Sandra Newman - The Country of Ice Cream Star

Be something like a gift how I forget to tell him nay. A minute we been kissing, then five minutes it prolong. What happen in my mind and blood be dizziness and sparks. His fingertips stroke featherish on my nape.

He gather me to him. Pull me down, and we lie out along the sofa, front to front. I feel his hardness at my thigh, a fever wake into my skin. The kiss slow and feroce, this kiss contain all feary luxury.

But my panic wake. Cold prickle all my hairs, and without thought, I push him rough from me. His hands pull me back, refuse to notice. I say, “Nay. Leave me free, goddamn!” Be shaking, sweat go bright along my nape.

He freeze. Pull sharp away and scramble awkward to his sofa side. There he sit with wretchen face.

He say, “Some strange dislike you got to me. Can say this.”

“Quit, quit.” My trembling ease. “Beg you gratty, quit this.”

“Ain’t never quit to hunt you, bell. I go find you a room in Lowell mill tonight. Can stay with me, and damn this Crow, whoever being sergeant. Here you be anything you like. Be a Sengle, all I care. Lowell First Thief Sengle, be your name with us.”

“Lowell Seventh Girlfriend, be more like.”

He smile but his eyes darken. “Ain’t need they other girls, if you been here. Can swear you this.”

“I cannot help your want.”

“Why? You got someone? No sho, you ain’t.”

There be no why. Ain’t know what tale to tell. I think of NewKing Mamadou, the enemy I yearn upon. How he capture me in guilty dreams. But my spirit seize resentment, how I care for this when Driver sick.

I shake my head. “Sadness, all it is. I got no feeling to this now.”

“Sure, comprehend,” he say with poor belief.

Then no more parley can be spoken. He call a runner down to Lowell First Contractor for my bullets. We wait, and El Mayor tell nonsense of his loves with other girls. Sure he boast to rid his shame, but that ain’t make it joy to hear. I mood myself to leave.

Soon I say my parting words. The noise of Lowell mill slip back from Money’s trotting hooves. The dusking sleep of Lowell City take my loneliness. I ride home to my full-grown trouble, to my people few and feary small, my Sengle town.

THESE BE THE SENGLES IN THE TIME I SPEAK OF, WHEN MY TROUBLE grown. Of baby children, be Bother Zero Tool, the Answer Zero Ka, Fine One Ndiaye, Bell Eyes One Ndiaye, and Lolina-tina One Diouf, Crow’s child with Mari’s Ghost. Be healthy screaming babies, they got grandy rolls of fat. These all got mothers living but the twins Bell Eyes and Fine.

Of littles, there be Dinty Moore Two Fall who cannot hear, Naomi Two Forgotten, Maple Two Diop who be a son of John of Christ, Mohammed Three Insulting, Story Four Duval that has got reddish hair, Problem Four Tool, Luvanna-Lana Five of Lowell, Best Creature Five Wang who is misname and be annoying, Mustapha Five Insulting, Dollar Saver Six Fall, a fine enchanting little who can sing, Baboucar Seven Grandpa, Jeep Cherokee Seven Skips and Foxen Seven Fall. The mother of all three Falls be alive but gone to Lowell, now name Lowell Second Plumber and got posies bad.

Of the eights and nines, there be my vally Keepers Eight Fofana, worth all other children, and her favorite hatred Mouse Eight Wang. Progresso Nine Wilson and My Sorrow Nine Wang been solo-animoses for some years, ain’t speak with never another child.

Then come Marlboro Ten Tete-Brisee and Kool Ten Tete-Brisee, twins, birdcatcher-age and lean. Shiny Eleven Angels be a prettieuse and flirtish girl that give bad sign of wisdom, for she dabbit after Crow. Shiny chosen her own name, this be the measure of her wits. Redbook Twelve Ba, Bowl Thirteen Tete-Brisee and Cat Fancy Thirteen Ba all go ridiculous in love with Driver. They tend the littles and tell reveries one to the other, all day long. Jonah Fourteen Feet the only weakly jones, and scary since his brother took to Lowell two years gone. Then come Jermaine Fourteen Uptown, Christing born and Christing seriose in gentleness. Jermaine be wisty for my love, and many Lowells also and some Christings sleeping hungry for my love.

Next be Tequila Fourteen Tool, Mari’s Ghost Fourteen Diouf, Hate You Fourteen Ka and Asha Badmouth Fifteen Feet. Then come my place. Then come malicieuse Crow Sixteen Doe, and Villa Seventeen Insulting, fool infatuate for any male. When she ain’t bother males, she eat, that be the list of what she do. Last come my Driver, which make thirty-eight in Sengle town.

These been my Sengles in the year when Driver been our sergeant; time that kindly John been husband of the Christing fellowship; when the Lowells’ El Mayor been Sengle born and Sengle brave. Mamadou was NewKing of Mass Armies, savage like his people — yet the child have dignity and sense, best of the worst.

Fat luck been the story of this year. Snares ever struggling full, and every arrow find a turkey. Any a sleeper street we did maraud, that street give food. We war like twenty guns, but no one injure. Sling our hammocks in the crowns of sycamores like secret birds, and rest there, chattering and smoking, noses to the stars. Children forgot the taste of hunger and the touch of fear.

Yo, when Driver sicken, this the happiness we lose.

THESE EARLY TOBER WEEKS, my Driver woke before us all. He walk out to his hiding meadow in the frosten dark. Half the day he leisure there. Brew papa tea against his pain and drowse beside the fire. Times, he lie down on the ground to cough. Hurt him less so. Then he work at coughing like a task. He try to cough the wrong out, but that sticky wrong ain’t shift.

In a brook that dabbit by, he wash himself — for he ain’t going to show his body in the stream at Sengle town. Got posies on his leg. They only be a few, and ain’t disgusting. Only is blackish spots. Yet no one can see this, or all children going to know his sickness. And how it is, the posy sergeant must be callen dead. He go apart to useless silence, and another sergeant must be chosen this same hour.

Become my habit that I gone to meet him in the hours of dew. I bring ABC and Money, led on leash and halter. Feel they know my trouble, feel their caring hid in beastish tact. We pace the morning damp together, and our silence knit in one. All the morning birds sing with our feeling.

This meadow set behind an unroof house. Been three sleeper hounds dead there, most reason that the field abandon. No child love this place. House got wooden sides, once painten yellow, now be any color. From the house’s understep, a frazzle hose come out, is greener than no grass, look like a snake in corner-eye. The day that Driver name our trouble, I feel something evil here. Is like a ghost remainder from the evil times before.

“Town been feeding thin these weeks.” So he begin.

We sit frogleg in the grass beside a low tea-fire. I still be sleepyhead in thought, watching Money graze and twitch her skin against the flies. So I say distracting, “Meat gone cautieuse, and all it is.”

“Meat come back, but scarely be no Sengles fit to hunt.”

“I been hunting rich.” I scratch my fly-bit neck and yawn. “Had some owes to pay, but now they done. Be fatter now.”

“Cannot feed only from yourself.”

“Is Crow ain’t bringing meat to town. Child pigging to himself. What I suspicion—”

Driver’s voice raise up. “Nor I ain’t hunt this week.”

My eyes stop on his face. He sad as water then. His blackish skin be grayly, and his looks lost their bellesse.

“I go ask John of Christ for corn,” I say rough, “if worst become. They Tophets wait for pay, they ain’t particular in this.”

“Ain’t no John I know myself, who trade you corn for nothing.”