The Country of Ice Cream Star (57 page)

He say strangling low, ‘You make a noise, I kill you.’

Knife press sharp against my throat. His face be straining furiose, while I breathe stiff against his weight. A hand start seeking round my body, push into my pockets. Knife shift thin against my neck. Draw a stinging line of fear.

He swear against the nothing that I got. Unzip my coat and seek beneath. Dig rough into my jeans. Yo, in this, his face begin to change. Hand slip beneath my sweater. Face sluggen into need, his fingers close ugly on my breast.

Then I take ragged breath, say quick, ‘I got a ring. Is gold.’

He look to me dull, already distant in his want. I raise my hand up sharp, show him the gold ring from my proof.

His fingers fasten harder on my breast, then slack reluctant. He say impatient rough, ‘You take it off.’

I bring my hands together slow. His eyes turn to this gesture, as I breathe and brace my strength. Think of Army wars I known, of knives and bigger children; Pasha’s tricks of rooish fight. And I break sudden. Hit his knife away with all my force. Ya, with my other hand, I punch my thumb into his eye.

He make a strangle yell as I twist wild to shove him by. But his knife find me. Hit straight to my chest. It catch my collarbone, and its point dig, burn through the skin and by. I bring my fist up lucky, meet his forward weight with knuckles in his unguard throat.

He skitter back on knees. Make strangle cry, as I come to my feet, kick solid in his nose. Then he fall back, and I chase quick. Kick at his knifen hand. Knife fling away, go skittering noise and flashing in the street. He scramble after, but I kick his jaw in flying hatred. Then I only see a flash of him with blooden face, eyes shut and tearing, as I break running, dodging ice.

I spy the knifen gleam. Skit to, and snatch it by its blade. Then I be only fleeing, running hard with gaspen breath. Tardy fright be mad in me, how this been stupid lucky. Feel the burning where the knife caught in my upper chest, gone softer with its blood as I sprint on.

I only quit when I come to the water. Stop by its icen margin, panting wild. Hand grip the knifen blade, my fingers gone unfeeling with the cold. I breathe myself back into semblance, while I scout for risk. The only people be two eightish littles by an unglass store.
One carry a moppen handle. Swing this against a dead streetlight. Make a ringing sound that carry high across the empty night.

I unclutch the knife. Find petty cuts into my palm where I been gripping careless. I touch my collarbone, check at the brightness hurt of blood. Is only pain, ain’t damage much. The cut be thin across the bone. Ya, Carola’s sweater ruin right.

I shove the knife in my coat pocket. Look to the water, while half my conscience heed for sound behind.

A fringe of ice lie flat upon the street, crust white with snow. Beyond, the water empty black. And in this tarry water, dull like tired maginations, a building greaten huge into the sky. Ain’t showing fires, is dark. Is like a blackness hole in starry night. And now it reach my stupid mind, it be no means to get there. Be freezing river between.

I stand, grinning consternations, staring at this obvious water. Projects in the water, said this like I got some notion. Ain’t never wonder to me how you swimming to this place. Sure, be a clever hiding. But it ruin Ice Cream Moron’s night into catastrophes.

Almost be thinking how I straggle back. Be any robber child, can fight with better luck, got my own knife. But then, in tiny distance, I spot a child stood by the water. He staring, nothing-doing, and my habit feel a recognition. Be a guard. I sigh away my panics, start toward.

As I come, can see he ain’t a soldier by his garb. Wear wool hat and double coats, but still he stamp against the cold. Behind him, drifting loose on darkness water, be a boaten shape. Is small and look dishevel right; even in weak moon, can see it lose its scrubby paint. Look like a story of sinking, but I watch on it with every love.

Child see me walking toward him, and he straighten, toss his cigarette. Eyes notice my nice clothes with disrespect.

‘Yo, brother,’ I say polite. ‘How I can get that boat? Be for the Reese?’

He shake his head, laugh nasty. ‘Where the hell you from, girl? You don’t get that boat.’

‘Then how I getting to the Reese?’

‘You don’t. Where you from?’

I look to him, the boat, with sick unliking. Touch my knifen hilt, but all my braver feeling gone. Start magining how I dive in water, swim toward some open window. If this Cember water kill me, or be only miserable.

Then he speak careless through my thought. ‘I tell you what. You want to go to Reese?’

‘Been asking.’ I look to him sharp.

‘Give me a hundred dollars.’ He grin.

‘Foo, I got no money, brother.’

‘You got
no
money? Pretty girl like you, I don’t believe that.’

‘Your belief ain’t going to change my pockets.’

He grin again and shake his head. ‘No money. That’s a shame.’

I look frustrating to the boat. Magine jumping, but sure he fight. I end in water neverless. Start to guess, how I must wait till Mamadou passing by. How sorry-tail I going to feel for hours in this place.

Then some feeble brains wake in me. I say, ‘You work for Mamadou?’

‘Well, that’s a question. Thanks for asking, I don’t think I’ll answer that.’

‘Heed, he going to want to see me.’

‘Really?’ He shake his head like pity. ‘Girl, you’re not as interesting as you think.’

‘He want to see me, truth. Can ask him.’

‘So what’s your name?’

I catch reluctant. Glance to the boat with sad discourage.

‘Don’t know your name and got no money. You in one pitiful way.’

‘Damn,’ I say riling. ‘You want my name, be Ice Cream Star. You tell him that.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ He raise eyebrows. ‘There’s a lot of Ice Creams in the streets these days. I’ll tell you something, he is most of all not interested in that. Go sell it somewhere that they want it. Seriously.’

Take me a breath to comprehend. Then I laugh up sharp. ‘Girls
use my name for selling love? You people sick as something, shee. You sick as rat disease.’

Now he get a trouble face. Say hard, ‘You crazy, girl?’

‘Nay, you ignorant, be our problems. Cannot know what you been told.’

‘You’re saying you’re Maria? That’s what you’re saying?’

‘How it be, my brother.’

He scout uncertain to my clothes, my face. Muttern, ‘Accent that you got.’

‘Yo right. Known Mamadou, you know this accent. What it be, you guess?’

He narrow eyes. ‘Serious, you aren’t who you say, you coming out in pieces. This isn’t no night for games.’

‘I know what night it be, more than you know. Now get that boat.’

58

THE ROOFEN CONVERSATION

Boy oaring for us both. I only sit in wetness, smoke the cigarette he given me. Boat draw a tail of moon behind, quivering restless on the black. Ya, when we come into the building’s shadow, all be blindness dark. Is only the reaching splash of oars, the tarry pue of river wet. Near the building wall, its size feel heavy in the air. Then we float past the corner and the moon light on its brick. Show where a line of greenish moss rise furry above the water’s shine. Yo, from a lower window, be a knotten rope hung down.

Boy ain’t come with me. He only tell me how I go. Climb in the window, then be twelve floors of stairs. The NewKing’s people at the top.

This be no special craft. Scut up the rope, come down inside to scrabble noise of scaring rats. The steps be pissen miserable, ain’t only stank but sting your eyes. Is sticky underfoot. At every floor, be some bust window, and its light show clops of trash, a tiny haste of roaches. But as I go, I feel some foolish happy, how I done this wildness. Touch my cut chest and laugh through breathlessness that I be here.

At the stairy top, a soldier child lean to the final door. Be stood above all light, show only as a living darkness. His rifle watch me sharp as I come up.

As I pass the moonlight from the last bust window, he flinch hard. Loose down his gun and say, ‘You’re kidding.’

I stand breathing rough, touch careless to my diamond braids. Behind the door, can hear some laughing voice. Girl say a shooing word, a boyish voice go yell return. Then the girl be talking longer. The other voices hush.

At last, I get some breath and say, ‘It be Maria here.’

‘Yeah, it’s Taco here. I don’t believe it. All that work.’

I laugh thin. ‘Taco, right. Our people took the Ministerio?’

‘Who’s asking? Yes. Why are you here?’

‘My people in the Ministerio, they ain’t hurt?’

‘They’re fine. They stayed where they was told.’

‘Need no speeches, brother. Let me by.’

Can see him shake his hatten head, a troubling in the dark. Then he reach back to the door. It drift away to smoky light.

In the room behind, the windows cover up with boards. The light be only scattern candles, stuck to every flatness. Air blurry with undrifting smoke. Stank be of beer and feet. Got a dampness warm, like sweaten heat grown under blankets.

Be some ten children, sat on lopside chairs and wooden boxes. All gather round a science instrument, is glowing faint with heat. Be mostly penals, drinking Sirena beers, their jackets open sloppy. Even in this muddle light, some recognize myself. They startle, biggen eyes. Go whispering each to each till every boy stare curiose.

Ya, be one girl, in boyish undershirt and loose blue pants. Sit straight as grass. Got flatten nose, but still is prettieuse goods. A daisy face, how Sengles say. She look up friendly, then turn to the tallish jones beside her. Shove his shoulder and laugh.

Take a second before I know this jones be Mamadou. This be the second he look to me with fear.

Then he come standing to his feet, and be himself in scorn bellesse. He wear a soldier jacket. Hair cut close, got stubble beard grown on his face. And everything in him be right to me, as ever was. Is like the world remember its evil goodness.

His children look to him, to me. Fascinate like littles spying curiose
on jones affairs. Only the girl sit easy like she been. Scratch at her neck and frown.

Mamadou say low, ‘Got blood on you.’

I shrug. The cut pull stiff. ‘Sure, some fool stab me. Want my ring.’

Penals all go flinch. Look to my chest, the ring.

‘Ain’t bleeding much,’ I say defensive. ‘Ya, he sorrier now.’

A queery restlessness pass through. Now the girl be smiling curiose while all the others frown.

Mamadou shake his head. ‘Come by, Maria. We best talk on the roof.’

Be a ladder to the roof from the bepissen stairway. Come out, you standing on some street material, open to the sky. Low concree wall around be cresten white with lumpy snow. Below, the river draw its blackness past, slow under coursing moon. Ya, the city by – its bandon towers standing with a gentle dust of light around their feet.

I come up first, go breathing to the stars in curving night. Then Mamadou climb out. Rise graciose with easy strength. Walk to me, and before I can expect, he take me by the shoulders. Grip there hard feroce. Then we looking one to one, with all familiar war.

‘Hope you ain’t lost me Metro,’ he say quiet.

I scorn my eyes. ‘This why you given me to Felipe? Be some pay for him?’

‘Given you to no one.’ His hands take deeper in my shoulders. ‘Put you where you need to be.’

‘I needing that? No sho. I done my prisonment, it finish.’

Mamadou shake his head. Loose one shoulder, and feel along my collarbone, find the sweater’s tear. Then he go unzip my coat, while I grit hot despair. Yo is other mysteries, how his face good in my eyes. Is like a meal of wanting.

‘Ain’t going back there,’ I say weak. ‘Felipe mad as rotten eggs.’

Mamadou only watch my chest. Tug and unstick the sweater from its blood, a jarring hurt. He pull it by, seek for my wound.

‘And heed, I going to fight this war. I going to goddamn Quantico, ain’t keeping like a goddamn hen. Shee, leave that.’ I catch Mamadou’s hand.

He look impatient to me, while I grip his wrist. His fingers still touch light on my bare skin.

‘So you go to Quantico,’ he say. ‘Who said you ain’t?’

‘Felipe, ain’t you hearing?’

Mamadou grimace. ‘Ever Felipe say, got no significance.’

‘You ate a book? Significance? What sleeper words they feeding you?’

A moment we be staring at each other, cold farouche. Then he twist his hand free. Reach and pull me hard against him. His other hand catch in my braids, and we be kissing wild in need.

Kiss be a feary knowledge, where the world of coldness fly around us. All the blackness city and the stars grow huge and they be nothing. His hands stroke over me, reminding. Tell me quiet honesties beyond no words that pride can say. And my body brighten with insistence, love him burning good. I touch his face, his neck, and hold to his right strength with all damnations in my fearing blood.

Then, in moment’s change, we both remember where we be. I pull back soft like taken breath. Mamadou ease his arms. He sigh and rest his lips down to my throat.

‘There you be,’ he say low. ‘What it is.’

I form my hands along his back. Can hear the river’s voice again, like every pestering that ain’t this love, that cannot hush. Feel my heart beat small to him. I want him perilous for one final breath. Then I see the city dark behind, and shiver from his warm.

He loose back and scout my face. His eyes be glad feroce, is like a victory he see. Ya, I tense. Say soft resenting, ‘What you said to El Mayor?’

Sudden, he rid me from his arms. Step back, disgusting in his face. ‘El Mayor? Shee El Mayor.’

‘Ain’t got to say it then.’ I hug myself, feel sorry bitten. ‘Who going to lose you Metro, be yourself. Go to El Mayor with that, be lucky Felipe ain’t hear all they histories that same night.’

‘Gone to him with nothing.’ He shake his head, like marveling my stupidity. ‘Digger want to weep his problems. Ain’t asking for this pleasure, sure.’

‘Love problems?’ I scoff breath.

‘Sort of problems he can have.’

‘So you share alike.’