The Country of Ice Cream Star (37 page)

First trouble become, when someone ask: ‘What’s your stand on homosexuality? Do you agree it should be punished?’

I know this
homosexuality
‘s meaning – every ten learn sleeper words for sex. Ya, I gone braver now, and my heart catch on Crow. Can see him in the powerline road, his sweating desperation. So I say foolish, ‘Nay, ain’t need to punish this.’

Here even Pedro startle. All look disliking at me, and Felipe smiling greedy. He say, ‘You don’t believe it should be discouraged?’

I shrug. ‘Discourage how you like.’

‘But not punished?’ He touch his fingertips together, looking soft at me.

Some stubbornness catch my heart. ‘No sho, it be their personal trouble. How you going to punish them?’

Young Juan saying anxy, ‘In our church, we punish this with prison. It’s not perfect, but–’

‘It’s God’s law,’ say Pedro. He fix me with a knifen stare.

Here Felipe speak in Panish, and they wrangle nonsense words. Then I remind correct, this ain’t no argument, it be my life.

When the Panish finish, Pedro rub his eyes in tired discourage. He say, ‘So how would you discourage this?’

‘Must discuss this with the church,’ I say unvoice. ‘Is reasoning here.’

Felipe frustrate well. ‘We want
your
opinion. We already know what we think.’

‘Never had no homosexuality in my people,’ I lie cold. ‘Is city manners, I expect. The church discuss this best.’

Then me–Felipe badger words until the others start objecting. I come from this struggle with sweaten palms. All the lights become a streaken glare.

Quick upon this, come a weirdo question from a posy child – Bartolomeo de Morrisania in my paper. Got reddish sores all on his lips, look painful as he talk. This bother in my mind as he speak his confusing words. Be Panish in their wrong pronouncing.

I say, ‘I don’t understand. Could you repeat that, please?’ Is what Felipe mostly saying, now I got this nice.

He say slow, ‘It is, you are going to use the clause, senyora?’

‘Clause? What be this clause?’

Pedro say, with meaning look, ‘If you use the clause, the apostles we have now stay in their places.’

Then every child be waring on me but the rifle apostle, Simón Zelote. He gaze his teary eyes the same.

I say, ‘What being with my own apostles?’

‘They would be in an advisory role,’ say Pedro. He glare painful at me, like he force his thought into my head.

‘Advisory meaning …’

Pedro say slow, ‘They would still have an apostle’s privileges. It’s a very rich life, to be frank. But they wouldn’t have our responsibilities.
The clause allows you to keep the experience of the apostles we have now. It means we can continue our work.’

Here, first time, the prettieuse jeans child Santiago speak up lazy. ‘Because we’re so fucking wonderful.’

Most apostles look impatient to this, though young Juan laugh.

Then my mind come clear. Apostles ask to keep their power. Ain’t no science to guess what they prefer.

I say firm, ‘Be sure, I use the clause. You staying by.’

Around the table, faces ease. Feel water-hearten with relief myself. Now first I comprehend, why someone want me for Maria. Ain’t going to boss them nothing. Got no brains to this, they ruling free.

But here, as if he spite my joy, Felipe say, ‘I’ve got just one more question. About your Jesus.’

My courage stop in middy course. ‘Ho, you meaning Pasha.’

He smile patient. ‘Pasha, if you want. I heard a rumor–’

Here everything break down in Panish. Children shouting rage, all hands go flying in their gestures. Young Juan risen to his feet, like he prepare to clobber Felipe. They yell and point their fingers while I sweat.

Then, sudden as it start, it finish. Juan sit back down and tug his blackdress straight with bellious yank.

‘To go on,’ Felipe say, like nothing been, ‘I’m concerned as to whether you’re going to complete the sacrament.’

‘Sacrament?’ I grit my jaw, already feel some unlike guess.

‘The sacrament of the redemption,’ Pedro say, with meaning eyes, ‘You understand, Christ dies for our sins. It’s a cornerstone of our belief.’

Felipe say on, pleasant, ‘The sacrament requires the candidate – you – to give Jesus the spear, as described in scripture.’

‘Give Jesus the spear?’ I say.

Here bell Santiago strike a thumb into his chest, make dying face. Felipe closer to me, never see this demonstration. He say, ‘It would be your part to complete the sacrament. By giving the–’

‘Stabbing Jesus in the heart,’ say Santiago with disgust impatience.

Felipe frown to this, but then he nod. ‘I think that’s clear.’

I want to go in explanations, how Pasha save my life. Ever they think of sleepers, slavers, ain’t be Pasha anyhow. Nor we got ambitions to their city. All we want be life.

But I only say, in choken voice, ‘Nay. I ain’t do this.’

‘Okay.’ Felipe smile, sit back with one hand flat against his chest.

‘You understand–’ say Pedro.

‘I understand,’ I say. ‘Ain’t do this. You keeping Pasha with me, or you … you ain’t.’ My hand go nervy to my waist, Kalash’s empty place. I sit back perilous to my chair.

Now all be grim bekept. Only prettieuse Santiago smile some wisty wise. When he see me watching, he nod slightish. I frown, want no approval from these roaches anymore.

‘I think we’re finished,’ Pedro say. ‘Do you have any questions?’

Question be, how they will kill me. But I say in furiose coldness, ‘Nay. We finish right.’

They stand to their feet. Muttern some courtesies, then they go hasty to the window doors. Can see they all be eager to discuss my awfulness apart. Only Pedro keep his chair a minute, stare at me with sickness. The tearful rifle-clothe apostle, Simón Zelote, stop by him. Ask something Panish. Pedro look up and nod sad. Simón Zelote call out toward the wooden door, where my tens left before.

Door come open, but it ain’t the tens who coming out. Be four other browndress people, males with shaven heads. Is eighteens, best I see, and bigly. It brighten in my nerves, they kill me now. These callen to my murder.

My heart go wrong with fear. Ain’t want this death. Start thinking how I crawl beneath the table, find some chance to flee. I think of hides and dodges, skinny chances. Bullets that can miss.

But through my fright, it notice, browndress males is smiling courtesy. I put my palms upon the table edge, feel sweaten there. Last apostles leaving now, go through the window doors and pet them shut.

Browndress males nod to me pigeonish. One with fatly cheeks step forward. He touch his palms together in that silent clap they
do, and all his fingernails be carven to the same clean shape. His face be shiny like a china cup.

‘Senyora, many welcomes. I’m Ermano Anselm. I’m here to be your guide, which is my very great pleasure, of course.’

I loose the table, feel a limpish coldness in my hands. ‘Ain’t fail my proof?’

‘Oh, no.’ His eyes get mischief look. ‘The proof will be tomorrow. Your fun is only starting.’

All I comprehend from this, I ain’t be kilt until tomorrow. I match his smile with rinsen feeling. ‘Bone, tomorrow. Yo what your name be? Sorry, I ain’t heed.’

‘Anselm.’ Then he sweep his hand toward the other browndress jones. ‘And these handsome gentlemen are Ermano Pablo, Ermano Benedicto and Ermano Miguel.’

I nod foolish at these brown ermanos. Feel some kinly warming to them, children who ain’t kill myself.

‘These brothers don’t speak English. Not a word.’ Anselm make sorry mouth, but his eyes gleaming impish. ‘So in a sense, it’s just you and me. We’re – I’m – here to take you to your medical exam. With a tiny detour along the way.’

Medical can comprehend, yo detour be no name to me. But I only say, ‘I got to come with you, is right?’

‘Is right,’ he parrot helpful. ‘Got to come.’

They lead me to the wooden door. Come in a hall with carven falalas and dandelion lights. Stop before some silver doors without no handles to. A Panish ermano poke a button in the wall. One door split open, and its parts go vanish in the walls.

I try not to show impression. Look careless, like these vanishing doors is common to myself. Yo, the room behind be tiny. I go in duteous, but it scarcely fitting all us five. They turn around and face back to the door like they will leave again. Ain’t sense for nothing, but I turn along. Wait for instructions.

Vanish door shut up again. Ermano poke another button. Then
the floor shift sneaky underneath. I catch the wall. Pass some dizzying fear before I know, this room float upward. Then I get superstitions, how this room push through a solid building.

Anselm see my face, but only shrug. ‘This is a divine miracle called an elevator. We’re all very jaded with such marvels here.’ He speak in Panish, and the other ermanos laugh and nod. Then Anselm say to me, ‘Yes, we’re agreed. We’re jaded.’

‘How this meaning? Jaded.’ I force my hand loose from the wall, bring it shaky down.

‘Oh, it’s a very insulting word. Really, we ermanos are a very self-hating group, especially certain brothers – brothers of an unmentionable type. Pablo here is one notorious one, though he would be the last to admit it. And we don’t have your courage, but we’re not so lost that we don’t appreciate it. Do you understand that?’

‘Nay, be sorry.’

‘Yes, I didn’t think you would. But I hope you last long enough among us to get it. Retrospectively.’

The elevator make a pinking noise and halt. I spook again, touch to the wall. Silver door split open.

Known we moving, but still it come uncanny that this hall be different. Be no falalas, is plain. Yo the wall before is writ: MUSEO DE LA RESIDENCIA.

I go hasty out, ain’t like this elevator nothing. Panish ermanos drift behind. We all come in a jumbo room with glassen walls. Behind this glass be cases, is like windows of some evac stores. Anselm lead me on, past various weirdo objects in these cases – science instruments and jewleries and strange guitars – to a line of dresses worn on plastic mankins.

Be some twenty–thirty dresses, going in a spacen line. All be white and skirten huge, all complicate with lace. They frothy long, look most like standing waterfalls. The mankins’ plastic heads each wear a nebuleuse white curtain to. Yo all these dresses got some spattering stains, in frighten red.

I pause, look down this whitish reddish row. Anselm come beside, look courteose in expectation. He touch his fingers to the glass. ‘This little one is Maria Vigesima’s. She was found by our soldiers, living with a Jesus alone in the middle of the forest. Very romantic, don’t you think? She was only ten years old when she stood her proof. So she was in her plenitude for nine years, our longest serving Maria.’

This garble in my sense. I look to Anselm with some worry need. ‘Is blood?’

‘Holy blood, senyora. Sangre de Cristo.’ He look curiose to me. ‘They’ll be fitting out one of these for you, about now. A clean one, of course.’

I take my breath, think of the spear. ‘For this proof, can guess?’

‘Strictly speaking, it’s for the sacraments. The proof comes after.’

‘What be this mally proof, then?’

‘Well.’ His eyes go kind in thought. ‘You’ll be in a very beautiful church. You have the sacraments, and then the very charming apostles you’ve just met will come out, wearing very beautiful robes. Each apostle will give you a cup of wine to drink. Theoretically, it’s Christ’s blood, but it’s going to taste a lot like wine.’

‘Theoretically? How this mean?’

‘It’s wine.’

‘Then what be?’

‘No, that’s all. Did I mention the cups are very beautiful? They are.’

‘Drink twelve cups of wine. Be proof how drunken I can be?’

‘Well, there isn’t much wine in each cup.’ Anselm pooch his lips. ‘But it’s enough to kill you, if someone thinks you’re a false Maria.’

I narrow on this notion, look back to the dress. Blood gone brownish in the nooks of lace. ‘Need only one from all these twelve?’

‘Yes, it can be just one, I’m afraid.’

‘Be a vote, can see.’

‘Oh, no. If you’re a false Maria, it’s God who strikes you through His blood. The apostles are only His instruments. Or that’s what people here believe.’

‘Fools never heard of poison?’

‘That’s a terrible thing to say. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.’

When I look, he smiling at me with some mischief kindness. I feel jittery bad. Be sour to lose my life this way, ain’t nothing of myself. Is like a frog caught in a fishing net, drown without sense.

I say, ‘If I ain’t drink?’

‘Their dresses aren’t here. But yes, it has occasionally happened. So, if you don’t drink, you’re treated as a false Maria just the same. The crucial difference is that you’re still alive when your body is burned.’

‘Shee, you burning peoples?’

‘Before my time.’ Anselm make finicky mouth. ‘Let’s keep it that way, please.’

I start walking slow, look superstitious at these guilty dresses. Some got only speckling at the bottom, or a wipen mark. Yo, some is splashen full. As I go, they getting older. Reddish color fading various, and the lace gone smutten yellow. I think how all these girls pass proof. Twelve cups been yes for them, feel like some risky luck.

Then I come to one unblooden clean. I hold, inspect it careful.

Anselm come behind, he tap one fingernail to the glass. ‘Maria Condenada. Our Lady of the Living Jesus.’

‘Ho,’ I say, remembering. ‘Girl who keep her Jesus by?’

‘Yes, like you.’ Anselm smile pologetic. ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing, because I was listening at the door.’

‘Sure, I do the same, if there be doors to listen. But how she been, this girl?’

‘Well, not great.’ He sketch an X upon the glass. ‘She killed a lot of people. Or her Jesus did, it isn’t clear. To give an example, all of her apostles were murdered, which left a bad taste. In the end, she was killed by her own guard.’ He give me gentle look, coy in his eyes. ‘Officially, this all happened because she was a false Maria, wed to Antichrist. In fact, some people object to the inclusion of her gown here, but it’s all history. And he who does not remember
history, after all, is doomed to repeat it.’ Then he pooch his lips. ‘Less officially, she was having sex with Jesus.’