The Country of Ice Cream Star

by Sandra Newman

  He shake his head, resentment waken in his eyes again. ‘What you think he do? What you think?’

  Fat-gun Kavkazky roo to me, ‘Bashir is guilty, girl. You help him, and now – you see? Very bad.’ But he grinning friendly, like he gratulate my crazy wits.

  Bashir say, ‘Give her to the filth here, be no difference.’

  ‘Nay,’ a long-beard Kavkazky cavil. ‘Razin, is interesting what he do. These, we know what it is. Not interesting.’

  Bashir go muttering nasty to this, while long-beard smile to me joyeuse, put arm around Bashir. And I smile back. Heart revel in its panic, all my body warm like rest.

  ‘Ain’t nothing to me, what he do,’ I say. ‘Be gratty right.’

  74

  OF THREE DESIRES

  Way to Razin be a maze of nightmares. Must step over gutten people, scattern parts of flesh. Times, a ruin body, seem like nothing that can live, scream awful to us as we pass. Kavkazky roos keep all around me, waring to the sides. And every minute be new Russians, come with booze insistence. Some be only curiose. But others coming in belief, Bashir’s roos taking me to rape. They offer help with this, nor they be ready to discourage.

  With some rapists, Bashir will only mention Razin, and they rid. But often, a hopeful rapist cavil, Razin get me after. Say filthen jokes to this, call insults on Bashir’s dark roos. One skewtooth child keep pace with me, go spitting sideward on the blackish dead, and grin to me behind. Soon it be a following band of dozen cockroach Russians. All spew threats and maudy jokes.

  Bashir ain’t speaking mostly. He walk grit in stormy moods. Yo, must trace between all trenches and must keep together close – be always new attentions. But in some quiet moment, he say sudden that Kirill dead.

  I be pausing to step around a murdern soldier’s head. Be caught in frighten sickness, and I say distracten, ‘You kill him real?’

  ‘Nay.’ Bashir give sideward frown, like he impress some meaning. ‘Your Razin kill him. But was many kilt.’

  ‘How?’ I say. ‘Razin killing Russians?’

  Fat-gun child begin explaining, but this muddle in rooish definitions, be no use. And my mind be stupid, trying to know that Kirill dead – in all these ruin bodies, Kirill be somewhere. I work to save him all these days, and now he end like nothing. Be a thicker piece of dirt.

  Then Bashir say sudden to the fat-gun roo, ‘Lies, lies.’

  ‘Razin’s lies,’ the fat-gun say. ‘Is better than no truth. Can kill you.’

  Another Kavkazky laugh. ‘He ruling now, his lies be truth.’

  ‘Nay, hold,’ I say. ‘Who ruling?’

  ‘Razin ruling,’ say Bashir disgusten. ‘The general been kilt.’

  I grimace puzzling to him. All Kavkazkies break in laughter.

  ‘Girl,’ roo the long-beard child, ‘is bad job, general of Russians. Short to live.’

  ‘Our children kilt the general?’ I say.

  ‘Yes,’ Bashir say cold. ‘Think this.’

  ‘Nay.’ The long-beard grin to me. ‘This been Russian vote. Soldat dislike general. He do mistake, and general rid. So Razin punish Kirill. Punish whoever he mistrust. They shot. Child who do mistake – I think he is healthy.’

  ‘But we forget this now.’ The fat-gun nay his hand. ‘Is old to talk.’

  Then another stanken Russian come with interest to me, pushing, and when this struggle done, Kavkazkies go on in nerven silence. Ya, I be trying for relief, that Razin powerful grown. Ain’t going to be no general above, insisting that I murder. But most my fear be on our forward path.

  Been climbing ever upward, stitching a path through stones and trenches. And, every turning, Arlington House come larger in my eyes. Is mostly like a normal mansion. Windows plain, and all be clean, like showing innocence. But these humble looks misgive me worse. Be how, in a dream, an object looking ordinary – a shoe, a rock – possess all maudy powers. If it touching you, your soul be rid. Or how a child with normal parts, who eat and smile like any person, will kill, spit on the dead, do laughing rape.

  Try thinking how I come to my own death, it be no fear beyond. But cowardesse insist, cannot go here. I even remember Felipe’s nonsense talk of Satan’s armies. Can feel how Satan living there, in company of his demons. But at last, we come past all the burial stones and fires, and only be this mansion left to see.

  Leftward in its yard, there be a row of sprawlen bodies. All be roos, with furry hair. Each blooden at his head, the blood trail prettieuse in snow. Can see how they been kneeling in a line, particular correct. Then their neatness spoil by sloppy death.

  Ya, here the rapists ease from us, lose backward in reluctance. Then the Kavkazkies lag behind. Soon only Bashir still stalk by me, despairing in his fury.

  House got low steps in front, that lead up to a pillar porch. On these steps, be sat some twenty roos. They easy kept, be drinking–laughing. Got no drunken slobbery – is only loose in pleasure, like they laze behind a grandy meal.

  Polkovnik Razin be sat middy to the steps. Face still blooden right, and both hands bandage into whitish mitts. He wear his dapple clothes, how every Russian clad this day, and look no different to the others. But can feel how every child attend him. Yo, as each roo notice me, he check to Razin nerviose. Can see, this be the Polkovnik’s house, his line of neatly murders. Be his unworld of rape and screaming dead.

  Beside him on the steps be Pasha. Pasha rest one hand on Razin’s shoulder, easy in his body. Wear dapple clothes familiar to me from all days in Massa. But he strange to recognize, in all this thousand world of roos. Ya, he look to me with some expression that ain’t his. Can be fear, but ain’t his fear. And Pasha take his hand from Razin’s shoulder, stand up sharp. Polkovnik Razin glance to him, then turn his gentle eyes on me. Is smiling curiose, like I be pleasant expectations.

  Bashir step back without no word. Turn down to the better shadows, to the better dead. Ya, I go on, rage gripping hot. My fear be rid. It be Toporov in my heart of blood. I come uncaring through the snow, its grub of cigarettes, red footprints. My eyes keep sharp to Razin. Ain’t want Pasha in my sight.

  I stop at talking distance. Say in English, ‘Come for my trade, Polkovnik.’

  An unknown roo ask something low. Razin answer rooish, clear in humor, ‘Be Toporov’s wife.’

  Then roos around be laughing, look to Pasha curiose. Ya, I keep eyes on Razin. Know, if I look to Pasha, my wolfen certainty be lost.

  Razin raise a naying hand. Say English through their laughing noise, ‘You want your medicine, I understand. But I am sorry, Korolyeva. Of course, I send this to New York.’

  As he talk, the other roos hush down. Heed to this English speech with squinting face.

  I take a feary breath. ‘Gone to my people?’

  Polkovnik pooch his nothing lips. ‘I am sorry, Korolyeva. The man who takes it … How you are not there, I don’t trust. He keeps it, I think. It is bad.’

  My heart go vicious, helpless, but I hold my face correct. ‘Mean, you still owe me somewhat.’

  ‘Of course,’ he say with pleasuring eyes. He look up to a brown-head child, say some low explanation. The faces round begin to puzzle. Ya, I see Pasha stir in corner-eye, and flinch my hate.

  Razin look back to me polite. ‘Ask what you want, Korolyeva. You see I am rich today.’

  ‘Right,’ I say. ‘Can guess, you got some prisoners?’

  Razin’s face go thoughtful, like he measuring inside himself. ‘It is a good thought, Korolyeva. The least, I owe you four people. It is the right thing, to show we are not ungrateful.’

  I grit, be thinking hasty, how I argue for more children. Magine how the penals going to beg, while I choose four. How Mamadou refuse to come, pride stronger than no fear. So it come like nonsense when Razin say, ‘But I think, your soldiers are male?’

  My breath come short. ‘Ya, they boys. My Marianos be.’

  He shaking his head before I finish. ‘Again, I cannot help you. Male prisoners, it is why we fight this unpleasant war. No, it
will be an impossible thing, so I am sorry.’

  I say, before my grief come full, ‘So girls left free? Or they all kilt?’

  ‘This, it is something you know.’ Razin smile. ‘We talked of this.’

  Be a moment while I comprehend. Then all the world go blind. Be saying into rage and nothing, ‘Your children raping all they female prisoners. What you saying.’

  ‘Of course,’ say Razin in my blindness. ‘Today it is like that.’

  ‘Yo filth,’ I say in choken voice. ‘Nay, why you even living? Seen some ugliness, but Russians be like walking puke! How you never kill yourself, be some disgusting mysteries. Maggots, what you is. You–’

  ‘No, Korolyeva,’ Polkovnik say up loud. ‘Not like this.’

  I catch my voice, grit to him with my cold hands shaking on Kalash. My spirit be a weaken thread. Like I already start to die.

  He shake his head. ‘You must know, the hero gets three desires. You now lost two. I am a very bad person, you noticed this. I also noticed this, so I do not anger. I still give your last desire.’

  All roos be fascinating now. They open-mouth in wishing they comprehend. Ya, I glance thoughtless to my Pasha. He watch me with disgusten face. His eyes be thin in anger. Ain’t nothing like himself, and for a moment, I think it be some other roo. Then I flinch my eyes away, tears starting in my throat.

  ‘Bone,’ I say rough. ‘Free they girls.’

  Polkovnik sigh. ‘Again, it is a bad choice. What happens now, I cannot change. If they live, they soon are free without your help. But now – to stop this, it will be a very bad fight. And my friends here also want to live.’ He shake his head like disappointing. ‘You waste your three desires. It is a sad story, I think. It ends badly.’

  I shrug against my wasting feeling. ‘Be no matter. Got no other wish.’

  ‘You want nothing?’ He raise eyebrows, smiling. ‘No, I can’t believe.’

  ‘Ain’t going to beg my life,’ I say cold. ‘Kill me or you ain’t, be without this.’

  ‘That is very good, Korolyeva. I think, you are like a wonderful actress.’

  He turn by with pleasure eyes, begin explaining low in rooish. Russians heed with curiose looks to me, while I stand pointless. Begin to feel the cold again, and clutch my fingers in my coat.

  Polkovnik finish, make sorry gesture. One roo say, Nay, is sad. Others laugh and nod, in preciation of this bony sadness. Polkovnik nod, turn back to me.

  ‘My Korolyeva,’ he say kindly, ‘we are all sorry for your desires. But I think, there is something more you want. This I will give to you, of course. You want to see your husband.’

  I keep eyes on Razin cold. Heart be a throng of evils, but I only say, ‘I seen him. Got no other wish.’

  ‘But you want to be with husband alone. I am a person, I understand. This I can give you.’

  Polkovnik look to Pasha. Ya, my hands go harder to my gun. Begin to guess my last desire be Pasha Traitor’s death. But when I look up to his owlen face, I lose in weakness. And now the Polkovnik talk his rooish low. Russians wake in movement, all come gathering quick to me. Their faces bright from entertainment, got no resenting mood. Nor I fight as they take my Kalash. The coat go with, and my belly come sudden freezing as they step away.

  Then Pasha come toward. I clench with panic loathing. Look back toward the line of dead, the only children here I want to know.

  Pasha take me by the arm without no word. Hand grip deep, is hard. I never look at him. But when he pull me, I go with.

  He lead me past these roos – past the Polkovnik who look up with happy brownish eyes – up the steps, into the porchen shadows. He open the mansion’s door, and we go in a darken hallway, smelling cold with dust.

  Then he fling the door shut hard. Close us in shadow darkness, where the outside noise be helpless dull. My throat gone tight with dread. I twist against his hold unthinking. But he drag me rough along, into an eating room, cold with unlife. Pass on, through one more door, and in this farther room, he leave me free. Shut the door behind, go hasty to a petty sofa. Drag this back against the closen door.

  Then he sit upon this sofa, put his face into his hands, and break in sobbing tears.

  75

  MY FINAL PARLEY

  I stand a longer minute, heeding strange in inside darkness. Room be a clutter of every shadow. Is paintings to the walls, but cannot see their pictures right. Various chairs stand round, like people in five different moods. And in two grandy windows show the farther fire of District, a maudy glow that thicken the horizon.

  Pasha weep alone, bent on his sofa. Wipe his face with jacket arm, but never look to me. Ya, in my flesh, still be the fright unbalance of his dragging me. I comprehend that I should say some word, child crying so. But I gone stiff with some unknowing feeling.

  And slow, his weeping ease, his breath go lighter. Soon he only staring to the floor in hunchen shadow.

  Then he say, resenting soft, ‘You cold?’

  ‘Sure I be cold.’ I fret my shoulders. ‘But why you crying? What this be?’

  ‘You come here,’ he say angry. ‘Should be in Marias. Said to Razin that you going.’

  ‘Gone if – nay, how you telling shoulds?’

  His face tense like he going to shout. But he only straighten, pull his rooish jacket off. Reach it to me.

  I step toward and take the jacket. Clad it on, with queery sorrow how it stank of Pasha. Smell like our hunting days together, before I guess that roos can wash. And it be warm from him, its sleeven cuff wet from his tears.

  Then I come cautieuse, sit to the sofa. Look to Pasha where he hunchen big, face low in shadow. ‘Polkovnik told all stank on you. Know this.’

  ‘I know. He joke on this tonight.’

  I take a needy breath. ‘So it been lies.’

  Be a moment’s silence, while he fish a cigarette from his shirt pocket. Match brighten up, and by its flame, can see his painful face. Got dirt along one cheek, with tearen paths run through it white. He skit the match out hard. ‘Told you all this before. Ain’t lies.’

  I flinch annoying. ‘Nay, ain’t told me. Told me fictions, how you flee the Russians. All your sorry feelings, how you kill yourself. Your daughter.’ My voice catch sour. ‘Ain’t matter nothing, but you lying right.’

  ‘Yes, ain’t matter. This been also truth, but it ain’t matter. Told you I be mally, but you ain’t believe.’ He look resenting to me. ‘But you believing Razin, why?’

  ‘Shee, I believe the war tonight! Be some thousand children dead around us for your treachery. Should let them kill you in Marias.’

  ‘Yes, you should. I told you this.’

  ‘Nay, damn! Why you told me to war? You known we cannot win. But you be faithful to these maggots, why?’

  Then he look to me full. His face be dim in shadows, but can see his eyes particular, suffering their anger. ‘Nay. Ain’t faithful to them, fool. I done this for yourself.’

  ‘Myself?’ I scoff my breath. ‘Ain’t for myself. I wanting this?’

  ‘I try to get you cure. What you need.’

  ‘And where it is? All children slaven. Dead. It be no cure.’

  ‘Ain’t better way.’ He grit his mouth like pain. ‘All choices mally.’

  ‘How this be better choice than anything? Other choice, they kill us slower?’

  ‘If you trading prisoners, how we said–’

  ‘It been no thousand prisoners here! We losing, ain’t remember? Even if Marines agree to trade, been nothing. Dozen cures.’

  ‘You can cure,’ say Pasha savage thin. ‘Yourself. All I try.’

  ‘Myself? This war been for my precieuse self? No sho, it been!’

  A moment he stare furiose to me, ain’t seem to even breathe. Then he say harsh, ‘When it been Driver, you fight for one cure.’

  ‘Without no hope to win, I ain’t. Kill any thousand children? Nay.’

  But as I say this, doubt misgive. I even get a nonsense thought that Driver still can save, if I agree. Yo, Pa
sha shaking his head with bitter mouth.

  He say, ‘And if you ain’t war here, roos take Marias neverless. They wait some months, be most. Ain’t waiting long. It been no help.’

  I catch on this precaire. ‘But … you can tell me. Why you never said, we got no chance?’

  ‘Ice, think.’ His bluish eyes gone stark. ‘I say, and you ain’t war. You running here alone. To roos.’

  ‘And so? I be one child. You seen outside? It be a world of dead!’

  ‘And now you here! All been for nothing!’

  ‘Shee, ain’t even truth! Ain’t for myself! You left to roos, first chance. You theirs. Or why you left to them? Nor I want fables on no daughter.’

  Pasha flinch from this, look narrowing at a chair across. Suck his cigarette, breathe out a ghosty reach of smoke. Ya, in this smoky breath, all meaning blanken from his eyes.

  ‘Pasha, shee!’ I say. ‘And now you giving me your moron face? Ain’t guess I even leaving here, can learn some sense before I die.’

  He tense indignant. ‘You ain’t dying. And you the moron.’

  This catch me funny in my nerves. I laugh while Pasha muttern, ‘Why you come here? Moron, laughing. How I going to help you now?’

  ‘Nay, what you caring any, vampire?’ I say through my laughter. ‘Should be raping me right now.’

  Then sudden, he be on his feet. Rouse over me furiose and yell, ‘You wanting I should rape you? What you want?’

  ‘Foo, what you saying?’

  ‘Ain’t need to call me vampire. Nor you need to talk of rape.’

  ‘Was jokes.’

  ‘Nay, ain’t jokes! And you ain’t leaving here, is right.’ He look sharp to the window. Suck his cigarette bright and spit out smoke. ‘Ain’t jokes.’

  ‘Foo, Pasha,’ I say softer. ‘Why you angry so? Ain’t meant no wrong.’

  ‘Rape you? I ain’t never touch you.’

  ‘Damn, ain’t meaning nothing like that.’

  He sit down, all insults in his face. Say peevish, ‘Truth, you cannot leave. Razin going to want you now.’

  This shock peculiar in my nerves. I sit back to the sofa, crossing arms against myself. In the heavy dark, roo look uncanny, like in our first days – face flat, with chill uncolor eyes.