The Country of Ice Cream Star (16 page)

And when this grim meal finish, I first speak to them as sergeant.

All it need, I stand up to my feet, and every child go hush. Look to me like I being sergeant always, safe in every help. Only at the enfant blanket, skree go forward, and Hate You’s hushing. This skree be in my heart, is like my feelings’ crying voice.

First I say, roos come to Massa woods. I tell this careful calm, ain’t make these roos particular risky. Just be so, like we got termites in some chair. Ain’t worth to keep.

The next words I remember mostly. They repeat again in memory like jeering after. Been spoken in my wildness, in my courage born of grief.

‘This move, we wander farther. Leave these woods, like time ago, the Sengles voyage here and prosper well. Our greats been roam for daring miles. Come up from Chespea Water, nor they ain’t had horses like we got. Yo this journey we will take, the Lowells be our trusty help. Tomorrow I request the Christings also. Hope these all be company in our deed.

‘Be bell wandering to expect. Can see the stony mountains, see the waters in the leaping ocean. We wander till we seen each inch of sky, drink all its shiny rains. Beyond, we find another woods. Some country where the tatoes growing wild, and every evac full. We go and choose a life joyeuse from every life that be.

‘Ya, beyond the farther south, it be a cure for posies. This truth discover past no doubt. Loot dangerous to find – ain’t bring you all to face this risk. But ever it take, I going to rob this pharmacy for … for our good child.’ Then I stop in weakness, watch their feary faces’ hush.

A wondering moment pass, then Jonah Fourteen say, ‘What be this cure?’

Now can notice, all my older children watching perilous. I say, ‘I only know it being there. And it fix posies.’

‘Fix like papa tea?’ Now Jonah’s face be clenchen with mistrust.

‘Nay.’ I say. ‘Fix it entire. Child live sixty years, can be. Ain’t die of posies nothing.’

Be another quietness. My jones all frowning inward. Is like they seek within themself, to figure if the cure be truth.

Then Mouse call out, ‘What happen for the Armies? They be bring?’

To this, all laugh up nervy. Some littles hooting, calling nee-naws at Mouse seriose. Asha Badmouth say, ‘And we bring spiders. Bring diseases also. What we need!’

‘Foo,’ say Keepers. ‘Must bring Armies. Who we fight in these new woods?’

I say loud, ‘The Armies gone to roos.’

The jabber stop its voice. Their stares bewilder. Can hear Cat Fancy keeping at her crying, through and on.

‘How they gone to roos?’ Jermaine say. ‘They becoming roos?’

Foxen laugh and call, ‘They go turn white!’

‘Hush,’ I say in sergeant voice. ‘Will see this at the morrow church. Learn what these Armies do.’

Before no child can give new problems, I start them to pack the camp. Is complication task, ya every child belabor me with questions. I ain’t get peace to feel my sorrow more.

And work go to its finish, day walk down to tired night.

Been thought to wait for Pasha, but he slow in coming back from Lowell. And when the final sun be gone, is sure that Driver sleep. Ya, sergeant be the only child can parley with the dead-among. So my heart insist toward my brother, need his living face.

I leave Jermaine my deputy. Give him instructions, how the town depart to Lowell mill by morning, while I be at church. Then I head to Driver’s hiding meadow, through the Tophet woods.

My foot know every hill and stumbling hollow of this walk. Know where the owl will hoo, and where the rusten bicycle been left. On this path, when I been five, I catch a toad and try to teach him speech. Here I drink my first rat booze. I known the mosquitoes’ fathers and their grands and greats; I known the cardinal birds that eat these parents.

But now my townie woods become a temporary place, a picture where some past life been. I walk through memories gone.

As I come to the evac roads, a crashing sound break out. My ABC leap from her houndish nowhere. She run left–right before my path, her tongue laugh sideways down.

‘Shoo, every creature,’ I say. ‘Every creature in my trouble.’

Hound trot in front then, looking back responsible and bright. When we come to the hiding house, she dash ahead. Vanish through the tween-yards, where the shadows make a path of blindness. Here I go cautieuse. Can smell his fire.

Cloud hug the moon as I come to the meadow’s grayer dark. By the dying fire, show Driver’s tent. Tent flaps tied open. ABC sat by, look scouty like she guard this meeting.

‘Brother,’ I call low.

A shadow change inside the tent, but ain’t no word return. I take my breath in this reproach. Say the words is drill: ‘The sergeant will bespeak the sergeant been.’ Then my heart repent, my throat ache with my sorry love.

But Driver say, ‘Come by.’

I walk toward and hunker by the tent, go down on knees. He lain, head to the tenten opening, wrap up in a felty blanket. Is only hair that show. His face turn down toward the ground.

‘Thought we can parley,’ I say clumsy.

‘Be gone night. Was sleeping.’

‘Sure, is tardy. But, brother … I can sleep here?’

His head shift, but he ain’t look. Can only see his cheek, cut by a shadow from the tent. ‘You be sergeant. Yours to choose.’

‘Is what I wish,’ I say weak-voice. ‘But I respect your wish above.’

I wait on haunches, all my thinking shame. Feel where ABC be watching, and think about the sleeper hounds is dead inside the house.

Then Driver sigh, ‘Expect, be rain. You like a tent this night.’

‘Sure be rain. Is right.’

He ain’t say more, but shift himself, make room. I creep inside. Tent scarce is big for two, it take some spidering before I can lay down. A sleeping bag unzip and spread upon the floor, but cold creep through. Can feel the chill of earth. I lay behind him, pillow my head down on my open palm. But nothing in my body rest.

Then cautieuse, I reach and lay my other hand on top his blanket, on his ribben side. When I touch, my Driver flinch. Be careful held against my feeling.

I say low, ‘We move the town.’

His head turn slight, like he present an ear. Can hear him swallow.

‘We go to Lowells,’ I say. ‘Like you said, when we been fearing Armies. Yours been right. El Mayor ask this himself.’

‘Been right from him.’ His voice come tired.

‘Sure. He a trusty goat enough.’

‘He fit you, sister,’ Driver say uncaring. ‘Both be birds of hotness.’

‘Ain’t fit me while I still can fight.’ I try to laugh, but Driver wait in stillness. Can feel, he wait to sleep.

I swallow against my guilt and try, ‘These roos be coming. Must be changes round.’

Driver shake his head against the tenten floor. ‘Talk ain’t war.’

‘Yo sho, but if this be. Remember how you say, “Do more than less.” You mind this saying?’

‘Can be.’

‘Is yours. Cannot be foolish.’

Then his shoulders tense up quick. My hand upon his ribs can feel his cough mount, how he hold and still. Struggle at this weakness, like his body straining at some weight. Then it only cough beneath his breath. His body ease.

He say, ‘Foolish be a child who sleep without no blanket.’

‘Sure, but, brother–’

‘Going to sleep here, sleep,’ he say with almost laughter. ‘Less your noise.’

Been meant to tell him all my plans, but now I give my talk up gratty. Take the blanket, pull it careful till it cover both. Then, though my sadness crave to hold him, I leave him good room. Ain’t bone taboo to lie held with no brother. Nor my Driver love exceptions. Be a plain-lawed child.

Then I lay and watch his breathing. Is simple one and two, though he cough sometimes, or stir his limbs and rearrange. Yo, soon his breathing slow and gruffen gentle into sleep. In this my spirit comfort. I go drowsy to my brother’s warm.

In my beginning dream, I see the NewKing in a broken road. His back to me, and all himself be distant like a sun. Yo, gunfire noise ahead. My conscience suffer and insist:
He cannot hear. Is roos. He walking to his death
. I try to call, but cannot make no voice … and I wake, and soothe again, and drowse again in fretting, now Mamadou be there at the morrow’s church. If Armies leave with us, if I can save him anyhow. And this mingle into dreams, my brother’s struggling breath, his warm.

When last I open eyes, outside the tenten flap, a snow begun. Sparkle airy over the ember fire. One crumb of snow caught in a dab of clover, near outside. And there it stick, against the moving night that blow behind, until my eyes close into dark.

20

THE SPRING WHEN I LOVE MAMADOU

First I ever come to Mamadou, been war. I chosen him for hate before I wanting him in love.

This been our Sengle–Army wars, a clobberie joyeuse. Been skirmish for its wildness, good as laughing to no breath. Knives sharpen only at they point; can make a braggery wound, but do no worser injury. Come back in a feast of body gladness, ravish in your strength.

These scuffle wars, we fight our match. No eighteen want to beat a skinny twelve. Be coward victories. So ain’t sense that I will try to fight no Mamadou. Is only bellicose pride – must catch the biggest fish and shoot the biggest deer and fight the NewKing. And I confuse in feeling, all that year that Crow gone cold to me. My loves become an anger. War been my only good relief.

This war when I chase Mamadou, they come on us at middy meal. I been fighting a reddish brownish feather I call Bigface, striking dangerous like twenty cats. But when I see the NewKing, where he turn to leave, I lose my care. Then Bigface cub me heavy to the cheek, go kick my leg from under. I scramble falling to my hands, and he cry victory on me.

So I take my hurting pride into the NewKing’s chase.

Mamadou walking heedless, leave this squalling fight like boredom. I run toward, he never even look. I catch him once behind, and he fight back with half attention. Call me pest and enfant, bat away my
blows but never strike. Yo, I fight beyond my sense, feel my beginning shame. And ever he see my tricks before, like he control myself.

Through this, he dodge back in the woods. His only interest be to rid me. In last insult, he catch my stabbing wrist. Break my knifen grip, and throw the knife into the farther bushes. Then furiose in shame, I catch onto his hand and bite.

Ya Mamadou laugh. Ain’t even seek to free himself, he laugh uncaring in my face.

My pride go stark. I stand away. He watching at me, grinning, godscars gone deep in his cheeks. Then he shake his head and turn again, pick up his careless step. Go off like I ain’t been.

At fourteen, I been shy in wanting, late to boyish love. Done kissing mostly, and my thoughts of sex was misty never-beens. Magine what you saying after; how someone suffer for my need. Infatuate on Popsicle sometime, but he callen dead before no flirting grown to use. Never I think of Mamadou so. My heart to Armies be disgust.

But the following nights, I stalk the NewKing lonesome to his camp. Nor I tell any a child about this habit.

No girlish Sengle go into the Army camp alone. Ain’t their feather honor that a girl depart without no shame. So I hunt the NewKing by weak moon, and spy from distance. Climb a tree beside, or find a hunting hide in bushes. Watch for Mamadou to come out to piss, to roam in sleepless temper. Plan how I knock him footless unawares, get kicks into his face. Best worth, can cut him with my knife. Bring back his blood in victory.

But Mamadou be a morning-risen child, he fool my need. See simpers going in-and-out his hut; or he appear some seconds, talking to a feather. But mostly it be empty in the camp by starlight hours. Hounds sniffing round, and sometimes chickens rouse in cluck disturbance. The whinnying snuff of horses by, no differences to see.

So these nights become a thinking loneliness. Lie belly-down on some fat tree bough; wonder on Crow’s malignant ways, or how all children loving Hate You Ka more than myself. Look at my legs in
moonlight, deciding if they prettieuse or stalky. Through this, I feel a savage missing in my flesh entire. The Army camp, its pointen huts with feathers stirring in wind, seem like a picture of my need. All evil be inside these huts, the evil that bemisery me. Evil I desire to know, in all its maudy powers.

I begin to come by sooner, in the second hour of darkness. Watch the evening business there, feel how this settle back into my quiet thinking time. Sometimes the NewKing passing round, can hear his angry voice. See his sharp bellesse of movement, and every change wake in my furiose blood.

Here I begin to talk to NewKing Mamadou in my head. Explain my need; how it be natural we war together. We be the same in heart feroce. And this thinking stray, until I telling all my moods to him, about Crow Insect and my brother’s disapproving talks. Tell dreams I got of roaming to the mountains, lonely with my horse – how I will saddle Money with a puma skin, ride to the wester ocean, fight wild strangers into fear. Yo, in my dreaming mind, the NewKing answer with respecting coldness. Tell me every evil wisdom, and I gather this in strength.

Gone weeks in this strangeness, till one night, when camp be empty in its sleep, Mamadou come out. Terrify Courage trot behind, the NewKing going in his stride. He walking lost in silent angers, got a flask of booze he carry. Yo, the hound come sit beneath my tree. Look quizzy up, wag friendly to my scent. Mamadou pass on thoughtless, stop apart with back to me. Lift up his flask to drink, ain’t heeding nothing. And I curse my cowardesse. Must go, must make my actual fight, but every blood in me be cold.

I creep careful down, be gratty for this time of only climbing. Can hope the NewKing pass back into camp, that something cheat my war. But nothing be. I get my knife in hand. Check on the goodly rock in my front pocket. Yo, as I put my feet down in wet leaves, Terrify Courage bark.

Mamadou look back sharp. See me, then ware around, expect a raid – some dozen Sengles wilding from the trees. But ain’t no breath
of people there. Be only myself in foolish venture, staring at him with no hope.

And it realize I fear to touch him. Fear his hands on me, without no sense. I grit against myself. Go for pocket quick, and peg my stone crisp at his face.