The Country of Ice Cream Star (15 page)

Pasha say his rooish
Vote
, deep-sounding in his body. Then he say, ‘I best go back to Lowell. Tell this.’

‘Lowell, right. And what you doing there this morning?’

Now Pasha’s face clear into warmth. ‘I talk to El Mayor. Is vally child. He choose to leave.’

‘The Lowells go?’ My heart pause in walking. ‘When they go?’

‘What he said, five days. But now is Deema.’ Pasha shake his head. ‘Must leaving quick.’

‘Ho, for this Deema? Why?’

‘How Deema work, the Armies going to help him. Help take children.’

I startle mally. ‘Foo, they help. The NewKing help no roos.’

‘Help,’ say Pasha flat. ‘For promise cure. For promise … how the Armies stronger. Deema, be his work so. Yes.’

‘Can promise, sure. Ain’t mean that Mamadou heed.’

‘Ice.’ Pasha tense, his face distress. ‘Ain’t time for … for be moron. I go talk El Mayor. But Sengles leave? Tomorrow best.’

This word
tomorrow
come to me like tired impossibilities. I feel my tearen face again, the stiffness where it dry.

‘Tomorrow,’ I say rough. ‘Ain’t know. Is Driver got to say.’

‘Driver?’ Pasha flinch. ‘Ice Cream–’

‘Nay, heed. We go to Washington? We get this cure?’

Can hear my noisy fives behind, is fighting sticks and laughing. Pasha’s mouth gone grim. His bluish eyes be tired distances. ‘Ice, roos ain’t in Washington now. Ain’t be till January.’

‘January?’ I suck my breath. ‘Nay, be two months to wait.’

‘Ya. Can go then.’

‘Ain’t no chance they being sooner? We gone sooner, best.’

‘Nay.’ He grit his mouth. ‘If I ain’t flee roos, I gone to Washington also. How I know.’

I swallow, look back to the fire. Now it only got one clinging flame, creep frail beneath.

‘Must leave this place,’ say Pasha wishful.

‘Yo sho,’ I say in choking voice. ‘Will talk to Driver. He going to heed.’

Roo’s big arms tense up and grow, like he intend some obstacle. But he think again, say low, ‘I go to El Mayor. Come back soon.’

I shrug. ‘Driver live two months. He can. But we will rob the cure? You and I, my Pasha.’

He stare at me without no answer. Then something liven in his frosten eyes, like water stir by fish. He reach into his pocket. Pick a paper out, hand this to me.

Then he duck and hoist his pack. Lumber and unbalance while the burden settle its weight. ‘See by,’ he say in undervoice and turn with downward mood. Soon his yellow grayish greenish colors mix into the woods.

Folden paper be a page of El Mayor’s no-book. Is writ:

Hope you know my writing. Roo ain’t lie about their killing. Ain’t know what lies he tell, but killing all be real. Seen proofs. I can explain this when you come.

Our mill depart in petty days. I ask you to come with my Lowells. Send Driver to me if he give you talk. Sengles share our food while there be food. Trust this word.

Also yourself can share my tent. Bony tent, good company. I save my goating for this hope.

I fold the page again. Slip it in Patagonia pocket with the radio speech. I try to wonder on this killing, how it prove to El Mayor. But I keep seeing Driver seize the papa tea with skinny hand. His eyes gone empty, false.

Other children now return. Middy meal be soon, our numbers thicken like a rain. Jermaine and Jonah come from hunting. Got a pigeon, all they carry. Ya, thirteenish girls come back with fishing poles and nothing caught. My hunger’s expectation think of Crow, of Crow Doe’s hunt. Then hope misgive. Crow never hunt our food again, nor Driver hunt our food.

Yo, as my grief occur again, come Mouse and Foxen from the woods. They see myself and scramble toward, exciting in their eyes. Mouse cry, ‘Ice Cream! Must guess the secret!’

Then both these moron eights be chanting, ‘Guess the secret! Guess the secret!’

‘Want no secrets!’ I shout through their noise. ‘Yo leave me rest!’

They hold with disappointing face. ‘Want, if you known,’ say Foxen airy.

‘So tell,’ I say. ‘It need no guessing.’

‘Nay!’ Mouse scream. ‘Must guess!’

Foxen peal a giggle. ‘Be one hint. Is from the Christings.’

‘Here be a hint for you.’ I show my fist. ‘Yo leave me rest.’

‘Shoo,’ say Mouse. ‘You only stupid. Or you guessing normal.’

‘Cannot guess! You shaming cause you stupid!’ Foxen blow her tongue.

Then come a sound like cows. Be low and high at once. Mouse press his palm against his mouth. Foxen say, ‘The secret!’

It blare again: ain’t cows but horns. Be the Tophet trumpets, now can hear their plaining tune. When the blaring pause, beneath is christy-nonnies sung. John of Christ’s good basso come familiar through the trees.

My first thought be gratty. Bugling mean a church been called, for meeting of all towns. Any a child can witness at their churches, though I never done. But this be needful time – can warn them everything we learn of roos. Sure Christings heed, ya Driver heeding better in their company.

But when the Christings ride into the clear, my gladness choke.

18

OF TAKEN QUEEN

Four riders come. Is John in front, on their big plough-mare Tribulation. Boy Japhet ride behind with Beanie Christwife on a fatten mule. Trumpet hang round Japhet’s neck. These three sing low and weary. Yo their hair be wet, in sign of grief.

Fourth rider be on Mamadou’s buckskin stallion Beg-No-Pity. NewKing’s feathers, crow-black cardinal-red, is worn in mane and tail. Rider be a girl, is wrapt in gauzy black from head to toe. Black drippen from her feet themself; her head misshapen with thick cloth. Only her brownish eyes reveal. These eyes be scary blank.

The song die to its final sound. John of Christ remove his hat.

‘Be met in Jesus name,’ he say. ‘His greeting on your town from Tophet graced. We bide the Long Agreement.’

‘Salue your home. Salue the queen,’ I say. My face feel scalden tight. ‘Was this Susannah?’

‘Ya, Susannah been,’ say John. He got spent weeping in his speech, voice sounding all of nose. ‘She sacrifice for all our peace. The Long Agreement stand.’

My littles gather, curiose. Be thrilling sights to these. Even Villa join this crowd, with plucking pigeon in her hands. And my heart beat slow and weak, bemisery my blood.

*

The Long Agreement be the bad remainder from our murder wars. Until this law been made, the Nat Mass Armies took slaves in our woods. Been Sengles taken, and it been occasion, even Lowells took. But mostly these been Christing girls – unwarry people, easy caught. In the simper house, these stolen children lose their name.

At last, the Christings take a fellowship that they destroy all Armies. The Lowells and the Sengles join in this revenging creed. Then killings follow killings; every day be sad with burials. In these wars, the Lowells build their steely gates, build walls about. The Christings’ cows been murdern, and their fields grown up unkept; most their homes gone fleeing north. Worst battle that there was, been fought about the Christwife Sarah. In this, the Armies burn a home, the Christing Showcase Cinema. There fifty children die in sleep.

Then was made the Long Agreement, soil of all our better years. Now Armies take their slaves in distant towns beyond all friendship. In Massa, girls be living safe. Our wars lose all their death.

But in this Long Agreement, be a clause about the Army queen. Christings let one girl be taken for every NewKing made. This queen traden strict in law. Two featherboys ride out to Tophet. Bring godclothes and queenly gems, and name the chosen wife. Then in consenting show, the girl must clad these gauds and veils. Her husband ride her to all towns, and call a queening church. No child must talk to riding queen, nor she can speak her voice. Not till this cloth unbound by NewKing, when she taken in her flesh, can she return to life.

Return without a name, return apart from all her people. Return to Mamadou his hut. To blood of Ice Cream Star been left upon the NewKing’s furs, and listen to the voice I known, the only love I choose.

‘Took queen be praise to Tophet,’ I say rough. ‘Be honor in this choice.’

‘Be honor,’ John repeat, and Beanie Christwife say up bright, ‘Be honor.’

Boy Japhet grit against no words. He scowl and stroke the mule’s
brown neck. Behind me, Foxen’s voice say clear, ‘Is wearing chains, beneath. Her nose cut off.’ Keepers reply in hiss, ‘Ain’t so. And you ain’t speak.’ Foxen say, ‘I speak. I speak,’ then everybody hush.

I make the two-stick sign in air and say, ‘Is well. We will respect the queen for Tophet’s sake.’

John put his hat against his chest. His eyes blink hard. ‘Church gather tomorrow morning at Tophet house. At first of dawn, be welcome prayer. Follow this with honey meal, for sweetness granten by Our Lord. Then be speech from any child who witness …’

As he speaking this, reminders inkle in my thought. John tell on – about the later meals and music songs – while it needle in my mind how I must witness on the roos. Yo I can tell about the roo at Army camp, the guns he bring. Never the Christings give Susannah to Armies, once they learning this. Ain’t send her to no camp of roos. Is time, still can be right.

Then John of Christ conclude, ‘We call your Driver Star to churchen meet.’

I startle from my thought. ‘Driver? Only he?’

‘Ain’t church for friendly talk.’ John shake his head. ‘Queen church be holy met.’

I look at him, at Japhet and Beanie. A moment I confuse, feel they should know that I must speak. Then I stumble in my words, ‘Sure, myself … I wish to come. Be good respect in this.’

‘Only leaders and Christings come,’ say Japhet low. ‘Ain’t happy feast.’

‘Must be ceremony,’ say John.

‘I keep this ceremony,’ I say. ‘Sure, will keep with any rule.’

‘Nay,’ Beanie Christwife say. ‘Ain’t extra children. Cannot feed all Sengles.’

‘Queen church written in the Long Agreement,’ Japhet say. ‘Can feed whoever eat but–’

‘Ain’t feed all they Sengles,’ Beanie muttern.

‘Sure, the Long Agreement,’ John repeat with better certainty. ‘Determine by our fathers so.’

Then, in my feary watching, Japhet rein his fatty mule. John glance
at Susannah, his good face blur with grief. Every slightish motion say they leave.

I feel how this church will pass. Nor I can trust what Driver do. I feel his sicken face in all my nerves, his papa speaking dull. Then all my panic join, goliath bright inside myself.

I say, ‘Driver taken with his posies. I go in his place.’

Then my Sengles staring bright. Their fright be turn to me.

‘Must be the sergeant come,’ say Beanie Christwife, sharp.

John raise hand to Beanie. ‘Driver taken? This be said?’ He squint at me. It seem he try to hear my words in memory.

‘In His name, be said.’ My sight be dark, but voice speak clear. ‘The sergeant gone in sickness. I take his place.’

Can hear the muttern voices of my Sengles, start objection. Keepers’ voice go hissing, ‘Hush, ain’t hear. I got to hear.’

‘Driver Star is dead,’ say John of Christ in careful sadness. ‘Heaven call his honest soul.’

‘Driver Star is dead,’ I say.

Story Four Duval begin to cry. I ain’t look at her face. I wish to swallow back my words, but I stand cold. I mouth these words again, in silence, like this stop their meaning.

Then Shiny Eleven Angels spit into the dirt. She turn and run, her voice yell Crow Doe’s name. All flinch and watch. She run up in the woods, her feet hit crunchen through the sticky briars. Voice weaken in its running.

John say nervy, ‘Crow ain’t in this? Must this telling wait?’

‘Crow be gone,’ say Hate You, shy-voice. ‘Is gone to Armies.’

‘Foo!’ Villa sniff. ‘No show, he gone. He sergeant, if no person be.’

‘Crow?’ Jermaine say loud. ‘Found what to want! He gone, is better luck.’

‘Ain’t Driver dead,’ Cat Fancy Thirteen say. ‘He ain’t so sick!’

Story Four yell at me, ‘Want no other sergeant! Ain’t want you!’

‘Nor me neither,’ say Cat Fancy. ‘Ain’t so sick, he ain’t!’

Best Creature panic and skree, ‘Where Driver gone? You rid our
Driver?’ Now Problem start to cry, and every nervy little catch this wail.

Cat Fancy shout, as her own tears begin, ‘Driver must be here! Ain’t to decide without him!’

Then every child be noise and mouth. Susannah’s mount, the buckskin Beg-No-Pity, shy back from this tumult. Susannah sit this graciose in silence, her strong body bow. I call through the reeling larm, ‘I must be sergeant! How it is, my Sengles. Wish it ain’t, goddamn!’

Then around behind me, silence start. It cast and darken. Soon is only enfants wailing. All faces turn to watch behind.

Is Driver come back from his hiding meadow, slow with tea. His sicken eyes stare at myself. All his respect be tired.

My fear see nothing but my fear. Ain’t speech come to my mind.

Cat Fancy call out nervy, ‘Driver! Make her go!’

Driver flinch, but keep his eyes on me. Yo Kool Ten begin to call, and Redbook shout her voice. Driver stare beyond this jabber to myself. Take breath, take air in deep. It come back coughing. Chop in parts.

One and one, my Sengles hush. Ain’t hear but Driver’s cough. Be a helpless sound, like moth that kick against a tenten wall. And Driver look beyond. Look where his sleep remain and can forget.

He turn away. Put hand up to his face, like he will guard his privacy. Walk to the farther woods.

My strength go with my brother, leave unsteady to the darken pines. Yo I turn blind to John.

I gasp the parting words: ‘His grace be on you. Grace go with the queen.’

John take reins up nervy. ‘All gifts be good from Christ our Lord.’

They heel their mounts, the horses pick their hoofs toward Lowell path. Beanie start the christy-nonny as they reach the branchen shade. Sing though Japhet never join, nor John of Christ be singing. Her voice sound feary wondering as it dismiss and thin away.

19

MY SERGEANT TIME BEGINNING

I sit to middy meal in Driver’s place at sergeant table. Ain’t notice how we eat. Ain’t know, was this meal cake or wood. I sit and think, nor any child require me with no question. Tequila Fourteen weeping careless, all our girlish thirteens weep – but ain’t no child objecting more. No voice pronounce the name of Crow.