Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

I have to wait for him and adapt to his pace, because he's much slower on crutches than in the wheelchair. After the second circuit of the hallway, complete with peeking in every door, nook, and cranny, Noble asks for a breather.

“He's not going anywhere. And my armpits are killing me. And hell's bells, they're all staring at us, like we're a trained monkey show. I'm sick of that.”

“Deal with it,” I say. “You volunteered to tag along. Or have you forgotten?”

“Because I worry. About you, about your wanderings, and about this whole business. I have to be close. By the way, what makes you think Blind knows anything about this?”

“Nothing makes me think that. He either knows or he doesn't. But if there's anyone at all who does, it would be him.” I stop for a moment. “Coffeepot! We haven't checked there!”

I make a beeline for the Coffeepot. Noble shuffles after me, swearing under his breath.

Coffeepot is all dusk and billowing smoke, as usual. The table lamps throw green palm fronds of light on the walls. The curtains are drawn on the windows, but the sun still finds its way in through the cracks here and there, ruining the attempts at coziness.

Blind is there. Perched on a mushroom-shaped stool, in his epauletted black frock coat. Young Dracula hiding from the deadly rays. There are three cups of coffee on the counter in front of him. The next mushroom is occupied by benignly scowling Vulture, except in place of coffee he has a pot with a cactus in it.

I crash on the nearest toadstool, and my body responds with a full-throated wail in a hundred different places.

“Heavens,” Vulture says, emerging from his personal smoke cloud. “What happened to you, boys? You both look... er... somewhat unusual.”

“The water's out,” I say. “These are Black's rags. Blind, I've been looking for you. I need to ask you something.”

“I am at your service.”

Blind peers vacantly into emptiness, hands folded on the counter, like a dutiful student in the presence of a teacher.

“Who tried to kill himself last summer by jumping off the roof?”

Vulture whistles and shields the cactus with his hand, protecting it from the unpleasantness. Noble, having climbed onto the counter to give himself a rest from bipedal locomotion, drags his finger along the smear of spilled sugar. Blind is rigid like a marble frieze.

“So, how about it?”

I understand that no answer will be forthcoming, but it's still worth it to try and drag at least something out of him.

“Come on, Blind. Speak.”

He reanimates and turns his face to me.

“I take it back. I am not at your service, Sphinx. Sorry.”

Short and to the point. And about as disgusting as Chimera's fear. If not worse.

“It wasn't you, though?”

“No comment.”

Noble, hunched over, watches us anxiously, clawing at his chin.

“I'm going to find out anyway.”

Blind shrugs. “I have no doubt. But not from me. I think you should go now, Sphinx. You're starting to get on my nerves.”

I climb down from the plastic mushroom.

“You said enough by not saying anything.”

Blind turns to one of his cups. The conversation is over. I walk out without waiting for Noble and cross the hallway, bumping into people and wheelchairs. Beaten and humiliated.

What is it to Blind that there was this unsuccessful suicide last year? That someone likes walking around roofs? Whoever he is, whatever it is that drives him to the edge, how can I be dangerous to him? There isn't anything ever in Blind's empty eyes, there aren't any corridors or closed doors in his words, but I can read the answer to my question in the solid wall he's built in front of me. And that answer causes me pain.

I enter the dorm. Tubby stops chewing on the blanket and looks up at me.

“Carry on, old man,” I say to him. “Who knows, by trying to eat everything you can get to, you may one day make an important discovery. Find a new category of food and cover your name in glory forever.”

Tubby doesn't understand the meaning of the words but recognizes the tone. My voice calms him down, and he stuffs the blanket farther into his mouth. I crouch down before him.

“Have you noticed how we've taken to wandering around the House, and there's never anyone in the room? That we've been leaving you here alone more and more often? Life has moved to the hallways, and you've been left behind, poor guy. But maybe that's what's better for you? The entire room is yours. So many things in it. But you see, the problem here is that it was one of us up there on the roof. Someone who can walk. But not Blind... not Humpback... and not Lary. Black? Alexander?”

Tubby spits out a loose thread and makes a face.

“It could very well have been Black. After what happened to Wolf, it even could have been me. But it was someone else. Let's say Black. And this green-haired girl was ready to claw my eyes so that I wouldn't find out who it was. Curious, no? She was afraid of me. Oh, she wanted to chase Noble away too, but of him she wasn't afraid. Now riddle me this, Tubby. Who's afraid of little old Sphinx? And why? What could I have done to cause this? Something very, very bad. That's the last question I have. And it seems I know the answer to that one. Or maybe I'm just imagining it. Am I lying here in wait for someone who'd answer me?”

Tubby sighs, staring at me with his beady eyes.

“Now I am afraid, Tubby. You see? I'm deadly afraid. Of looking into his eyes and understanding. Why he was stuck up on the roof then and why he keeps going there still. What his guilt is and what his fear is.”

Tubby is clearly waiting for me to tell him the tale about the blue sea and white sand. The threads are hanging down from his puffed lips here and there, like whiskers on a catfish, and he's trying to groom himself as best he can, but he still listens intently. He looks at me and then at him, who is sitting next to me, or rather also crouching. There are three of us here, in a circle around the chewed-up blanket, and the third is listening closely, because my words are really directed at him, as are my questions, and he knows that.

“What have you done, Alexander?” I ask.

“I think I've killed him,” the soft, toneless voice answers.

“Why?”

“I was afraid. My fear could have done it without my knowledge. I never would try to hurt you, you know that. He was horrible inside. I am glad that I said this to you, Sphinx, and that you thought to ask. You can do what you will with me now. If you tell me to go away, I’ll go away.”

Tubby tears open a pack of cigarettes and hoots excitedly at them tumbling out. He grabs two and stuffs them in his mouth, then immediately spits them out in disgust.

I get up and walk out. I have no idea where I'm going. I know only that I must move. doesn't matter in which direction.

“Hey, Sphinx, by any chance are those my clothes you’re wearing?”

A figure looming ahead. Must go around. It's Black, hugging a huge speaker.

“Yes. They are yours. Noble and I had a day of reminiscences.”

I step to the side, but he follows, still blocking my way.

“Sphinx, what's wrong? You look like hell.”

I just stand there, waiting for him to tire of loitering in front of me. I look at his chin pressed against the speaker. Then the speaker drops away, deposited on the floor. The chin disappears along with it. Black assumes a crooked pose, like his spine is somehow damaged.

“I see,” he says. “You're a scary sight to behold, but I think I’ll manage. Is there any way I can help?”

“Sure. Stuff me in a crack somewhere and plaster it over.”

“Understood,” Black says, straightening up. “Let's go. I've got what you need. The crack, the plaster, and the gravestone. Just hang on until we reach the first floor.”