The Country of Ice Cream Star (39 page)

Pasha stood by with crossen arms. Got his same rooish clothes, though he took off his pocket jacket. Whitish tee look almost clean, but pants got mud to shin height. His blue eyes feroce with thought.

I say, ‘Where we be? Is still their – what it be?’

‘Ministerio, ya. Room above.’

‘How I come here?’

Pasha make discomfort face. ‘Children here, ermanos, bring you.’

Take a second before this word
ermanos
recognize. Then Anselm come disgusting in my memory. ‘Ermanos, right. You talk to them? Swear, they doing something to me. I feel queery.’

Pasha look guilty at the floor. ‘We got wine. You want some wine?’

‘Damn, answer questions. Sure I want some wine, but answer questions.’

‘I talk to them, yes.’ He turn by nerviose, go to a skinny-leggen table. Fetch a bottle, already been half drunk.

‘They told you any knowledge?’

Pasha lift the wine, drink greedy. Then he come with sad respect and reach the bottle to me. I keep eyes on him while I drink. Wine be smooth and sour. I ease the bottle down and hold its cool against my pinching belly.

Pasha sit down on the bed, rubbing at his face. I start to think some better question, when he look up miserable and say, ‘Ice. You was pregnant.’

I ware on him precarious. ‘Pregnant? Like with enfant?’

‘Ya, they say. Say to tell you.’

I press the bottle harder to my belly. ‘I be pregnant.’

‘Nay.’ He grimace, look down to the floor. ‘Ain’t pregnant now. They end this.’

‘End this? Nay, how they can – how they even known?’

‘Can know.’

‘Nay, how they know? Was nothing … I ain’t known.’

He shrug miserable. ‘Is ways.’

I lift the bottle to drink, and feel that pinching like a loneliness. Drink hasty, press the bottle to my belly again. Behind, some thought
about preventing enfants come to me. Evil science. ‘Yo what they do? They kill … what they do?’

‘Ain’t like an enfant,’ Pasha say low. ‘Only be beginning.’

‘Be dead inside me?’

‘Nay, is gone.’

‘They take it? Mean, it living somehow?’

Pasha flinch. ‘Nay, Ice. Ain’t–’

‘Sure. See this.’ Hurt thicken in my chest. I go drink from the bottle, its last wine come seldom in my mouth. Bite on this taste and wonder how my baby with El Mayor will be. It been an enfant of my arms, can see it grow to three or four. El Mayor gone stupid prideful, if he known. If it live.

‘They say to tell you,’ Pasha’s voice come low. ‘I ain’t want. But they say, important that you know.’

I look to him lonesome. ‘Sure it be important. Nor you keep this. Cannot keep things from me, Pasha.’

‘Ya. Be sorry, Ice.’

His face grit in shame. And now I feel the heavy night, the indoor silence like a darkness. It whispern:
You die also, soon. Dead mother of a murdern enfant
.

Then my heart crave to my Sengles, how I never see them more. To Driver, his frustrating eyes whenever I talk risky. But never I see these eyes again, I never see him more. Nor I seeing El Mayor – is like all children die to me. Death be a final loneliness.

Or can be only Pasha die.

I look to Pasha, and notice some chapping redness on his lip. Then my grief rise huge.

‘Damn,’ I say low desperate. ‘I go think of this some other day. If it be other days. They put this filthy pain on me, I got no time.’

He grimace to the floor. ‘I know.’

‘Right.’ I sigh my breath. ‘They told about this proof?’

‘Told me much, enough.’

‘Much enough. I heard this also.’ I look scary round. ‘Goddamn, they got a guard? Be any way we leave this place?’

He make his sorry grimace, shake his head. Pick at the blanket for a moment, then he look to me. Eyes pale like grief. ‘Ice? Ermanos told how you must kill me.’

I say quick, ‘Ain’t killing you.’

He frown unliking, start to speak, but I say, ‘Nay. Ain’t start this.’

He start to speak, and I say, ‘Cannot hear this shee again. Cannot.’

He start, and I say, ‘Pasha, damn!’

Then he shake his head and smile. Point toward the bottle.

I look to the bottle, puzzling. ‘Ho, you want some wine?’

Pasha nod. Make drinking motion.

I laugh, nosy sounding from my grief. ‘Nay, it finish. Sorry, I ain’t thinking.’

‘I can talk?’

‘Talk, so you ain’t say – what you know.’

‘I show you trick. You bone to walk?’

‘Guess I do.’ I reach my feet toward the floor. Get some complaining nip inside, but I feel only riling to this. I stand and find my balance.

Pasha get up to his feet. I follow behind him to a door, is carven over with starry shapes. This open to another room enorme, with goldish fatty chairs and sofas. Floor be darkness wood, with grandy rug, pattern in wheeling flowers. Painten picture on the wall show a sleeper girl who touch her belly like myself.

Pasha go to a table with a plastic artifact upon. He lift the upward instrument of this. Stretch out a curly line. Roo put this instrument to his cheek and poke a button on the body. Can hear some buzzing. This repeat some times. Then it hush, and from the instrument come a tiny voice.

I startle well. Pasha give his mistooth grin, begin to talk in Panish. Plastic instrument answer small, and Pasha speaking back. Then he leave it down. Instrument sit back in its perch.

‘Be some invention,’ I say superstitious. ‘Phoner, it be this?’

‘Tel-e-fone,’ he say in roo pronouncing.

‘Ya telephone. First Electric’s cat been namen so. Is brainy goods.’

‘Trick ain’t finish,’ Pasha say. ‘You see.’

I frown to the telephone. Be naive in looks, white plastic with silver apprehensions on its face. Ain’t stirring none. I go and sit myself upon a sofa. Keep attention to this telephone, what it may do.

Then come a staggern knock. I flinch hard.

Pasha go easy to a door. Open, and a brown ermano look in nerviose. Ware on Pasha and talk some whispern Panish. Pasha speaking back, and the ermano reach a bottle. Roo take this helpful, raise it up to me like victory. ‘Want any other? Food?’

‘Sure,’ I say in falter mood. ‘Can want some food.’

‘What you want?’

‘Meat? Whatever they going to give.’

Pasha speak some Panish. Ermano asking back with nervy frown. The roo say, ‘Carnay, carnay.’ Ermano laugh, he look at me particular warm. Then Pasha say some quick politeness, shut the door again.

‘Going to be some minutes,’ Pasha say to me. ‘It got to make.’

‘Cherry trick. Think they bring us rifles?’

He laugh soft. ‘You ask.’ Then he go to a fatty chair, fetch a corkrew from its seat. Begin to worm this at the bottle. I watch his jumbo self, his birchen and morose respect. Remember how he holding me in sleep, and get uncanny sadness. And I think, we being like preventen enfants somehow – how we caught inside this night that never have a living day. Our only life be in this night. My only people be himself.

Then Pasha change his grip, and yank. Cork’s plop startle in my nerves. Roo come forward, holding out the bottle.

I take it careful in both hands and say, ‘Ain’t kill you, all it is. We die, can die together. Yo can be, is hell behind. We journey there in company.’

Pasha make a face. ‘Ain’t heaven?’

‘Heaven be for Christings. Any little knowing this.’ I sketch division with my hand. ‘We Sengles go to hell.’

‘I be Christing. Born to.’

‘Foo, you be a murdering roo. You come to hell with me.’ I heft the bottle, drink a swallow. Lick the aftertightness from my mouth
and say, ‘Know what you going to say in hell? You say, “Is normal.” What you say.’

He go sit himself upon the sofa’s other part. Reach down, pick nerviose at crusten mud on his pant sleeve.

I say, ‘ “Tock vote. We burn forever, normal.” What you say.’

‘Can be,’ he say unheeding. ‘Ice. You talking to them much? Ermanos?’

‘Much enough,’ I say. ‘More than I wanting.’

‘They tell their politics? Of war?’

‘War be evil, but is sometimes needful, all I learn. Can guess all killing needful to these insects.’

‘Ice Cream, you be hurting?’

‘Nay.’ I make a face. ‘What news you heard? Is something help us live?’

‘What it is.’ He look up tense. ‘Got plan, if you become Maria.’

‘Ain’t much if. Goddamn, I need no ifs. I need some plan to live.’

Pasha look frustration. He reach and take the bottle from me. Raise and drink his hungry way, then rest the bottle down on his long thigh. Something in this actual leg remind: is Pasha dying also.

I take a ragged breath. ‘Be sorry. What you saying? Wars or like?’

‘I think a better plan,’ say Pasha soft. ‘How you get this cure.’

His farther explanations all be Mariano histories. He learn this information while I still been gone to sense. This been eight hours of nothing, and he trying what he can – do flatteries to ermanos, and ask every nosing question, till they rid him for mistrust. Pasha add some telligence he known from roos, and find a plan. But sure, I cannot see at first, how any cure be in these facts.

It starting with their Jesus whites. When the city been young, the Nighted States still had some whitish children. Ain’t even roos, was sleepers who surviving WAKS somehow. These hide in lonely forests, fear all children for disease. If they see no blackish face, they flee, or fight like seven nightmares.

Then every girl who want to be Maria must depart in hunt. Choose
her apostle twelve, and they roam perilous to find a Christ and capture him alive. Return like heroes, ya she rule the city for her vally deed.

But, as time depart, the richer Marianos start to cheat. Ever a whitish male be found – whatever person snaring him – they buying him for wealth. Rich people keep these whites in capture till the old Maria sicken. Then they choose what girl they like, and kit her with a ready Christ.

So years continue, and these forest whites exterminate to zero. But, in lucky help, the roos begin to send soldats. These first soldats come to the Nighted States for spying work. Look round, and they steal children, question them for informations. This been the truth about our Massa people stolen, in years before.

But in Mariano lands, roos be like walking money. Any be seen, a thousand greedy children come in hunt. Roo capture to be Jesus, and he murder, all it is. No spy escape with life.

How this mattering to us, the roos ain’t know Marias much. To them, it mostly be a blankness where their children die. For this reason, now they leave Marias City harmless, while they raid Washington and Massa, either side.

Other facts my Pasha learn be on the Mariano wars.

In years before, Marias city fight a hundred miles of distance. Gain towns into their ruling, like they picking easy fruit. Northward, this be farms that feed the city meat and grain. South, is their obedient cities, Fort Dix, Penn and Ballmer. Their arrogance start to hope, they win the Nighted States entire. Make it catolico, for God’s joy.

But their last wars been shameful lost. These been against the city Quantico, in farther south. The Quantico people call marines, and these marines is smart in violence. In two wars, they kilt the Marianos into shreds.

Most Marianos finish now with war. Was burnt and learnt. But be one wealthy burrow, Inúd, is always hot to fight. Inúds ain’t hear no coward reasons. All their love be fray.

Soledad ya be Inúd. Anselm–Pedro be – all children helping me is from this burrow. If I become Maria, I be theirs for politics. Then the Inúds expect a war on Quantico, to heal their pride.

Pasha tell all this, and look at me with owl importance.

I scoff breath. ‘Foo, all I learn, you townie with ermanos. Heard their every life.’

‘Be my work so.’ Pasha shrug. ‘Friending. Find some use.’

‘Nay, be saying, how no cure be in this?’

Then the door knock sharp. Pasha make a shushing gesture as he rise to open.

Brown ermano push a wheelie table in, spread thick with smelling meal. Child muttern Panish courtesy, go out again with nervy haste.

Me–Pasha never fed from yesternight. Meal stop our talk. We eat standing, hush with greed. Get some fatty meat, is deery somewhat, but be soften dull. To this is tatoes and some bony greens and breaden cakes. I eat like brainless hound, most bite my fingers in my rush. In this, the pinching sorrow in my belly soften, feel like heat. And I get some pleasure grief, how all this mystery be strange – the easy meal, the goldish chairs, the shining floor of oak. Picture girl who look out sorrowing bell, touch on her stolen enfant.

When my hunger fill, I go sit to a table by the window. Gaze into its glass, while Pasha eating undiscourage. First I watch at my reflection. Ain’t mirror clear, all I can notice be the whitish garment, catch on my shoulders with thin ribbons. Face be wisty shadows.

Then I see, beyond into the night, is nothing there. Be grayish dark, but ain’t no trees nor buildings. Ain’t no ground. Is nothing, like we bury in grayish earth.

I put my face close to the window with some starting fear. Here I find some ground below, sky distance from myself. We caught up in the air like circling hawk. I grip the chair, unnerve. Stare down, and I begin to recognize trees. Be mousen size below. Among, be
thousand itsy movements. First I think of insects, but soon it realize, be people. Their faraway deep come dizzy to my flesh, like falling in tender fright.

Then Pasha come, stand to the table. Look down to me sorrowing, while I watch him in reflection. Through him show this bosky floor of life, careening far.

I say nerviose, ‘So how this bring us cure? Ain’t said.’

He nod scouty. Go off to a shelf and fetch a paper.

Paper be a map of Nighted States. It look like sleeper maps; show the country green with brownish scarring, town names writ in black. But, look more careful, New York City gone, instead is
C. de las Marias
. Below, is names from Pasha’s story:
Fort Dix, Penn, Quantico
. Farther south, be some peculiar names like
Disney World
and
Drown
. All the west and all the middy part be blank of towns.

Pasha let me scout the map a minute. When I look up questioning, he put his finger to Quantico. But he say, ‘Washington.’