn, what you doing? What you thinking? What?’

  ‘Shee!’ I yell back hot. ‘These be the littles come from Massa! Ain’t you see?’

  ‘Ain’t only littles here! Is every people! Damn, come back!’

  He start to haul me by my collar, while my Money startle. Pick her feet, neigh warm and smelly in our face. I laugh and call back to First Runner, ‘Mind, you chase our car!’

  Then I turn, go jogging back with Crow, while he still swearing mean. But by our car, now be some dozen soldiers, gather to Taco–Donx. Crow balk, throw out an arm to stop me.

  ‘Crow, it’s good,’ call Donx in boring voice. ‘They’re ours, it’s cool.’

  Then Taco saying something low. All soldiers startle awful. Go stoop a hasty courtesy to me, while Taco grin his face.

  ‘Come on,’ call Taco. ‘You got to hear this. Jimmy, tell the story.’ He nod toward a bigly soldier with a bandage hand.

  Jimmy look up shy. ‘Yeah, I was only saying, it’s over.’

  ‘No, the story.’ Taco shove his shoulder, grin to us. ‘Jimmy was with Simón’s boys uptown. They was shooting it out with Inúds from barracks there, when all those kids come through.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jimmy make a nervy smile. ‘We was in the park up there, just killing each other, you know. And suddenly, a thousand little kids walk smack out into the middle.’

  ‘And it all stopped,’ say Taco.

  ‘So it start again, now they all past,’ say Crow.

  ‘No, mano.’ Taco flap his hand dismissing. ‘Think. What do they do, those Massa kids, whenever they see grown people?’

  ‘Ask for food,’ Donx offer.

  Taco point to Donx and nod. ‘And then it’s a conversation, what it was. One second, people’s shooting each other. The next second, it’s a mess of kids. And those kids go up to Inúds, to anyone. They don’t know the difference. Beg for food, and the next thing, they’re telling their whole sad story. Well, our enemy, they got real confused. Jimmy, tell them.’

  ‘Yeah, the best part,’ Jimmy say. ‘Then, Simón, he jumps up on a car and gives a speech. Somebody shoots at the man, he doesn’t even shut up. Simón, you know.’

  ‘That’s what he’s like,’ say Donx.

  Jimmy nod. ‘So he tells them how the apostles was planning to sell us all … you know. The whole thing.’

  ‘And you realize,’ say Taco, ‘these guys all fought with him before. He’s the goddamn general.’

  ‘That was it, senyora.’ Jimmy smile. ‘The enemy, they just listened. Like they all come there to hear a speech. And then they marched off after him like ducks. Barracks of Inúd, who these guys were. The faithful.’

  ‘The last of the faithful,’ Donx say.

  ‘People, it’s over.’ Taco draw a finger across his throat. ‘We won.’

  Then only be two blocks to drive, but it take careful minutes. Always be some littles, wandern stupid in the road; be soldiers climbing on the car joyeuse. Yo, in this petty time, I start to feel my tired body. Cut palms begin to itch; my stabben chest feel sorry hurt. But all these pains be gratty now, feel heavy like a gift. Keep thinking how I go see Driver. Sleep by him in company. Can tell him how we get the cure in petty days, all problems done. Say this, then we both sleep like heaven.

  And we stop to the Ministerio steps. They litter spectacular with glass from gunshot doors and windows. We step out in a throng of soldiers who skit back, gasp blessing words. I drowse afoot as I go up. Look back for Crow, but he be bickering still with Taco in the street. They mix into the thousand littles coming slow like clouds. I go on toward the entrance hall, where dandelions still be lit – yo, now their dangles stir from wind invading through the broken windows. Come to the door, duck through its missing glass.

  In middy hall, it be a clutch of my own redcoat guards. I start toward them, grinning mouth, but they all look away. Their manners be severe, like they uneasy for some problem. I hold my step, considering sudden if some guard been kilt for me.

  Then Julio step from them hasty. His reddish coat unbutton sloppy, face gone panic bright.

  I say confusing, ‘Julio, you bone? They never catch you?’

  ‘Senyora,’ he say hoarsen. ‘Is your brother.’

  My sleepiness go weak with fear. ‘Nay, Driver? What it be?’

  ‘Hospital, he go.’ Julio look frighten to the door. ‘Hour past.’

  ‘Nay, what been?’

  ‘His sickness. Bleed inside, they say. Take him for help.’

  A moment, I cannot take breath. My heart fill all my chest. Then I gasp somehow, ‘Can be, my car still there. We–’

  ‘Yes, senyora. I stop them, yes.’

  Julio run out the door. A moment, I be only frozen, staring into nothi
ng. Want to shout some argument, how hard it been, ain’t justice. Then terror rise, and I go run. Come out on the steps, and dodge through littles coming up. Be this careful movement, and be the blackish sky tremendous overhead, its dull, uncolor moon. As I see the car, with Julio waving by, a red distress, my terror bite into me worse. Be like no feeling that I known. Is like a killing sickness. I catch my hand up to my throat and go on with this terrify evil breaking in my heart.

  Quinta hospital be the home where this white terror live. Come in a bleary whitish hall, and Julio shout his Panish at an enfermera there. She scramble to find papers. Mutter panicking, while I grip fingers sweaty in my pockets. Then we go down halls with rubber smell of pharmacies and illness. Be blue medicals scrambling past us, like a pulling wind; be tear-face children leaning to the walls. Our enfermera talking feary Panish, until I ask in fright, ‘What she saying? Driver worse?’

  Girl hush at this, look down with shamen eyes. ‘No,’ Julio say hasty, ‘she say, is sorry, they busy from the war. Too many sick here.’

  As he say this, we come to the elevator hall. Here stand two medical children with a rolling bed between. A fifteen boy in soldier clothes lain there, got redden bandages to his throat. He breathing scary fast, stare at the medical boy beside, who muttern over–over, ‘Tranquilo, tranquilo.’ Our enfermera start explaining to them, waving hands. Then the medicals stare to me, stoop courtesies with muttern prayer.

  Ya, the injure soldier make a face of beggary. Struggle a hand toward me, make a breathen noise without no voice. His body straining while the medicals hush him nerviose.

  Julio say soft, ‘He want a blessing, senyora. Is scare.’

  I nod without no mind. Step toward him, and he ease back, tears beginning in his eyes.

  I say what Panish prayer I remember, voice dim from its fear. Injure child watch on my face with hungry hope, eyes gentling. When I finish, a medical whisper, ‘Gracias, bendita reina.’ I look to her, and she be weeping – a scary fourteen with lips blooden from their winter chapping.

  Then the elevator open, and the soldier shut his eyes. Face clench back to its hurt.