The Country of Ice Cream Star (65 page)

‘Yes,’ say Verna softer. ‘That is a help.’

‘Makes it a different picture,’ the Commandant say with easing grin. ‘I do thank you, ma’am, and we’ll try to make your stay very pleasant. We certainly will.’

Here Pasha stand up sudden from his chair. All startle back. The Commandant say footless, ‘Sir? You all right there?’

‘Can go,’ he say in absent voice.

‘Nay, Pasha,’ I say. ‘We ain’t said–’

‘Well, thank you also.’ Verna stand up ready. ‘I certainly appreciate that too.’

Pasha push his chair back clumsy. Verna pass along, she open the door with quick impatience. Pasha start behind, then hold. Step back to me and bend down hasty. Kiss me on the forehead. Then he turn and he be gone. Door shut against my frightening look.

This kiss stay wrong in me. Ain’t Pasha manners that he do no kissing, ain’t himself. Ya, in my wrong feeling, the Commandant begin to cough again – a longer trail of coughs with fretten swallows in between. I grit sharp, look to his posy face with struggling heart.

Simón Zelote start to talk now, how my safety can assure. ‘You’ll need to make us comfortable, if we’re going to work together … regular communications and some means …’ and he say on, while Verna coming back, without my Pasha. And someone answer shortish, and someone answer glad, and all be voices. I try to heed correct, but then the Commandant cough again, and my mind deafen in unsense. I only see the harshen light, their faces looking skully ill.

I see Hatter frowning worry at the Commandant before grief swallow me entire. Room become a smaller darkness. Feel weakly cold, like all my blood be tears. Be gripping in my dress – their voices babbiting around me – swearing my heart that Pasha cannot leave. He know that Driver gone. He going to know I need himself.

Then this confuse to Driver dying lonely in his bed. How he pologizing that I try so hard, and still he die. All times I dare myself, all sweating work, a city’s ruling – and still I cannot save one life. And this new war will spend its blood, and Driver still be dead.

Ya, my mind recall a rhyme I known in littlish years. Be about a boy was lost, and every creature work to find him. Birds fly seeking, and the foxes sniff, and moles dig underground. Even the sun go look for him, and water hunt in all its brooks. But he never found, and every part end with the rhyme:

These are the creatures that live in the world
,

And these are the things they done
.

Uppity busy, and everywheres
,

But Mannity still be gone
.

Mannity still be gone
.

Through this, I hear Simón say low, ‘Maria?’

Look up, and all the generals frown on me. The Commandant say, ‘Ma’am, do that sound possible to you?’

When I take my breath, feel like it cut into my chest. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I be tired. If Pasha–’

Then I sob out hard. My tears come helpless, and I skit both hands up to my face.

Can hear in shamen awfulness, how every child be saying ‘Ma’am? Ma’am?’ Someone touch my arm, ask something, but I cannot think. And they standing up. All noising with their slurren courtesies. Close through this, Simón say low, ‘Please understand, Maria’s brother died yesterday.’

I look to him, surprise. Be like I ain’t remember any other child know this. Then it be some comfort, how his eyes be sharp feroce. Look like he ready to attack no child who tell me wrong.

But they give sorries courteose. Hatter reach a cloth to me, and even Verna saying they never guess, and be good courage that I come. I use the cloth to wipe my face, say choken, ‘Nay, be right. Can need a cigarette, all it need.’

Hatter’s voice come near beside, ‘Now, ma’am. We can carry on without you until tomorrow, the very least. There’s Mister Zelote here. I think you’ve done everything anybody can ask.’

The Commandant say kindly low, ‘Ma’am, I think we can all use time to gather thoughts. Maybe I show you to your room, you can rest. And anything else you need, you just speak up.’

Ain’t comprehend this well, but I say, ‘Ya, be gratty right.’

‘Thass fine,’ the Commandant say. ‘We’ve all lost people, everyone here. You’re among friends, ma’am, forgetting all politics. I hope you appreciate that.’

This bring my tears again, and I say thoughtless, ‘Sure. Be gratty, brother.’

Then be a strange walk to the White House self, all generals fluttering round. Must concentrate on seeing where I walk through always tears. We come into a hall of whitish luxury, ride an elevator, yo all be sobbing and confusions. At last, we stop beside a door. Here Simón and everyone be gone. Is only the Commandant. He say pleasant, ‘This is the Queen’s Bedroom, ma’am, what they call it. Thinking it be appropriate.’

I say soft, ‘Where Pasha be? My … Russian child.’

‘Ma’am, thought you knew. He’s talking to some of our folks now. And then, at his request, he’s going back to his own people. Thass the arrangement that we made.’

My mind go struggling feary. ‘Nay. He change in this.’

‘Ma’am?’

‘He promise, ya. He got to be with me.’

The Commandant look discomfort. ‘Ma’am, I’ll certainly ask him. Can’t exactly have him in the White House here, but … well, you leave that to me.’

I shake my head. Look past him like my Pasha going to be there. ‘I cannot stay alone here. Sure he know.’

‘Hoping you won’t feel alone with us, ma’am. But I’ll ask him, you don’t worry at all.’

‘Ya, send him here. I need him.’ I say this peevish like a little, then I go inside. The Commandant stick in the doorway, explaining how is empty here, tell pologies on his missing staff. ‘Everybody’s fighting now. So things got a little dusty, but I’m hoping you can see it’s no disrespect.’ He linger in this till I lose my strength, sit on the bed. Say rough, ‘Be thanks. But send me Pasha.’ He make this promise again, and go at last. Close the door onto a petty sound, is like a final cough.

Some time, I stare into my blindness, heeding for my Pasha’s step. Keep swearing he must come. Cannot be Driver gone and Pasha both. But all the house be dumb. Be dead. At last, I curl onto my side, gone weak from useless wish. Hug my knees and wait my misery into nothing sleep.

66

OF ROOISH PRISONERS

I wake again in nighten closeness. Only a gentle yellow lamp be lit beside the bed. Gone sweaty in my dress and coat, and I sit weak confusen while my every griefs remember.

In this, the room begin to notice. All be ickety pink. The walls and rugs and every other object pinking various. Pink and pink, like sitting in a mouth. Only unpink object be my blackish journey case, brought from Marias with all packen clothes. Some child must carry it here while I been sleeping. Now it seem queer familiar. Is like an actual object that appear inside a dream.

For longer time, I only sitting, restless in despair. Think how I can ask to leave, pick through the land-mine streets again. Beg a car, can get back to my Sengles by the morning. But then a notion hold my mind.

Pasha still be here. Is somewhere in the city, with Russian prisoners waiting trade. Can even be, he never meant to leave. Verna took him, and he gone obedient to help our parley. Only must fetch him out again, and he remain with me.

I go to the door and open hasty. Call up, ‘Ho? Be someone by?’

Answer be silence, dumb as ice. I breathe my courage up again and step out to the hall.

Their elevator work like ours. I ride it down and wander lost through luxury rooms, all fade with dust. Keep calling, but my voice
be only a strange intrusion in the deafness. Get superstitious, every person kilt while I been sleeping long.

At last, I find an outer door. Then it be relief to step into the good outside. The air be living with bright wind, the sky as huge as feeling. Is darken trees before, all shushing happy with their leafen voice. Cold seize into my face, my eyes. But ain’t no child to ask. Be no one there and no one there.

I stalk across the grass, come through a spacen line of trees. Can spy a bigger field beyond, still clean with no explosion patterns. A tickle of movement there come hopeful. I haste my step toward, pass through a clutch of heavy pines. Here I halt in staring.

Center of this field an artifact rise, white gigantesque. Is tallish like sky towers, but ain’t shapen like no building. Be skinny long with pointen top, and got no windows all its height. Look like goliath stake, craften out of moon. Around it, be a ring of poles with flags of old America. Look tiny there, their stripen rags twitch pitieuse in wind. To every side, the grassen field go widening out to milen distance.

First my nerves wonder if this be a nuclear weapon that they keep. Guess how its poison kill the trees around, leave only grass. Yo, as I stare, a child come striding. Follow around this flaggen circle, holding a rifle loose.

I speed my step toward him, breathing funny with my spookery. He still be tiny in his yonder when he pause in noticing. Straighten up and ware his gun.

I halt, yell up, ‘Salue! It be Maria, from the north.’

Child hitch his rifle wary. Beckon to me with his hand.

Last walking be a long impatience. Face numb and sting with Cember wind. Ya, always be that artifact, moon weapon in my eyes. It grow overhead, while the ring of flags seem always small the same. But truth, these flagposts be four times the height of the watching child.

At last I come to talking distance. Can see the soldier’s troubling face in moonlight, how he tense his gun. Frown at my furs, my diamond head – can see he worry in duty, I be beasts beyond his
knowing. I guess him at fifteen, and all my spirit be a thankfulness. At last, be someone by. Can ask.

‘Hello, ma’am?’ he call. ‘You all right there?’

‘Sure, be right.’

‘Guessing you do have a pass? Didden catch what you was yelling.’

‘Know no pass. Been saying, I be Maria. From the north.’

‘Oh.’ Uncertainty go down himself, a pology in his body. ‘Do beg your pardon, ma’am. We was told, but I didden expect to see you here. Hoping you aren’t lost?’

‘Nay. My brother, what be this building for?’

He look to it, puzzling. ‘Well, thass the Washington Monument. It’s for … I don’t know how to tell you. Memory, I suppose.’

‘Ain’t a weapon?’

He grin up sweet. ‘Oh, no, ma’am. Lessen it falls on us, the old boy’s harmless as a sock.’

I look unhappy to this monument, try to feel it harmless. But closer, it be only worse unnatural in its white.

‘Dang,’ the soldier say beside. ‘Thought you was a ghost, first saw you. Thass funny about the monument, you thought that. Hope you don’t mind me saying.’

I look back at his friendly smile. See where he growing scrabbity beard, still seldom on his cheeks. ‘Brother,’ I say nervy, ‘you know where they keep the prisoners? Russian children, what I meaning.’

‘Well.’ His face ease seriose. ‘They’re the other side. But these aren’t children, ma’am. They’re fully grown, for certain.’

‘Other side?’

‘I’ll walk you. Guess it idden any harm you seeing.’

He set out at lagging pace, while I keep by impatient. And as we walk around these flags, the child say nerviose confusions – how this look irregular, but be telligence reasons, what they do. ‘If the Russians know these boys are there, they’re thinking twice about where they bomb. Plus, we want to get these boys talking. Don’t know what information’s there.’

‘Ain’t talking?’

‘No, the Russians who’s cooperative, they’re not down here shivering. They were at barracks, if they hadn’t been traded home. These folks have got to earn that soft bed.’

As he saying this, I spy a shape by farther flagpost. Seem a heap of clothy trash, like I seen in Loisaida sometimes, frozen to a wall. Come walking, and can see another, another. Then it tweak in sense, is people bound against these poles. Ya, all be slumpen queery, like they fallen there from beating.

I stalk angry forward, while the boy call out his frighten, ‘Ma’am?’ Be only thinking, I free Pasha now. This nonsense finish right.

Only be six children here, bound against six flagposts. Sit curlen to themself, arms caught behind. All wear dapple suits, and nest their faces in their collars, ducking from the windy cold. Still, can see in second’s glance that Pasha ain’t among. Most is darker furry, and the yellow roos be smaller than my Pasha, most like normal children. Come to the end and I look forward to the empty flagposts, helpless lorn that he ain’t here.

Soldier fetch up to me, say breathless, ‘Now, ma’am. Please don’t go running off like that. I’m responsible here, what happens.’

‘At barracks, you saying, the others be?’

‘If anyone’s left, they’re there. Thought, you come here, it must be these you want.’

I look back scary to this row. Now it realize strange that these be Pasha’s natural people. All furren like a hound, their faces squarish made, pink in this cold. Been talking all these weeks of roos and Russians, known was thousands like. But it never realize correct, they all be looking so.

Come staring at the nearest child. Got weirdo hair, ain’t yellow but is white. Ya, like the others, he sit heedless dull. Ain’t look to us.

I say thin, ‘Where barracks be?’

‘Truth is, ma’am,’ the soldier say behind, ‘I think those guys is gone from barracks.’

‘Nay, how you meaning?’

‘They done an exchange tonight. Pretty sure it was everyone who’s not here.’

‘Tonight?’ A knowing misery rise into my throat. ‘Is done?’

‘Well, it’s getting on to midnight now. Best I know, they gone at eight. And it’s a short walk, when nobody’s shooting at you.’

A moment, I get screaming feeling. Want to grab this child and shake him. Make him find they generals, and insist they fetch my Pasha back. Can threaten we ain’t help their war. We join with Russians, they be sorrier.

But this fever pass and leave me weak with nonsense feeling. Stare brainless to the monument, its goliath flank of moon. Feel somehow, it be evidence – should know when I first seen it, Pasha gone.

The soldier say behind, ‘I’m juss hoping our own people’s come back. I got to be out here, or I’d know better, ma’am.’