The Country of Ice Cream Star

Part Three - At Lowell Mill

AT LOWELL MILL

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 and rank within – 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 rank, 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.’