The Country of Ice Cream Star

by Sandra Newman

  A wolfen sadness chill me. I look at Crow and feel a freezing in my bones like heartbreak.

  Crow grip his hands in fists. Frown to them like he wonder at their life, that they can feel and move. Then he loose his hands, say low, ‘He want to talk to you. The NewKing.’

  ‘Nay, why?’ I take a narrow breath.

  ‘I ain’t know.’ Crow shrug resenting. ‘Ever he want.’

  ‘He wanting me to speak for war somehow? To children here?’

  ‘Ain’t wondering this. Shee his wars.’ Crow squint back to the city. Can see his old hostilities begin, his shoulders tense.

  I look to the farther sky. Be thinking sorry, be no sense to see the NewKing now. Got better troubles than himself – my war, the search to Massa woods. But here a notion pinch.

  Be on the search to Massa, how I fearing to send El Mayor. But who must go, be Mamadou. Is obvious like eyesight. Be dangers natural to himself; be wars he want himself. And it be like a grief I always known, and struggle to forget.

  Then Crow say, low into my thought, ‘I going now. Guess I find Driver.’

  This name distract my feeling. I look to Crow in quick relief – expect somehow, I go with him. We sit by Driver for some easy time, all maladies apart.

  But Crow ain’t even look to me. Turn hasty to the door.

  I take a breath jalouse and say, ‘You know he callen dead? Our – our good child be?’

  Crow catch on this. Look back to me, hate brilliant in his eyes. ‘Shee, I ain’t Sengle now. Can leave your rules. Be dead myself.’

  Then he stalk off into the gleam iglesia. Pass a door, and in a second’s breath, he lost entire. Even his footsteps vanish, swallow in all rugs and walls. Leave only a mally wish, a misery where he always gone.

  A minute behind, I go myself. Come through the sofa room and feel some fear to be alone. Be thinking of my Pasha’s tales of crimes he done. How these crimes been real sometime. Was done to children like the Christings, like the simpers and their enfants.

  Pasha been right that I should kill him. Crow be right, was selfishness that I ain’t want my Pasha dead. And I should die for green Karim. Yo, the feather slavers – how Soledad shooting them, was sunlight justice. But Soledad should die for this, been murder neverless. And I cannot see how any child can be forgiven. I try to think of people who hurt no one, but cannot see them different. Circumstances be, they find the evil that they do.

  In the hall, I find the tennish ermana with the jutting ears. She got a filler pen in hand, is drawing on her fingernails. When she see me, she startle back. Muttern santa reina, and slip the pen into some pocket in her browndress clothes.

  ‘Salue,’ I say. ‘You needing something?’

  She nod with confusen look. ‘I wait for you. Brought your key.’

  ‘Key for … elevator, ya?’

  ‘Elevator.’ She flash a gaptooth smile, hold out the key. Her fingernails got hearten shapes upon, in shaky blue. I take the key, warm from her palm.

  Then she say whispern, ‘Santa reina, downstairs wanted me to say … we English for you.’

  ‘English?’

  ‘Was always spaniels Maria, it’s everybody says you’re different. See, you know what spaniels is?’

  This baffle in my sorry nerves. I only shake my head.

  ‘Spaniel, that means Spanish. Rich. Apostles, they’s all spaniels. But most people here, we’re English. Working people is. The spaniels, they don’t want no English Maria. Braw, no. But we’re for you, they … the kitchen people and downstairs, they told me I should say. I’m sorry if it’s wrong.’

  ‘Nay, be no wrong. Ain’t comprehending much, but you be bone.’

  ‘Comprehend? Oh, sorry, cause I’m Loisaida people, so I talk so bad. I’m sorry.’ She hang back, smiling anxy, clutching hands into her dress.

  Then I get a different thought. Say low in courtesy, ‘What be your name, my ten?’

  She scratch her forehead, shy. ‘Tamara.’

  ‘Bone, Tamara. Can do some help for me?’

  ‘Yes, santa reina. Course.’

  ‘Be gratty. You know Mamadou? Apostle so.’

  ‘No, please. Don’t know.’

  ‘Be a bigly jones, scar cheeks. Got his arm bound up.’ I cock my arm against myself.

  To this, her eyes go frighten. I say, ‘You know him, right. He being here?’

  She shake her head unready. ‘Santa reina, please. He left.’

  I startle. ‘How, he gone?’

  ‘Gone outside.’ She point the windows. ‘Next house, the firing range there.’

  ‘Next house? Foo, they allowing him outside?’

  ‘Course.’ She shrug like obvious questions. ‘Do what he likes. He’s an apostle. But, I should bring you?’

  A moment, I only clutch the key in my besweaten hand. Then I say in narrow breath, ‘Be gratty, Tamara. Guess this can be right.’

  Where she take me, be some walk along the outer street. Four redcoat guards come worrying along, and I distract my nerves by asking them their names. They pronounce these with delighting shyness. Yo I notice – what I scarcely heeding in my early fears – two sky towers, taller than no heights I ever seen. These got no normal walls. Is made entire of darkish windows. Glass be mostly shattern, and it look like their tremendous skin been eaten rough by moths.

  House where Mamadou gone be like a smaller Ministerio. Is flights of whitish stone, with carvings fancifying its big door. On its lower floors, the windows gone and blind. Replace with brick. Coppery letters on its front read: Cuartel de la Defensa, Brigada Municipal del Barrio Quinta.

  We come into a grandy room, got nothing in itself but doors. Is muffle banging in the walls, like someone hammer nails. Some browncoat soldiers there be smoking, leaning careless to a wall. When they see myself, they straighten frightening. Tamara call some Panish, and one soldier skit toward a door.

  When he opening this door, the hammering come ferocious loud. Be guns. I think in sudden fright, they shooting Mamadou there. But when I check Tamara’s face, she got exciting smile. Skree breathless through the larm, ‘He’s there, senyora. You can see.’

  Then my comprehending quit. Cannot guess what morons hunt with guns inside some house. May be rats they kill, but no considerate child chase these with bullets. Ain’t surprises they lose all their windows.

  Soldier by the door go yell. In second’s change, the gunfire hush. Then come any-number soldiers from the open door. All stare on me with biggen eyes and muttern santa reinas. Point rifles to the ceiling as they gather to the wall.

  At last, the soldier by the door call Panish back to us.

  Tamara turn to me. ‘Senyora, can apostle Mamadou keep his gun? Man’s asking.’

  ‘Shoo, he got a gun?’

  ‘Course.’ She get amusing grin. ‘Here’s the firing range. But he can keep it?’

  ‘Sure, can keep it,’ I say wondering.

  ‘Then good.’ Tamara stoop her courtesy. ‘He’s there.’

  Gunroom be untold in length, and empty of no furnitures. Floor littern with spent bullet shells, look strawly in their scatter. On the farther wall, be grandy paper drawings hung – pictures of children, sketchen plain, and all been shot some dozen times. In other circumstance, can laugh, what nasty fool invent this game. But in the middle room is Mamadou.

  He wearing his same clothes from Massa woods, jeans and unwritten tee. They dirty with their use, and loose upon his thinner body. Right arm unbound, but still he got a bandage thick beneath his shirt. Pistol held in this right hand. Hand smart as ever been, although his arm hold careful, stiff. Yo, even in his injury, in grimness of his children lost, he bell like hungry night.

  Ain’t neither of us say no greeting. I only turn and close the door, heart snatching in my chest. Think how I be his queen – and how I lain, confuse, while Pasha shoot him. How I approve the killing of Karim, and if he heard or known. Yo, as the door come shut, my belly pinch, sharp like a hating word. And it realize cold, this murdern baby can be his. Enf
ant can be Mamadou’s get, from the killing morning of roo Deema, of Karim.

  When I turn back from the door, he got his pistol in his belt. Hand touching on his bandage, but his face be cold the same.

  ‘NewKing,’ I say weak, ‘I got an ask.’

  He narrow mouth but say no word. His eyes drift to my naked shoulders. Study there, and thinking gather in his tired eyes.

  I say on hasty, ‘How it is. This city in my ruling now. So, how I decide, we going to war upon the roos.’

  His face shift slightish to this, like he taste its meaning in his mouth. He say low, ‘Been easy done.’

  ‘Ain’t done,’ I say annoying. ‘Why I being here.’

  ‘Heard no ask.’ He look back to my face.

  ‘Yo, how it is.’ I take a breath. ‘The children here ain’t trust the cure without no evidence. Nor they will fight unless it be. So they send a search to Massa. Catch some roos for questioning.’

  His eyes light into mockery. ‘They trust some roos before yourself?’

  ‘Be my roo they ain’t believe. Guess they ask various roos, be different. Or they plan to torture them. Ain’t know their vicious thoughts. I only want to ask, if you will go.’

  Then all telligence vanish from his eyes. Is only blackness grief.

  My heart make smaller fist. Can feel, I been a fool, I ain’t expect this. What Massa being now, no person strong to see again.

  I say, ‘Ain’t got to go. Can send–’

  ‘I do it.’

  We watch each other careful then. He got hazard looks, like he may break in sudden rage. Yo, I can feel my body’s blood, its knowing.

  I swallow at my achen throat. ‘Ain’t answer yet. Be other matters.’

  ‘I do it. Be no questions.’

  ‘Damn, ain’t heard.’

  His hand move sharp down to the gun, like he will shoot me for annoyance. But he only say, ‘So tell your matters.’

  ‘What it is. Can be, they want to kill you.’

  Then his body ease. He laugh in underbreath. ‘I knowing this.’ He shake his head, like wondering how no child miss obvious facts. Look to my dress again, and say like carelessness, ‘I do it. But I can like to bring some child my own.’

  ‘Guess they allowing this,’ I say uncertain. ‘You bring Crow?’

  ‘Crow, can be.’ He shrug. ‘First Runner, who I mostly want.’

  First, I think this be some joke. Ain’t bringing smallish girls for his protection, be no sense. But Mamadou waiting simple, like this been some sane requirement.

  ‘Shee,’ I say. ‘Been worse enough, they Lowells left her there. How every fool use tens for their war business, ain’t believe.’

  He shake his head. ‘You ask her.’

  ‘Child be ten. Ain’t bringing her to that.’

  ‘Got reasons.’

  ‘Reasons how?’

  ‘Nay, Sengle.’ Mamadou smile insulting. ‘Ask her.’

  Now I exasperate for truth. I frown past him toward the drawings – outline pictures with no face, torn various with holes. The Citgo murders flash in mind, First Runner weeping in the dirt. How she duck her scabben face, stare empty to her hands.

  Then my anger weaken to a bitter pointlessness. Can guess, whatever arrogance he believe, First Runner never go. Nor El Mayor approve. Be squabbling over fantasies.

  ‘Will ask her,’ I say softer, gazing still upon the drawings. ‘Ya, be one other matter. The Marianos question roos in Massa, how I said. And they going keep some roos. Want Christs to make a new Maria.’

  ‘Nay,’ he say in voice like sudden knife. ‘They ain’t do this.’

  When I look to him, his eyes be dangerous black again. I say tense, ‘Ain’t yours to worry.’

  ‘They kill you if they doing this.’ His voice disgust. ‘Ain’t heard?’

  ‘Sure I heard. Heard all communications, how they kill me. But what be important, they can have some other plan. If they only catching Christs, be bone. But–’

  ‘Going to do what I will do. Need no instructions, girlish.’

  A moment, we be only glaring on each other, hate and nerves. Then Mamadou shake his head again. Walk sudden to the door.

  I take frustrating breath, think how I chase him past all staring guards. But when he reach the door, he only fidget at the handle. A petty click result. A lock.

  Click be uncanny in my nerves. Already I know, but I say stubborn, while he walking back, ‘Nay, heed. They think I sent you there to kill their Christs, be only grief. Ain’t sense to–’

  When he reach to me, I scare through all my blood. But he only take my ear in hand like casual nothing. Pull its diamond earring free. Consider it with eyes, then slip this diamond in his pocket. My skin still startle from his hand, ain’t comprehend how it be gone.

  ‘I do your expeditions,’ he say. ‘Nor it be no new Maria. They fight our war, then I will take you out of this. What going to be.’

  ‘Nay, NewKing. Ain’t–’

  ‘But when is done – you mine. You comprehending this?’

  I touch thoughtless to my ear. Say rough, ‘Nay, ain’t about that.’

  Then, before I can expect, he reach and catch my braids. Raise his other hand, and form it round my throat like choking. I feel my blood beat frightening in his hand. He feel my headlong blood.

  Can see his face exhilarate and need. Feel how his kiss will be, and how we struggle on the floor, our knifen-fist of loving war. Yo, tears come vicious to my eyes. Be like a death somehow, be like my love itself go weep.

  I snatch his hand out of my hair. Twist free with gasping heart, and say, ‘Cannot.’

  A moment, all his body disbelieve. He move to grab me rough. But then he hold himself, shift back. See me again in hard surprise.

  And – what I never seen before – the NewKing hurt for me. He love but cannot, like a normal child who bleed his want. Yo, even this be arrogance in him, be cold and grandiose. Is like a blackness sky that hurt with lightning.

  He step back in stiff respect. Say cold, ‘Is bone, Maria.’ Turn like carelessness, stalk to the door without no backward look. Open to a room of startling faces, and he gone.

  47

  LAST TALKS OF THIS ENORMOUS DAY

  Tamara trail me back with curiose looks, but I ain’t got no talk. She leave me by my elevator, and I go up alone. Stare empty at the painting there – white mother smiling foolish while her enfant reach his pinkish hand. Gold rings for death around their heads.

  And I come out to my rooms without no expectation fear. Be figuring only if First Runner sleeping still, if I must wake her. How I ask on Massa, and lead her into safe refusal. How El Mayor will help.

  Yo, as I walk into the shadow hall, be Driver coming toward.

  He wear some Mariano clothes – shirt of fashion white, black pants. This stranger garb show all his skinniness like new surprise. Neck be shrunken in its collar, sleeves hang empty-looking. Ain’t the brother that I known – child who can break a table with simple hands, child solid as a fact – and in my first distress, I want to hide like he be nightmares.

  But when he see me, he go easy. Eyes relieve and smile. All his monthen bitterness gone, like this been dirt that rinse away.

  ‘Been looking for you,’ Driver say.

  I smile uncertain. ‘You gratty met.’

  Then his eyes sketch to my dress, his smile break into laugh. ‘Foo, sister. Guess they fix your grooming. You look like one of these.’ He reach and stir the glassy dangles on a dandelion light.

  My heart light irresponsible. ‘Dress precieuse yourself.’

  He make a face of joke disgust. Find a tabbet on the wall and switch the dandelion on. It light up stupid brilliant, and we both go laugh again.

  Driver shake his head, still grinning. ‘You mind, when you was six, you get some hatred to all clothes? Must sit on you to dress you.’

  ‘Ain’t remember.’ I smile foolish. ‘Remember how you make me wash.’

  ‘I only try this once. Still got a scar.’ He touc
h his wrist.

  ‘That scar been warry cuts. You lying air.’

  ‘Been Ice Cream teeth, it been.’

  ‘Shoo, they sitting on me also. Dress been force, you know that right.’

  To this, a weakness trouble in his eyes. He frown to the rug. ‘The children here … they leave you now? You safe?’

  ‘Ho, guess you heard about their proof?’

  He start to nod, but break in coughing. Put fist to his mouth and say between, ‘Ermano – told us. But – they leave you now?’

  My heart go tight again. Remind all Anselm’s threats, the Christs they bringing back from Massa. A moment, I even want to beg protection, like a frighten six.

  But I say, ‘Yo sho. I be Maria now, be past no harm.’

  He sigh, and bring another cough. Touch his throat annoying. ‘Ya, they told us yesternight. Ain’t slept for much.’

  ‘Never thought they tell you, shoo. Be sorry that you worry.’

  ‘Need no sorries.’ Driver get his sergeant face, a strict considering. ‘I ain’t weeping if they kilt the roo, myself. But how you done, be proud. You vally.’

  ‘Foo vally. Stubborn, all it is.’

  This he leave in disregard. Frown seriose and say, ‘But, Ice, ain’t want you risking so again. Was thinking yesternight.’

  ‘How again? Been said, is done.’

  ‘Nay, sister. What it is …’ He cross his arms, get difficult looks. ‘Ain’t necessary you go to roos. Should stop you weeks before.’

  ‘Foo, how?’ I say, surprise. ‘Ain’t going to stop me.’

  He shake his head. ‘Yesternight, been thinking. Was my own selfishness, I never stop you. Fearing for myself.’ His voice go harsh to this, most like he going to cough again. But he only grit his mouth. Thumb find a posy on his finger, fidget at its redden sore.

  Then I comprehend his moods. Child spent the night in waiting for my death, and thinking every guilt. Now his hatred be forgot – like how my every gripe at Driver vanish like uncaring things, the day I learn his sickness.

  ‘Shoo, brother,’ I say soft. ‘All this be by, ain’t be no subjects. We warring for the cure now. City going to fight these roos.’