Sandra Newman: The Country of Ice Cream Star

NO CHILD EVER KNOW A TIME BE HAPPINESS UNTIL IT GONE. TIME Pasha come, when we still raiding in the Massa woods, I swore to worry. Yet this been before the Nat Mass Armies took no Massa child. Driver bell and vally still, he rule and never weaken. We live wolfen through our wars.

This morning when my trouble wake, Driver send me out to beg a housing for the roo. His judgment be, this perilous beast ain’t safe to keep with Sengles. Must go where there be walls to keep him. Ya, the Christings own a cellar built for prisoning. Kept Armies there, in murder wars that been. So this morning I leave my Jermaine to watch the roo. Ride to see the digger folk at Christing Tophet house.

BEFORE THE MURDER WARS, it been ten Christing homes in Massa woods. These people mostly fleeing north, whoever can survive. Now only Tophet stay. Ya, in time before and time remaining, Christings live the same. House got one husband ruling it, with any-number wives and every enfant that they breed. And all believe a god who live in two sticks. Each Christing wear around their neck a string with two sticks crossing — and truth, is healthy people. Can think, this god do something, they live fatter than no Sengle child.

They growing corn and tato and got apple trees and milking cows. They can make cheese, and Sengles bring them venison to smoke for winter. We catch them parrots also — Christings partial well to these. Parrots through the Massa woods caw “Repent ye of your sins” and “Jesus save.” Yo, Christings gave me Angry Bitch Cub, my Vermonter Stalking Hound, when she was a puppy and I been a puppy child of nine. Anyone give me ABC, that person treasure in my mind. I going to go and love the Christings then, and never stop.

I ride out by whisker morning. Worries be my company; about the roos, about my brother’s cough. But most, I fix my mind upon my ask. Can know without no questions, Christings want no housen roo. So is problems, how I trick them to this unwant gift. It be a sort of mischief I accomplish any times, and soon my Sengle heart be brightening, grin its wolfen lies.

Then Tophet’s edifice and barn show whitish in their pastures. Red cows look up with one feeble mind. I canter Money at the lower fence. She jump it easy as a cat, and all they cows come bumble to her. She put head up pickety. Act like cows be itchy, and go trot sideways away. Then John of Christ call from the step, where he got cider on the table in a glassen brock.

John of Christ a kindly man, and slow with pleasant life. Child keep thirteen Christwives dutied to his single love. These wives the same that chosen John, is how all Christings choosing husbands. Wives pray three days to Jesus for advice, then vote a male. Ain’t know what Jesus say, but every husband of Christ be cake for eyes — is catly-faced and tallish bell. But Jesus never care for brains. A Christwife told me once, John telligent enough to hear advice, and they ain’t need no more. I never met the person who cannot like John.

I dismount and tie my Money up, go climb their cleanish steps. Always I get shame for Sengle pigliness when I come here. Be no showing litter. House smell only of new food. All be painten white as white, and this the story’s end.

John say, “Greeting in His word.”

“His word enduring,” I polite him. Then I nod at that glass brock. “Somebody told you I be bound here? Sure you ain’t pour cider mornings for your only self.”

“You my second visit.” John get face like bad reminders.

A moment, I get curiosities, what this visitor been. Must be awful persons, if it giving John unhappiness. But I fix back to my need. “I come with parley to you, brother. Thinking, is business you can like.”

“Be gratty heard,” John say, distracting still. “Christ’s welcome to our home.” He pour my cider tall and lead me to their sofa room.

SOFA ROOM BE WHERE the Christing enfants spend their day. So it be enfants round your neck and grubbing on your leg, their fingers worming in your pockets. At Tophet, I known all these littles since they was a fatly belly.

This day Boy Japhet tend them. He be a seriose twelve with Tophet’s copper skin and cow respect. Now he running desperate among the scarum enfants. Unpick their fights, tell disapprovals, answer screamen questions. When I come in, he line them up and make them say “Peace on you, sister.” Then they fall to strife again, and Japhet chase behind.

John call to the kitchen wives, require a guesting meal. Sit me to a fatty sofa, and he start in slow politeness, asking on my hunts. But all my conscience heeding to the kitchen, guess which wife will come. Can hope it be their kindly Hannah, or Jane Moron, slow to argue. Worst be Beanie, who dislike all Sengles and all asks.

Yo, when Susannah step into the room, I discourage well. This girl be the crown of wives. Got plum lips and thinking eyes, is never stepping wrong. She born the May that I been born myself, we be moon kin. Both love salty more than sweet. We both is handy quick. Been occasion, in our twelvish years, we riding cows together. Do races, and we talk into the dusking hours, like friends.

But she the smarter brains of Tophet. Try no trickeries, she name them to your face with easy laugh.

She bring a plate of apple fritters. Sit by me, and littles gather round her knees for food. Then all must thank the two-stick god before we eat. The thanking go, “God be great and God be good, and we thank Him for our food.” I know this saying well, and say it firm. Ain’t loss in good respect.

Then I say, “These apples vally fine. Sure, your god bless all they trees with luck.”

Susannah leave this flattery heedless. Nod straight to my belt and say, “You wearing pistols now, Ice Cream?”

“Ho, is right,” John say. “This pistol new. Ain’t notice this correct.”

“Ya,” I say with hasty thought. “So be my business to yourself. Is where I jack my gun, be vally tales.”

“Ain’t bought from Lowell?” John say frowning.

“Nay, my John,” I say. “We catch a roo. This gun been his.”

Susannah fold her hands and mention Jesus.

“Shoo!” Japhet spit into his palm. “Ain’t no roos, it be a story.”

“Ain’t existing,” John agree.

“Nay, truth,” I say. “We catch a boy, look like a roo or yellow sleeper. Skin as white as teeth.”

“Christings got some light-skin people, sure.” Susannah doubt her mouth. “Aaron of Christ been so. Was callen Aaron Sleeper, also.”

I shake my head. “This be two differences. Roo’s hair got no curling in it. Be like wolfen fur.”

“Ain’t be a wolf?” say Japhet.

John laugh, frighten. “Sengles catch a wolf and think they find a roo.”

“May be a sleeper,” I say. “Run out from a sleeper house we burn.”

“Foo,” say Japhet. “The littles hear. You spook their dreams.”

“What we hear?” say Baby Leah, curiose. Some other littles perk and ask what they did hear.

“Hush, hush, be a rabbit in the bush,” Susannah say.

“Yo sho,” I tell the littles, for I now feel mischief. “Been a boy who fall asleep, and sleep a hundred years. Then come a fire that wake him. He run outdoors, and poom! Your vally Ice Cream thieve his pistol.”

Susannah laugh. “Is bone, you found new friends to rob. It save our eggs. But how this be no business?” Now Baby Peter crawl up on her knee. She take him to herself and jog him there. Her eyes keep sharp on me.

I make a scouty frown. “How Driver say, we must consult. A roo be every person’s risk.”

“Can kill it?” John say nerviose. “Is beasts or thinking people?”

“Foo, is people,” I say quick. “Can talk. Been murder, if we kill him.”