Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

“You only think there isn’t,” Blind said. He felt his cheek, which was starting to swell up, and winced. “There is too use,” he said forcefully. “Max wasn't there with them, and that tells me a lot.”

Grasshopper looked at him inquisitively.

“How do you know which one is which? They're identical.”

“They are, their voices aren’t,” Blind explained. “Max must have gotten scared. Probably because of that leg of his. They’re one person short now, don't you think that's significant?”

Grasshopper sighed.

“There are still too many of them for the two of us. We’ll never defeat them.”

Blind gave a derisive snort.

“‘Never’ is a long word. You seem to be fond of silly words like that for some reason. Think how we're stronger than they are. And they are only more numerous than we are. One day, when we grow up, they are going to regret ever picking on us.”

“If we manage to live that long,” Grasshopper said. “Which, if this continues the same way for much longer, we won’t.”

“You're a pessimist,” Blind said resignedly.

They sat back to back without speaking. A ceiling light went on, then another. Grasshopper's ear was on fire.

“Could you feel my ear, please?” he asked. “It burns.”

Blind felt for his shoulders, then his neck, and then pressed his hand against the ear. The hand was cool and soothing.

“Blind. Think of something,” Grasshopper said. “While we’re still alive.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Blind was cradling the ear and thinking. Thinking of his promise to Elk. Promise me you’ll take care of him.

All the remaining lights switched on, illuminating the hallway.

Back in the dorm, under Sportsman's guidance, the boys were installing a pan filled with water on top of the half-opened door.

“It's gonna fall down,” Muffin warned. “On your own heads. Or someone else will come in before them. That's what always happens.”

Muffin was sitting on his bed, nursing a finger damaged in the fight. He'd jammed it against one of the Pack, and this made his mood especially nasty.

“It won’t,” Sportsman assured. “We set it up solid.”

Whiner jumped off the chair and flicked a sideways glance at the pan.

“Genius idea, guys! So they come in, and Blind—bang!—right in the head! And then he's like out cold, so we grab the mama's darling—bang!—down the toilet he goes!”

He cackled. Crybaby was polishing the knives by the windowsill, but squeaked enthusiastic agreement.

They went to their beds and settled in for the long wait. The pan's blue sides glistened, hanging precariously over empty space. This was fun. For everyone except Humpback. He was against the pan business, just like he'd been against the dead rat in the newbie's bed, and the dog poo in Blind's shoes before that. Humpback was a humanist. But they never listened to him.

“Let's go,” Blind said and got up off the floor. “Or you’ll fall asleep right here. I thought of something, except I'm not sure if it's going to work.”

Grasshopper rose reluctantly, still pressing the injured ear to his shoulder. He was sure that none of what Blind thought of ever worked, hardly for anyone.

“If you thought of how we are going to go there and clean their clocks, I'd rather stay here and sleep.”

Blind did not answer and started in the direction of their dorm. Grasshopper followed him, grumbling and fuming.

“I could half do with a cigarette right now,” he said.

“You're too young to smoke,” Blind said without turning his head.

“For how long do they usually beat up newbies?” Grasshopper caught up with him. “A dozen times? A hundred? Several months?”

“Once, maybe twice.”

Grasshopper stumbled, flabbergasted.

“Once or twice? Why are they still picking on me, then? It's been forever! How am I so special?”

Blind stopped.

“You're special because you're not alone. There's two of us, and that means war. Us against them, them against us. I thought you knew.”

“You mean that if not for you ...”

“They would've accepted you long ago.”

Blind wasn't joking, because he was never joking. Grasshopper searched his face for even a trace of a smile, but Blind was somber.

“So all of that is because of you?” said Grasshopper in a dead little voice.

“Yup. Took you long enough.”

Blind turned around and started walking again. Grasshopper staggered along. He was the most miserable person in the whole House. And it was Elk's fault. Elk the kind, Elk the wise. Elk who gave him a friend and protector, along with an army of enemies and interminable war. He never would fit in with the boys as long as Blind was with him, and Blind was going to be with him forever, because that's what Elk wished. They would always be hated and hunted. He wanted to cry and scream, but instead he silently kept up with Blind. Because if he were to say anything against Elk, Blind would go ballistic, and that would be even worse.

Blind stopped in front of door number 10. A senior dorm. The door was painted black, with messages in red and white and splashes and splotches of paint for effect.

Blind stood and listened. Grasshopper was rereading the messages, even though he knew them all by heart.

TO EACH HIS SONG.

SPRING IS THE TIME OF HORRIBLE CHANGES.

Den of the Purple Ratter.

BEWARE. HERE BE DOG THAT BITES.

NO KNOCKING. NO ADMITTANCE.

In the House, a door into someone's dorm was not always a door. For some it could as well have been a solid wall. This was one such door, so when Blind knocked, Grasshopper gasped in shock.

“What are you doing? We're not allowed in there!”

Blind entered without even waiting for a response.

The door closed and Grasshopper crouched down next to it. He could guess why Blind would need Ancient and tried very hard not to think about it.

After some time the door opened again. The messages shifted and then moved back in their place. Grasshopper stood up. Blind leaned against the door with a mysterious smile. His unseeing eyes flowed wetly behind the half-closed eyelids.

“You're going to get an amulet,” he said. “But you’ll have to wait a little.”

Grasshopper's heart skipped a beat and crashed down into the pit of his stomach. His knees buckled.

“Thank you.” His whisper was barely audible. “Oh, thank you.”

A nightlight turned toward the wall illuminated the darkened room. Ancient meditated over a tin box with an open lid. Talismans against the evil eye looked back at him through their glass pupils. Stones with holes in them; monogrammed buttons, coins, and medallions splashed with patina; dog teeth and cat teeth; fingernail-sized shards covered in Chinese characters; mysterious seeds on strings. A treasure trove such as to make young Hoover lose his senses were he ever to see it. There was a lot to choose from, but Ancient couldn't make up his mind. Finally he closed his eyes and reached out at random.

A tiny sandstone kitten. It had a human face, gouged by the long wait inside the box and repeated encounters with its other inhabitants. Ancient turned it around in his fingers, smiled, and put it on top of a scrap of suede.

To it he added a root that resembled a rat's tail, and a chip of turquoise. He admired his creation for a while, then took a drag on his cigarette and carefully dropped the accumulated ash into the middle of the tableau. Folded the corners to produce a small suede pouch and sewed up the top with thread.

“Let's hope you can bring happiness to your very green owner,” he said doubtfully, setting it aside to look for a suitable cord to hang it on.