Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

“I shall now announce the names of those few who passed the tests with reasonably high scores ...”

Into Shark's expectantly snapping fingers Pilot inserts another file. Shark grabs it and grumbles threateningly.

“So... In the First ...”

The teachers' row hums and whispers. Humpback produces an ashtray from his pocket, flicks it open, and puts it down on the floor. There isn't anyone actually seen to be smoking, but the telltale gray cloud hangs thick overhead. Shark reads the first batch of names. I whisper them after him, recollecting vaguely that I seem to already have encountered them recently.

“Strange,” I say. “I would have thought there'd be more Pheasants. But it's their own business, of course.”

“Of course,” Blind confirms right over my ear, laughing softly, his maddening insane laugh.

His Adam's apple performs a dance on the bare neck, his eyes are mirrors, each containing a Sphinx, just like the puddles of Noble's glasses.

“They were on the list that Ralph had,” I explain. “The list of students wishing to bolt as soon as possible.”

“Now we shall see,” Blind says, overjoyed for some reason, “how well they are going to manage that. And who else besides them.”

“You mean you knew about them?” I ask suspiciously.

“You crazy?” Blind says, aghast. “You just told me yourself.”

I did, didn't I? But he wasn't very surprised when I did. Or he hid the surprise very convincingly. At least he didn't ask any questions, or demand clarification.

Shark, in the meantime, has moved to the geniuses of the Second. That doesn't take too much time, because the Second boasts just a single outcast—poor unfortunate Squib.

“Take that! Yeah... that's the way,” Rats drone two rows ahead of us, after the “interpreter,” forcibly divested of the earphones, attracts their attention by gesticulating wildly and then relates the news to them. “Keep on it, listen, you’ll tell us all later,” they encourage the interpreter before the entire pack plugs the phones back in. Well, not the entire pack, rather a dozen of its imprisoned representatives, but for Rats that's a lot when we're talking about a function as dull as an all-hands meeting.

Red loudly cracks a nut with his teeth and spits out the shell. Ringer, the interpreter, sighs and turns back toward the lectern. Squib, the immediate beneficiary of the whole business, does not react, doesn't even move at all, indifferent and self-absorbed, the bill of his cap lowered all the way to his nostrils.

Having skipped over the Third, who flunked the tests in their entirety, Shark declares, “The Fourth... ahem. Congratulations! It's Zimmerman!”

Smoker's death sentence flies up and flutters between the rows like a small graffiti-covered kite, and in the counselors' row R One's sharp-beaked head turns around and stares at me.

“One way or another,” I whisper. “Somehow we do rid ourselves of them.”

“Were you discussing Smoker with Ralph?” Blind wonders. “Why would you do a thing like that?”

Ten rows ahead of us, Ralph grimaces as if he heard what Blind just said, and turns away. He slightly resembles Smoker at that moment. They seem to have temporarily swapped their eyes, to better confuse me. Shark is done with the Sixth, all of three names, and is now talking about the girls.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” I ask Blind.

“Oh, that's just my bright, logical mind,” Blind says proudly. “It's come to this conclusion.”

“Your bright mind appears to be malfunctioning lately.”

This is my freshest and most persistent nightmare—Blind, lost forever in the ghostly forests and swamps of the Other Side of the House, a vegetable here, a person who-knows-where. Blind, who's abandoned me to deal with all those faces and nicks alone, all their fears and hopes, the most horrendous outcome I can possibly imagine—and also the only one, as far as I know, that would satisfy Blind himself. My fear should be evident to an ear much less fine-tuned than his, but he just laughs, even though this isn't funny at all.

“Must be from overwork,” he says, meaning the bright mind. “All things need rest.”

“Not at my expense,” I say. “Please.”

Blind immediately assumes a solemn expression.

“Of course not,” he says. “Who do you think I am? I will never leave you here alone. Neither you nor the others.”

I close my eyes, trying to get a handle on the spinning head that's making the objects around me elongate, flow, and merge into colorful stripes. He will never leave us, wouldn't you know! I am familiar with that smug self-assuredness in his voice all too well. But will he allow us to leave him? I doubt it, at least not those of us who have already been touched by the House.

“Hey, what's that?” Blind grabs me by the collar and jostles lightly. “What's going on?”

“Go to hell!” I whisper back.

“Tomorrow!” Shark thunders, shaking the lectern like King Kong on a rampage. “Tomorrow we are saying good-bye to our esteemed teachers, departing on their well-earned break. Since the exams have been canceled, it is going to begin a full month earlier than was planned.”

The entire teachers' row stands up and turns around to face us. A sustained ovation. They earnestly put on a display of being touched, but the elation in their faces shines clean through even from afar. Conversely, the counselors' row sinks further into depression as they are coming to the realization that soon they alone are going to be left with us face to face. The audience applauds, the teachers bow, Shark melts with delight. Through all this Blind keeps a firm hold on the back of my neck, seemingly concerned that as soon as he lets go I'm going to faint right there and then. He's not far off in that, and he'd get even closer should he attempt to soothe me in the manner that he's already tried just now.

“Now we are going to hear from those of our teachers who wish to say a word to all of you,” Shark says, blotting the sweat behind his ears with a tissue. “I would only like to add, in closing, that on this Saturday as well as the next one, the parents of students who have completed the testing successfully are invited to visit, and if they'd like to take their children away at that time in order to provide an opportunity for them to apply to various colleges and universities, they are certainly welcome to do so.”

The audience claps lazily, celebrating the end of Shark's oration. One of the more ebullient Hounds even shouts “Bravo!” and whistles, but is quickly suppressed, so Shark departs the podium amid scattered feeble applause, and his place is taken by the biology teacher, a slight old man burdened by the massive scroll of his prepared remarks.

“Your nervous system,” Blind remarks, “seems to be rather shaky.”

“Thanks in part to you,” I snap back. “And get your hand off my scruff, I'm not planning to fall down.”

“Sorry,” he says, removing his hand obediently. “It's just that I got this impression that you were.”

His smile is missing a tooth and lacking kindness, but he's intent on bestowing it on me. I look at him closer and notice certain changes. Sightless One used to walk around in a black jacket, so long that it resembled a turn-of-the-century frock coat, directly over his bare skin. Today he's got a tee under it, and also something ringlike hanging on a string around his neck, catching on the buttons.

“What's that?” I ask. “On your neck.”

“This?” he says, showing me a steel ring. “Oh, I keep forgetting to tell you. I'm engaged.”

“Oh boy. Who to?”

“Rat. Last night.”

“Congratulations,” I sigh. “I realize there's no use in trying to debate this after the fact, but could you maybe have considered someone more... sane?”