Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

“Yeah, right,” Blind sneers. “Like I was going to consult you about it. After you've torn my first love away from me. In a cold-hearted manner, I might add.”

“You can't mean that maypole Gaby? For goodness' sake, Blind, you don't even come up to her shoulder.”

“On the bright side, Rat and I are the same height.”

He slips the ring under his shirt, but immediately winces and pulls it back out. It must have scratched at his wounds.

“So the decorations on your hide are kind of an engagement present?”

Blind's face hardens.

“Enough,” he says. “This matter is closed for discussion.”

“Yes, sir!” I bark and turn my attention back to the podium, where the biologist already has been supplanted by surly Chipmunk, reading his own farewell sermon. I can't make out a single word of it because neither Shark nor Ralph is present, having retired temporarily from the hall to have a smoke, and the discipline is deteriorating rapidly. Many are already puffing out in the open, the din of voices grows in intensity, certain individuals run between the rows to converse with the neighbors. Rats turn up the volume on their music.

“With all our hearts... blaze the trail... bright future... in spite of... the honor of our school... in high esteem... ,” Chipmunk drones unenthusiastically, stopping only to take a hopeful sniff at the empty water carafe.

I shove my other foot on the chair in front of me and assume an almost horizontal position, even though the chairs here seem to be designed specifically to prevent people from getting comfortable. Humpback clicks off the Walkman, sighs, and puts it into his backpack.

“What just happened?” he says.

“Our dear teachers are saying their good-byes. They're taking off, tomorrow or maybe the next day.”

“Really?” Humpback goggles at Chipmunk in surprise. “You serious? We're not going to see them anymore?”

“Guess not. So if you feel the need to hug any of them and burst into tears, you better hurry. Oh, and by the way, our Leader is engaged. You can hug him too.”

Blind makes a vicious face. Humpback clears his throat. We’re prevented from a further exchange of information by Red, cigarette in his mouth, filtering to us from the front row and sidling next to Blind. Our row is suddenly teeming with visitors, crowding and shoving each other.

“What do you say we move?” Humpback says. “It's getting a bit busy here.”

I nod. He grabs his stuff, throws his backpack on his shoulder, and we migrate three rows back to put some distance between ourselves and the pack that is acquiring guests and hangers-on at an alarming rate.

“Who's Blind engaged to?” Humpback asks.

“Rat, who else.”

“Could have been anybody,” Humpback says. “He's like that, you know. Unpredictable.”

Very true. Only the people who rarely voice their opinions are capable of doing it in such a deadly straightforward way. It still doesn't cheer me, though.

“Rat's better than Gaby,” Humpback insists.

“Depends,” I say, remembering the gashes on Blind's chest.

My mood crashes even further. Humpback lights a cigarette and stretches out on the chair. From the general direction of Birds a radio cuts in suddenly, so loud as to drown out everything else, but is hurriedly hushed.

“Good luck to you on your journey, my dear children, the journey into your adult life and the pursuit of your dreams! I wish you all the best!”

Chipmunk scurries off the podium, replaced by Mastodon. His appearance is met with unhealthy excitement. Also Shark and Ralph return. The last defectors, in the rush to take advantage of the pause created while they cross the aisle, are stomping loudly and moving chairs around. I look at Mastodon and miss the moment when someone sits next to me. Humpback's greeting makes me turn to the side and notice that someone is in fact Black.

He doesn't look half as imposing without his customary retinue of Hounds. You might even say he looks harmless and familiar. Still I tense up. Of course, a courteous greeting is a matter of habit, and then I turn back to look at Mastodon. Otherwise I'd be brazenly ogling Black.

“Well, what can I say ...”

Mastodon, the checker-coated rectangle with the flattened boxer's nose and the lips to match, stares at us over the scrap of paper with his notes.

“A good machine gun in your hands,” prompts someone in the audience, rather loudly. “And for the first two rows to hit the floor!”

Mastodon turns livid and tries to move his neck, seeking out the offender.

“You down there,” he rasps, “shut up!”

The assembly goes quiet. But not for long.

“Like the other teachers talking here, for me it's been blood and sweat and ...”

Black is telling Humpback of Nanette visiting him this morning.

“And then I see her trying to climb through the crack in the window. All by herself, I didn't call her or anything. I didn't even realize at first how unlike her that was. You should know, she never came to me before, not even when she was a chick, but there you go.”

Black is staring at Mastodon while saying that, and Humpback does as well. They barely move their lips, but I still hear everything. This makes me uncomfortable for some reason, as if I've been eavesdropping. Except that I absolutely have not. It's not my fault they are sitting so close to me. And if Black didn't want me to listen it'd be easy for him to catch Humpback any other place.

“Tried to get you a little bit stronger,” Mastodon's voice muscles its way into my head. “Can't say it worked too well.”

“Sure would be handier with that machine gun,” comes the voice again.

Mastodon holds a pregnant pause. The audience giggles.

“But as I told you time and time again ...”

“The only good cripple is a dead cripple!” an entire chorus sings in unison.

Of course. Mastodon's maxims are classic. Quoting them from memory is something even Elephant can do.

“You bloody bastards!” Mastodon roars, slamming both of his fists against the top of the lectern. “Waste of genetic material! Human debris!”

A cloud of dust floats up in the air. The audience howls and applauds furiously.

“I wish I had a hand grenade, screw the gun ...”

He is being dragged off the podium. The entire counselors' row pitches in. Shark, out of range in the back, flaps his fins miserably.

Black turns to me and asks, “What's going to happen to Smoker now?”

“Same as the others, I guess. His parents will come and take him.”

He nods, thoughtfully rubbing the chin.

“I've got two of those in my pack, too. And still I worry more about him than about them. Strange, huh. I guess that's what's best for them, but I still feel like a traitor. Wonder why that is.”

“Because it's true. We have betrayed them.”

Black glowers at me. The tiny skulls on the scarf wrapped around his head do their black-and-white dance.

“How so?”

“By failing to change them.”

Black takes a pack of cigarettes from his backpack, shakes out one, and stashes it in the front pocket of his shirt.

“Too bad. He's a nice guy. You just got to him with your tricks, no wonder he's flipped. I know how that works.”

“Yes, you would, wouldn't you,” I say politely.

Humpback steps on my foot while continuing to study the ceiling nonchalantly. But strange as it seems, Black doesn't take offense. Leadership certainly has effected some positive changes in his demeanor as well.

“You're a meanie, Sphinx,” he says.

And that's it. I wait for the follow-up, but it never comes.

Shark announces that “one of our students expressed a desire to address us” and a proud Pheasant is being wheeled out to the podium, indistinguishable in his black-and-white fatigues from any other representative of the species.