Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

Grasshopper lingered timidly at the door, not daring to enter. The senior was sitting on a striped mattress set directly on the floor next to a large fish tank. His hair was completely white, his face had almost the same color as the hair, and the whiteness of his fingers made it hard to distinguish the cigarette he was holding. On his face only the lips and the eyes had any color or life in them. Wine-colored eyes in the halo of white eyelashes.

“So it's you who needs an amulet?” Ancient asked. “Come in.”

Grasshopper approached, tense and apprehensive, even though he knew that Ancient was not going to jump off his mattress and attack him. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to.

The fish tank glowed green. It contained only two fish, two small black triangles. Glasses with sticky residue on their bottoms crowded the straw mat in front of the mattress.

“Lean closer,” Ancient said.

Grasshopper crouched next to him and Ancient put the amulet around his neck. A small pouch of gray suede with white stitches.

“That friend of yours, very tenacious,” Ancient said. “Obstinate, even. Both are commendable qualities, but they can really get on one's nerves. I never make amulets for juniors. You are lucky. You're going to serve as an exception.”

Grasshopper tried to see his amulet without appearing to look at it directly.

“What's in there?” he whispered.

“Your power.”

Ancient reached and tucked the amulet inside Grasshopper's shirt.

“Better this way,” he said. “Less visible. Your power and your fortune. Almost as much as I gave Skull back then. So be careful. And try not to show it to anyone.”

Grasshopper blinked, stunned by Ancient's words.

“Wow!” He lowered his head and looked at the harmless bump under his shirt with reverent awe. “That's too much.”

“There's no such thing as too much,” Ancient said with a laugh. “And besides, it's not going to come right away. Please don't imagine yourself walking out of here the next Skull. All in good time.”

“Thank you.”

Grasshopper felt the need to say more, but he didn't know what. He was very bad at those things. His lips formed a smile all by themselves. A silly, happy smile. He looked at his feet, grinning widely, and just kept repeating softly: “Thank you... Thank you ...”

In his mind he was already ripping the pouch apart with Blind's fingers. What's inside? Could it be another monkey skull? Or something even more wondrous?

Ancient appeared to have read his thoughts.

“An amulet cannot be opened, or it will lose all of its power. For at least two years you are not allowed to do it. After that time, maybe. And don't say I didn't warn you.”

Grasshopper's grin disappeared.

“I'm never ever going to do that.”

“Run along, then.” Ancient dropped the cigarette in the glass of lemonade and looked at his watch. “You've taken a lot of my time as it is.”

Grasshopper ran out, not missing the opportunity to demonstrate to Ancient how he could push door handles with his feet.

Blind was crouching by the door but rose to meet him.

“Well?”

“I have it,” Grasshopper reported in a low whisper and stuck out his chest. “Feel it. Under the shirt.”

Blind's fingers slithered under his shirt and searched for the pouch. They tickled, and Grasshopper giggled and fidgeted.

“Stand still!” Blind said sternly and continued the examination. “Something hard, made of stone,” he said finally, letting go of the pouch. “Also something dried out, like grass. The suede is too thick, I can't make out the details.”

Grasshopper was hopping impatiently. He wished very much to blurt out what it was that he now had hidden under his shirt, but did not allow himself to. Unverifiable things like that are better kept silent. But the Great-Power-on-a-String was egging him on. He had to rush somewhere and do something to slake the itch in his legs, the urge to jump and fly.

“Can we go climb the big garage?” he suggested. “Or the roof, that place we found, under the moon! Tonight is the greatest night! We can't just go and sleep!”

Blind shrugged. As far as he was concerned it was a perfectly ordinary night, and he'd much rather sleep than scramble up to the roof, but he understood that Grasshopper's excitement wouldn't permit them sleep. Ancient's words had to be digested before the two of them could go back to the Pack. Ancient was great. Blind sincerely admired what he'd heard of their conversation from behind the door. There was no other senior in the House who could have pulled it off.

“All right,” he said. “Roof it is, then.”

Grasshopper gave out a shrill whistle and bounded down the hallway.

The Great Power throbbed under his shirt like a second heart, lifting him off the ground. The floorboards caught him and then tossed him back up, like a rubber mat. Grasshopper's happiness screamed and hollered. He was dancing as he ran. In his wake the dorm doors opened, letting out the indignant shushes.

Blind caught up with him only at the end of the corridor and then they were walking side by side, two boys in tattered green shirts, so very different from each other.

The Sixth was cursing them, yawning and fighting off sleep.

“I can-n-n't do it anymore,” squeaked Crybaby, peeling off his socks. “And I don't wanna m-m-miss thi-i-is!”

A sock traversed the room and landed on the desk lamp.

“It's night already! How much longer?”

“Suck it in,” came the curt reply from Sportsman's bed. “You waited this long, wait a bit more.”

Rex the Siamese was holding his eyelids apart with his fingers. His brother was blissfully asleep, hugging his pillow.

Sportsman surveyed his enfeebled Pack.

“Wimps,” he whispered. “A sorry bunch of wimps.”

Muffin yawned, snapped shut the journal with sports-car stickers, and pushed it under the mattress.

“Whatever. I'm going to sleep,” he announced and turned over facing the wall. “This thing is gonna fall on them anyway, even if I don't see it.”

“Traitor,” growled Rex the Siamese.

“Yourself,” Muffin countered over his shoulder.

Sportsman sighed and inspected the remaining troops.

Just four limp, green-shirted figures, swinging their legs, each on his own bed. Plump Elephant, who was sucking his thumb, felt Sportsman's gaze on him and extracted the thumb and smiled tentatively.

“Now can I go pee-pee?” he asked.

“Damn it!” Sportsman exploded. “Can't you manage one hour without the bathroom? One needs to pee, another needs to wash his feet, and then there's watering the plant! What kind of Pack is this? You're just a load of sad sacks! All you think about is eat, sleep, and pee on schedule!”

Elephant slowly reddened; his sighs turned to sniffles and then to tears. Max the Siamese woke up immediately. Elephant was already at full bawl. Max looked at his brother. Rex hopped off his bed, limped to Elephant's side, and hugged his pudgy shoulders.

“There, there, baby... don't cry. It’ll be all right.”

“I want pee-pee,” Elephant sobbed. “He doesn't let me.”

“He's going to right now,” promised Siamese, his yellow eyes shooting daggers at Sportsman. “He's going to let you like he's never let anybody anything ever.”

Humpback, who until then was lying quietly on the top bunk, shot up.

“Enough!” he howled and chucked his shoe at the pan on top of the door.

The pan crashed to the floor amid deafening clatter and torrents of water. Elephant startled and went silent. Crybaby whimpered and pulled up his feet. The floor was turning into a lake.

Humpback played his flute, and the backyard listened. He was playing very softly, for himself only. The wind whirled the leaves in circles. Then they were caught in the puddles and stopped. Their dance ended. They ended. Now they would turn to mush and dirt. Just like people.