The Country of Ice Cream Star (46 page)

When I turn back from the door, he got his pistol in his belt. Hand touching on his bandage, but his face be cold the same.

‘NewKing,’ I say weak, ‘I got an ask.’

He narrow mouth but say no word. His eyes drift to my naked shoulders. Study there, and thinking gather in his tired eyes.

I say on hasty, ‘How it is. This city in my ruling now. So, how I decide, we going to war upon the roos.’

His face shift slightish to this, like he taste its meaning in his mouth. He say low, ‘Been easy done.’

‘Ain’t done,’ I say annoying. ‘Why I being here.’

‘Heard no ask.’ He look back to my face.

‘Yo, how it is.’ I take a breath. ‘The children here ain’t trust the cure without no evidence. Nor they will fight unless it be. So they send a search to Massa. Catch some roos for questioning.’

His eyes light into mockery. ‘They trust some roos before yourself?’

‘Be my roo they ain’t believe. Guess they ask various roos, be different. Or they plan to torture them. Ain’t know their vicious thoughts. I only want to ask, if you will go.’

Then all telligence vanish from his eyes. Is only blackness grief.

My heart make smaller fist. Can feel, I been a fool, I ain’t expect this. What Massa being now, no person strong to see again.

I say, ‘Ain’t got to go. Can send–’

‘I do it.’

We watch each other careful then. He got hazard looks, like he may break in sudden rage. Yo, I can feel my body’s blood, its knowing.

I swallow at my achen throat. ‘Ain’t answer yet. Be other matters.’

‘I do it. Be no questions.’

‘Damn, ain’t heard.’

His hand move sharp down to the gun, like he will shoot me for annoyance. But he only say, ‘So tell your matters.’

‘What it is. Can be, they want to kill you.’

Then his body ease. He laugh in underbreath. ‘I knowing this.’ He shake his head, like wondering how no child miss obvious facts. Look to my dress again, and say like carelessness, ‘I do it. But I can like to bring some child my own.’

‘Guess they allowing this,’ I say uncertain. ‘You bring Crow?’

‘Crow, can be.’ He shrug. ‘First Runner, who I mostly want.’

First, I think this be some joke. Ain’t bringing smallish girls for his protection, be no sense. But Mamadou waiting simple, like this been some sane requirement.

‘Shee,’ I say. ‘Been worse enough, they Lowells left her there. How every fool use tens for their war business, ain’t believe.’

He shake his head. ‘You ask her.’

‘Child be ten. Ain’t bringing her to that.’

‘Got reasons.’

‘Reasons how?’

‘Nay, Sengle.’ Mamadou smile insulting. ‘Ask her.’

Now I exasperate for truth. I frown past him toward the drawings – outline pictures with no face, torn various with holes. The Citgo murders flash in mind, First Runner weeping in the dirt. How she duck her scabben face, stare empty to her hands.

Then my anger weaken to a bitter pointlessness. Can guess, whatever arrogance he believe, First Runner never go. Nor El Mayor approve. Be squabbling over fantasies.

‘Will ask her,’ I say softer, gazing still upon the drawings. ‘Ya, be one other matter. The Marianos question roos in Massa, how I said. And they going keep some roos. Want Christs to make a new Maria.’

‘Nay,’ he say in voice like sudden knife. ‘They ain’t do this.’

When I look to him, his eyes be dangerous black again. I say tense, ‘Ain’t yours to worry.’

‘They kill you if they doing this.’ His voice disgust. ‘Ain’t heard?’

‘Sure I heard. Heard all communications, how they kill me. But
what be important, they can have some other plan. If they only catching Christs, be bone. But–’

‘Going to do what I will do. Need no instructions, girlish.’

A moment, we be only glaring on each other, hate and nerves. Then Mamadou shake his head again. Walk sudden to the door.

I take frustrating breath, think how I chase him past all staring guards. But when he reach the door, he only fidget at the handle. A petty click result. A lock.

Click be uncanny in my nerves. Already I know, but I say stubborn, while he walking back, ‘Nay, heed. They think I sent you there to kill their Christs, be only grief. Ain’t sense to–’

When he reach to me, I scare through all my blood. But he only take my ear in hand like casual nothing. Pull its diamond earring free. Consider it with eyes, then slip this diamond in his pocket. My skin still startle from his hand, ain’t comprehend how it be gone.

‘I do your expeditions,’ he say. ‘Nor it be no new Maria. They fight our war, then I will take you out of this. What going to be.’

‘Nay, NewKing. Ain’t–’

‘But when is done – you mine. You comprehending this?’

I touch thoughtless to my ear. Say rough, ‘Nay, ain’t about that.’

Then, before I can expect, he reach and catch my braids. Raise his other hand, and form it round my throat like choking. I feel my blood beat frightening in his hand. He feel my headlong blood.

Can see his face exhilarate and need. Feel how his kiss will be, and how we struggle on the floor, our knifen-fist of loving war. Yo, tears come vicious to my eyes. Be like a death somehow, be like my love itself go weep.

I snatch his hand out of my hair. Twist free with gasping heart, and say, ‘Cannot.’

A moment, all his body disbelieve. He move to grab me rough. But then he hold himself, shift back. See me again in hard surprise.

And – what I never seen before – the NewKing hurt for me. He love but cannot, like a normal child who bleed his want. Yo, even
this be arrogance in him, be cold and grandiose. Is like a blackness sky that hurt with lightning.

He step back in stiff respect. Say cold, ‘Is bone, Maria.’ Turn like carelessness, stalk to the door without no backward look. Open to a room of startling faces, and he gone.

47

LAST TALKS OF THIS ENORMOUS DAY

Tamara trail me back with curiose looks, but I ain’t got no talk. She leave me by my elevator, and I go up alone. Stare empty at the painting there – white mother smiling foolish while her enfant reach his pinkish hand. Gold rings for death around their heads.

And I come out to my rooms without no expectation fear. Be figuring only if First Runner sleeping still, if I must wake her. How I ask on Massa, and lead her into safe refusal. How El Mayor will help.

Yo, as I walk into the shadow hall, be Driver coming toward.

He wear some Mariano clothes – shirt of fashion white, black pants. This stranger garb show all his skinniness like new surprise. Neck be shrunken in its collar, sleeves hang empty-looking. Ain’t the brother that I known – child who can break a table with simple hands, child solid as a fact – and in my first distress, I want to hide like he be nightmares.

But when he see me, he go easy. Eyes relieve and smile. All his monthen bitterness gone, like this been dirt that rinse away.

‘Been looking for you,’ Driver say.

I smile uncertain. ‘You gratty met.’

Then his eyes sketch to my dress, his smile break into laugh. ‘Foo, sister. Guess they fix your grooming. You look like one of these.’ He reach and stir the glassy dangles on a dandelion light.

My heart light irresponsible. ‘Dress precieuse yourself.’

He make a face of joke disgust. Find a tabbet on the wall and switch the dandelion on. It light up stupid brilliant, and we both go laugh again.

Driver shake his head, still grinning. ‘You mind, when you was six, you get some hatred to all clothes? Must sit on you to dress you.’

‘Ain’t remember.’ I smile foolish. ‘Remember how you make me wash.’

‘I only try this once. Still got a scar.’ He touch his wrist.

‘That scar been warry cuts. You lying air.’

‘Been Ice Cream teeth, it been.’

‘Shoo, they sitting on me also. Dress been force, you know that right.’

To this, a weakness trouble in his eyes. He frown to the rug. ‘The children here … they leave you now? You safe?’

‘Ho, guess you heard about their proof?’

He start to nod, but break in coughing. Put fist to his mouth and say between, ‘Ermano – told us. But – they leave you now?’

My heart go tight again. Remind all Anselm’s threats, the Christs they bringing back from Massa. A moment, I even want to beg protection, like a frighten six.

But I say, ‘Yo sho. I be Maria now, be past no harm.’

He sigh, and bring another cough. Touch his throat annoying. ‘Ya, they told us yesternight. Ain’t slept for much.’

‘Never thought they tell you, shoo. Be sorry that you worry.’

‘Need no sorries.’ Driver get his sergeant face, a strict considering. ‘I ain’t weeping if they kilt the roo, myself. But how you done, be proud. You vally.’

‘Foo vally. Stubborn, all it is.’

This he leave in disregard. Frown seriose and say, ‘But, Ice, ain’t want you risking so again. Was thinking yesternight.’

‘How again? Been said, is done.’

‘Nay, sister. What it is …’ He cross his arms, get difficult looks. ‘Ain’t necessary you go to roos. Should stop you weeks before.’

‘Foo, how?’ I say, surprise. ‘Ain’t going to stop me.’

He shake his head. ‘Yesternight, been thinking. Was my own selfishness, I never stop you. Fearing for myself.’ His voice go harsh to this, most like he going to cough again. But he only grit his mouth. Thumb find a posy on his finger, fidget at its redden sore.

Then I comprehend his moods. Child spent the night in waiting for my death, and thinking every guilt. Now his hatred be forgot – like how my every gripe at Driver vanish like uncaring things, the day I learn his sickness.

‘Shoo, brother,’ I say soft. ‘All this be by, ain’t be no subjects. We warring for the cure now. City going to fight these roos.’

Then I explain the plan entire – from Pasha’s news of Quantico to my apostle parley. Only, I give this history some changes for his comfort. I tell about the search to Massa, but never mention Christs, or doubts about the apostles’ right intentions. And I say easy certainties, that we defeat the roos – how they surprising helpless by our thousand–thousand guns.

As my tale continue, Driver’s eyes flash with peculiar feeling. He smile, but bite his lip and frown again. Look almost shame. Keep rubbing at his throat, like he will soothe its natural fear. All these changes sting my guilt – but I keep talking glad, my voice ring strong.

At last, he smile correct. Say soft, ‘This grandy city war for us. They roos be sorrier.’

‘Truth,’ I say with falsen lightness. ‘Be some sorry roos.’

‘Roos coming January, ya?’

‘January. Be only a month to wait.’

Driver shake his head and look up smiling to the dandelion light. ‘A month. Ain’t to believe.’

I watch him now with misery grown. Be comprehending, I must tell these lies to all my Sengles. Can only Pasha know the truth. Ya, Soledad be townie here – will learn all facts without myself. Must beg that she ain’t telling Driver, for no circumstance.

To this, a better notion come. I say, ‘Ho, Soledad be by?’

In second’s change, his face go harsh. ‘Nay, why?’

‘Only to ask her on this place.’ I shrug. ‘Politics, you know how.’

‘She gone.’ He set his jaw. ‘I told her I ain’t want her by.’

‘Ya?’ I say feeble. ‘Where she gone?’

‘Gone where they tolerating murder.’

Now his face be only hatred. Is like our journey weeks, when he been vicious on myself.

I clench my hands. ‘But, brother … it been reasons why she kilt they feathers.’

‘Been reasons she will kill our Crow? She going to shoot him, if you ain’t been by.’

His eyes hate into mine, and I say weak, ‘Can be. You right.’

‘And she must risk yourself? Know why she doing this? To be apostle. Rich without no work.’

I shrug nervy. ‘Ain’t been only this. How she believe–’

‘Got her religions, sure. But I can live by her?’ He clench his hands, then flinch. Frown angry at his posy fingers.

Now my heart be simple hurt. Politics be forgot; yo, any angry vengeance gone. I only feel how Soledad love my brother, all our journey weeks. And without her, he been alone. No Sengle hear his voice. Will be alone in sickness, days to come, in this abnormal place.

But I say, sad past no help, ‘Ain’t want to live by her myself.’

Driver ease his hands, his eyes gone sensitive with pain. ‘Ya, need no more talk. She gone. Gone to her people somewhere.’ He cough again, and all his face look shaming hurt. He cough again.

‘You bone?’ I say unhappy. ‘Sure, must be physicians here.’

He swallow at his throat. ‘I only need some rest. Ain’t slept.’

‘It be a sleeproom by. Was El Mayor there, but–’

‘Nay, I got a room below. Be bone.’

Then we standing clumsy, caught in opposites and wants. I glance down to my precieuse dress, my hands in clean unhurt. Muttern soft, ‘Be bone, yo sho.’

He nod. ‘Sleep better now I seen you.’

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘You only keep yourself. We all be right.’

When Driver gone, I walk straight to the sleeproom. Door still parten, El Mayor–First Runner where they was. I stare on them a longer moment, knowing I should wake them. Convince First Runner from no Massa search. But at last I close the door behind myself with careful softness.

Be tricky work to cross this jumbo bed. I ware on El Mayor–First Runner, how their sleeping change. El Mayor lain with back to me, scarce move with breath. But when I soften down to him, his body startle gentle. I touch my arm around, and his hand fumble to my wrist and pull me to. I form myself against him and he settle into sleep again.

Then I lie to him quiet. He breathe against me, and be relief, how our two bodies know each other. Is like a pharmacy that hush and soften in my blood. Some while, I worry on my Sengle littles, how they bringing here. Fret on the search and Mamadou, on Driver’s sickly looks. But soon, this misery weigh me into sleep. Fall into struggling dreams, and wake sometimes and grip to El Mayor more needy. And sleep again and every sadden kindness be in this; is like I dream into a heaven for all children waste with grief.

Yo, in the farther hours, I wake startling to a noise. Be a pounding note, repeating dull outside the nighten windows. Sound go on persisting, until it inkle in my mind: is bells. Ring for Maria gone, the lover of sad Simón Zelote. Cry her death to every knowledge.