The Country of Ice Cream Star

by Sandra Newman

  ‘Razin?’ I say hoarse. ‘Why he wanting me particular? Got other girls to use.’

  ‘Ain’t that,’ say Pasha in disgusten voice. ‘Can leave that.’

  ‘Then what it be?’

  He wave away this question, hunch again with bitter frown. When he suck his cigarette, I notice by its swelling light, his knuckles scuffen bloody. I look by, swallowing, at a painting of a sleeper head. Wait some time of fear while its white face be blurren dark, got no expression I can see. Be thinking how I beg if I can leave here, neverless. Need only to walk across the bridge, wait for they fires to cool.

  Then Pasha turn to me resenting. ‘You talk to Razin every days, been stupid work. Been stupid. He be a sort, ain’t bone he even know you. That he think of you.’

  ‘So he think of me. And so?’

  ‘He think,’ say Pasha slow, like he explain to imbeciles, ‘and think some use for you. All this night, he seek you. Send soldats to north, if they can catch.’

  ‘But why? All I be asking.’

  Pasha shrug resenting. ‘He want you to work for roos.’

  ‘Shee, work for roos.’ I laugh up tight. ‘I help them take Marias? Razin know I never doing so.’

  ‘Ain’t for this. Ain’t for Marias.’

  ‘Then what it being for? Ain’t sense?’

  Now Pasha make a difficult face, look to the moonlight windows. I follow his eyes and find the smoke horizon there, gone dull and thick. But soon it realize, the roo ain’t looking to the District. He heed the voices in the yard, is waring for no change. To this, my selfen nerves go thin. Think on the filth soldats outside, who chase me every step for rape.

  Then Pasha frown toward his hands, say slow, ‘Ice, been your lie. How Europeans give you nuclears.’

  ‘Foo, no one believing this.’

  ‘Nay. We ain’t believe. But someone can believe.’

  ‘Shee, who?’

  ‘Heed. If Europeans give you nuclears, been crime. Be grandy crime. Razin want you to accuse this crime. To Europeans, Russians, every people.’ He look to me for comprehending, hopeless in his eyes. ‘Will be in Europe. Where you go.’

  ‘Foo, Europe.’ I take unbelieving breath. ‘Razin take me to some Europe, to only tell this lie?’

  Pasha’s face go worse. ‘And you must tell about the war. Tell, how Russians want.’

  ‘War? Yo, how they want it told?’

  His misery work in complications, thinking in his face. ‘What Russians say about this war … be like the radio speech. You can remember?’

  ‘They helping us with pharmacies.’ My voice catch sour. ‘For nothing. Cause they caring so.’

  ‘Ya. What you must say. The Russians help, do nothing mally.’

  ‘And they slave our children,’ I say hard. ‘This be for help?’

  ‘Nay, ain’t slave. It be no slaves. Your people fight for roos because they want. For justice.’

  ‘Justice.’ I laugh bitter. ‘And any fool believing this?’

  ‘People there, how they will know? They never seen Marias, Quantico. They never seeing war. All war be tales to them. Most they believe on war, is lies.’ Then he look wishful to my eyes. And it realize, he wanting me to answer yes. Want this vicious, but he never dare to ask direct.

  I nod dumb. ‘Guess Razin sent us here so you convince me?’

  ‘Nay.’

  ‘How, nay?’ I scoff my breath. ‘Is what you doing. All you doing.’

  ‘Nay. He known, you ain’t agree.’

  ‘So what this be? All be no point.’

  Pasha shake his head. Go fish another cigarette. Light with hasty hand, breathe out a dirty veil of smoke.

  Then he look to me precaire. Be concentrating wary, like he narrow on a deer with gun. And he say soft, ‘I going to tell you truth. You can believe?’

  ‘Ain’t know. I going to heed.’

  ‘Razin think you love myself. Love me … like a male.’

  Here we both flinch in conscience. I want to look away, but I be shy to move somehow. Think pointless of Toporov Vampire, and my heart beat queery, like it want to be some other place.

  At last I say, ‘And so?’

  ‘What he think, he give us room apart. On boat.’

  ‘Ho, he want to breed us?’ I laugh choken. ‘What this do?’

  ‘Be so I giving love. I show like I protecting you and … this. Be nine days across the ocean. You be alone, except myself. When it finish, he think you obey.’

  I take a careful breath. ‘But you ain’t do this … love?’

  ‘Nay,’ say Pasha hard. ‘I love you honest. Ain’t for this.’

  I knit my hands together. Feel like tears, my breath come scarce and rough. Magine this room on endless ocean. How Pasha trying love, I be alone from every person known. And Razin wait somehow, the soldats always loud outside.

  I say thin, ‘I believe.’

  Pasha let out a ragged breath. Look down to his cigarette, his big respect be helpless. ‘I ain’t do Razin’s games. But I be asking, so you live. If you ain’t agree … on boat, this death be mally, Ice. You there with all soldats. How they do. And then be drowning.’

  ‘Can shoot me now.’

  Pasha flinch to me. Stare a pause of fright, reach toward my hand. But then he mind himself, pull back.

  ‘Nay, I ain’t saying right.’ His voice come high like choking tears. ‘What be important, if you work for roos, your children safe.’

  My heart bite cold. ‘Children? Sengles in Marias?’

  ‘Ya, roos go there now. But if you work for roos, they keep your Sengles safe. They all be safe.’

  Now need grow in me. Rise mally, like a puking sickness. Start thinking, it be only lies. Be for some Europeans–Russians, strangers to my mind. Ya, they believing garbage like, be their stupidities to thank.

  Through this, my need distract to Mamadou. Wonder if I can beg his life somehow, in extra trade. Crave to ask if Pasha know, if Mamadou be dead or prisoners. But already can feel the grief that waiting on this answer.

  I say in first attempt, ‘Be any way … they keep Crow safe? Take him from prisoners?’

  Pasha’s face catch into fear. ‘Nay, Ice. They–’

  ‘Sure, see this.’ I take a choken breath. ‘But Crow be living? You ain’t know?’

  ‘Ya, I seen. He there in prisoners.’ Pasha make a forcen smile. ‘Got injury, but this be small.’

  A noise of rooish laughter rise outside. Gunfire louden there, and Pasha startle. Look to the window angry. Then he look back to me and smile again, his face a dirty fear.

  I say weak, ‘And prisoners here, they go to Europe also?’

  This catch him in some conscience. ‘Go … they go to Africa. Wars there.’

  I nod stupid. Look back to the window. City purpling still, and lower stars be hazy dull. Can see the Washington Monument, look smallish wavery in the smoke, but still be white the same.

  ‘What it be, you guess?’ I say. ‘Number of children that you took? Some hundreds?’

  When I look back to Pasha, he stare to the window self. Fist his blooden hands. ‘What Razin think, it be five thousand.’

  I make a throaten noise, is almost sobbing. ‘Nay, cannot – how they get this? Ain’t been no five thousand caught.’

  Pasha raise his cigarette and find it dead. Grimace painful and throw it down. Go fishing in his pocket.

  Then I comprehend. Ease back to the chillen sofa, shivering in my coat. ‘Tunnels, I guess. They catch them there?’

  Pasha nod. ‘Where most our people being now. At tunnels, or … catch Marianos.’

  ‘So how they do this?’ I say thin. ‘Quanticos never surrender so. Must kill them all. Ain’t take them living.’

  Pasha scratch up a match and grimace in its light. Suck his cigarette and say in empty voice, ‘Use bombs, is gas. Make children sleep.’ He toss the match like ridding this notion by.

  ‘Sure,’ I say cold. ‘Tunnels bone for this. Was gift.’

  ‘Ya. Was what roos hope.’<
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  ‘What you hope. You hope.’

  He look to me with his blank face, but now can know it be no lies. Is shame. Face whitish like a bone.

  I say, ‘Can notice, you ain’t warn the Quanticos this. You ain’t.’

  He ain’t speak, he only shake his head. Hand clutch his cigarette.

  ‘Truth, yours been genius work. Yo, I work bone for you. I working any weeks to kill my children.’

  ‘Nay,’ he say thick. ‘Ain’t like this.’

  ‘Yes, like this! But it be done. Ain’t speaking for your cockroach Russians, while every children took to die. Africa – you told me what this be. I goddamn know! Heed, you get reward for this? They pay you something?’

  ‘Nay,’ he say in nosy voice. ‘Ain’t pay.’

  ‘Is rank you get? What they do?’

  He look to me awful then. ‘Ice, ain’t you need to die for this.’

  ‘How I can live? I speak for roos while … nay.’

  ‘Ice.’ He hitch his breath. ‘Who we catch now, ain’t like Sengles. These been soldiers.’

  ‘Nay, they been Mamadou!’ My voice choke bitter, and I start to cry. ‘They been my goddamn people. Ya, First Runner dead. She ten, ain’t be no goddamn soldier!’

  ‘They kilt without this, Ice. It–’

  ‘Nay, they ain’t! They ain’t! Must be some chance that someone live!’

  His eyes grow their own tears, his face gone soft in littlish misery. ‘You can live. I trying to save yourself. You fight me why?’

  ‘Ain’t want to goddamn live!’ I sob out hard. ‘I finish living!’

  Then he reach sudden toward me, pull me hard into his arms. Yo, I lose in weakness. Hold against him, weeping breathless. He muttering teary, ‘Never want you in this. Ain’t even want you by me. Any child I know, they ending mally. Nay, why you come here? You been safe.’

  ‘Ain’t want no safety. Want to die.’

  ‘Ain’t let you die. Ain’t let you.’

  Then we only hold together, weeping into dark. He stroke my head against his chest, and we cry passion hard, like running into breathlessness. Be like we seeking something with these tears, some hope to feel. Seek in our orphan loves their dead. Seek in a dark bewept. Yo, I feel this been the truth of all our time together. We always been a grief that huddle close against a vicious light. And he bend to me and kiss my hair, in last tendresse of need.

  But tears be like all tears, a water that weaken into emptiness. Then only be this room, gone hazy with cigarettes. Be the outside noising of soldats, the always cold. Be ourself, wet-face and clutch together, shy in sudden conscience.

  And slow, he loose from me. I sit back, feeling strange and small. Cross arms against my chest, and shiver in his jacket’s warm.

  Pasha sit back muttering low, ‘Ain’t let you.’ He seek his pocket for cigarettes, hand moving clumsy weak. Ain’t find them, and he leave this hopeless. Only stare to the floor with ruin face, tired and spent and white.

  And here I know, like worser truth, my Pasha never being false. He caring for no roos. He caring for no town of people. In time, he faithful to his daughter; when she die, his faith die also. Then he find myself. And when he said he want this war to save my life, been simple truth. Yo, if it been needful, he kilt every Mariano with his own hands, so I keep safe. So been our war.

  But this war ain’t only Pasha’s. It been also mine. I known that we can lose. Pasha told me this himself. But I thought to save my brother’s life, and cannot hear no doubts. I risk my whole believing city for this single love. And even when Driver gone – is Pasha right, all choices evil. Can leave all children dying of posies; or I kill them in some war.

  And my heart suffer, and crave to leave this mally world, and it beat on. Quantico burn red in the window. Rooish laughter rise, be still alive beyond all death.

  At last, I take a breath, say dumb, ‘Can use a cigarette myself.’

  He find his cigarettes in different pocket. Give one to me, light a match, and watch my face particular in its quick light. Yo, when the flame be rid, and I be sucking on this gratty smoke, he say, ‘Mamadou ain’t dead.’

  Take me a second to know these words be real. I narrow on him, still blind somewhat from the matchen flame. ‘Nay, you know this certain?’

  ‘Ya. Gone to Marias with your cure.’

  My blood flash hot and strange. ‘Goddamn. He there? Why you ain’t said?’

  ‘Be saying.’ Pasha shrug.

  I laugh dumb. ‘Foo, Razin choosing Mamadou? Been queery choice.’

  ‘Ain’t choose,’ say Pasha shortish. ‘He ain’t even know who Mamadou be.’

  ‘How, been luck?’

  ‘Nay. He ask me to choose. Because I know yourself, he ask.’ Roo look to his blooden knuckles. ‘Thought Mamadou keep you safe.’

  I stare joyeuse and weak a minute. The smoky pall of District in the window draw my eye, but cannot feel its misery now. Luck woken in my heart. Can think, is even chance the NewKing give the cure to Sengles. Sure, he got no child his own.

  Then a notion stir in mind. Start like a bitter joke – a loathing on this time of evils. But it twist somehow. Grow real and real in quickening thought. Is like a birthing foal that find its feet and rise up as a horse. And when it find its shape, is bell as wonderful.

  I say precaire, ‘When it be done – I told this lie – what be?’

  Pasha flinch, look sharp to me. ‘Ice, you heeding? You will do this?’

  ‘Hold.’ I ware my cigarette. ‘Be asking, I can go back? To Marias?’

  His face tense again. ‘Roos go there now. Ain’t–’

  ‘Shee, answer questions. They will bring me?’

  ‘Can be.’ Pasha seek my face. ‘If they think you theirs.’

  ‘Europeans, they got cure?’

  He get bewaring looks. Say stiff, ‘Will cure yourself. Do this.’

  ‘Nay, what I thinking. They will give it somehow?’

  Pasha get his worst naying face. He shake his head and shake his head. Ya, when he take good breath, his voice be rage. ‘Roos warring in Marias! You heed nothing? Ice!’

  ‘Nay, roos been weaker, if we got the cure ourself. Ya, Europeans got no boats?’

  He swear rooish, stand up to his feet.

  I say up harder, ‘People die for this tonight. To get that goddamn cure. Yo, all my children die without. It be a country dying here.’

  ‘Ain’t save countries, Ice!’ He turn back furiose. ‘Is moron work. Can save a person. Save two people.’

  ‘Nay, you going to help me, roo! It must be something, from all this.’

  ‘Cannot.’

  ‘Goddamn, you help me! Or you watch me die!’

  Then he scream harsh and loud, ‘Ain’t say this! It be cruel! Ain’t say this!’

  Even the roos outside go hush. Is like the world stop on its feet. Yo, I cringe back in body fear, expect his fists. Heart pounding bright.

  But when he only hold in stare, I reach unthinking for his hand. Then his face go weak. He take my hand and muttern, ‘Ice, ain’t say this more. Ain’t say.’

  I take a sorry breath. ‘But cannot be for nothing, Pasha. All they deaths. And you be bone, I know you be. You know.’

  He shake his head, begin to answer – when footsteps thud inside the house. Go shivering tender in the floor, and rooish voice come muttering toward. Pasha freeze with agony face. Noise gather close, and he say low like helplessness, ‘Ain’t talk to them. I do … you only keep with me. Ain’t talk.’ Then the door kick hard against the sofa, jar my frighten back. And, for the first time, I hear their vampeer – rooish word for vampire – callen like a simple name.

  Pasha shout back rooish, ‘What you need?’

  ‘Be time!’ A child roo loud with boozen voice. ‘Razin already gone!’

  The door push hard again. Some child go laugh and muttern swears. Pasha’s hand grip hard on mine, until I feel my hand its every bones. He whispern dumb, ‘It all be right. You only keep to me. Ain’t talk.’

&n
bsp; Yo, as I stand, the sofa shift against my legs. The door come wide.

  And then it be all roos. They jabbering, pushing elbows, as we stumble to the vicious night. I still hold Pasha’s painful hand, and every world be roos. Guns fearing in my sight, be blacker nothing by the moon. Roos’ dirty voice come hot around my ears, their dirty laugh. The dead we stepping over be theirs; the smoke we breathe, the stank of guts.

  And we come to a helicopter plane. Its headblades spinning, blurring, so the wind hurt in my eyes. Its roar unbearing loud. We step inside, roos jostling everywhere, I cannot flee their touch. And be this helicopter’s inside room, without no seats. Got smell like rifle oil, that changing sudden when the door come shut. Become a soldat pue of sweat, of booze. A smell of sex that sicken in my mind, was rape. Roos flop various to the floor, and all be close. Must sit into their unwant touch. A child start shouting ‘Korolyeva!’ at me through the blaring noise. Laugh ugly, though I never look.

  Then the helicopter skew like losing balance. Fling and fling itself, and fall from earth. Lose into trembling air. I panic breathless, clutch at nothing, my own legs – while roos laze careless. Only lean their balance, like sitting a tricky horse. I think in distant mind, Ain’t nothing. Flying. What it do. Look up, where be two scuffen windows, round like scary eyes. And as the helicopter tip in air, I see a swipe of broadening road.

  Road got some weirdo trucks with rifle noses, pointing various. Thousand children walk behind. They clog and fill the road. All stir together like an awful worm.

  The helicopter bounce and all be gone. See only dirty sky. Yo, I keep seeking with my eyes. Crave to see if these be roos, or be my people stolen. I stare the windows, while a stranger hand reach toward my face, and Pasha swat it back. Swat it back. The helicopter tip again, and show a blackness that stretch forever, shivering by thin moon. Is water. And I know impossible, these children lost forever. Every Quantico, and every Mariano. Penals. Crow. They never seen again.

  Yo, before I feel this right, my Pasha catch me to himself. Hit wild at some soldat’s hand. A child yell up like glad discoveries: Shto, vampeer vlublyon! Then roos all laugh to choking, while I comprehend without no mind: The vampire gone in love. And Pasha clutch me hard. I scarce can breathe for his hard arm. I push my hand against his chest, but it do nothing. Only feel his shirt besweaten, and when I look to him, his face be dead with hate. I close my eyes.