Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

“Skull,” Grasshopper says without hesitation.

“And who's the smartest?”

“Well... they say... you?”

“Listen, then, to what the smartest man in this big gray box is telling you. There is one way to give the amulet its power back. Only one. It's very hard. Harder than anything. You’ll have to do everything exactly as I say. Not once, not for a couple of days, but for many, many days. And if you fail to do it completely and fully, even once, even if it's the teeniest, tiniest thing ...”

Grasshopper shakes his head vigorously.

“If you miss something, or forget, or just get lazy”—Ancient pauses ominously—“the amulet will lose all of its power forever. Might as well throw it in the trash.”

Grasshopper freezes.

“So think about it,” Ancient concludes. “You still have time.”

“Yes,” Grasshopper whispers. “Yes. I’ll do everything. I’m not going to miss or forget.”

“You didn't even ask what it is that you're promising to do.”

“I forgot,” Grasshopper admits. “What is it I'm promising to do?”

“Things,” Ancient says mysteriously. “Some of them may even seem dull or boring. For example”—his extinguished cigarette zigzags in the air—“I might order you to think magic words. Every morning as you wake up and every night before you fall asleep. Or say them to yourself very softly. They may sound simple, but you’ll have to repeat them like you mean them. Every time. Or here's something I might say.” Ancient smiles at his thoughts. “I'd say, ‘Today you're not allowed to utter a single word.’ And then you must be silent.”

“What about classes? I can't be completely silent in class.”

“There are no classes on weekends.”

“What if the counselors ...”

“You see?” Ancient throws up his hands. “You're already arguing with me. Looking for an out. It doesn't work like that. Either you agree or you don't.”

Grasshopper blinks.

“Go hide in the attic, if you have to. But whatever you do that day, you do it in silence. And that's one of the easy ones. They’ll get harder as we go along. For example, several days of not feeling sorry for yourself. Or not getting angry. That one is very hard. Not even Skull can do that.”

The mention of Skull cheers up disheartened Grasshopper.

“Are all the tasks going to be like that? Like ...” He searches for the right word. “Brainy?”

“The spirit is more important than the body,” Ancient proclaims. “But if you are referring to the physical side, don't worry. We’ll do that too. You're not going to have it easy.”

“Will I have to fight?”

“Not for a while. It's not essential, really. But for starters, you're going to kiss both of your heels.”

Grasshopper smiles.

“How so?”

“Simple.” Ancient spreads out the blanket, shakes out the crumbs, and wraps it around himself again. “I'm going to say: ‘On this and this day you are to appear here before me and kiss your heels.’ One, and then the other. While standing, of course. Anyone can do it sitting down. And you're either going to do it, or forfeit the whole task.”

“When are you going to say that?”

“Not today. And not tomorrow. First things first.”

In Grasshopper's misty gaze Ancient reads the future, and it definitely includes attempts at kissing the heels. Very soon. Ancient hides his smile in a glass of lemonade. He takes a very long sip, and when he puts away the glass he's somber again.

“All right, that's enough,” he says. “I shouldn't even have told you all of that ahead of time. It's late. Go, think it over carefully. I'd drop the whole thing if I were you.”

Grasshopper rises up reluctantly.

“I've decided. I'm not going to change my mind. I will be silent, and I will be whatever else. Can you give me a task now?”

Ancient looks at his watch.

“That's it for today,” he says. “The tasks will have to wait until tomorrow. I need to remember all the magic words. And a lot of other things too. Now go and think. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Grasshopper walks backward to the door, nodding all the while. Once he's in the hallway he just stands there in uncertainty, as if not knowing where he's supposed to go. The bright lights are hard on his eyes after the darkness of the room. Finally he turns and shuffles away along the corridor. His boots scuff listlessly at the floor. He is walking full of the innermost secrets and strange visions. Of magic words, of pitiless and angerless weeks, of big Skull and little Skull, of Bruce Lee kissing his own heels, of Blind asking “Why aren't you saying anything?” Of voices around him: “He's become so strange lately.” It lies heavy on Grasshopper, but also suddenly fills him with pride.

“Not even Skull can do that,” he mutters. “For him that would be too hard.”

Humpback is on his haunches by the doghouse, petting the resident dog and rubbing it behind the ears. Grasshopper comes over. Humpback gets up and follows him to the fence. To the place where the bushes hide the secret tunnel to the Outsides.

Humpback's shirt is covered in stains and splotches. He's wearing sunglasses that used to belong to one of the seniors; one side is cracked. They keep sliding down his nose, exposing the conjoined half-moons of his eyebrows. The yard is reflected in the twin round mirrors. His cap is covered in pins and badges. He takes off the shades and the cap deliberately, like a swimmer about to go into the water. On the other side of the fence, in the outside world, the five scruffy stray dogs all react to this gesture in unison: they whine and brush the ground impatiently with their tails.

“Down!” Humpback commands. “Sit!”

The passage into the Outsides was constructed by the seniors. When autumn arrives, the bushes around it grow thinner, and then it can be seen from a distance. That's why dried leaves are piled around it. But the dogs still know where it is, and when Humpback approaches the right spot, they become even more agitated.

“Shall we?” Humpback says and reaches into the pocket of Grasshopper's coat.

They exchange knowing smiles.

Humpback produces a grease-stained package, hides it under his shirt, crouches down, and crawls into the bushes. The camouflage leaves stream on top of him like a rustling waterfall. The hole in the fence is now evident, and the whimpering dogs jostle each other to sniff at the black-haired, shaggy head that has suddenly appeared on their side.

“Sit!” Humpback shouts, trying to make them back down.

Surprisingly they do sit, in a docile circle, with only their tails still thumping the ground. Each receives its share, and then there are just chomping noises. It doesn't take long. When it's all gone, Humpback lets them sniff him, at his hands and his pockets, to assure them that he's not hiding anything. He goes back the same way and emerges covered in clods of wet earth. They shovel the leaves back into the bushes. The dogs snap at each other and run back and forth along the fence.

“Wild animals,” Humpback observes thoughtfully, watching them. “No one needs them. All by themselves ...”

“Newbie!” the boys shout to each other as they run.

The word is passed down the chain, even the walls seem to vibrate as they absorb it. Wherever a member of the Pack was peacefully excavating his nostrils, or tossing a ball, or trying to coax a cat to come closer so he could tie a bottle to its tail, this enticing vibration in the walls and in his own legs prompts him to abandon all other pursuits and run, overtake the ones running in front, and pick up the airborne word: “Newbie!” And then, putting on the brakes in front of the door of the Sixth, elbow aside those who came first—to look, to inhale that scent that new arrivals always bring in. Only the children of the House can feel it. The fleeting scent of the mother's warmth, of hot chocolate in the morning, of packed lunches, a dog, maybe even a bicycle. Scent of one's own home. The farther it drifts back in time for the denizens of Stuffage, the sharper they sense it on someone else.