Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

I sigh, disappointed. What a mundane explanation for the most intractable enigma of our childhood. It would have been better not to know.

“So that's it,” I say. “Simple and boring.”

“And for that you had to wake me up,” Sphinx says vengefully.

“Yes. The suspense would've killed me. And now we can all sleep in peace.”

Blind lights up, and Sphinx sidles up to him to mooch a couple of puffs. My burrow is in shambles. I have to construct a fresh one. I quietly hum a new song, stacking the pillows. Mysteries revealed, Jonathan unmasked! Now that I've had time to think, that's a great thing, and the rest is small details, not worth getting upset about.

“Do you like her?” Sphinx asks Blind, a shadow from where I’m sitting.

I cut the song short, afraid of missing the answer.

“No,” Blind says after a pause. “Not really. She had this disgusting habit when she was little. She'd knock me over and run away laughing. It really ticked me off. Elk told me never to hit girls, or I'd have given her a thrashing.”

“Yeah, that's right,” Sphinx says thoughtfully. “She always tried to shove you. I couldn't really understand it. She wasn't usually that way.”

I position myself by the entrance to the freshly constructed burrow, hugging Sphinx's pillow.

“Yep,” I say. “In civilized societies little boys pull the hair of the little girls they like. And put dead mice in their pockets. To say nothing about tripping them. Which is how they express their love. We borrowed this kind of behavior from our prehistoric ancestors. Those were simpler times. You see a girl, you ogle at her, you whack her on the head with a woolly-mammoth bone—and that's your wedding, right there. Later generations were more interested in peeking under the long skirts of their girl companions, where they, being smart to those ways, wore lacy underpants. Besides, the sight of a crying girl all spattered with mud is so touching. They unleash a maelstrom of feelings in the heart of the suitor, those pretty tears.”

“I doubt Blind looked particularly pretty when tripped up,” Sphinx mutters. “To say nothing about tears and lacy underpants. You’re over-philosophizing it, Jackal.”

“I thought I specifically mentioned the civilized societies? Of course, here it's the other way around.”

“Let's get some sleep,” Blind says. “Or next thing we know, Black was crazy about me and that's why he was pummeling me all day long. To marvel at how beautiful I was when in tears.”

“Why not?” Sphinx sneers. “A fascinating concept. Except it would mean that with me it was simply love at first sight. Black clearly liked my tears much more than yours. And I had such a lot of them to share with him.”

“Guys, will you stop with the gossiping?” Humpback's voice drones from the upper bunk. “He's sleeping right here, you know, and you're babbling this god-awful nonsense about him.”

“Play us something soft, Shaggy,” Sphinx asks, looking up. “A nighttime serenade. Jackal chased away our dreams, and all that's left is gossip. Distract us.”

“Yeah, go on. That way no one sleeps,” Blind says.

Humpback stirs, then swings his legs down and begins playing. I jump into the burrow, intending to fall asleep to his flute, so I need to hurry before he stops. But I don't pull my head in yet because Sphinx and Blind are still up, which means they might still discuss something interesting. Except they don't. So there we are. They’re silent, I'm silent. Humpback plays, warding off the gossip.

Grasshopper felt something as soon as he stepped inside the Tenth. A change not apparent to the eye. Ancient was hunched over the chess board cogitating, chin on knuckles.

Grasshopper crouched down on the floor.

Ancient never greeted him. He behaved as if Grasshopper didn't leave and come back, as if their meetings were not separated by hours and days. Grasshopper had gotten used to that and had even come to like it.

He looked at the amulet box. Empty. Ajar, it lay on the mattress next to the board. There. That's what's changed. Why?

Ancient traced Grasshopper's gaze and let the long fingers rummage inside the box. Then brought them closer to his eyes and shook off the dust.

“No more left. I've given it all away.”

Grasshopper craned his neck and peeked in.

“Really, all of it?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes.”

Ancient clicked the top shut and put the empty box away.

“So there will be no more amulets?”

Dejectedly, Grasshopper waited for an explanation. A lock of hair fell over his eyes, but he was afraid to move to push it away.

“I'm leaving. Going home.”

Here, in Ancient's room, these words sounded strange. Like he wasn't the one who actually said them. How could he have a home? Ancient was where he was. He had been born here, he grew up here, and he became ancient here. That was obvious to anyone looking at him and talking to him.

Grasshopper shuffled his shoe over the dark wine-stain spots.

“Why?”

Ancient moved one of the pieces and flicked another off with the fingernail.

“I am nineteen,” he said. “It's well past time.”

These words also shifted something. Just like his mention of a home. He couldn't be any age. He was outside of age, outside of time itself—until he broke the spell by saying the number. And it still didn't explain anything.

“Everyone else is staying until summer. Why aren't you?”

“It smells bad here,” Ancient said. “It smells worse and worse. You know what I'm talking about. You should be able to sense it. It's already pretty bad, but it's going to get much worse at the end. I know. I've seen it before. I remember the last graduation, the one before ours. That's why I want to leave earlier.”

“So you're running away? From your own people?”

“I am,” Ancient agreed. “Legging it, you might say. Without the legs.”

“You mean you're scared?” Grasshopper said doubtfully.

Ancient scratched his chin with the base of the queen.

“Yes,” he said. “I am scared. There will come a time, much later, when you’ll understand. Then you too are going to be scared. Graduation is a bad time. It's a step into the void. Not many can simply take it. It is the year of fear, of the crazies and the suicides, of insanity and nervous breakdowns. All of that disgusting stuff that spews out of those who are afraid. There's nothing worse than that. Better to leave before it starts. Which is what I’m doing. Because I happen to have that opportunity.”

“So you're making the brave choice,” Grasshopper said.

Now it was Ancient's turn to be surprised.

“I wouldn't say that. More the opposite.”

Grasshopper wanted to ask about himself and his amulet, but didn't. Ancient was preparing for the step into the void, for the brave choice that looked like the cowardly one. This was the moment to be silent and not interfere. So Grasshopper was silent.

“I am taking those two gluttons with me,” Ancient said, pointing in the direction of the fish tank. “Along with their room. They’re not going to even notice. They won't know that they've been moved to the Outsides. Sometimes I wish I could trade places with them.”

Grasshopper looked at the fish.

He's afraid ...

He pitied Ancient, and he pitied himself. What's going to become of this room? The Den of the Purple Ratter. Without Ancient in it, it would lose its identity. No longer the Den, just dorm number ten.