The Country of Ice Cream Star (51 page)

The way be simple halls without no pictures, nor no softening
rugs. Come to the office door, and it be plain as nothing. Wear no sign. Yo, as I take the doory handle, a last reluctance grip in me. I magine this ain’t Simón. Be traps. Is Anselm’s soldiers there. I open with chilling expectation, squinting from mislike.

But be an office room like any. Ya, Simón be there, familiar in his soldier clothes. Stand to his feet with Panish courtesy.

Simón a child of middling height, with handsome looks of houndish sort. Bear himself peculiar straight, like all his muscles fix with hardness. Now he look tired rough, his face be scurfy with unsleep. Can see his age upon – is twentyish in heaviness.

Ya, I go fascinating to the drawings on his hands. How I know now, these showing ranks of soldiers, and the wars they fought. Simón’s be everycolor stars and numbers, meeting crafty. Thicker on each hand, an L for Loisaida writ in black.

The office self be picky clean. Smell be piney wash; his desken papers fix in perfect stacks. A pistol on his desk be shining jolie like an ornament. Wall got photo of the last Maria – long-face girl in finery clothes like mine, but black for widowing. Ya, be a photo of myself, in murder dress and hundred diamonds. This Maria picture hang in every city office.

Once we sat, Simón Zelote dabbit time with pale excuses. Say how he thought, is best we meeting here, be better privacy. He sorry to ask me here on Nochebuena, but is urgent. Talk various shee that children saying, when they dread what they must say.

Through this, I waiting weak. His tired face look no good news. Mamadou in my fear, and I be watching him with hawken need. I even begin to dread, Simón will take me into prison now; the searchers brought a Christ, and all my usefulness be by.

But when he creep onto his meaning, pigeon up to it with words – first actual sense he saying be, ‘Maria, are we planning a war against Quantico?’

Almost, I laugh relief. ‘No sho, we ain’t. Be nothing like.’

‘I’m glad to hear that, senyora.’ He nod, his eyes still glooming.
‘But if that’s true, I’ve got ask myself why we’re making a ton of new artillery. And I also wonder why Anselm’s telling me different.’

I startle. ‘Anselm? He said we got war to Quantico?’

‘No, he’s Anselm.’ Simón smile sour. ‘The man didn’t tell me anything. But when I asked him, I couldn’t get an answer. Instead, he started asking what I know about their current preparedness.’

Here I remind, Simón Zelote ain’t been at the clausen signing. Never he heard my tale about the cure, the rooish armies. And then he disappear from sight, been sulking in his home. But sure, he be apostle, ya is general of armies. Ain’t sense that no one told him on the roos.

I think to tell him, but my nerves be wrong. Ain’t guess why he kept ignorant. Nor I want to step in Anselm’s tangles unbewares.

I say cautieuse, ‘It be no war on Quantico, truth.’

Simón sigh tired, his eyes still brooding in their disbelief. ‘Santa reina, how about this: I’ll tell you what I
would
tell you if you were planning this war – even though I know you aren’t. Can we do that?’

‘Ya. Be nothing wrong.’

‘Good.’ His face go easier. ‘So, there’s one main idea I want you to leave with. You cannot take Quantico.’

I shrug. ‘Sure, known we losing twice.’

‘It’s not just that. There is no way. I know that sounds extreme, but hear me out.’ He smile, look friendlier now. Unknit his hands and rest them down. ‘So, I’m guessing Anselm told you about the place. They’re not as rich as we are, and their population’s a fraction of ours. Sounds like a good proposition, right? That’s what we thought when we first went there.

‘But there’s just one problem. They only have a hundred thousand people. But they have three million land mines.’

Must be, I look stupid blank. Simón ask careful, ‘Do you know what that is? A land mine?’

‘Sure I know. But any million? How they making this?’

He grimace humor. ‘Senyora, Quantico doesn’t produce much. Their buildings are falling apart, and there isn’t a working car in the
place. Pretty much all they make is armaments, and they’ve been at it a very long time. That city’s been attacked by all its neighbors for hundreds of miles around, for decades. And they haven’t lost an inch of ground. The neighbors – they’re all gone.’

I think of roos attacking there, and start to feel some warmness for these Quanticos. ‘So where these land mines be? It be some circle round the city?’

‘Good question.’ He smile encouraging. ‘I’ll give you a quick idea. Take a block like this one. Mostly four-story apartment buildings. No special targets, nothing industrial. So in that block, they’ll have maybe two hundred land mines. You have to walk a maze to get through that street, and that maze is completely invisible. Try going into a building, same thing. Land mines, booby traps. You duck inside, chances are the room explodes. Or it fills with poison gas, that’s another favorite toy.’

He sit forward, mostly like he gladden to this evil news.

‘What else you get, every block is going to have at least one barricade. You’re not taking any vehicle into Quantico. Barricades are mostly made of old cars, patched up with concrete. But they leave some gaps, so they’ll be shooting at you through those holes.

‘And they also like to decorate their barricades, for the entertainment of guests, with dead bodies. Since nobody’s attacked them for a couple of years, that’s probably going to be skeletons. But if you fight them for any length of time, it’ll start to be people you recognize. And you do
not
attempt to retrieve those bodies, because they’re booby-trapped. So that’s not going to kill you, but it’s going to affect your mood.

‘Windows above, you get your machine guns, light artillery. They’ll have grenades, including some cute incendiary grenades that basically burn you alive. And the Marines live beside their weapons, not just when they’re at war, but all their lives. You do not catch them off guard. So if you thought you could find the land mines, and dig them out, and crawl over the barricades, and actually go somewhere – you’re doing that under heavy fire from all directions.

‘And this is how their kids grow up. From the time they can walk, they learn
where
to walk, or else they don’t grow up. And those kids fight. Here, we’ll send someone into battle when they’re fourteen years old. So that’s humane, that’s the right thing to do. They don’t even think about that. The only thing they care about, as far as I can tell, is their holy city.’

Now Simón sit back, eyes set on me with expectation. Catch a pen from off the desk and start to click its nose in–out.

Been listening with ten attentions, seek to memorize these details. At last, I nod. ‘Holy city. This be Quantico self?’

‘Well, yes and no.’ Simón put by his pen. ‘So, if you’ve looked at maps, you probably know the Mall.’

‘Nay, ain’t know this.’

‘Well, you don’t need to, because you’re never going to see it. Basically, it’s where the old government buildings are, from the United States. That’s what they call Washington – the Mall – and it’s what they’re sworn to protect.’ He smile grim. ‘According to them, everything there’s exactly as it was before the plague. So when they’re not manufacturing land mines, they’re polishing the piano in the old President’s drawing room.

‘In case you aren’t getting the point, they’re dangerously insane, and the form their insanity takes is that you cannot take Quantico. And you wouldn’t want to, unless you were as crazy as they are.’

Only when he pause, and sit back in his chair with some release, I feel my risen joy. I breathe in good content a minute, looking out the window at a partment building set across. Got broken windows with some clothes hung drying on their jaggen edges. I magine Marines with rifles there, aim on a troop of sorry roos.

When I look back, Simón be frowning puzzlement at my glad eyes.

I say, ‘Artillery cannot clear these mines?’

He grit impatient. ‘Some. But say it did. Then you’re looking at destroying every inch of the street. Some people think that can work. They’re mostly people who weren’t there last time.’

‘But what – yo heed. Be only thinking, if you got some planes?’

Now Simón look queery, like he guess if this be jokes. Say flat, ‘You don’t.’

‘Nay, but if. Is theoretical.’

‘Fine, santa reina. I’m only speculating, but as far as I can see, you’ve got the same basic problem. You can win Quantico, if you can completely and totally destroy it. So theoretically, you could flatten the entire place from the air, and then take possession of the smoking rubble.’

Here I begin to grin, ain’t keep my feeling for no sense. Think how I telling Pasha. He sure to find some negative, but I see no badness for myself. Be only usual questions, why no person tell me this before.

Simón smile back, some careful wise. ‘Did I say something funny?’

‘Nay, is only wolfen. They Marines, be feary peoples.’

‘Wolfen, right. My boys have started saying that.’ He narrow on me curiose, eyes gone to wary kindness. ‘Have I been making a fool of myself? You really never wanted to attack Quantico?’

‘Ya, I said. Got no wants.’

Here Simón begin to ponder in his bony eyes. Think on our new artillery, or on Anselm’s sneaky hints. Can see, he puzzling different, but he still ain’t get no comfort.

Then I lose all defenses. ‘Truth, I want no war on Quantico. I only need their help.’

I told my news of rooish war and pharmacy any times. Can think, I seen all possible reactions to this story. But Simón’s be strange beyond.

First I mention roos, Simón surprise like any a child. But after this, he only go depressing and depressing. Even when I tell about the cure, he gloom the same. Ya, within this grief, a fury harden in his eyes. He clutch his pen in hand like he will break it for his hatred. Time I telling on the search, he ugly with distress.

I end my tale with scary conscience. ‘Sure is mally, how they never told you. Cannot figure this.’

Then Simón sit back. Drop the pen loose on his desk. ‘That’s no surprise. The rest – I don’t know where to start.’

‘I know it be unlikely tales. Is why they send a search.’

He hold up his hand. ‘Senyora, let me help you. The apostles believe you about the cure. They have no doubt that there’s a cure. What they told you – that is not what’s happening.’

I take sharp breath. ‘Nay, how you meaning?’

‘We’ve known about the cure for years. The Russian army – all of it. Our last eight Christs were Russian. I’ve personally heard these stories five times. I’ve seen the kind of photographs you’re talking about. I’ve even seen a Russian helicopter that crashed down by the coast.

‘Sure, most people don’t know. They never get anywhere near these Christs. But Anselm, your apostles? They’ve been planning against this day for years. The
only
thing we didn’t know was when the Russian army would come.’

I be mostly trembling now. I clutch into my dressen skirt to hold myself correct. ‘Then why they sent no search?’

‘Because it’s not a search.’

‘Nay, what it is?’

‘Think about it. We can’t fight these Russians, that’s pretty obvious. So what are our choices? What do you think a man like Pedro sees in this?’

‘Pedro?’ I seek in my mind. ‘Seem goodly sort enough.’

‘Pedro is the most self-interested person I’ve ever known in my life. Okay, I’ll save you time. Pedro wants the cure for himself. And he’ll trade the city for it, everyone here. That’s what that search is. They’re sending Juan to make a deal with the Russians.’

‘Deal?’ My voice come false. ‘To sell our children to the roos?’

‘That’s right.’ His mouth disgust. ‘That’s not what they’ll tell people, of course. They’ll promise everyone the cure – if they just do what they’re told.’

A coldness settle on me. ‘But the cure be only for … Pedro?’

‘Pedro, the other apostles. Anselm. A few dozen people close to
them. Most of those people don’t know it yet, but they’re the chosen. The rest – they’re livestock.’

Here his voice break weak. He make a loathing face, look to the picture on his wall – the old Maria in her blackish finery. ‘I’m sorry, santa reina. This is the wrong way to tell you this.’

‘Ain’t mattering ways.’ I cross my arms against my chills. ‘But how you know? Their … deal and so.’

‘Senyora, it’s the plan. Same plan they always had, for when the Russians came. And you understand, the penal company aren’t coming back from that little outing. They’re a first gift.’

Now Mamadou come in mind. Flash in my heart joyeuse that he escape, be here alive. But then I think of Crow, First Runner – and every thousand children, in this city of my helpless ruling. How they sold in ignorance.

‘I’m sorry,’ Simón say through my thought. ‘I would have liked to fight your war, for what it’s worth. It was a smart idea.’

I look to him distracting. ‘So you ain’t agree their plans?’

‘No, I did not.’ Simón say thick. ‘I’m a soldier, santa reina. I die for my city, my city doesn’t die for me.’

‘But why you vanish all these weeks?’ My voice catch high. ‘Why you ain’t been? If I known sooner, we can stop them.’

Simón stand up like sudden impatience. Turn to a soldier coat hung by and fetch it from its hook. Start cladding it on, while he say flat, ‘I was told to vanish, santa reina. The deal was, I keep out of politics, and they don’t kill me.’

Now my dread gone heavy. Want to only sleep somewhere, forget I ever hope for life.

‘It’s funny,’ Simón say on, ‘I told Anselm I was glad to be out of it, and it was true. I’m sick of it all. But when I heard the talk about Quantico … I guess you never get over some things.’

‘They ridding you for this, I guess. So you ain’t mess their plans.’

‘Yeah. And I thought they just hated me.’ He laugh short and look back to his old Maria picture. Gaze in suffering thought a moment, face gone tired beyond. Then he turn like sad decision.
Take the pistol from his desk. Lodge it in a holder on his belt, and frown to me. ‘You should go now, santa reina. They’ll already know you’re here, so you don’t have a lot of time. Pedro will be at the barracks of Inúd by now, getting troops out after us. So what you need to do – find Anselm. Tell him what I said, and say you’re on their side. It’s the only side. Do that, and you could live for another fifty years.’