Sandra Newman: The Country of Ice Cream Star

But children took by roos ain’t come back never. They be gone and gone.

I say in choken breath, “Nay, truth, you thirty?”

Roo frown confusing, shake his head.

I point to him and say, “You. Thirty years?” Then, three times, I hold up all my fingers.

Roo’s face complicate. I try my gesturing again-again, but he frown only worse. At last, he say in his unshapen speech, “Nay comprehend.”

He smile again, but I ain’t smile. Frustration whisper, Got to comprehend. Is lying simple.

At last, I force a smile, say weak, “You bony met, my roo. You bone.” I nod correct and turn from him with spooken reveries.

I think to tie the roo again, but sure it be no use. If Keepers want him free, he going loose. She sneaky pests. Ya, be a mally satisfaction, how they Christings terrify, if they known. So I leave my gun with Hate You. Tell her sharp instructions, how she shooting if the roo start violence; how she threaten if he try escape.

Then I head back to horsen field. My duty been that I go hunting — ya, my heart regret its simple mind and quietness. But cannot leave my closer need. Must find more bullets to my gun, yo, I must parley thoughts with El Mayor.

MOST MY WAY LIE THROUGH THE WOOD. BE FRIENDLY RIDE, IN company with gnats and peeping birds and squirrels. Only the last stretch lie through Lowell City, strange in emptiness. Here the houses reddish brick, three times the height of evac houses. Every street you pass, it be a thousand shatter windows. Blind windows fill half the sky, and all the streets be sparkling dangerous with broken glass. Ain’t any a child live in these homes. Be no life here but sleeping bats.

Time I come to Lowell mill, that spooken city tire my nerves. Be glad to see their lectric lights and hear the cryer calling up. Be glad to see a movement in their windows, hear the larm of life.

Lowell mill a jumbo bricky edifice, long as a street. Got Lowell River on one side, and green canal the other sides; an island sort of building. Is five floors tall, and be five minutes walking to go past. Inside, be doory hallways, long enough to run full pace. Walls groan and groan, this be their turbine wheels that make lectricity. Lowell River turn these wheels, and Lowell River never rest.

Each Lowell got a room all to themself, got springy beds and blankets. They grow tobacco through the winter in a glassen house. Have water toilets, and they can make paint and tiles and furniture. Got ninety horses of their breeding, and they selling these as far as Nampshire and the fisher coast. My Money been from them, flirtation gift of El Mayor himself.

No Lowell use a name. Each Lowell calling by their task — be Second Plumber or First Gardener or Thirteenth Custodian. Yo, as they grow in worth, their calling name be always changing — and if you call them by their younger name, they insult furiose.

Now sun be bright upon the green canal. The river’s sound of wish, wish, blend with the coop-up voice of Lowells. Even by sunny day, their windows glown with lectric light. Third Cryer perch above, on stony wall, and call her challenge to me. As I step to easter gate, I shout my name correct, and my requirement to their El Mayor.

Third Cryer call this news. Other cryers yell it on, the farther voices sounding sore bereft in all that hard indoors. A stabler come out, hurrying his steps, to take my mare. Then I come across their bridge. The door be open into goldish warm.

EL MAYOR BE WAITING in his workenroom, door 123. The door hang open, and he lying careless on a sofa. Wear cottonish pajamas, bluish stripe, with silken robe. On the floor, is papers cast about, and straddling books. Though El Mayor possess a desk, he shy from using this. Be a lain-down man. Can think, he only use his feet to walk from bed to sofa. Yo, with his slug behaviors, he boss two hundred Lowells smart correct.

El Mayor been Sengle born. We trade him as a seven with the calling name of Girl Egg. He suffer from the gasping illness, and his eyes been poory — be no use for hunting work. But sure his brains been healthy meat. The Lowells took him glad, and give us Villa Moron in his place.

Now he be eighteen, and he grown long in body, gracile. Got a face like to a handsome horse. Ain’t the sort to please a Christwife, but he well enough, if you do take him for himself. Sure, been no girl egg in his making; child is male as bulls and bother.

When I enter, El Mayor go rummage up his limbs to stand. Look sleepyhead and glad.

I say, “Ain’t need to work your legs. Ain’t going to chase you nowhere.”

“Foo,” he say. “Stood up to get my arms around you, noisy. Got to squeeze your rudeness out.”

I dodge, but he come quick and grab me. Lift me off my feet, so all his chest be hard against. Can feel his lips’ heat in my hair.

I say, my talk squish up and nervy, “Got business to you, companiero. Leave your goating rest.”

He loose me slow, stand back with mischief grin. “You rule my goating, Ice Cream Star. Ain’t rest until you leave.”

“Goat on me another day, Girl Egg.”

He laugh to hear his Sengle name, and say in wistful flirt, “Sure a spoon of you be better than three bowls of any another girl.”

He flop back on his sofa and unfold his easy body. Point to the end where I must sit. I perch on sofa’s arm.

“How it is,” I say. “We catch a roo.”

El Mayor go stare. “You ain’t, you lying package.”

“Tame and kept at Sengle camp. Smoke cigarettes like any person. Speaking words, is truth.”

Then I tell how the roo come to our hands. Give every detail of his looks, and I repeat his rooish words. Ya, El Mayor fix on this story like a hound will track a smell. Smell drag the hound behind it, into bushes, through the thorns. El Mayor almost sitting upright, how the thing enthuse his mind. Only thing I keep behind be Keepers’ tale of thirty years. Be complication talks. Good sense decide, I get my bullets first.

When I end, he say with fever, “Damn, why you ain’t brought this roo?”

“Rich be lazy,” I say, laughing. “Come and see him with your feet.”

“Who given you a pony?” he say, grinning. “Fickle sort you be.”

“Shoo, I bring him soon enough. Unless…” Now I make fretting mouth. “It be one worry, ya. Crow try to kill him, first he come.”

El Mayor’s eyes narrow. “Tell me better news. The roo tore Crow into his parts?”

“Nay, the roo been tied. Crow aim to shoot him, what it been. Sure Crow never wonder what this roo may have to tell.”

This be the way to catch the Lowells, children curiose as flies. Yo, El Mayor grit his annoyance.

I say on, “Crow gone worse, can swear. Child been my animose, I cannot hate him every way. But be a wrongness there, ain’t trust him now.”

El Mayor still frustrate in his head. He nod but listen poory.

“What worry me, be this. What happen…” I take frighten breath. “What be in time to come, when Driver sicken?”

“What you saying, bell?”

“My Crow be sergeant, how it be.”

Now disgust change in El Mayor’s face. I scent my trick’s success. The Lowells never liking Crow. Ain’t know the bottom of this circumstance, but truth be fact. Once, Crow give his shotgun to the Lowells for repair. When Lowells fix a gun, you know that gun be shooting forward. They fix every gun and pistol, even Nat Mass Armies can get service for their guns.

But they telling Crow his shotgun broke beyond their skill. Say it need a finking pin, and they ain’t got no finking pin. “You find a finking pin, come back,” they tell unhappy Crow.

I ain’t expect no “finking pin” exist in all of time. Believe these Lowells laugh about this joke all night and every day.