The Empire of Ice Cream by Jeffrey Ford Read Free Book Online

initiated the story, which broke open inside of me like the monsoon, washing away any volition on my part. I stood and assumed my primate pose. “He created beautiful objects with his knife,” I said. “Animals of the forest so lifelike, customers swore they moved, circus acrobats whose hands clasped the trapeze, monsters full of dignity and courage.” My fingers wriggled with the grace of snakes as I turned and carved an invisible figurine.
    â€œThe people of the town remained wary of Jupiter, afraid of his size and skeptical of his intelligence. To them he was either a horrid freak or the result of a deal with the devil, but never human,” she said, and slowly stood.
    She turned her back on me and took two steps as I added, “They did not mind him so much as long as he remained in his shop, a curiosity to visit every now and then and buy a gift from for the holidays or a wedding, but they did not want him on their streets. For his part, Jupiter longed for companionship, someone with whom to discuss what he had read, the mundane events of his every day.”
    â€œHe felt their distrust for him on the street, so one day he hired a young woman to bring him groceries from the market each afternoon. Her name was Zel Strellop, a kind girl, unafraid of Jupiter’s demeanor and enchanted by his craft,” said Maylee, dropping the gray blanket from her shoulders and spreading her arms wide as if breaking free from a cocoon.
    I could almost see a young Mrs. Strellop in the features of Maylee, and I wondered if to her I appeared as Jupiter. The story possessed us yet more fully, and although we continued to tell it as we spoke, we began simulating every little action our two characters might have undertaken. I noticed that when she told the words of Zel, her voice changed, becoming higher and lighter, and that my own words, when quoting Jupiter, were far more bass than I was accustomed to. For the exposition, our voices remained our own. We moved in and around the apartment, no longer allowing the table to separate us.
    There was a series of meetings between the wood carver and the young woman, and they grew increasingly interested in each other. I felt the flame of attraction spark to life in my chest, felt weak in the knees as Maylee, as Zel Strellop, approached, lightly touched my arm, whispered a secret to me, and finally kissed me for the first time, gently on the lips. I wanted it to continue, but Maylee broke it off and fled to the stove that stood in for Zel’s parents’ house.
    â€œAnd then,” said I, “Jupiter wrote her a poem to express his love for her,” and I walked over and sat hunched at my writing desk. My knife hand reached for the pen. I lifted it and wrote rapidly.
    When the sun is high
    I watch out the window
    for a cloud of dust in the distance ,
    you on the path ,
    bringing me oranges, melons, and plums .
    My impatience is sharp
    and carves your likeness
    on every moment .
    The instant I had penned the last word, Maylee swept the paper away and pressed it to her breast. I stood and turned to face her. “And they kissed more heatedly,” she said, and we did.
    â€œHis apelike hands swept across the curves of her body,” I said from the corner of my mouth, our lips still pressed, and my hands did.
    She stepped back, and in one fluid motion lifted her damp dress off over her head. “Zel disrobed in a fit of passion,” she said, breathing heavily.
    When she stooped to remove her undergarments, I undid my trousers and let them drop to the floor, not forgetting to add, “He grew brave in his desire and followed her example.”
    Maylee left me and went back to the table. Over her shoulder she verily shouted, “There was no bed, so they made do on his workbench.” With this, she bent forward and with one sweep of her arm sent the teacups and ashtray and cigarettes onto the floor.
    â€œHe approached her from behind,” I