Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

“Watch it,” Rat says. “I don't let anyone do that. Those are my eyes.”

Red snatches the hand away so quickly it's almost funny.

“And yours lie,” she adds angrily. “They show an improved version.”

Red shakes his head. “They show what is. You're the one with the lowered self-esteem after meeting with that parent of yours.”

She wants to snap back, say something that would turn him off her forever. Make him regret his attempts at meddling in her soul and his cloying words of consolation. Make him stop showing her unreal reflections. But she can't bring herself to reject them. She does need them, at least occasionally, at least on days like this one. And Red is perfectly aware of that. She remembers herself in the chocolate pools that are his eyes. So beautiful.

“How is it?” he says once she takes a sip from the cap.

“Not bad. Considering it's the Pheasants—more or less brilliant. I had no idea they were into stuff like this.”

Red, relieved that a scene seems to have been avoided, smiles.

“We know very little about them. They live in the House, but in a sense not quite.”

“Yeah. They are not of this place. But not of the Outsides either.”

They fall silent. Red pours out another capful for Rat.

“Listen,” he says with inflated enthusiasm, “they say Noble is into Ginger now? Like really into her. Is that true?”

Rat's hand reaches for the badges by itself. She glances at them, but leaves them the wrong side up. She can see that Red is finally getting to his real point even without them.

“How would I know?” she snaps back. “I've just returned. Ask her, why don't you.”

“She gets ticked off when I do,” Red says glumly.

“Then don't bring it up with me either.”

Rat's eyes become angry, but Red does not notice. He fiddles with the flask. Screws on the cap and lifts his head. Even the lenses of his shades betray apprehension.

“I worry about her,” he says. “She's like a sister to me. I feel kinda responsible for her. To myself. She's been in love with Blind since forever, like, since she was ten. And Blind... you know... he doesn't give a crap. He wouldn't make an effort for any girl. If she jumps into bed with him—fine, her choice. That's the way he is. He doesn't care who he's doing it with. So if Noble lures her to the Fourth, they're going to be close together. Her and Blind. That's what I'm worried about. For Blind it's all fun and games, but not for her.”

“All right,” Rat sighs. “What's all that have to do with me? Where do I come in?”

Red smiles obsequiously.

“Well... you might... you know... work your way in there too. The Fourth, I mean. You're a girl, and a pretty one at that.”

Rat's eyes narrow.

“And then what? Be Ginger's chaperone? Stop her from making the move on Blind?”

“No, that's not what I mean. It's just... If you made it look like you're in love with him... I mean, for real. Like seriously. Then she'd get him right out of her head, see? She'd never even go near him anymore.”

Rat looks briefly at Fleabag, splayed over her shoulder, and stands up. Red shoots up too. He's wearing ridiculous purple pants with heart-shaped leather patches on the knees, a white shirt unbuttoned all the way down to his navel, and a bow tie. In short, he looks like a clown. With a very serious and somewhat frightened face.

“Please don't go! I didn't mean anything bad. All right, let's say that was a joke.”

“Was it?”

Red doesn't answer.

Rat looks at him, biting her lip.

“You know what,” she says finally. “I've seen creeps in my life, but never like you. So brazen, I mean. I'm going to play Blind's bimbo so that Ginger loses the hots for him, so that you can sleep easy knowing that your pretty little sister is not inconvenienced in any way. Did I get that right? Blind won't give a crap, he just needs somewhere to stick his dick, and I'm going to have the satisfaction of participating in this important endeavor. Saving Ginger from Blind's clutches. Now that we've established all that, sure, I guess we can say it was a joke.”

Red, downcast, is rubbing the floorboards with his dirty sneaker.

“You're doing it all wrong,” Rat says with a grin. “Matchmaker, my ass. You should've told me how Blind is this great guy and how he's crazy about me. How he weeps daily on your shoulder, moaning that he can't live without me. Then maybe you'd have a chance.”

“Really?” Red says, perking up.

“No, not really!” Rat sniggers. “But at least it would have looked halfway decent.”

Red wilts again.

“There's one thing I don't get, though,” Rat says. “Wasn't this whole new Law your idea all along? It was you who got the thing rolling, right?”

“Yeah. I thought I covered all the bases pretty well. But now it's all gone south. Sphinx promised that if Gaby so much as gets her nose into that door again he'd personally have my scalp. But it almost worked ...”

He's interrupted by the lunch buzzer. The body in the sleeping bag stirs.

“So now you need to replace her. And since we don't have another Gaby, Rat will have to do.”

Red raises his head.

Her straight, glistening black hair diagonally bisects Rat's face, falling over her left eye. If not for those bangs you'd see that her eyebrows meet in the middle, forming one continuous line. They look even more bushy in contrast to her skin, soft as a baby's and almost transparent. Red swallows hard.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “I didn't think it would sound that way. You can kick the snot out of me if you like. I’ll understand.”

“Lunch? It's lunch, right?” A head appears at the end of the sleeping bag, followed by the rest of its owner. It's Termite. Scrawny, clad in striped boxers, scratching his belly distractedly and staring at Rat with half-closed eyes.

“It all came out so lousy because I was speaking honestly,” Red says, glancing over his shoulder at Termite. “Because I told it like it is, you know? But I never saw it the way you described it. I thought it would be easy for you to do... but if you take it that way, then sure... I mean, forget I even said anything... Actually, I didn't have much hope anyway, not with a girl as beautiful as you.”

“Shut up, OK?”

“It's hot dogs today,” says Termite, which for him counts as refined conversation. “And raspberry Jell-O.”

“And by the way, Blind does like you,” Red says. “Not that you're going to believe me now, of course.”

“Well, maybe not Jell-O. Maybe I'm talking bull here,” Termite continues.

“Believe you? Dream on. Do I look that crazy?”

Two Rat-Logs clatter inside.

“Lunch! What are you, asleep?”

They snatch backpacks off the stand and charge back out.

Termite hobbles around the room on one leg, trying to stuff the other one into his pants. Rat turns the badges over, mirror side up. One, two, three... four. The chains are all of different length, and they often get tangled.

Red hides the flask in his backpack. One of the badges catches a glimpse of his bow tie, red and white polka dot. Directly around the bare neck.

Rat looks around and notices to her surprise that it is, in a sense, beautiful in the Second, filth notwithstanding. Leopard's antelopes race across the walls, flowing into abstract stripy patterns as they run. Red puts his bowler hat on and offers Rat a handshake.

“No hard feelings?”

“Careful, or Fleabag is going to bite you to death,” Rat warns him. “She can't stand it when someone tries to touch me.”

The badges show three tiny doors. Three Termites are disappearing through them simultaneously. Red and Rat walk out after him, and the badges darken. The soles of their shoes cling to the floor with every step.