‘Parrot live more longer.’
‘Parrot be a bird.’
‘So roos be birds.’ Keepers shrug. ‘Hair be a kind of feather.’
I try to scout the roo for age, but ain’t know how to look. Sure this child enormous big. Can be, he grown ten extra years.
‘Why he ain’t got posies?’ I say rough.
‘Ain’t know,’ say Keepers unconcern. She reach for the yo-yo and I give it to her palm.
‘How old roos being, when they die? They die from posies like a person?’
‘Will ask. Be many tricky questions.’ Then Keepers turn and run across the trashy-bottom town. Hate You pouring soup, my Keepers go inspect. Ain’t look back at me, nor at the roo. We be the past.
Roo smile after her. He scurfy with unwash, his shirt all dirty spots and torn. But his face bell enough, now that the strangeness grow accustom. Be a marvel in his bluish gaze and catly hair. Yo, as he smile, I notice webby wrinkles by his eyes. Across his forehead go two lines alike, is sketchen thin.
Ain’t uggety to see, like wrinkle sleepers be in pictures. But I remind how Lowells say that wrinkles come from age. I scout along his other skin, heart beating furiose, but find no more. Is only stubble beard and smooth.
I get my cigarettes out. Is sleeper Marlboros; be stale, but smoke, if you ain’t finicky. I pull a cigarette and show its filter to this Pasha. Must wait before he trust my gift.
He say soft, ‘Be gratty.’ The words pronouncing strange, as if his mouth was made for different sounds. Yo, we both smile, like this pronouncing been a friendly joke.
Bolden, I reach up in curiosity to touch his cheek. He look peculiar to this handling, but hold himself in stillness. Only squint embarrassing.
His skin be warm. Look frosty, but feel warm and soft like any another child’s. I take my hand back to my side, and in my heart, an inkling rise.
If he thirty, this can mean that roos ain’t get no posies. They live like sleepers, for uncounten years, until their skin be old. Or can mean they die from posies late. Be slow to malady.
But can also mean, they know a cure.
Now I remind the blackish children with the roos in friendly field. Ain’t bound, nor they been feary. They gone with roos in willingness – and it gleam vicious in me, they been going for the posy cure. I magine how I find the roos and learn this healing craft. I see the cure like Robitussin, reddish sticky in a bottle. How it taste metallish, taste numb. How Driver grown to thirty.
But children took by roos ain’t come back never. They be gone and gone.
I say in choken breath, ‘Nay, truth, you thirty?’
Roo frown confusing, shake his head.
I point to him and say, ‘You. Thirty years?’ Then, three times, I hold up all my fingers.
Roo’s face complicate. I try my gesturing again–again, but he frown only worse. At last, he say in his unshapen speech, ‘Nay comprehend.’
He smile again, but I ain’t smile. Frustration whisper: Got to comprehend. Is lying simple. I seek his eyes for wrong intentions, but they only bluish strange. At last, I force a smile, say weak, ‘You bony met, my roo. You bone.’ I nod correct, and turn from him with spooken reveries.
I think to tie the roo again, but sure it be no use. If Keepers want him free, he going loose. She sneaky pests. Ya, be a mally satisfaction, how they Christings terrify, if they known. So I leave my gun with Hate You. Tell her sharp instructions, how she shooting if the roo start violence; how she threaten if he try escape.
Then I head back to horsen field. My duty been that I go hunting – ya, my heart regret its simple mind and quietness. But cannot leave my closer need. Must find more bullets to my gun, yo I must parley thoughts with El Mayor.
7
AT LOWELL MILL
Most my way lie through the wood. Be friendly ride, in company with gnats and peeping birds and squirrels. Only the last stretch lie through Lowell City, strange in emptiness. Here the houses reddish brick, three times the height of evac houses. Every street you pass, it be a thousand shatter windows. Blind windows fill half the sky, and all the streets be sparkling dangerous with broken glass. Ain’t any a child live in these homes. Be no life here but sleeping bats.
Time I come to Lowell mill, that spooken city tire my nerves. Be glad to see their lectric lights and hear the cryer calling up. Be glad to see a movement in their windows, hear the larm of life.
Lowell mill a jumbo bricky edifice, long as a street. Got Lowell River on one side, and green canal the other sides; an island sort of building. Is five floors tall, and be five minutes walking to go past. Inside, be doory hallways, long enough to run full pace. Walls groan and groan, this be their turbine wheels that make lectricity. Lowell River turn these wheels, and Lowell River never rest.
Each Lowell got a room all to themself, got springy beds and blankets. They grow tobacco through the winter in a glassen house. Have water toilets, and they can make paint and tiles and furniture. Got ninety horses of their breeding, and they selling these as far as Nampshire and the fisher coast. My Money been from them, flirtation gift of El Mayor himself.
No Lowell use a name. Each Lowell calling by their task and rank within – be Second Plumber or First Gardener or Thirteenth Custodian. Yo, as they grow in worth, their calling name be always changing – and if you call them by their younger rank, they insult furiose.
Now sun be bright upon the green canal. The river’s sound of wish, wish, blend with the coop-up voice of Lowells. Even by sunny day, their windows glown with lectric light. Third Cryer perch above, on stony wall, and call her challenge to me. As I step to easter gate, I shout my name correct, and my requirement to their El Mayor.
Third Cryer call this news. Other cryers yell it on, the farther voices sounding sore bereft in all that hard indoors. A stabler come out, hurrying his steps, to take my mare. Then I come across their bridge. The door be open into goldish warm.
El Mayor be waiting in his workenroom, door 123. The door hang open, and he lying careless on a sofa. Wear cottonish pajamas, bluish stripe, with silken robe. On the floor, is papers cast about, and straddling books. Though El Mayor possess a desk, he shy from using this. Be a lain-down man. Can think, he only use his feet to walk from bed to sofa. Yo, with his slug behaviors, he boss two hundred Lowells smart correct.
El Mayor been Sengle born. We trade him as a seven with the calling name of Girl Egg. He suffer from the gasping illness, and his eyes been poory – be no use for hunting work. But sure his brains been healthy meat. The Lowells took him glad, and give us Villa Moron in his place.
Now he be eighteen, and he grown long in body, gracile. Got a face like to a handsome horse. Ain’t the sort to please a Christwife, but he well enough, if you do take him for himself. Sure, been no girl egg in his making; child is male as bulls and bother.
When I enter, El Mayor go rummage up his limbs to stand. Look sleepyhead and glad.
I say, ‘Ain’t need to work your legs. Ain’t going to chase you nowhere.’
‘Foo,’ he say. ‘Stood up to get my arms around you, noisy. Got to squeeze your rudeness out.’
I dodge, but he come quick and grab me. Lift me off my feet, so all his chest be hard against. Can feel his lips’ heat in my hair.
I say, my talk squish up and nervy, ‘Got business to you, companiero. Leave your goating rest.’
He loose me slow, stand back with mischief grin. ‘You rule my goating, Ice Cream Star. Ain’t rest until you leave.’
‘Goat on me another day, Girl Egg.’
He laugh to hear his Sengle name, and say in wistful flirt, ‘Sure a spoon of you be better than three bowls of any another girl.’
He flop back on his sofa and unfold his easy body. Point to the end where I must sit. I perch on sofa’s arm.
‘How it is,’ I say. ‘We catch a roo.’
El Mayor go stare. ‘You ain’t, you lying package.’
‘Tame and kept at Sengle camp. Smoke cigarettes like any person. Speaking words, is
truth.’
Then I tell how the roo come to our hands. Give every detail of his looks, and I repeat his rooish words. Ya, El Mayor fix on this story like a hound will track a smell. Smell drag the hound behind it, into bushes, through the thorns. El Mayor almost sitting upright, how the thing enthuse his mind. Only thing I keep behind be Keepers’ tale of thirty years. Be complication talks. Good sense decide, I get my bullets first.
When I end, he say with fever, ‘Damn, why you ain’t brought this roo?’
‘Rich be lazy,’ I say, laughing. ‘Come and see him with your feet.’
‘Who given you a pony?’ he say, grinning. ‘Fickle sort you be.’
‘Shoo, I bring him soon enough. Unless …’ Now I make fretting mouth. ‘It be one worry, ya. Crow try to kill him, first he come.’
El Mayor’s eyes narrow. ‘Tell me better news. The roo tore Crow into his parts?’
‘Nay, the roo been tied. Crow aim to shoot him, what it been. Sure Crow never wonder what this roo may have to tell.’
This be the way to catch the Lowells, children curiose as flies. Yo El Mayor grit his annoyance.
I say on, ‘Crow gone worse, can swear. Child been my animose, I cannot hate him every way. But be wrongness there, ain’t trust him now.’
El Mayor still frustrate in his head. He nod but listen poory.
‘What worry me, be this. What happen …’ I take frighten breath. ‘What be in time to come, when Driver sicken?’
‘What you saying, bell?’
‘My Crow be sergeant, how it be.’
Now disgust change in El Mayor’s face. I scent my trick’s success. The Lowells never liking Crow. Ain’t know the bottom of this circumstance, but truth be fact. Once, Crow give his shotgun to the Lowells for repair. When Lowells fix a gun, you know that gun be shooting forward. They fix every gun and pistol, even Nat Mass Armies can get service for their guns.
But they telling Crow his shotgun broke beyond their skill. Say it need a finking pin, and they ain’t got no finking pin. ‘You find a finking pin, come back,’ they tell unhappy Crow.
I ain’t expect no ‘finking pin’ exist in all of time. Believe these Lowells laugh about this joke all night and every day.
Now I say, ‘Crow must be sergeant. He the oldest male.’
‘Sergeant never need to be a male. Sure Jennifer been last.’
‘But this be common for a leader. Children tell me even you is male.’
‘Can prove you this.’ He smile again. ‘Wait only for permissions.’
I shrug. ‘Ain’t your problems, sure. Is only scary to myself. Crow want me for his sex. Fear it be violence, once my Driver gone.’
‘Damn he do,’ say El Mayor. He rummage up himself to sit.
‘Damn is truth,’ I say more fortey. ‘Crow a mally wasp, ain’t fear to hurt.’
‘He try this with you? Seriose?’
‘Nay, with myself. Got fear of Driver. But this be the secret truth of him and Mari’s Ghost. Been force. And sure his pants be hungry for myself.’
Now El Mayor go balk. He look at me with weaken faith. Yo, I remind unhappy, El Mayor know Mari’s Ghost. No male forcing Mari’s Ghost. Her only word be yes.
Then a grin start on El Mayor’s mouth. He shake his head and laugh.
Here my show of anger weaken. Cannot help, I start to smile. El Mayor leap on me, shouting, ‘Lying fox! I teach your mouth to lie!’ Downstairs he tickle at my ribs. Upstairs he try to kiss my mouth. I kick him every which way. At last I bite my teeth into his chin, and he give room. Flop back to the sofa, gasping breath.
‘Bad I took that bait!’ he say. ‘Goddamn. The roo been truth?’
‘Foo, it all been truthful mostly. Got an aim, but … nay, the part with Mari’s Ghost ain’t true.’
‘Crow bother you for sex?’
‘Nay, but–’
‘Honest as a Sengle! You an honor to your people.’
‘Shee. You be a pinching pain to all my Sengle people, Girl Egg.’
‘Sure, they rid my painful self. So what you want? Can guess you foxing me for something.’
I sit up, arrange my face into some dignity. ‘How I said, I take the gun.’
‘For your defense from Crow.’ El Mayor laugh. ‘See this.’
‘Shoo, need bullets with–without no Crow.’
‘This be some bullets of mine, I foresee.’
‘Parabellum nines. I like to pay, but it be hungry seasons. Winter coming soon.’
‘Ice Cream, you be a Lowell in your crafty head. Be a loss to joy that you ain’t trade to us.’
‘Foo, say yes. Need no suspenses.’
‘Yes and yes. Sure I give you any foolish riches, every child know this.’
My heart clear in relief. I put my hand upon his ankle, for it be closest to. ‘Be gratty well.’
A moment, we only grinning to each other, happy from our jokes. Then he look to my touching hand. Can see he think to reach for me. But I say, sudden out of nothing, ‘Keepers said the roo be thirty.’
A moment, El Mayor still yearn his eyes. Then he flinch sharp. ‘Thirty? Thirty years?’
‘What he telling Keepers,’ I say breathless. ‘She talk to him all morning. Was rooish that they spoken, so she ain’t learn much. But this been certain.’
‘Keepers?’ El Mayor’s face ease. ‘Been tales from only Keepers?’
‘Foo, I know when Keepers lie.’
‘So you believing this?’
‘Ain’t know. But roos be other people. Can be sleepers, any strangeness.’
Now El Mayor sit back in puzzle. ‘So if they sleepers, sleepers ain’t get posies?’
‘How they ain’t?’ I scoff my breath. ‘They getting WAKS. I thought your Lowells say that WAKS and posies been the same?’
‘No person knowing certain.’ El Mayor pooch lips in thought. ‘But white people dying quick from WAKS, ain’t living extra years. It been our children mostly live. Had some resistance to this pox.’
‘Then roos must have some cure. They white themself. Should all be dead.’
El Mayor nod like this be usual notions. ‘Or they from a place that ain’t infect. Can be this.’
‘Nay, thought it been the world entire.’
‘What we think. Ain’t seen the world ourself.’
‘But every evidence say, it been the world.’ My voice come thin. ‘Most likely be, roos got a cure. Ain’t see?’
‘But why they kept this to themself? Roos coming here before.’
‘Goddamn, they got no reason they will help! Yo think! You only contradicting!’
El Mayor look surprise to me. Ponder on my face a moment, then his eyes change sorry. ‘Ice. Keepers be eight.’
‘So she eight,’ I say in weaker voice. ‘And so?’
‘Ain’t get excitements, from some eightish tales. You think. She learn his rooish speech in hours?’
‘Was only numbers. Can learn numbers. And if it being right?’
El Mayor look down, discomfort. ‘Ice … you thinking of your Driver?’
I startle queery. ‘How you meaning?’
‘I know he got his posies.’
‘Nay, how? Who saying this?’
‘Ain’t no one saying. Driver come to me for papa tea, to ease his hurt. Sure, he ain’t want everyone to know.’ Then El Mayor’s face painful, like his memory see someone suffer hard.
I watch his sadden face, and cannot get a breath inside. ‘Ain’t posies certain. Nay.’
El Mayor look startling to me. ‘You ain’t known? Damn, Ice, I speak this to you first?’
‘Nay, ain’t certain. Cannot be.’ When the tears come up, they rush like breath. My head be stars and hurt.
Then come a blind and sobben time. El Mayor come clutch me to him, and I weep against his shoulder. Try thinking of my pride, but misery wash my mind in circles. Can only think of Driver. How he keep this silent, and the months he going to sicken. How he going painful, going to die, and every grief be rain.
Posies t
ake each person in their sort. Popsicle cough his spirit out. Jay-dee’s belly swell and hurt until she claw it to the blood. Mailman strangle in his throat. He strangle once, then find his breath. Strangle again, and beg for help. Then he cannot bear to wait, he shoot himself in desperate fear. Jennifer been sergeant last. She scream but she forgotten words. Ain’t recognize our faces. Scream a week, then she ain’t speak no more. She stare and dribble her mouth.
And all their face and skin eat up by red and blackish posies. Posies scabbing and they open into sores and horrors. Posies grown inside and outside, blackish death put roots into your body and its flowers bloom.
My death must come before his death. I start a murder war, and all my Sengles die in blood. I blind my eyes and never see the posies come. I shoot my heart.
El Mayor be muttering, ‘Damn, I hate to see you cry, goddamn.’ His voice come through my panic, and the sobbing soften in my chest. I open eyes, and there be his cat Radio, perch on sofa’s back. Be a whitely kitty with one crinkle ear. Sniff at me, curiose. I laugh a teary laugh, and El Mayor touch to my cheek. He say, ‘You going to kill me, you keep crying.’
We sat up on the sofa now, press close. All the room seem big and light. The bricky wall look warm; the yellow painten wall look clean and kind. Yo Radio hop over to the windowsill. There she arch and say her yorry miaow. Behind her in the window go the river through the tumbledown bridge. River slip around the beams, the metal splay and twisten. I watch the blackish bluish brownish water till my spirit settle. Radio sit in my view and lick her rosy pawpad.
Cat’s name be Radio because this be El Mayor’s present work. He get a dozen radio machines, and swear to make one talk. Before this, been a cat name Gypsum, and a cat that change its name from Plumbing Joint to Insulator. So El Mayor intend to puzzle back the world of sleepers, cat by cat. And all the Lowells copy after him, got cats name Coffee Plant and Airplane, things these children sworn they will create.
It come to me that cats ain’t live no twenty years. Be luck that Keepers ain’t remember cats, will be one gloating little. I think now to tell El Mayor about the roo his wrinkle brow. But he lean to me then and kiss my lips.
The Country of Ice Cream Star Page 5