The Country of Ice Cream Star (25 page)

This day, the ferment grateful to my sense. Be life joyeuse, their selfish noise. Every two that weep, be gladness to me that they weep for nothing. My head remember that it hurt, but I unmind this detail. Nor I want to feel my tired self, nor anything of me.

Been most two hours before I try to leave. This begin a panic altercation. Maple Two scream at me desperate, ‘You stay now! You stay now!’ The bigger enfants grab me stubborn, hurting all my bruises. Only when Mari’s Ghost come to the door with Asha’s enfant born, they all depart in curiose stampede.

Then I go simple free. Take a chunk of ham from Patagonia pocket – Keepers’ gift – and ABC snag this and pelt away before I look. And I walk out to day, squint eyes against its sudden bright.

Then I magine how we walk out through this broken city. Leave our duresse, and find some woods where memory be clean. I magine our horses snorting under loads, the song of feet. Feel my heart
accomplish to that sun, they swoopen birds. My injure body hunger for this walk, like it be rest.

At the bricky gate, I ask the cryer to find Driver Sengle. This spark a seethe of runners, chasing–yelling through the mill. Waiting, I look out where the sun go settle into Lowell City. It seem to boat away in orange light. A flock of birds go wheeling in this orange, black and small. Go round like gnats, like sparks, then they all swept down into vanishing. The bricky city rest beneath.

Then behind, a voice call sharpish, ‘Companiera!’

Be First Runner by the door, impatience in her small respect. I stand up from my place.

‘Come to,’ she call. ‘Be hasty time.’

First Runner lead me brisk, can feel she run before her nerves. We rabbit down a hall; skirt by the diner, jabbery now with clashing trays and hundred talks. Go up the hinder stairs, and dash two floors in one long breath. Then at the second landing place, she stop, so quick I stumble in halting.

She touch the stairy door. ‘Be leftward by. Room 243.’

‘243. Yo sho.’

But she still stand in obstacle. Her manner gone uncertain.

‘What be, my ten?’ I force a smile.

‘Driver. Going to say.’

‘What going to say?’

‘Got the pharmacy sickness.’ She sketch eyes down nerviose. ‘He sleeping now.’

My heart stop back. ‘Pharmacy sickness?’

‘Drunk too much papa, you know how.’

I swallow. ‘Nay, ain’t know this.’

‘Do so, sometimes. Been help by First Physician, but he ain’t talk yet.’

This meaning dizzy in my head. ‘Ain’t talk? How sick he be?’

‘They call physician for him in bone time. Ain’t fear, how he may seem.’

‘Physician with him?’

‘She gone now, left someone by. They took his papa now. Is safer like.’

I look at her through shady pain. ‘Gratty. Respect your help. Sure … you leave with us tomorrow?’

Feel worse than I expect when bright First Runner shake her head.

‘Foo, you staying by the mill?’

‘Nay,’ she say low-kept. ‘I staying in the city, by.’

‘The city? Lowell City?’

‘Ya, someone got to keep a watch, what coming here. I hide in all they buildings. Be any situation at the mill, word go to El Mayor.’

‘Situation how?’

‘If they kilt,’ she say like basic facts. ‘I still be left to tell.’

I cannot think no courtesy. I say flat, ‘You ten.’

She shake her head, frown seriose. ‘Be Army get, can hide correct. Yo, if worse become, my brother help me.’

‘Brother with the Armies?’

‘Ya, Malik.’

Malik be grown fourteen, a boy I often fight in war. I try to think what sort he be, but all my mind be scattern dumb. At last, I only say, ‘Bell couragesse.’

‘Ain’t got no courage.’ She nod at the stairy door. ‘Room 243. I got to go, be chore. Keep lucky in your journey.’

‘Keep lucky you,’ I say, but she already turning by. Her feet go twenty–forty down the stairs.

When she gone, my fear return. Take a moment’s breathing dread before I open the door. Its weight resist my hands, feel like I hold with mousen paws. My mind repeating:
Ain’t fear, how he seem. He ain’t talk yet
.

Carpet gape at me. Be lights and doors. I walk into this silence.

243 stand open. All my sorrow draw me on. Be like every step go downward into cold. Then I be at the open door.

Driver lain with back to me. Is most like normal sleep, ain’t nothing harm in his appearance. Heapen covers on his rangy length. Head show its usual hair. Can hear his hasping breath, slow in its rest.

My heart ease down. Ain’t nothing. Too much papa, all it is. Be easy done, the coughing pester so. He sleep it by.

Careful, I step in, my eye gone wary on his body shape. See how skinny he becoming, but this grief accustom. Only when I look
upon his face, I feel uncanny. Ain’t look like Driver. Can guess him in this face, but ain’t the face I know.

Then something inkle in corner-eye. I startle back, my heart beat false.

In a folden chair behind the door, sit Pasha Roo.

Ain’t know what fright I get. First is blackness in my chest, then it be only Pasha. Be normal with his owlen looks, his furry hair be muss.

I swallow at my fear and whisper, ‘He ain’t dying?’

Pasha shake his head, make face like this been foolish question. Stand and gesture by. I slip outside the door, be walking stumbly with my nerves. Pasha come, he close the door behind.

A moment, we stand in this nothing place. Look one to one.

Then I say nervy, ‘Why you here?’

‘Was me who find him.’ Pasha shrug. ‘Been seeking you, gone to the room they say. But you ain’t there. In hall, was Driver lying.’

‘Lying in the hall?’

‘Lie, ain’t wake. I call, and children come. Make him … bring from stomach?’

‘Puke, can comprehend.’

‘Ya. Breathe better then. He talking some, is better.’

‘What he said?’

Can see, Pasha ain’t expect this question. Answer pass unpleasant in his eyes, then he say stiff, ‘Ain’t much.’

‘Nay, what he said?’

‘Ice, he sick.’

‘Yo why he come up here? He look for me? Damn, what he said?’

Pasha flinch, frown to the carpet. ‘He … asking us to leave him. Leave him die.’ Then he glance back nervy, check my face.

‘So.’ I clench my hands upon their hurt. ‘You saying, this been meant. He want to kill himself, you saying?’

‘Ice, he ain’t think bone. Was pharmacy.’

‘Nay, papa never make you … why he want to kill himself?’

‘Ain’t reasons.’

I hiss low, ‘Damn, what he said? Say truth. Can know your fibbing, I will know.’

Pasha tense all through himself. He narrow on the door across, gold letters 244. Say slow, ‘I ask him if he want you.’

I flinch, look to the door. ‘And he ain’t want to see me.’

‘Ice, he sick.’

‘Shee that, what he said?’

‘Say you … make him dead. So you can do this. Move the town.’

I take a painful breath. ‘I make him dead. When everything I do be for himself.’

‘He been almost sleep. Ain’t sense.’

I look to Pasha’s face. Again his whiteness seem like sorrow, is like his blood turn pale from grief. But through his owlen face, I see the NewKing. Feel the gunfire in my fear, again-again, like beating. Pasha shoot and shoot, until the hut smell wet with blood. Pasha look away, face white and nothing. Say,
He also?

Then all the madness of this day go freak. I say, outside all sense, ‘Be strange enough, you found him. How this been? You doing something to him?’

Pasha flinch, look down. Get a frown like consternation.

‘Go thinking,’ I say. ‘Think on all your work. Be well.’ Tears want to start, but I rub at my eyes feroce. Swollen eye hurt vicious, and I swear.

Pasha say, ‘Ice Cream?’

‘My Driver … ain’t believe he say this. Nor he kill himself. Is yours.’

I turn blind to the wall. Can know, I talking madness, but my heart believe this madness. Never my brother kill himself. Is Pasha’s always lies. Yo, El Mayor been said,
Ain’t got to trust him like you do
. Roo killing littles, El Mayor been said.

Then into this blindness, Pasha speak low.

‘Can comprehend. You tell me hate, if you got need. Nor you ain’t do mally nothing. At their camp, been me.’

Then everything be dizzy lost. I lean back on the door.

Pasha say, ‘I ain’t hurt Driver. You know this?’

I shrug at my feeling. ‘Ya. I know.’

‘Papa change his thinking. Sure I know. Done this myself.’

‘Done yourself.’

‘Gero, like this papa. Try this.’

I let my hand ease to my mouth. Look at Pasha now, and try to wonder. Think of his foot upon a murdern little. Hounds eating enfants. Gero.

‘Been physicians there,’ say Pasha low. ‘And my soldats, ain’t let me die.’

I say cold, ‘Should let you.’

This catch him funny somehow. Roo grin up and muttern, ‘Truth.’

When I see his teeth, my feeling come precaire. I say in strange high voice, ‘Your Deema. Why he burn this house?’

Pasha sigh, his mouth go tired. ‘Ain’t guess. Can be, he ain’t know littles there. He fool, is foolish work.’

‘Sure he known.’

‘Why he will know?’

‘You told me roos kill littles, ya. Was lies?’

He nay his hand. ‘This happen in a yeary war. When danger been, for time. Been stories, burning also. But in this time, with Deema, why?’

‘Burning?’ I say sharp. ‘What been these stories?’

‘Been story. Some our children, fire a house. Shoot littles when they running out. Been this story.’

‘You done this?’

He take breath, surprise. His hands square into fists.

‘You done this? Damn, you answer.’

His eyes seek at me, like he try to comprehend. ‘Nay. Ain’t done this.’

‘What you done?’

He stare on me, ain’t thinking in his face.

I say, ‘How you killing littles? What you done?’

‘Ice Cream?’ His eyes show grief like light.

Shame come in me, coursing chill, as blood run from a wound. But I only say, ‘You go. Get out. Ain’t want you here.’

He nod quick and turn. Go clumsy to the stairy door, push outside like he flee. Can hear his feet uneven on the stairs.

I turn slow and press my aching face against the door. Take a mally minute before I open and go inside.

Driver lain just like he been. His hasping breath go by.

I crouch down to the floor. Get on hands and knees, press one hand hard against my bruisen mouth, and weep like any hound. Weep for my brother, and his ruin face and ruin heart. Weep how Pasha save my life, and kill and kill and kill. How he turn feary from my hate. Weep for small Karim, who love my Crow; and weep for Crow gone to the camp of rape, to hell and filth. Mamadou lie beneath, blood on his chest. I weep until I cannot breathe, my hair be wet, all on the floor be wet.

And I crush the sound behind my hand. Driver sleep on in his separate dark.

Be tears, and be the end of tears. Soon my crying fail. Then I sit alone, and all this grief be only damp and aching. Driver breathing on, his unwant life go through himself.

Then I lay by him on the bed. Ain’t mind if he be woken so, nor I care for his laws. I hug careless to his body – body that feel strange, is only bones and sleeping weight. But he never wake, he never shift against my holding. Sleep gentle in my arms, and my heart settle to his warm.

When I last look up, that orange light still showing in the window. Yo they birds go wheeling, speckling black, above the city. I think again how we go, leading horses, bearing enfants – march our stubborn trespass into winter. First day we reach the farther edge of what we ever known. Go past the raiding places of the Armies, past all fables heard.

Yo at the end I see, like gem mysteriose, this cure. In my mind,
it be an emerald, lying in a rooish hand. Be the greenish color I see, when I close eyes against this light. And I see again the city, its streets of broken glass, its upheld rooms of rats and silence. City of our final leaving, and our first adventure.

29

OF STOLEN CHILDREN

I waken to my name, and look up nervy in besweaten skin. Night be in its blackness. From the window, only come the skeiny light of Lowell’s outdoor lamps. Ain’t no one by, nor Driver stir. Ain’t figure if my name was spoken real, or been in dreams.

My brother lain like sleeping water, loose. Arm rest above the covers, and his hand itself look easy. I touch his shoulder careful, and his breath pause like a question. I hold my breath along. Sigh gratty when he breathe again.

Then I hear the cryers’ dim bewail. ‘Ice Cream Sengle to the bricky gate! Ice Cream Sengle! Bricky gate!’

I mouth a swear and get up to the door.

Hall be empty, ya the mill is silent with the tardy hour. It be the nothing voice of brick and carpet, like no outside hush. As I go, my thinking stray in guesses, who require myself. First, be thought of middy night. Some guilt beware, is El Mayor, complain that I ain’t fill his bed. But he ain’t going to call no fickle girl to bricky gate.

Then a wish remember Crow. Now Karim be dead, ain’t necessary he remain by Armies. But every conscience know, Crow never come. Is lost to hatred.

Last I decide it must be Sengles. Likely be, they start a loud predicament. Lowells exasperate and rid my unschool children to the yard.

But when I come outside, be still. Only a mockingbird give ugly voice into the vacant dark. Moon grown paunchy, blear in cloud. Stood most at middy height.

I come out on the moon concree. Behind the gate, a tall horse stamp its hoof. A child stand shadowy by. Gate open set, and two guards be before, their rifles idle held.

Guards is First and Second Library, tired in waking. Can see the burning noses of their cigarettes move jiggy, sketching orange flights. As I walk up, First Library call, ‘Girl only ask for you. Ain’t want to come inside without.’ Her voice sound pologetic, she commiserate my woken sleep.

I walk toward, watch how this shadow child appear. She wear a leather jacket, legs show naked to the thigh. Hair wrap up in cloth, and she stand barefoot on the pathen dirt. Got cheekbone face, with big plum lips. She ain’t speak out, but when I come up close, can see she watch on me.