Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

The hallway isn't packed yet. Only two of the mattress piles are occupied, the rest are empty. The TV is not on. It looks like most girls are still in the boys' wing. When she walks by the staff room, Mermaid tries to make herself inconspicuous, the way she usually does, but it doesn't work this time. Long-necked Darling, sitting in the soft chair installed right in the doorway, calls out to her.

“Just a moment, child.”

Mermaid freezes inside her cocoon of hair.

“Come here. I want to have a word with you.”

Darling has climbed out of the chair and is pushing it back into the room, clearing the way. Mermaid goes in.

The coffeemaker sizzles and spits on the tiny table piled with packets of food. The staff room completely changes thrice each day. On Godmother's shift it is depressingly sterile. Not a speck of dust, not a piece of dirt, not a single item out of place. Godmother never eats here, or makes coffee or reads magazines. And definitely never puts on makeup, Mermaid thinks, noticing two eyeliners in a dish of peanuts. Two slender cylinders, one black and one brown, and a piece of cotton wool smeared with eye shadow. She's going to eat those peanuts, too, Mermaid thinks, overcome by a sudden swell of revulsion. In the hours of Darling's shift, the staff room becomes a total dump, and girls can only wonder how Godmother manages to wave it all away as soon as she passes through the door.

Darling yanks the coffeemaker cord out of the socket and sweeps a pile of magazines off the second chair.

“Have a seat. We have things to discuss.”

Mermaid sits down on the edge of the chair obediently. Darling gets comfortable in the one opposite and takes out cigarettes. Mermaid glances at the gold-nosed shoes and hides her own battered sneakers under the chair.

“Now, you've taken to going over to the boys’,” Darling says. “don't even think of denying this, I know it for a fact.”

Mermaid wasn't planning to deny anything. She's just tracing the smoke drifting up and melting under the sooty ceiling. Then she looks back at Darling.

“Yes,” she says. “I do go there.”

“don't you think that maybe, just maybe, you shouldn't be doing that?”

Mermaid thinks about Catwoman. Could it be that she complained of being left alone too often?

“No. I don't.”

“Many girls have friends there now. I gather you've heard about that.”

“Yes, I know,” Mermaid says. “Except it's not called having friends.”

“doesn't matter,” Darling says, shooting her a disapproving look from under her silver bangs. “It doesn't matter what they call it. What matters is what they do over there. And, even more importantly, what it is inevitably going to lead to. You do understand what I'm talking about, don't you, darling? It is my opinion that one shouldn't behave in a certain way only because everybody else seems to be doing it, especially if a girl is not naturally disposed to that kind of behavior. Or because others would think her immature otherwise. Wouldn't you agree?”

Mermaid frowns.

“No. Who's that girl you're talking about? How would you know what I am naturally disposed or not disposed to?”

“Well, we’ll just have to rely on my experience,” Darling says, smiling sweetly. I-am-your-counselor-don't-you-ever-dare-argue-you-pathetic-nobody! “And on my considered opinion regarding who is disposed to what in this place, darling, I have worked here for many, many years. Do you have a sweetheart there? In the other wing?”

Mermaid laughs. Sweetheart! Now there's a great-grandma kind of word. Suitor. Swain. It's hilarious. Sweetheart is about the farthest thing from Sphinx that can possibly be. She imagines his face when someone tells him that he's her sweetheart and bursts out laughing again despite herself, even though she sees the irate look on Darling's face morphing into pure hatred.

“No, I don't have a lover,” Mermaid says once she's able to stop laughing. “But I will. I am going to do my best to make sure that the person you have dubbed ‘sweetheart’ becomes my lover. He doesn't know about this, but he will find out soon.”

“Why, you...!” Darling explodes, stubbing out her cigarette on the edge of the table. “Do you even understand what you're talking about, you stupid girl? Straight out of diapers, and here we go. A lover! You're not old enough. And that so-called future lover of yours needs his head adjusted with a good whack if he doesn't understand that! Which is exactly what I’m going to do right now! What's the idiot's name?”

Mermaid doesn't answer. Has she heard a single word I said? A sad feeling comes over her. She would have loved to sit here all day listening to Darling's abuse, if only it all had been true. Calmly and indifferently. It wouldn't be able to get to her, neither this, nor Catwoman's burbling. All right, so what if she imagined that it was true? After all, if she herself does not believe in her own sorcery, how could it work on others?

“Sphinx,” she says, amazed at her boldness. “It's Sphinx. But he doesn't know yet that I've chosen him. So he'd be very surprised if you arrived with that good whack.”

She gleefully observes the fight draining out of Darling, replaced by astonishment.

“Sphinx,” Darling repeats, biting on the manicured fingernail. “Who would have thought... You sure have strange tastes, sweetie. Are you seriously considering making a move on him? If I were you I'd certainly look for a different target.”

“What do you mean by that?” Mermaid says in a dangerous, faraway voice.

“Armless, bald,” Darling counts off on her talon-like fingers. “That sickness that no one was able to diagnose... He looks like he's coming on twenty-five... Definitely, I'd have found myself a better catch.”

“I don't think,” Mermaid says slowly, “that you have the slightest idea about it.”

“About what?”

“About love,” Mermaid says. “That you even know what that is.”

Darling's eyes narrow into slits.

“What kind of language is that to use with me, child? Isn't that a bit fresh?”

“No, it isn’t. And I'm not your child.”

Darling springs up aiming to slap her face, but Mermaid is faster. She darts behind the chair, positioning it between Darling and herself.

“don't even think about it!”

“Or what?” Darling hisses, trying to wrestle away the chair. “You are asking for such a thrashing, you good-for-nothing ingrate!”

Mermaid shoves the chair at the counselor and runs out the door. She stops there, confident that Darling is not going to act on her threats in full view of everybody.

“Why?” she says. “Why me, and not Ginger? She goes over to the other side much more often, and she's only a month older. But you never say anything to her. Because with me it's easy. Because you despise me, don't you?”

Darling, still hemmed in by the chair, looks at her furiously, like a horse raring to bolt out of the stable.

“You bonehead,” she says in a loud whisper. “Get out! Go, do whatever you want with whomever you want. I was just trying to care.”

“You were trying to admire yourself!” Mermaid shouts back as she runs away. “That's the only thing you really care about!”

She flees down the corridor, feeling the counselor's fury as something hot and fiery, a wave lashing across her back. Someone greets her from the nearest mattress hut. She doesn't stop.

On the top landing, the merry gang of Logs in black leather race an electric toy car. Needle is with them. Round-faced Bubble sees Mermaid and cracks a smile.

“Hey!” he shouts. “Are you happy?”

“You mean right now?”

“I mean in general. Are you lucky or unlucky? That is, which happens more often?”