The Country of Ice Cream Star (59 page)

I think two lives of misery in this hiding. Go from the Quantico nuclears to Pasha left in Metro to my asking Pedro’s murder. My mind distract to Mamadou’s kiss, and I be whispering curses to my own cold hands. And Anselm’s voice say flat,
I wanted to save you, santa reina
. He stalk away while I skree hate, and then he fallen in the street. His last blood hit my face. And I want a cigarette, and curl my knees up, shivering queery. Last, the Massa enfants wander
sleepy through my mind – five hundred littles in the hungry snow – and I be thinking, half in dream, we got to hunt them food, when the door fly open.

Candle flame skit out. A boyish voice swear underbreath. Booten feet come toward, and I pull down my blanket hasty. Peek my hot face to the winter room.

Crow’s voice say, ‘NewKing, you sleeping?’

First I only hold, surprise. Then some perversity wake in me. I say careless, ‘Think he gone.’

‘Shee.’ Crow laugh unsteady. Be a wait of fumbling, then he scrape a match alight. Squint funny past it to myself. Is wearing clothes of penal, with a rifle slung low at his waist.

I tense, prepare my sarcasms. But Crow grin, say in laughing voice, ‘Ice Cream? I thought you been in Metro.’

I narrow on him wary. ‘Left. Can see that.’

Then he bend careless, light the candle. Shake his head, still grinning. ‘We been at the Ministerio. Damn, that Asha Badmouth never change. She see me, first words from herself be, “Foo, you ugly in that brown.” Was shooting all downstairs, yo I been mostly pissing terrify. Come up, think how I find them dead. But they all eating nuts, sat on the floor. And Asha, “you ugly in that brown”.’ He laugh, stretch out his arms.

‘Ya, she discouraging somewhat.’ Smile begin reluctant in my face.

‘Shee, this building made of ice. How they rats survive? Skinny fur they got, think they all dying frozen.’ He look to me friendly, hugging chillen to himself. ‘Can get under with you? Truth, I freezing here.’

I catch on plain surprise. ‘Can, if you want.’

He slip his rifle off, and scramble to. Be clumsiness while he come in, the blankets flying, lose their warm. Crow laugh anxy, shoving. At last, the blankets tuck, his shoulder settle cold against me.

Then be peculiar feeling, Crow beside me, like all foaly years. Even how he bigger grown, his elbow shape still fit my arm. My heart gone weirdo sweet, but I keep wanting to object, he hate myself.

‘Gratty, damn,’ he say. ‘Foo, guess we going back there. Now you here.’

I shrug against him nervy. ‘To the Ministerio? Why?’

‘Put you back in ruling place.’

‘Ruling?’ I laugh thin. ‘Ain’t ruling much.’

‘Nay.’ Crow shake his head. ‘It be symbolic, what the NewKing say. So children see we win. Then they all join with us, what Mamadou figure.’

A moment, I feel plain resistance. But Crow nestle to me, shivering, and my contradictions fade. Truth, I ain’t complaining if they bring me to my Sengles.

‘So,’ I say, ‘it been your penals took the Ministerio?’

‘And Simón, his soldiers there.’ Crow get his grin again. ‘Foo Loisaidas, they insane. I been screaming when it all begun. Ain’t seen the air for bullets.’

‘Sengles ain’t been hurt?’

‘Nay, no one shooting there, upstairs. Ain’t no one there to fight. All we done, we clean out they Inúds. And kill the roo.’

I seize with awful heart. Then I comprehend, say jittery, ‘Roo with broken feet? This roo?’

‘Been the only roo they bring from Massa. Mamadou kilt Juan before they get no others. How it been–’

‘Nay, I know.’ I take a better breath. ‘Know this.’

When I look, Crow frowning on me skeptical. I try to make my face correct, but only see this sorry roo. How he crawling from the car, his feet all purple wrong.

Then I cannot help my mouth. ‘Ain’t need to kill him, ya.’

Crow scoff breath. ‘What that Simón said. “Keep the Jesus, he be useful.”‘

‘Shoo, useful. Child ain’t got no goddamn feet. Ain’t harming peoples so.’

Crow wave dismissing hand. ‘Is politics, what Mamadou say. So no one make a new Maria.’

‘So Mamadou shooting him?’

‘Nay, some penal doing this.’ Crow get admiring smile. ‘The NewKing, he fought where they fighting back. Foo, he run out of bullets once, and this Inúd come at him, shooting. Mamadou, he come straight back at the man and grab his gun. Same gun that shooting at him! Inúd surprise so much, he trip his feet, and Mamadou shoot him straight. Child vally, damn.’

I narrow sideways to him. ‘Thought you ain’t like Mamadou.’

To this, Crow hush. Frown soft, like trying to remember distances. ‘Sure, then,’ he say uncertain. ‘Ain’t like no one then. Hate everything for being.’

Can feel him start to bob his toe in nerviose habit. Want to kick him, make him quit, but I still be shy from this. I shift away, say cautieuse, ‘Hate me for being, I guess.’

‘Yourself?’ He give an anxy laugh. ‘Ain’t mysteries why I hating you. Thought every person seen.’

‘I ain’t, sure.’

I look to him and find his eyes unhappy on myself. He swallow, say in clumsy voice, ‘How you was.’

‘How I was?’ My voice break strange. ‘Ain’t been so nasty then.’

‘Nasty, shee.’ Crow look away. ‘Lucky, what you been. Every person loving you, best genius ever made. Yo, how Driver favor you, it give me other malice. Shoo, when he given you that horse, remember to you?’

‘Horse been from El Mayor. Driver only let me keep her.’

‘El Mayor.’ Crow grimace. ‘Right. All males be one big ball of want for Ice Cream Perfectesse. Myself …’ He catch his voice. Crow’s foot keep bouncing nerviose, while his face pinch resenting.

I want to cavil, Crow’s life been no awful differences. Had all I had, except this pony. No person force him gunpoint to be skew. But when I look to him, his unchin face be its own argument. Froggen looks be poory luck enough for seven lives.

‘Been harder years for you,’ I try. ‘Fourteen and so.’

‘Shee right. Fourteen.’ Crow huff his breath. ‘Fifteen, was worser anything. But been my foolishness, that I expect the world be fair
to me. How Mamadou say, you only got what justice you can make.’

This crush my pity whole. Ain’t comprehend how Mamadou’s sayings turn to no religion. I kick Crow’s niggling foot and say sarcasty, ‘So he making justice?’

Crow’s foot halt. He tense beside me. ‘Sure he do. You ain’t dead, is you?’

‘Only be thinking, maybe you make his sayings to a book. Be a chapter all on slaving.’

‘He been an Army, how he going to do? Children change into their circumstance.’

‘Guess Mamadou saying this?’

‘Whoever saying it, be truth. I changen.’

Crow flinch clear from me, and we grit at each other sideways. But, as I think our yeary hatreds wake, Crow ease his face. Smile to some funny thought.

‘Sure, you got other feelings,’ he say. ‘Like how Mamadou be about yourself.’

‘Nay, what you saying?’

‘Saying, it be familiar shee, you stanking on him in his bed.’

I start to cavil, this ain’t what he think. But Crow begin to laugh – his bravo laugh, big like his singing. Then it come funny to myself, how I been sniffing at the NewKing’s coat, but cannot hear him praise.

I laugh along with heaten face, and Crow shove teasing at me. He say, ‘Goddamn, I wish you seen him when he got to say “Maria”. Look like he swallow a whole potato. His face gone all–’ Crow try to make this face, but cannot change his laughing mouth.

‘Guess he hating me this time,’ I say with moron smile.

‘Hate you? Mamadou glad to hate you, once he use you seven years.’

‘Foo. It need that filth?’

He squeal a worser laugh. ‘Right, you a virgin. Pudy for no sex.’

Then Crow go telling humor tales about my virgin self. How
penals asking Crow on me, and he must lie about my purity. ‘ “Oh, nay, she innocent right.” I get a nosebleed, how I choke my laughter. And Mamadou gleering at me, like he eat my head if I say wrong … Ya once, this penal Donx come telling stank on you and Pasha. Mamadou gone as green as paint. Go pounding down the stairs, can hear him down there shooting rats. And Donx say, all confusing, “Didn’t think Mamadou was religious.” Shee, it mostly kill me. Swear, the rats was laughing while they shot … And when we plan your rescue, some child tell Taco, “Watch yourself. She going to be afraid with penals. Don’t say no bad language.”‘

Here, Crow lose his final brains. Laugh till he bringing tears. He see that I quit laughing, and go leap on me and tickle my armpits. Become a squallen fight, both yelling, giggling twenty–forty. I only rid him when I find my knife and ware it at his face.

After this, we slump in bed, go talking townie memories. Is nothings of our robbery tricks, and scraps we had in tennish age; winters in the Tophet barn, and wars we fought among their hay. Be the conversation that I always wish to have with Crow, all years he keeping spiteful. But now every remembrance wisty, how this life be gone. Ya, be sadder hearing, when he talk about Karim their love. He mention this in shy half-sayings, watching careful to my face. Then I begin to weep my shame. Ain’t brave to tell confessions – it be no forgiveness in this crime – but my eyes keep dripping sorry.

Crow say soft, ‘Should tell you sooner. Ain’t trust no person in they times.’

‘Nay, you was right,’ I say. ‘I been some fool to judge. You right.’

And we gone in dreaming sorrows, smoking Mamadou’s cigarettes by the candle’s final gasping light, when footsteps come loud down the hall, and voices rough joyeuse.

Be Taco and a band of scrabble penals, calling me back to rule.

61

THIS MORNING ITS BONESSE AND EVIL

Is fourish darkness when our car start toward the Ministerio. Who come be Taco–Crow, ya Donx. This be a long and skinbone child, look like he made of elbows. We take a car that been ‘donation’ from apostle Pedro. This meaning that the penals rob it from his dispatch yard.

As we pass through Loisaida, streets be empty strange. Is only seldom cats and rats, all scuttling hasty in the cold. Yo, worse in my discomfort be the city’s warless silence. Ain’t notice when the gunfire quit, but now its missing voice be awful. Feel like the city kill itself entire, leave only stone and sky.

And we pass from Loisaida’s ruin onto cleanly road. Come up Madison, where the stores all lost their windowglass. Some goods spill messy in the street, but most be gone to thieves. Donx drive slower here, keep squinting forward at the road. Only noise be our car’s groan. It grow and wash out small in echoes from the closer buildings. Somewhere be lights of Navidad, shine heedless to the warry mess. And no one there and no one. Now ain’t even rats to see.

Then, in the forward darkness, rise a boiling thrill of voice. Ring strange among the towers, cannot tell if it be rage or gladness. Seem like it raining from above, and shiver in the air. Be thousand children yelling, breathless long like cricket voice.

Donx stamp the brakes in fear reaction, slow the car to creeping. Crow swear, go crouching low. I start guessing brainless, how our soldiers give up shooting. Solve this fight with shouting argument.

Donx say low, ‘It’s not guns, anyway.’

‘Ain’t mean we got to drive into it, damn,’ Crow say. ‘Best we turn back.’

‘No,’ Taco say. ‘I want to see.’

I ware up, frightening now. ‘If it ain’t fighting, what it is?’

Donx stop the car, half to the crossway. ‘Look there. There they are.’

In the forward street, can see a mass of thicker dark. Is moving toward us slow and various like drifting smoke. Be a crowd of children, shifting gradual down the street. Can hear, the voices come from there; can guess its shifting shadows. Yo, as they come into the crossway, and moon lighten them, can see they all be walking backwards. They watching to the farther crowd, in ignorance to us.

Thick among be soldiers, but is also brown ermanos. Even be some orfanato littles in their number coats. Some thirteen girls be stood in nighting dress, with blankets round their shoulders. These strain on tiptoes, scouting past the other children’s heads. Then one girl notice our carlights. Squint to us, and shout some word. Then all the thirteen girls turn round, wave like inviting us to festival.

Yo, through the ferment come a horsen neigh, particular like music. I sit up, waring breathless. When it whinny up again, my heart go weirdo bright. Then I be fumbling for the doory handle, running from the car. Crow shout behind, but I be sprinting heedless. Come to the mass of children as they break apart, shift toward the roadside. First, I think they recognize me – give Maria room. But then I see the littles coming slow along the street. People all be stepping back to let these enfants pass.

Be any hundred littles there, in dirty clothes of moth appearance. Their coats stuff fat with paper; heads be mostly lost in scarf. Got packs upon their back, so each look like a shamble bear of cloth. Bigger tens be pushing wheeler-carts with nests of baby twos, who
skree appalling to the crowd. And down the street, as far as eyesight, be more littles come the same. All dragging in exhaustion – but soon it realize, they also slow because they eating food. Yo, as I watch, a Mariano girl come from a house with bread in hands. She pass this to a scruffety eight, and soon the bread be torn in pieces, stuffing in all enfants’ mouths.

Then, tall among this littlish mob, I spy my pony Money. Her spotten flanks be queer like maginations in this muzzy light. Before I think, I yell my voice. Then she spark feet, come barging glad. First Runner small astride – is yanking at the reins, while Money scare all littles from her path. They skeltering in all directions, like a splashing wake. Then Money nosing in my face while I reach to First Runner, laughing breath, my blood spectacular with joy.

First Runner cry in high frustration, ‘Leave my mare! She biting peoples!’

I call brainless. ‘You ain’t hurt? You bone?’

Now she recognize my voice. Go startle, gape her mouth.

‘You bone?’ I cry again.

‘Ice Cream?’ she say in breaking voice. ‘You all alive? And Mamadou?’

‘We bone! All be the same!’

‘Then why–’ She look to the littles, who be pausing back, uncertain. An eight yell something to her, but she wave a nay ferocious, frown to me. ‘Truth? You ain’t lying?’