The Country of Ice Cream Star

by Sandra Newman

  At last, I only say, ‘If it come wrong, I cry for you. Swear this.’

  ‘No, you will not have to cry.’ He smile into my eyes a moment, then nod toward the White House. ‘Now you will go and ask my life, I think. Before it is late.’

  70

  OF OUR LAST DESPERATIONS

  I find the generals where I most expect, in Commandant’s West Wing office. Be grandy room of eggen shape with yellow-stripen walls. Got two standing flags – one stripy flag for old America, and reddish sort for their Marines. In middy room, two sofas face each other, long in yellow cloth.

  Now, to these sofas, Commandant–Hatter–Verna sprawling loose. They dirty in exhaustion. Wear sweaten undershirts and muddy dapple pants, sock feet. Be Patricia also, sitting sloppy on the floor. She got one arm in stiffen cast, and one pants leg roll up to show a chubby bandage on her shin.

  Room stank of feet and booze, and they all fisher drunk, with woozy eyes. Floor be a scatter of boots and guns and bottles. By Patricia be a crutch, akimbo over muddle coats. Strangest be to see their Verna Snakehead lying on a sofa, one leg spraddlen on its back.

  When I come in, they startle wary. But when they see me clear, they change again and break in laughter. Hatter clout the Commandant on his shoulder, say, ‘You cheated somehow. We all know you cheat.’ The Commandant swat tardy at his hand, be laughing silly.

  Patricia get her breath and call to me, ‘Ma’am, sorry. We had a little bet when you was coming. And if – what you wearing.’ Then she catch ridiculous again, grin while she say, ‘Don’t know why it’s funny, ma’am. I don’t.’

  ‘She’s no ma’am anymore,’ say Hatter. ‘She’s a – whatever Russian ma’am is.’

  ‘She’s a Russian’s fuckdog, like us all,’ say Verna, choking laughter.

  ‘Mouth, yow. Thass disgusting.’ Hatter slap at Verna’s foot.

  Patricia grimace pologetic. ‘Don’t need to mind what we all saying, ma’am. We’re experiencing despair, see.’

  ‘Yeah, you got to despair,’ say Hatter. ‘Or you got to leave.’

  I scout around their faces, wondering. ‘Damn, you drunk as something.’

  ‘Razor sharp eye on that girl,’ Hatter say. ‘Need some kind of certificate, that.’

  ‘Foo,’ I say, ‘I only come to ask – you trading back they prisoners?’

  They all go groaning various. Be a flutter of hands, grab for their booze. Verna muttern, ‘Fuck your prisoners. Jesus Fuckdog Christ.’

  ‘You can leave that language, please.’ The Commandant nod toward me. ‘Lady wants to know what’s happening.’

  ‘Okay!’ Hatter stand up to his feet and brandish his bottle round. ‘Commandant is always right, so I want to tell the lady the war news – finishing with her Russian prisoners, who is so dear to all our hearts. So, first triumph, we only lost most of Arlington. Didden lose every inch at once. We’re specially proud of that. Second triumph, we lost most of our artillery – now thass key for morale if you wanted to die. Meanwhile, we reaped so many enemy casualties, it is irregardless they killed more of us. Saying, three times more?’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ Verna say.

  ‘I hear four times. Four times more. You see your typical Marine of the new age there.’ He point his bottle to Patricia. ‘Half-cast, half-man. And your people fought real bravely, ma’am, for about ten minutes. Up until they remembered how to run, they fought like lions. But, the good news is, this is the good news. We get to give the Russians back their prisoners, without getting any of ours.’ He make a puken face, sit down. ‘Thass where I started drinking, there. That conversation with the Russian general. I needed some disinfectant post that.’

  ‘Shoo,’ I say. ‘So what you trade for?’

  ‘We’re taking the little kids out,’ say Patricia flat. ‘Get a ceasefire up till midnight, and we get the kids out safe. Your folks are taking them in up north. Necessary precautions.’

  ‘Expecting you go also, ma’am.’ The Commandant turn sad eyes to me. ‘Iss a good long walk in those tunnels, but anybody show you. Go whenever you like.’

  I nod uncertain. ‘Can be right. But heed, I had a notion. What it is, I guess it ain’t no nuclear weapons? Truth?’

  Here all look to the Commandant. He be swallowing booze, break into coughing as we watch. Swallow hard at this and rub impatient at his throat. ‘No, ma’am,’ he say hoarse. ‘There certainly is not.’

  ‘Wouldn’t help much, if they was,’ Patricia say. ‘Be incinerating ourselves about now.’

  ‘Nay, is right,’ I say. ‘Been fear you need.’

  ‘Yeah, that didn’t all occur,’ say Hatter. ‘The fear part.’

  I nod. ‘Think I can bring this fear.’

  I start to tell them hasty what I learn of Europeans. How I fit this to their nuclear lie for the Polkovnik’s ears, and he sworn to tell this story onward, sans no question. Generals heed me frowning, strain to figure through their booze. But soon they nodding, warmer kept.

  When I finish, the Commandant say, ‘You’re certain he believed you, ma’am?’

  ‘Ain’t swearing that. But he will tell. It give them doubt, the least it do.’

  ‘They’ll wonder why we hadden blown them up already,’ say Patricia.

  ‘Well, that was always the thing,’ say the Commandant. ‘There’s possible reasons, if they think.’

  ‘Grabbing at straws,’ say Verna thin. ‘If they believe that, I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s an okay straw,’ Hatter say. ‘If you didden have any other straws. It’s a straw.’

  ‘No, this is hopeful a little bit,’ the Commandant say. ‘Looks right, that we’re getting the kids out. That’s the right appearance. And any little dent in their morale, even if it’s just that.’

  ‘And the lizard colonel lives,’ say Verna. ‘Thank you, New York.’

  ‘Now, I’m giving this a yes. Thass all.’ The Commandant look to Patricia. ‘So, Captain, if you let the boys know what they’re doing.’

  ‘Sir, yes, sir.’ Patricia reach her crutch, go hoisting clumsy to her feet. Then she frown back to me. ‘And ma’am, if I could have a private word? It’s not anything, it’s just something.’

  I follow her down the hall, back to the night its brittle cold. A snow beginning now, in heavy flakes that come down straight like aiming. Patricia stop beneath the jutting roof and ease her crutch. A minute, we only stand in silence. Worry to the night, the snow that fill the air with gentle lines.

  Then Patricia sigh. Turn to me with conscience face. ‘What I wanted to say, ma’am. Verna didden want to tell you this – but the Commandant figures you got a right. So, avoiding all unpleasantness … thought I better talk to you alone.’

  ‘Can see.’

  ‘So, the little kids leaving, the Russians and everybody knows about that. But – unless your trick works, ma’am, which I certainly hope – everybody else is going, too.’

  ‘Foo.’ I take an icen breath. ‘All your Marines go flee?’

  ‘Well, it’s a couple battalions staying. By Fort Myer, Arlington Cemetery. They’ll do what they can, but thass one big distraction. The rest of us, we’ll be in the tunnels. Going out to the end of the line, at Glenmont.’

  ‘Glenmont. Be the north?’

  ‘Yeah. Verna figures that exit’s safe. No indication they know that’s there. It’s not what anybody wanted, you know that.’

  ‘Truth, I never thought you leave.’

  Patricia nod unhappy. ‘Well, it’s not the end of the story, ma’am. When everyone’s on their way, our boys here set fire to the arms depots. Got fire breaks around the Mall. Engineers are saying that Washington all be safe. But anything outside … well, it’s a lot of explosive in those streets.’

  ‘Ho, you burning District.’ I laugh thin. ‘Be spite to them?’

  ‘Something like that.’ Patricia shrug. ‘Thing is, it’s our people the Russians want. So we burn any supplies. Hole up in the woods, see who’s willing to starve the longest. Guessing that be us.’<
br />
  She say this warry, but is something weakening in her eye. I nod slow in pondering, look back to the snowing night. Try to believe the roos discourage so, ain’t coming north in vengeance. In this, the cure remember, like a wisty desolation – remind when I expecting cure for every child. When victory been this.

  ‘Ma’am?’ Patricia touch my shoulder.

  I startle to her. ‘Ya, is clever. Sure, they roos depart.’

  ‘Well, thank you, ma’am. But what I wanted to say, it’s about your Mamadou.’ I flinch, and she add hasty, ‘Don’t worry now, he’s fine.’

  ‘Bone.’ I sigh unsteady. ‘So what it be?’

  ‘What’s going on, your other people’s leaving. But Hatter wanted some extra soldiers for the operation tonight. So, what I unnerstood, any job like that, your people send the penals.’

  I shiver somewhat, dig my hands in pockets. ‘Simón deciding this?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Patricia make a face. ‘Thass what I thought. It do have a taste.’

  ‘Taste?’

  ‘Thing is, Simón’s a fine general. He can do it.’ She pooch her lips. ‘But, mind telling you, I think that Mamadou’s a genius.’

  ‘Genius?’ I laugh nerviose. ‘What genius meaning in your people?’

  ‘Oh, you don’t think? Okay, lady, but your little stick-fight in New York was sharp. Some creativity there. On the part of Mister Mamadou, every time, what I saw. Put him in that Simón’s place, you seen something today. Why Simón wants him in the firing line, you want my opinion. Eliminate the competition. I know that game.’

  ‘Right.’ I frown back to the field. Snow gathering now, is like the grass fill slow with gentle light. Yo, can only feel how children going to show against its whiteness.

  Patricia touch my shoulder soft. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m only talking. Mamadou’ll be just fine. That type’s bulletproof, you know that.’

  ‘Ya.’ I force a smile. ‘Genius and so.’

  ‘I guess you got something on with him? What I was thinking.’

  I look to her careful. ‘Something on. This meaning love?’

  ‘Yeah. Don’t want to assume on gossip. But those penal boys, they talk.’

  ‘Been something like.’ I shrug embarrass. ‘Most been forgotten with this war.’

  ‘Forgotten?’ Patricia grin. ‘Well, you’re casual. Don’t think I’d forget that boy so much.’

  Cannot think anything to this. I only get a heaten face. Frown to the snowing night and wish into its blackish whitish stillness.

  Patricia say beside, ‘I had a little case for him myself. But I couldn’t ever see it being anything real. Idden only that he never looked at me – thass facts, in case you’re worrying. But all that man ever talk about was war. He idden going to sit and hold your hand, I’m saying. Guess he’s like you – “forgotten with this war”. I like that.’

  I look back to her, breathing better. ‘Ya, war be first. Is honor so.’

  ‘Honor, thass his word, all right.’ She make an innocent face. ‘So, I guess you wouldn’t be innerested where he is now? I guess not.’

  ‘How you meaning?’

  ‘Well, they’re up at Fort Myer. That ceasefire’s on till midnight.’ Patricia pooch her lips. ‘And now … well, it idden but eight o’clock.’

  ‘Ho,’ I say dumb. ‘Can see him.’

  ‘Well, you didden hear it from me, ma’am. Cause this here, the Commandant is not on board.’ She fish into her jacket pocket. ‘But, just so happens, I drawn you a map.’

  71

  FORT MYER, BY THE NEWKING

  Must wait then through Patricia’s warnings, how I must return. ‘Midnight, that means midnight. Didden want to be your cause of death.’ Must skit back to my White House room and change to soldier garb, sling my Kalash for decency of war. Then I go running through the streets, in careful dance of land mines. Duck in Farragut shelter and I sprint between all littles’ beds, left nett in straight geometry – like they expect to fear the roos with their sheets’ perfectesse.

  Yo, in the longer darkness that go underneath the river, I find the terrors waiting in my heart. Can feel, no one expect these soldiers left in Arlington will live. They sacrifice, so all the others flee without no harm. Mamadou give to roos like bait – all his bellesse, his wolfen courage. And Crow, who scarcely known no joy. They rid like nothing worth.

  This mix into the greater horror of our war’s defeat. The Quanticos flee to woods, but sure they capture neverless. Marias taken quick behind. Whoever ain’t be kilt, will slave to wars of cannibals and tortures. And all our littles left without no help, in starving winter. My Sengle enfants left, to fight for scraps, to hunt with unschool hands.

  Yo, Pasha convince me to this war. Told every careful explanation. But now I seen this war in life, I seen our petty rifles warring with the rooish tanks and planes. It never been no hope. Roo got to know this, plain as eyesight. He live by Russian armies sixteen years.

  And in the eyeless dark, Toporov Vampire coming real. He stare from every blackness, be like shadows of the nothing there. I walk through nightmares where Toporov killing Sengles for their meat. He stand on a murdern eight and grin – and this dead eight be Keepers.

  Climb outside at last, and I be wrong besweaten, breathing thin. Must pause into the sanity of night, breathe to my townie stars. Then my heart come back again, my bravery return.

  Come out by Pentagon exit, where the land lie flat, is bare of trees. The snow quit now, but done its harm. Land gleam white, and every stick show obvious by staring moon.

  Ain’t want to walk the land-mine patterns, how they all confuse in snow. So I take the overpass road, that ride aloft a bridge of highway. One side, be the cliffy shape of Pentagon its ruins. This night, smoke rising from its yard, where soldiers tent for rest. Lift delicate white, and change itself in thinking complications – like this be a camp of ghosts that wandern innen-out of clouds. Yo, on farther hill, can see the peak of Arlington House. It only be a house, with normal pillars and triangle roof. But its pale looks still chill in me. Is like an evil fact that I be slow to comprehend.

  Behind this sight, I run on quick. Want no more mally thoughts. Ya, be relief when I step to a housen porch at last.

  This Myer house be bricky edifice, sizen like a Christing home. Expect it be some bossy child to meet me, but its halls be empty. Can only hear the woof of soldier talk beyond–above. I go toward this voice to ask – but then I see, each door here got a name writ on in charcoal. Is sleeprooms, give particular to each soldier who need rest.

  NewKing’s door be easy found. It be the third inside. I pause before this door, gone shy with all distracting feelings. Think of knocking, but I never knock on doors before. Scarce believe that any a child do this in actual life. At last, I bite down on my courage. Open the door in quick unthought.

  Mamadou lain asleep. Be on a springy bed, the blankets pull up to his ear. Can hear his breath go deep and slow. Room seem like it sleep along; his hanging goods seem like some grayish objects in his dream. And it inkle strange in me, I never seen him sleep before. Ain’t seem like Mamadou somehow, that he sleep. My mind keep thinking this unsense as I close up the door behind. Crouch down, undo my boots. Unclad my coat and leave it to the floor.

  Then I catch in different nerves, that he ain’t going to want me here. Child need rest. Is war to do. Stare at my coat, think how I still can leave. But cannot move myself. At last I look by to the NewKing’s face, like he will sympathy.

  His eyes be open. Ya, they show a waiting fear – the same quick fear he shown when I come to him at the Reese. Expect, like any time before, he settle into scorn. But his face go only cautieuse. And when he speak, he say, rough from his sleep, ‘Door got a bolt.’

  I go and fix the bolt without no word. Take off all my clothes in shivering haste. And when I come to him, can feel we both be frightening like no cowards. I even muttern foolish, ‘Damn, be cold,’ and press against him like it be his warmth I seek.

  Then, in thi
s hour stolen from the war, our love be worse beyond. We cling together with no words, until our scary silence be another nakedness. Is loving with no fight, is helpless. Every touch be words insane – and be the only truthful words I known. Be like a perfect name. Bed make its noise, and someone laugh outside – but no outside seem real. He in myself, without no difference, and this be my life.

  And it be by. Our fear be by, and we lie simple in our bodies. He hold my face in his long hand. I hold his hand against my face.

  Then I say soft, ‘I fought in trenches there, one day. Been nothing feary.’

  Mamadou lying like he been, but I can feel his breathing sharpen. In rooms above, be footsteps now, and sounds of draggen loads.

  I say, ‘Got my rifle also.’

  Mamadou kiss my brow then, start to pull me closer to. I stiffen from him. Say up short, ‘Be saying, I can fight by you.’

  His laugh come warm against my ear. ‘Girl, you Maria.’

  ‘Ain’t been Maria when – nay, be some nonsense words. Maria.’

  ‘Who you fighting by, be penals.’

  ‘Ya, be penals. So?’

  ‘They ain’t accepting this. Maria fight by them?’

  I loose my breath. ‘Yo right.’

  Out in the night, some male be talking now, in voice of cold instruction. Ain’t hear particular words until some hundred children answer unison, ‘Sir, yes, sir!’

  I say weak, ‘Ain’t any means we fight by Quanticos? They ain’t care.’

  ‘Think that, you ignorant to fight.’

  ‘Nay, I know. Was only … sure, I know.’

  Then Mamadou put his hand across my eyes. I grab up at his fingers, but he catch this hand. Can feel him laughing soft against me, and I say, ‘Yo fool. What you want?’

  ‘You fearing for me, Ice Cream Star?’

  ‘And so?’

  ‘Fear for myself.’

  He put lips to my throat, say quiet, ‘We fight an hour, most it be. Ain’t even got to hold no ground. Fight till we lose, then leave across that bridge. All it is.’