The Country of Ice Cream Star (56 page)

The gunfire sound again, come louder. I ware to this with almost love, how it be solid real. Start wishing I been by this fight, free from these talk insanities.

When I look back, Felipe’s face be bright in need. He say, ‘Did you know that this is all in prophecy? The cure, the Russians – it’s all foretold in the Bible.’

‘Foo, Bible got no roos. Nor it got no posies neither. WAKS, whatever you calling it. Ain’t be.’

‘No, listen. In the book of the Apocalypse, it’s there. In the time of WAKS, Satan’s brood – the whites – were cast into the abyss. But in the last days, Satan returns, leading the armies of the unrighteous. You see? That’s the Russian army, now. And after their defeat, the children of God who remain – they live forever.’ He look seeking in my face. ‘They live forever, Maria. It’s the cure, that’s what it means.’

When Felipe argue, be a beary force of certainty. Ever he talk nonsense, get a weak suspicion that he right. So I only cavil, ‘Ain’t be no forever cure. Pasha definite to this. Can live seventy years or so. Seem like forever to us, but it will end.’

Felipe shake his head. ‘Many Bible passages have to be interpreted metaphorically. Yes, it seems like forever to us. And so the Bible says: “forever”. It’s written in poetic language, there are hundreds of instances like that.’

‘So how we win this war? The Bible telling that?’

‘That passage is short,’ he say with knowing gladness. ‘When Satan’s armies come, they surround the city of America – obviously Quantico–Washington. And then God sends a fire from heaven to destroy Satan’s armies. You see how it all corresponds? The fire from heaven – that’s our army.’

Here my patience ruin entire. Known these metaphorical tales. Metaphorical mean, the story be stupidity beyond. So they pretend it meaning something else, whatever they like most.

‘Easy miracles for God. We do them while He sitting lazy.’

Felipe smile. ‘Yes, El Mayor thinks it’s funny, too. And don’t worry. No one expects you to come to the war. You’ll stay here. If necessary, we’ll evacuate you to the north.’

This catch me unbewares. I crush my blooden lace into my fist. ‘Shoo, meant no insult to our war. Be certain that I come. Should be out fighting now myself.’

He startle bad. ‘No, santa reina. That’s – of course you can’t.’

Another bullet sound, close in the night. We both stir, glance to the window. It reflect its same untelling glamour, curtains furl around.

Felipe look back to me, smiling tense. ‘The most important thing you can do is to keep safe. No one would want you to put yourself in danger. You’re the city’s soul.’

‘And the city warring now. Be natural I going to war.’

‘No,’ he say, in straining voice. ‘I could never let you risk yourself.’

‘Ain’t let me,’ I say thin. ‘You keep me here in Metro. Ever I want.’

‘Metro? Is that it?’ He shake his head with easing smile. ‘But you’ll be restored to the Ministerio, as soon as it’s safe. And did you know that Anselm’s dead?’

‘Ya,’ I say in sour voice. ‘I known.’

‘So it won’t be like it was before. You’ll be restored to your proper place.’

Now he gone gazing at a painten picture on the wall. Show a boyish child in weirdo suit of shiny blue. Child kneel by a girlish
sleeper, hug his arms around her waist. I watch along and magine myself back in the Ministerio. Life be papers and receptions, always in some skyless room. Yo, be some Metro ermano, give instructions in my Anselm’s place. And so they keep me ever, till they murder me in fresh caprice.

At last, I sigh my misery out. ‘Felipe? You know, where be El Mayor?’

Felipe frown. ‘Why? He’s upstairs.’

‘In this house?’ I rouse in hope. ‘He knowing I be here?’

‘I think so. But he’s been there sulking, ever since Mamadou came, so I’m not sure.’

‘Ho, Mamadou come here tonight?’

‘A few hours ago. He came in the middle of dinner.’ Felipe smile like funny stories. ‘He appeared in the dining room, and just started telling me what to do. El Mayor actually dropped his fork.’

I smile discomfort. ‘Sure, he will surprise. But he ain’t sulk for that?’

‘No.’ Felipe shrug. ‘I think it was something Mamadou told him.’

‘Something – nay, what Mamadou said?’

‘I don’t know. Before Mamadou left, they talked alone for a couple of minutes. And then El Mayor came back and asked to stay. That’s all I know.’

‘El Mayor ain’t said why?’

‘I did ask.’ Felipe laugh. ‘My guess? He’s being a little childish because he was left out of all the conspiring. He was obviously upset, but he insisted there was nothing wrong.’

I grit into unhappy thought. Truth, El Mayor ain’t preciate that Mamadou boss this war. But that ain’t give him sulks. I try other possibilities – that Mamadou said some insult, or had mally news of Lowells – but these fitting poory also.

Can only be one answer, what this conversation been.

I swallow at my nerves, say soft, ‘Where Mamadou being now?’

‘I don’t know exactly.’ Felipe narrow eyes in thought. ‘By now, he could be back in Loisaida. He’s got a sort of headquarters in the projects. It’s the Reese, a building in the flooded–’

‘Ya, heard this. And El Mayor … can see him now? He waking?’

Felipe make discomfort face. ‘It’s probably not a good time. When he heard you were coming here, he specifically said he didn’t want to see you.’

‘Ain’t want to see me. Right.’

Felipe smile indulgent. ‘Anyhow, it would have to wait until tomorrow. He’s not alone tonight.’

57

TO LOISAIDA BY OUR WARRY NIGHT

Behind this, I beg weariness. Felipe plead me to some food, but I lie that I got no hunger. My best wish be loneliness and sleep. So he lead me up some stairs of whitish stone to his wife’s sleeproom.

Ain’t tell me it be hers, at first. Only, when I notice heely shoes left by the bed, I ask. Then I got no words to argue. Ain’t like to rob Carola’s bed, but I be wild beyond no patience. All myself be like a waiting scream.

When he gone, I sit down on the bed, collect my problems. Fret on Driver, all my Sengles, left in chances of this war. Guess on the fray in reckless night, and if it can accomplish. Worry how Pedro still alive, can tell about my murdern enfant. Then mad Felipe change his love like blinking. Join in burning me, for insults to religion.

Through this, I keep distracting to the room where El Mayor be with some girl. These walls be catching his familiar sounds, his breathen flatteries. And likely, he know I be here. Take this naked girl against him, and his mind be vengeance.

What Mamadou told El Mayor, must be the history of our loves. Truth, soon as they two talk alone, can know this secret find its mouth. All it need, one mentioning myself, and both will change behaviors. Then El Mayor begin suspicions. Nor the NewKing slow for hints. Will guess I done with El Mayor, insulting to his wolfen heart.

And, first in all this yeary day, I think of Mamadou right.

I stare into my bloody heart, and see a clean ungiving love. Been what we done, a truth beyond all painfulness. Our last spring before these hells, we torn each other out of life. And his scorning furies find me, even in this city’s hundred thousands, in its thronging soldiers, ya in havoc war.

Then my desperations join into one red decision.

I stand up from the bed and strip the diamonds from my ears, my wrists. Toss them to the bed, and spit behind. Unhook the murder dress and let it drop in heavy slump. Still the room be warm to my bare sweat.

Be thinking every twisty plan, but my first hope come right. Sleeproom got two closets and these all be rich with clothes. Is like an evac in a dream, where every marvel loot be whole. I find some blackie jeans, knit sweater. Pull on some socks with greedy love, goods I ain’t had these weeks. Scratch a jacket coat, is thick for winter, light for working task. Last I find some shoes that mostly fit – zip boots without no heels. These I keep in hand, and I go listen to the door.

Be only muffle voices, closen far into some room. Ya, when I open careful, hall be black. Is only a line of light below one door. From there, can hear Carola–Felipe, arguing unhappy dim.

My hand be cramping sweaty on the boots as I creep down the stairs. Come in the empty size of the Residencia frontroom, gray in snowlight. Only movement be some shadows troubling at the windows, branches tugging in unheard wind. Tree of Navidad stand lonely, like a hostage from these trees.

As I crouch to put on shoes, more gunshots come outside. I pause and try to feel their danger. Remind Felipe’s arguments about my necessary life. But I still be Ice Cream Star, last of the Sengle sergeants. Be kin to warry plight and forests. Got no careful heart, nor I will live beyond my pride.

And I cross simple to the door. The locks undo in one loud second.

Door open into grandy winter. Steps got fraily snow upon, is thin
as paper tissue. Be witchen quiet, cat hours of our war. The only life be guards, stood on a scrabble of footprints by the open gate. These look up questioning to me.

As I come to them, I duck my head, put one hand bashful to my face. Say in my best sleeper English, ‘I was visiting El Mayor. I go home now.’

Then I haste past, cold freshening in my breath. Guards watch without no cavil. Only when I reach the street, one call, ‘Senyorita! You want a car?’

‘No,’ I call back nervy. ‘Need no car.’

‘Is dangerous tonight,’ he say in disapproval voice.

I nay my hand and go on hasty. Feel their eyes until I come into the Avenida. Turn there, and I be hid behind the buildings by the parque. Then I go on in stride, my body thankful like it weep its capture. Night be like a self I walk into, my good belief.

First blocks, ain’t no people by. When I come near Quinta borders, I sprint some way from passion, skidding careless in the snow, and only hold up when I see the Ministerio. Got its usual vanity looks, the windows golden lit. But in its yard be trucks of the Defensa. Soldiers crowd the steps, ain’t tell if they be ours or enemies. I look to the iglesia’s height, scout for my Sengles left, but only see its same bright windows. Hear no fight. So I turn eastward from this risk, go toward the evac street of Madison.

This farther walk through empty Quinta be a glory rest. I stretch my legs in horsen stride, and all my body wake joyeuse. Even the seldom bullets bring my heart big in my chest. Between the towers show the stars of every night enorme, and sometimes come the glitter sound of breaking glass, like starry voice. In one passing street, I see a band of scouting soldiers. They startle to me, raise their guns, is like a fluttering clutch of birds. But when they see me better, they ease. Got eyes for only risk, and they give no attention as I pass.

Then be minutes walking south before I see no other children. These coming few, and all be raggity boys. Some stealth by alone,
some going loud in swagger groups. But all got bags of heavy goods. One child push a wheelen cart, fill with all clothes and instruments; a tall lamp nod its head atop. Begin to comprehend, they thieving loot, in chance of war.

One clutch of boys stare after me, call filthy invitations. But even this be pleasure, how it ain’t no guards protecting me. Any terror can be mine. Here first I remind my Pasha, miss him in my joy. Be conscience, how I left him with no word in their unliking palace. But be late for this regret. I only swear myself to fetch him, soon as I get means.

My heart relieve again when I come in the pue of Loisaida streets, their trash and stanking life. Ya, here be every people noisy. Is street-fires set in barrels, with all children gathern round; vendedoras selling cakes or salty fish from tables. One orfanato home got all its scarum littles in the road. They play some snowball game, fight crafty among the heapen trash. Wear plastic coats with their home number,
224 E. 10th
, writ scrawly on the back. This mind me of the enfants left in Massa by the penals – how they travel slow afoot, First Runner in attendance. Must wonder who be ruling in the city when they come.

After this, it be a quiet stretch with only inside life – voices in the blanket windows, shivering lights where there be fires. And here, a raggity sixteen boy begin to follow after me. Ever I turn to look, he make a face of unconcern. Stop by, pretend he checking something in his jacket pocket. But when I go, he follow. Is there and there and never rid.

I swallow my impatience. Hurry my step toward some gathern people – a vendedora of pepitas, with a straggle of littles by. These be skinbone eights with shaven heads, talk Loisaida foul. Words be mostly ‘shit’ and ‘braw’, with hooting laughter, swiping fists. Fourteenish vendedora heed them nothing. She only fret her fingers through her moppen hair, sing underbreath.

As I come toward, she look up hushing, hopeful for a sale. She check my clothes, speak out some greeting Panish.

‘Senyora,’ I say nervy, ‘can tell me, where the projects be?’

She ease disappointing. ‘Projects? Which you after?’

‘They projects in the water, ya. The Reese.’

She check my clothes again with queery frown. ‘You looking for someone there?’

‘I got to go there, all it is.’

‘You go straight down.’ She point. ‘When you hit the water, you’ll see. But it’s not worth it, whatever it is.’

‘Nay, I know some people there, be right.’

She pinch her mouth in disapproval. Muttern some comment on my brains and turn her face away.

Yo, when I look back for that sixteen boy, he gone from sight. First I relieve. But then it realize, he can be watching me from hiding. Once I choose my path, he sneak behind.

I head down, feeling jittery. Haste through a block of darkness, and I come into a mess of children, gathern in a street fiesta. They cooking meat on streeten ovens, standing plate in hand. Girl on a step play bow-guitar. Some males sing boozen loud. Remind to me it be their Navidad, is normal joy around.

Behind this be another quiet. Hear laughter from the higher windows, but they show no light. I keep to the middle street, clear from all hides among the trash. Be waring into darkness, strain my ears at every sound.

Yo, as I reach the cross-street, come a skitter of feet behind. I wheel toward a flailing shadow that grab my coat and yank. I skid on ice, catch to an arm. It knock away, and something kick my feet from underneath. I scrape heels, hit jarring on my back, as someone jump upon me. Sit a heavy dig into my gut. Only then I see him – the sixteen boy, face twist in panic. And a flashing shape, a knife, come big toward my face.