Sandra Newman - The Country of Ice Cream Star

Then he gone doing sex with Mari’s Ghost. Mari get an enfant from this, when she been only twelve and Crow fourteen. Then Crow ain’t speak to me no more. I set my snares alone.

Ain’t no bitter like an animose is lost. What Driver say, it ain’t no love like hate. Be days, I crave to look at Crow to hate his boogly face. I never want to murder Crow, for once he die, my hatred left alone like me.

Now Crow be fire-blind a minute, while my ABC come run to me, then wheel back to her Nillas — Crow standing, squinting at the roo. We all dismount but Asha Badmouth. Be a fine relief to come down to the sparking warm.

Keepers curlen on the sledge still. Got a cigarette lit. She smoke and give it to the roo to suck. Roo smoking glad. His winter-color eyes look round at everything: the fire, Crow, trash.

Now Crow swear quiet. He say, “First I thought you fetch some Army back, but this.” His uggety head be tense. Then a strain come over all.

Keepers say, “It be a roo or sleeper. Found it in a sleeper house.”

“Sleepers dead. Yo, why you bring it here?” Crow grin, except the grin be angry.

“Can be living sleepers,” I say sharp. “Be science that they know.”

“You bring this here,” say Crow, and half his face be grinning teeth. “Ain’t want no roos nor sleepers. Going to eat it?”

Keepers suck her cigarette, and speak a blast of smoke: “My roo go eat your head with sauce. Crow head with crow sauce.”

Then Driver step toward the fire, and everybody ease. Yo, soon as Driver speak, it be like no one spoke before. We heed. He talk to Crow in quiet friendship, tell about the fire and roo. Crow nodding like a thoughtful horse; he love my brother yet, despite his ruin heart. Only when Driver telling how I take the gun, Crow look at me and his black prettieuse eyes go wide.

Then Driver talking on, but Crow ain’t listen. And when my Driver finish, Crow say vicious, “Expect the girls will save a handsome male. Yo, Ice Cream got eyes for this.”

Inside my stomach and my head, my hatred scratch. Crow look at me, Crow look away. My animose, he know my evil, but forgot my good. My skin be hot and thin with being known.

Keepers say, “This roo be mine. Ice Cream be here nor there.”

Then Driver laugh the most of all. Jermaine and Asha Badmouth hoot and call to me, while Keepers looking strict. She keep one hand upon the roo his shoulder. Shake her head while every person laughing through her pride. Roo look far-off with frosten eyes and grief on his pale mouth.

When people quiet, Crow look to my belt. “I like to see the gun.”

I give the gun like Sengle give to Sengle. Give for asking. Driver there, it never worry me what happen next. Crow take my pistol. Lay her blackish nose across his palm.

Crow’s evils be: vain, blame others, liar, make plans, ain’t worry if somebody hurt. Give Mari’s Ghost a baby when she only twelve, she hurt each morning of her life from this. Crow never care for Mari’s Ghost, he ruin her without no heart. Crow’s good I ain’t recall, his good be doubt and mist. One day Crow brought a trout and say, “Fish got a diamond in his gut.” I ain’t believe him, so he throw the trout back in Blind Caution Pond. We watch for it to float up, but it never come. His good be like that diamond lost.

Now my mood fall in with Crow’s. The jolie gun lie to his palm, warm from my belly. His fingers curl to grip it and his other hand slide out the magazine. That sliding click, delicieuse exact. He free a bullet, hold it to the firelight. Crow and I smile. (Crow a locken door in winter, Crow a poison well. Crow lost. I call him in my mind: Crow Ruin.) Behind me, Driver cough.

I say whispern, “Be one prettieuse gun. Ain’t try yet if she shoot. What you believing, Crow?”

Then be silence. ABC look to my face and wag, but Crow ain’t look at me. He narrow on that bullet. Then his fingers shut on it and his eyes go to Driver.

“You be oldest,” Crow say.

Driver say, “Is truth. And so?”

“Oldest choose his weapon.”

“I be oldest, got a gun already.” Driver give his nod to me.

“Second oldest be myself,” Crow say. “My gun ain’t working.”

“Villa second oldest,” I say. “She deserve this gun. She shoot your legs and drag you to her hammock, greedy.”

Jermaine and Asha Badmouth laugh hard. Villa live for males and nothing else. She cannot hunt her foot if someone tie it down. Cannot hunt a roasten fish.

Crow say, “Driver favoring his sister, all it is. Gun should be mine.”

Jermaine say, “Damn, you wasn’t there.”

“Villa need that pistol, Crow,” say Asha Badmouth, laughing yet. “She hunt your meat, be sure.”

“I give the gun to Ice Cream,” Driver say. “Can finish with this talk.”

Then the fire dip and darken. The forest seem to grow and lean toward us, angry dark. ABC make noise inside her throat.

Crow slip the bullet back into the magazine. He fit the magazine into the gun. All looking at the gun, and Crow say, “Driver choose to bring a roo back to the town. Choose to give a gun to little sister.” He say this with sucking anger. ABC shy from his voice. Crow shy himself and look at ABC with nerves.

Then he turn sharp, and aim the pistol toward the roo. Keepers squeak and duck. Then pride hold her still. Feary Keepers strain her body away, but make herself stay on the sledge.

The roo go shut his eyes. If he frighten, it ain’t show. Likely, he been frighten all this time.

Driver say, “You shoot a stranger who be bound and cannot move. What you being then? You be how vally then?”

Crow’s hand ease from its aim. Driver standing quiet, though I see him swallow. He say, “Crow, give that gun to Ice Cream. Ice Cream, Jermaine, you tie the horses. Can leave the roo tonight. I be at nighting camp.”

His voice be angerless and tired. Then he leave, my brother pass to darkness in the farther trees. Nobody else hear, but I hear him cough a minute down the path. I hear him coughing hard.

Crow reach the gun to me. I take it careless. When our fingers touch, I look at Crow’s face. Someday I look at Driver’s face, when Driver been already dead. Everybody lost.

And Crow turn away and follow Driver down the nighting path. I slip the pistol in my belt.

“Ain’t go to nighting camp without my roo,” Keepers say with pleasure.

Asha Badmouth say, “Myself, ain’t go without Big Smoke. Ain’t walking on my feet.”

“This be different cases,” Keepers say. “I love my roo.”

Asha scoff her breath. “He loving you, I guess?”

I say, “Cannot take no roo to nighting camp. He go escape and eat us all.”

“With crow sauce,” say Asha Badmouth.

“I fetch us hammocks,” say Jermaine. “We sleep here and keep the fire.”

Then Keepers joying in her eyes. She say in happy voice, “ Spaseep, Jermaine. Mean ‘gratty’ in their rooish.”

OUR NIGHTING CAMP be kept a minute’s hike from town, clear from its trash unpleasantry. Summer grown thin then, so we strung hammocks in the reddish maples back of Christing Tophet. Hammock high enough, mosquito never think to go. Brook nearby, and everything the pure reverse of town. Is wild and tall with star bellesse.

But this night, is comfort sleeping in our townie stank. All person smells be warm somehow, surround you with their unwant life. Yo, is Money by in friendship, and my ABC. Even the roo seem kinder in my fear, now Crow dislike him.

Jermaine bring back four hammocks, but we only using three. Keepers nest up on the roo, where he be on the sledge. Yo, she start to speak roo language. Any word he speak, she parrot. Then me-Jermaine go parrot after, we all rooing to the stars. Spaseep. Ott vyazee mnya. Bolna, syo takee. But soon the roo gone silent, he look starward with his birchen eyes. Keepers curl against his ribs. His grandy hand be held in Keepers’ hands and they be snug as twins.