The Country of Ice Cream Star

by Sandra Newman

  Two twelvish girls come staggering from the elevator, sobbing awful. One be wailing, ‘No, if he’s not here – they said. He got to be here.’ The other hushing her, look shame to us as they push by.

  Then we all shove in this elevator, be no moron courtesies. Ya, all its floor be footprint blood. I shut my eyes to this, my terror sharper. Pray to the nothing I believe that all these children save. Pray this war forgive, or that I die for any guilt. If any person die, it be myself. Ain’t Driver die for this.

  Injure soldier and his medicals leave on second floor. Ya, we go upward to the fifth. In this petty time of waiting, our enfermera talk again. I look staring to her, but now I only think of bleeding inside. How this happen. How any person stop this, once it be. And Julio say, unmeaning in my fear, ‘She say, these floors be only for sarcoma. Good help they give. You not worry, is good.’

  Take me a breathing minute before I remind, sarcoma meaning posies. Then my mind start babbiting Panish – sarcoma, tranquilo, bendita reina, gracias – in some reaching madness.

  Elevator open to another hall, is white the same. The enfermera go up to a door across, stop quick. She whisper another endless fear, and Julio say to me, ‘Is here, can go. Only, you are quiet for him. He need sleep.’

  I breathe out, try to relieve. But my heart stuck in that terror. Be like the world become a brainless light, deep in my eyes. I reach to the doory handle with this terror sprinting past and past.

  Inside, is dimmer light. Driver there in gentle darkness, lain into a bed with rails beside. I close the door behind and feel its petty noise in all my blood. Then I go terrify to my brother.

  Bed be clean as enfant snow. His sore hand bandage white. With the heapen blankets, his body showing healthy size, and even his shut eyes look happy, like they drowse in good content. But he be dead.

  Cannot tell how I know. But when I look into his face, my whole self scream that he be dead. I reach my shaking hand up to his nose and feel for breath. Touch to his neck, feel for no heartbeat. And my mind be running fright, how Driver breathing loud these weeks. Ain’t be no quiet in his life. He dead, is dead.

  Come a moment lost while everything shrink hard in me. I sit heavy to the floor. Feel like I going to die myself, my heart be like some crushen mouse. In my mind, I say to Driver, Brother, no one seen you dead but me. You can come back, nobody ever know. Clench eyes shut and make a prayer to my nothing god – whatever god it be, whatever ghost can hear this prayer. Yo, can almost feel a listening there – a misten sympathy, like darkness sunlight in shut eyes. I reach out to this feeling, beg and beg with gritten teeth.

  But this spirit hear me with a sad refusal in itself. All my magination cannot make it answer yes.

  And I open eyes on Driver’s stillness, cold the same. My fear turn somehow, and I comprehend, it ain’t been terror. Been grief too big to know. I whisper, ‘Damn, I love you worse, my brother. How this got to be?’

  At last, I take a corner of his sheet and wipe my eyes. Look to the door. Be like I never seen a door before, its shape look some ridiculous. Wonder how doors be even useful. Why no person making doors, when it be children dying. And I stand up weaken, feeling sore in all my body. Bend to Driver, and kiss him on his forehead – cool and dry and gone – and kiss him again, and stand up frightening, how I never kiss him another time. But I make myself turn to the door. Come out, and Julio leaning to the wall, face blank in weariness. Enfermera by, is looking at her fingernails. They both startle up, grit into worry at my sight.

  I say soft, ‘Julio, he dead.’

  ‘Dead?’ He look confusing to me.

  ‘Ya, he dead, my soldier.’ I swallow on this saying, taste a bitter something in my throat.

  Julio narrow to me, clutch his hands up into fists. Glance frighten down the hall and whisper, ‘Your Sengles are there. Was wait by him.’

  ‘They ain’t know he dead?’

  He make a gentle grimace. ‘No, senyora.’

  I breathe out long. ‘My Pasha ain’t here? Jesus?’

  ‘No, senyora. Don’t know where is Jesus.’

  I nod weak, feel some unknowing love for Julio, how he helping. But then a bitter hurt seize in me. I say hoarsen, ‘Julio. How many floors it be here, for sarcoma?’

  He look uncertain. Turn to the frighten enfermera, ask low. She frown with seeking eyes to me. Say careful, ‘Senyora, eight.’

  ‘Eight floors. Right, you see this?’ I say rough. ‘Why this war been. We going to end this now. Goddamn this, cannot be.’

  Then I turn unthinking, start to walk back where we come. Julio follow, saying, ‘Senyora, you don’t want Sengles? Is good, people help.’

  ‘Nay.’ I pause my step. ‘Ain’t nothing help.’

  Then my tears come blinding, and he lead me by my arm. I stumble in the elevator, thinking of that moon rain. Salt that last forever, grief that live beyond all life.

  62

  OF NAVIDAD ITS FINAL GRIEFS

  Be one more meeting in this evil morning of our victory. I ride back seeing only tears, hands clutching in their cuts. And when I step out to the Ministerio, El Mayor be there.

  He waiting on the steps, and when he see me, all his body change. He start toward, then halt uncertain. Raise a gloven hand.

  First, he look good familiar, and my heart reach to him in its pain. But as I coming to the steps, I reach down for my skirt, how I will lift it climbing stairs. When it ain’t there, I shock peculiar. Remind Carola’s clothes and all disorders of these hours. How Mamadou tell El Mayor our loving histories. How Felipe say, with shaming smile, He’s not alone tonight.

  Then I see El Mayor again – his bitter mouth, his hard respect. And I know, I cannot even tell him on my Driver. Ain’t brave to say this news to his unlove.

  With this, my hurt be by. Is like I step out of my awful heart. And I walk up the steps without no conscience, why my legs be weak. Why I must wipe my face. Come to El Mayor and I say plain, ‘Salue.’

  He nod. ‘Come from Felipe. Business, ya.’

  ‘Can tell me quick? Should sleep.’

  El Mayor’s eyes hurt fresh at this. A moment, I expect he going to start in accusations. Yo, all my body sicken sudden. Be only breathing, concentrating how I keeping on my feet.

  But he collect himself, say stiff, ‘What it be, the Quantico girl come to Felipe. Now our rebellion done, Marines want you at Quantico. Negotiations, what she said.’

  I shrug without no mind. ‘When I will go?’

  ‘To middy day. Felipe send a car.’

  ‘Foo.’ I make a weaken laugh. ‘Felipe send me there?’

  El Mayor frown. ‘Felipe want to go for you, but Quanticos ain’t want him. Ask for yourself, and that Simón. How Simón be general, can see. But for yourself …’

  ‘Right, why they wanting me? They ain’t believe Marias gods.’

  ‘Ain’t know. But it be only talks. Can think, you coming back tonight.’

  ‘Be bone. I going, sure.’

  Then, from nothing, we both catch into precarious silence. He narrow to the steps, the glass and ice in trails of glittern blue. Yo, I stare empty at himself. He dressing fine, like all these days – coat smooth like pony’s flank, boots perfect in their leather shine. But his face be hurt precaire. Look like he live ten years in hell, and come back younger somehow, foaly for no difficult life.

  At last, I say, ‘My Pasha here?’

  A moment, El Mayor stare on, unheeding. Then he say, ‘Nay. He at Felipe’s, talking with that Marine girl. War informations, you know how.’

  ‘He ain’t resenting how I left him?’

  To this, El Mayor frown, like he figuring something ugly in his mind. Then he say rough, ‘Sure he resenting. Cannot do like that.’

  ‘Do how?’

  ‘Using people.’ El Mayor squint his face. ‘And then they rid. Forgot like nothing.’

  ‘Nay, I – ain’t like that.’

  Now El Mayor look hard to me. ‘People here, they want to kill him now. Guess y
ou ain’t heard? This morning, been a crowd out by Felipe’s, calling for his murder.’

  I swallow at my fear, say rough, ‘No sho. Why anyone kill Pasha?’

  ‘He Russian. Ain’t a bony day to be a Russian here, no sho. Felipe’s own guards want to kill him. Ya, that Carola want to give him to them. Fear her life.’

  ‘But they ain’t–’

  ‘Nay.’ El Mayor pooch his lips, most like this be a disappointment. ‘But Felipe had his work to rid them. Nor it help, that you been gone.’

  I nod stupid. ‘Been wrong to leave him, sure.’

  El Mayor smile like bitter jokes. ‘Ya, first they find you gone, roo swearing Anselm’s people took you. Say you never left him without force. Then this morning, Mamadou come and said you gone to him. Roo suffer this, be sure.’

  A moment, our eyes meet precaire. I say, ‘Nay, Pasha blame me, truth? Ain’t be … from yourself?’

  For a risky moment, El Mayor’s face fill with rage intentions. But he grit mouth against. Put hands in pockets and say cold, ‘Ain’t want to know why Mamadou come?’

  I shake my head. ‘Be tired. Can like–’

  ‘Was bringing news. Who he murder.’

  We both tense to this heavy word. Can feel my terror start again – the whitish evil growing big – and I say quick, ‘Yo sho, been war.’

  ‘Been murder,’ El Mayor say cold. ‘What Mamadou done, he gone up to Inúd, their Residencia. Bring some Quinta soldiers, say he got a message for Pedro. No one known him there, he go in straight. Shoot Pedro, and they shooting Pedro’s guards. Then he find Soledad.’

  I flinch. ‘How, Soledad?’

  ‘She living there. She gone there when you rid her.’

  ‘Ain’t rid her. It–’

  ‘Yo, ever it been. She there. And Mamadou seek her through all rooms. You comprehend, this killing ain’t been chance. He saying this.’

  Now my mind go vicious black. Remind the roof at Reese. How I told Mamadou of the threats to kill me for unvirgin god. How he say, And the simper known.

  Then El Mayor take ragged breath, say like his final strength, ‘I know she kilt his feathers. He an Army, need his vengeance. But–’

  ‘Nay,’ I say without no breath. ‘You wrong. He killing her for me.’

  ‘For you?’ El Mayor grit his face. ‘Be vally mad, ain’t for yourself.’

  I shake my head, a blank exhaustion gone through all my blood. ‘Kilt her … sure I ask him. I ain’t name her, but …’

  ‘Ain’t name her, but you ask him? Ain’t no sense.’

  I think without no mind, Been for my safety, El Mayor. Mamadou thought she telling how I done with him at Army camp. But Soledad never even known. I lying to her, and she trust me like an easy fool.

  Be standing now with tears gone helpless on my face. I say thin through my achen throat, ‘Cannot explain. Been something she known … he thought she known. But ain’t been his.’

  Now El Mayor’s face weak in ruth. ‘Ice, nay. He doing this, ain’t yours.’

  ‘You wrong.’ I clutch myself, gone shivering. Now can smell my stank of fear, is sharp like nasty pine. ‘Yo, I should sleep. But tell them I will go to Quantico. Be bone.’

  ‘Nay, heed. I know I said some nonsense, all these weeks. But truth, you blind to trust. This secret male of yours – it been the NewKing? How this even been? And Pasha, he your friend? Ice, you ain’t seeing what you need.’

  ‘Ya,’ I say rough. ‘Should sleep now, truth.’

  ‘Ice. You watch yourself.’ His eyes fix to me, sad uncertain. ‘Whatever been between us … cannot want you hurt.’

  I say quick with aching voice, ‘Be gratty, but should sleep.’ Then I turn sudden, dash up skittery on the icen steps. Can hear him call behind, and I run faster, gasping breath. Duck through the broken door, and look back frightening through its jags of glass. El Mayor stood footless. He got one hand out, reaching toward, like he can catch me still.

  Then something in me know, I never seeing him again. Feel Quantico’s distance, and the warry deaths around us both. How he eighteen. How children dying real. Ain’t only fears, is real.

  My heart stab hard, and I call foolish, ‘Ever it been, I love you! Ain’t never quit to love you, never!’ Then I turn again, go hasty like I flee my words.

  Yo, as I reach the elevator, I hear his voice, small like a thought: ‘I love you also! Ice? Ain’t risk yourself! Ain’t need to risk yourself!’

  My farther day be lost to me. At the iglesia, I go stumbling wild to Driver’s bed. Weep into gratty sleep – and wake again to Keepers talking something, sitting on my waist. Hate You come and lift her off, but I say, ‘Nay, she good. Ain’t like to be alone. Ain’t leave me.’ Someone try to tell me Driver dead, and I turn harsh away. Curl stupid to my pillow, ain’t got the bravery to say I know. Then through my sleep, be Sengles whispering by, sat on the floor. Sometimes I wake and talk some nonsense sadness that I ain’t remember. Hold to Asha Badmouth’s hand or take a cigarette from Jermaine. And always be some children weeping, with the sorrow that I know.

  Ya, they keep me company in dreams. Be reveries of snakes who taking Driver off to live with them, of caverns where he trap in ice – and always be a Sengle in my dream who whisper help. Once, I wake to find Crow sleeping by, curl on the covers, face beweepen like the rest. Then I dream into a burial yard where Crow be saying, ‘Driver living underground. Come back, once they explode the city.’ Then I look and see, this burial yard stretch past all long horizons. And Crow show me a greenish gem, which be a magic weapon, kill all roos. I say, ‘But Pasha be a roo.’ Crow say, ‘Is right, you got to choose,’ and I wake panicking in tears. ABC stand up, put her wet nose against my nose, and Keepers look up from the sofa saying, ‘You ain’t going to die, now you be sergeant?’ Then I wake from this, and Keepers sleeping on the floor, my ABC be gone, and I ain’t know if the question been a dream or real.

  At last, I wake alone. Clock be eleven, and my task remember. I rise in brainless weakness, wash myself before I start to think. Clad a murder dress and diamonds. Go sit weary to the mirror, but forget to look. And I smoke two cigarettes, sat blind before this mirror. Think how I parley to the Quanticos, while Driver dead. And Driver dead.

  In this, my Sengles start to gather again, ask scary questions. I rouse my wits, go call them round. Try to explain my leaving, but my smalls object in voice. Mustafa Five begin a game, where he announce I coming back tonight. I say, ‘Can be tomorrow,’ and he shout, ‘Tonight!’ and it go on, till all my scratchers yell ‘Tonight!’ together with exciting rage. In this, Keepers go and bring Kalash, huge on her shoulders. I say with weaken laugh, ‘For killing roos,’ and she say strict, ‘Only must kill them if they mally. Or shoot they feet, be better.’

  Then it be clocken twelve. I clad my furren coat, and Jermaine go down the elevator with me. Kiss my cheek in by-salue, and I go out the door, guard Julio following with my journey case. Be two trucks, then be my car, a grandy sort with bigger wheels for riding on rough ground. Got some child driving I ain’t know. Ya, in the car’s back seat be Pasha.

  Roo look grim and unbeslept. One lip still swelling from our violent yesternight, is lopside red. When I shove in beside him, angling Kalash sidelong, he flinch away. Grit like anger, look down to his hands.

  We ain’t say nothing. I close the door, the driver say some Panish courtesy, that I repeat without no mind. Then we driving, and this motion take me in accustom tiredness. Be like my warry night continue, but I feel how Driver been in it somewhere, and now he ain’t. Ya, the chill feel like this absence, how the windows bloom their cold. And Pasha by, in strange unsympathy, while we drive away from every other child I love.

  Riding down through Loisaida, we sit in this porcupine silence. I lean my forehead to the window, feeling wrong with painful life. Watch dumb how Loisaida pass, its shamble homes and trash. Feel Pasha watching by, but got no bravery to look at him. I think to speak, but all I got to say be Driver dead. Yo, now my grief begin to gathe
r teary. I think away from it, bite hard into my lip. But they nuisance tears come on, until my breath hitch up and gasp. Then I be only leaning to the window, sobbing in shamen misery.

  ‘Ice?’ say Pasha cautieuse.

  I wave a shooing hand. Rub eyes and swallow feroce, but nothing help. At last I say, between two sobs, ‘Why you be here?’

  ‘Ice, ain’t got to cry.’

  ‘Yes, I got to cry. Why you be here?’

  ‘Quanticos ask.’

  ‘Yo why you got to be like that?’

  ‘Ain’t being … Ice? You cry for this?’

  I take a ragged breath and turn my ruin face to him. He look almost tears himself, is clutching scary fists.

  Here the driver ask some worry Panish. Pasha answer soft, then say to me, ‘You needing something? Driver ask.’

  I shake my head, mind gone in awfuls, how this be a driver. How the city full of drivers, like this word been chosen for my pain. And this grief dabbit to its end, while Pasha frown his apprehensions.

  At last, he say in hoarsen voice, ‘Ain’t mean to be no way. Was sad myself, Ice. All it be.’

  ‘How you been sad?’

  ‘Sad.’ He make a face. ‘How I being.’

  ‘Been wrong to leave you. Sure I know. But I been only stupid, Pasha. Ya, I got nothing left to grieve with. Be finish, be too much.’ Tears start again in this, while Pasha watch with strange attention. Is like he work some problem while I rub my messy nose. I wipe my snotten hand off on the seat, and Anselm’s voice say in my head, That really is disgusting, santa reina. New heights.

  Then Pasha say into my thought, ‘Ice, I going back. Why I be sad.’

  ‘Back how?’ I keep eyes toward my knees. ‘You ain’t go to Quantico?’

  ‘Nay, heed … Ice?’

  I take a ragged breath and nerve myself. Look back to Pasha where he sitting tense with shamen eyes. He got one hand upon my coat, clutch in its fur unhappy.

  ‘Heed,’ say Pasha careful. ‘Quanticos got capture roos. Patricia going to put me with them. When they trade prisoners, I go back.’

  ‘To roos?’ I scoff a disbelieving breath. ‘Marines ain’t rid you there. Ain’t theirs to rid.’