The Country of Ice Cream Star (31 page)

‘So apostles going with Maria, out to catch a Jesus. How you going to know this Jesus?’

She shrug and look down at the road. ‘Jesus ya be white.’

‘How he white?’ I say, though sure I guess.

‘White like roos. They skin, you know how.’ She frown at me, ware some insult. ‘Jesus white.’

Truth be, I embarrass, that any child believing this. Get some stupid animals, but never a fish will worship roos. But I polite her, ‘Ya, can see. Scarce beast, and vally to take.’

‘Scarce, is truth,’ she answer gratty. ‘And sure you know, he only representing Jesus so. Ain’t exactly him. Nor he represent until he do the sacrament. Then he give his spirit for Maria. Only be Jesus for this sacrament.’

‘So any whitish child can serve this need?’

‘If they grown and male. Yo, roos be always this.’ She smile hopeful. ‘See how this be fitting? White and grown and male.’

‘Ain’t you steal our Pasha. Is Keepers’ roo, she definite to this.’

Expect she laugh, but Simper-Soledad frown hard.

‘No sho,’ I say unliking. ‘You got wants for Pasha?’

‘Nay. Is only, Maria being … like yourself. Be virgin.’ She get her Armies look, mouth grit. ‘Look at my face, you knowing I ain’t this.’

Here my sympathy gripe. I take my pebble up again, turn it nervy in my fingers. ‘Ain’t know from scars. Can get scars any way.’

‘Ya. But I ain’t this. Been going to find my Jesus, when I was took. Took by Hak and Bardo, you know how.’

‘Right.’ I grip the pebble hard into my palm.

‘Apostles sleeping.’ She laugh thin. ‘Opossums play dead then.’

‘Shoo, you admit, this story sad as rain. How they done you.’

She shrug, eyes hard in distances. ‘Only been thinking, how Hak dying now. He can be dead, this time.’

‘Ya,’ I say encouraging. ‘Be evens, how you said. He getting what he give.’

‘Ain’t evens, nay. He only sick. Ain’t nothing like he done to me. And Bardo. All they feathers.’ Her face clench like pain. ‘But why they got to be like that? Ain’t want to hate them anyhow.’

‘Going to hate,’ I say confuse. ‘But now they rid. They gone.’

‘Ya.’ She nod distracting. Turn her face by, pulling at a braid. Then she lift her sack in clumsy hands. ‘Be Driver waiting me. If you …’

‘Be right.’ I nod unthinking. ‘Should go sleep. Is tardy hour.’

Simper cork and pack her brock. Rise with conscious gesture, like she flee before my friendship change. Yo, as I stand, she mouth some unvoice by-salue and haste away.

34

OF DANGER ITS ARRIVAL

Be the following night our journey turning desperate strange.

Day been easy innocence. Sky clean with sunlight, and we coming to a stretch of better road. Even got patches somewhere in the holes. Only the roo get superstitions – be these patches, must be evil roading people by. At middy meal, he come to me with some wrap paper in his hand. It be a brownish scrap, got BIMBO writ in washout blue.

‘Ya,’ I say. ‘I seen these papers by. And so?’

He give me disapproval look. ‘Is new.’

‘Foo, how is new? Look how it fading, been through any a rain.’

‘Be paper. Rotting quick.’

‘So, newness be that it exist?’

He grimace to the woods, like he can smell they lurking children.

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Be roading people here who wrap some objects. Prove they want to kill us. Be all any people want.’

‘Ain’t funny.’

‘Been waiting years to murder us particular. Happy day for them.’

‘Need a guard,’ he say annoying.

‘We walking here with guns. Ain’t notice?’

‘Nay, by night. Camp need a guard.’

‘So you guard. I sleeping nights myself.’

Roo crush this paper in his hand, and go off with disgruntle face.

Still, when we walk again, I got some careful nerves myself. Keep scouting to the roaden margins, seeking for no evidence. But be no farther trash nor trace. Even the road look misbegot again, its patches old as silence. Patches needing patches self.

And the sun dim forward, fallen west. Camp be made with normal bother; early night be simple. I sneak apart to El Mayor, and even sleep some time with him, how I begun to do these nights. Learn to wake before the morning even think of dawn.

So it been cat hours, when I sneak from his tent in carefulness, that trouble find myself.

El Mayor keep his tent apart, some walk into unpeople woods. Nor no one wonder at this habit. Lowells expect, will be some secret traffic to his bed. Same reason, my departure from his tent be chancy done. Anyone see me in this place, my tale be known entire.

So I creep slow, with watchful eye for any waking Lowells. Aim for the trees beside the brook, where any person go. But I scarce begun when ABC come barking from the woods.

She jump up and tag her forepaws happy to my chest. When I push her off, she prance around and settle in woofing stance. Bark a loudness conversation, sending woofs in ten directions. Even her tail wag at a noisy bush.

I try shooing her, for all the useless this will be. She only sit and interest happy in my shooing hands. I go and grab her mouth shut, while she wriggle consternations. Yo, here it notice, ABC wear something round her neck. I hunker by.

It be a reddish ribbon, tie there close. My first thought be, was done by our Tequila. Decorate my hound, the same she do to any patient creature. Then I see something on this ribbon. Orange object, piercen through, it cling there like a bauble.

It be a leaf, is curlen tight. Autumn color, but still got younger softness. And something chill in memory. Leaf curl like Crow and me done, when we written secrets so. Yo even in the forest dark,
can see the markings on its skin. My every conscience know, is Crow his writing.

But ain’t no Crow in this. Crow been left some weeks behind. All Armies left.

I tear the leaf away. Let ABC go loose, and she run bucketing off into the trees.

Then I stand up feary, head to the road for its good moon. My legs be going clumsy, and some part of me still hear my noise, be conscious of the sleeping tents. But be no waking noises as I step up to the road. Unroll the leaf in watery light.

Pen gone through the leaf in places, ink been spotting dry. Is tiny wavers where the pen skip over leafen veins. But its words read plain.

WE HERE. THE NEWKING COME FOR YOU.

My skin go cold. Stand in the silent moon, and I stare blind at these dim letters.

First, I struggle to believe the Armies here, in our far woods. Feel like ABC must run the distance back to Massa. But slow, I figure this. They ride on horses, got no enfants by. Be most four days to ride. Only it seem peculiar, they still keep their tired evils – that any a child still care for queens and raids, when all our life be gone.

Come a stupid wish, I can ignore this warning still. Be took to Mamadou his love, and any other futures die. Only I cannot and cannot – be the cure, my Sengles’ need.

Then I conceive the Armies in their raiding camp behind. Hammocks like our own, the same low fire built with reluctant wood. Their capture nets and ropes. NewKing Mamadou in his anger. Crow there, still caring for myself somehow, in darkness of his moods.

My ABC been always sweet for Crow. Must be she sniff him out. He use this chance, sneak separate from the feathers, write this leaf in warning. But sure they cannot steal me. Be two hundred children round myself. Yo, I got Kalash. They feathers come, I shoot them, quick as swatting.

But in my nether mind, a spooking memory be dark. How Soledad
said,
Hak say they got to kill you. For Karim and Mika
. No hundred children, nor Kalash, can save me from one sneaky gunshot.

My heart insist, the NewKing never killing me. Ain’t like himself. But nor I can believe he ride this length to steal me. And in every comprehension, be the roos for mysteries – if they appear, and if the Armies friending with them still.

Then I hear a step behind. I wheel, grab to Kalash. Shadow rise, and I round to it vicious.

Before I know, I point Kalash at Pasha, swallowing fear.

He flinch back. ‘Ice. Is me.’

‘Foo! Creep up on people, damn.’ I loose Kalash down to my waist. Leaf crush up, sweaten in my fingers.

‘Bony done.’ He gesture at my gun.

‘Lucky you ain’t shot, come creeping like that.’

‘I learn now.’ He laugh soft.

Almost, I slip the leaf into my pocket. In this instant, it seem like a secret must be hid. But then my reason sharpen. ‘Pasha. Got some trouble.’

‘What trouble?’

‘They Armies here. You magine this, they come for me.’

Then I explain this matter. Flatten the leaf for him to see. He only glance upon, and he go startling, swearing rooish. Grab my sleeve, and pull me toward the woods.

I laughing underbreath as I go after. Muttern, ‘Foo your panics. Worser rabbits.’

He shush me angry, push me toward a tree. Turn back with gun in hands. Can see his face gone misery now. Is like his worries concentrate into one bitter taste.

Pasha whispern low, ‘Where they will be?’

‘Anywhere.’ I shrug. ‘If they be even scouting me tonight.’

‘How many they will be?’

‘Can be only three, for raiding. Most they bringing be twelve boys.’

‘Is all got guns?’

‘Sure. Got Deema’s guns and three they own. What they have.’

He make disgusting face. ‘Mally.’

‘Shoo, ain’t think the NewKing shoot me.’

‘Fool.’ Pasha shake his head. ‘Ain’t think. You only know, when you be shot.’

This take unliking in my skin. I settle against this tree, look round. We come into the Lowells’ tents here, scattern populous and close. Camp be full of sleeping night, ain’t feel like danger anyhow. But I know from my own sneaking, be no craft to come up unawares around the camp. Be any shadows where an Army can be lurking with a gun. Wait for my showing head.

Then Pasha whispern, ‘Is certain, they come for you only?’

I fidget my hand along the leaf. ‘He going to say if it be war. Can write it so. Is different acts.’

‘If be roos?’

‘He writing this,’ I say in better confidence. ‘Crow leave no Sengles to the roos.’

Pasha nod unliking. Seem he seek his mind for other fears.

I slip the leaf into my pocket. ‘All it is, I find a tent to hide. Be most an hour to morning.’

‘Nay. Can shoot you in a tent.’

‘Ain’t going to know I be there.’

‘Know if they watch. Need walls to hide.’

I start to cavil that it be no walls for any miles. But then my conscience pause. ‘A ditch, can be.’

‘Ditch?’

‘Ya, be a brook. Will be some places there. Hide in its banks.’

He take a deeper breath, his face ease better. ‘Can be bone.’

I turn by, and Pasha come beside. He waring round like any strangeness, aim his gun at shadows. This catch in me, and I keep rifle sharp in hands, glare at the trees. But nothing stirring. Only movement be a Lowell ten, smoking by his tent, who look surprises at us as we pass.

Brook go shallow through the camp, must follow it beyond.
Here we find a corner where the brook dug in around a boulder. Got a maple on the other bank whose roots be risen tall, create a natural hide. Brook thin with autumn, got some inches dry around. Can hunker well. Pasha wave me in. He stay above, still scouting.

I go crouch to the rock. Shift till I find a place that fit my back. Keep Kalash bright on my knee, watch for places where a prowling Army can approach. But truth, they got to know where I be hid, or else they pass by blind. Yo even if they track us here, I going to see them first. I settle in my confidence. Feel almost warry that I think of this solution to myself.

Then some minutes pass before I comprehend, is boring. Brook smell froggy, got a weighing dampness in its air. Rock be cornery at my back. I whisper up, ‘Shoo, come down here. Is lonely.’

Pasha’s rustling stop. He whisper, ‘Hush.’

‘They glad to shoot you also. Know this.’

‘Need a guard on camp,’ he whisper back in angry voice. ‘Must wake some children.’

‘Blablabla. You coming down?’

‘Be they roading people also.’

‘And be bears. Or lightning strike you. Owl of misery.’

I feel in my pocket, check my cigarettes. Is only two. Decide, I smoke the first when I begin to feel the cold. Soon as I decide this, I be cold. Then a fly come niggling round my face, seem to consider if it want to dive into my eye. Magine the hour ahead, I start to think of shooting with some friendliness.

Then Pasha whisper, ‘I think, ain’t no one.’

Almost I laugh. ‘You coming down?’

‘Come for parley.’

He stalk down careful, ware his gun. Ya, when he hunker by, his size so cumbering big, he block my moon. Now can only see the sky, mark out in cobweb branch above, the squiggling light along the brook.

Then he say cautieuse, ‘Ice Cream?’

‘Ya. I here.’

‘Armies making camp, can be?’

‘Be likely. Night be mostly gone. Can all be sleeping now.’

He shift restless, tense his rifle. I look to him, but only see the furry light around his hair. Gun silhouette against the brook light.

And he say, ‘Be bone, I go to shoot them?’

‘Damn.’ I spit into the brook. ‘Is ugly notions, roo.’

‘Must do. I thinking.’

‘Yo, Crow be with them.’

His darkness shape go sorry to the brook. ‘Crow. Ain’t thought.’

‘Go to shoot them, damn. Why you always think of killing?’

‘For reason here.’

‘Reason, foo.’

‘Can know Crow’s face. I kill they others only.’

‘Ain’t you listen nothing? Can be twelve children there. You kill them all?’

He ain’t answer this, but sure I hear his stubborn in the dark. He take his rifle up again. All his shape be waiting force.

‘Heed,’ I say. ‘We go and parley with them. All it is.’

‘Parley make them leave?’

‘Ain’t going to know until we try.’

‘I know. Is soldat work. I know.’

‘Soldat work, goddamn. This why you kill that feather, at Army camp?’

‘What feather?’

‘Feather in the simper house. Some fourteen boy. I always think of this.’

‘He got a gun.’ His voice come angry dull.