Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

“So I'm not crazy?” Noble recaps, in a calmer manner. “Or if I am, I'm not alone.”

“That last part looks more like it.”

This is where Janus finally comes in. Noble is carefully playing at nonchalance. I straighten up, concern and compassion incarnate. A grandma who finally got to pamper her favorite.

“How are you doing here?” Jan queries. “Fighting yet?”

We raise a unanimous protest. Jan notices the tray with the empty bowl and nods approvingly.

“You can stay just a while longer,” he tells me. “Half an hour at most.”

Jan disappears.

Now I could stick around with Noble until tomorrow morning if I wanted to. No Spider queens are going to show up to throw me out.

“I need a cigarette,” Noble whines as soon as the door slams shut behind Janus.

I send the rake rummaging through my pocket. It gets predictably stuck in there, scratching around like a trapped insect. Useless thing. Noble pulls me toward him, frees up the unfortunate appendage, and takes out the pack. Then in the other pocket we find a lighter. I climb off the bed and sit down on the floor, with my back against the nightstand. We puff in unison. Noble's drags are greedy; mine, despondent.

“Go on.”

The sight of my shaking bald pate must be especially depressing when viewed from above.

“Sorry. Can’t. You don't talk about these things.”

“Yeah, figures. The House Laws, may they be forgotten. Right?”

“The Laws don't enter into it. That's just how it goes. Take me, for example. I'm not superstitious, but it's quite possible that, should I choose to share my experiences with you right now, my next visit to the Underside might not end well. I wasn't planning on dropping by over there anytime soon, but you never know. No one knows much about things like that. And where you don't know about something, you don't talk about it.”

We smoke in silence. The floor under me is all covered in gouges left by the wheels of the bed. The walls are tiled to about three feet from the floor, blindingly white, reflecting the light from the lamps. I acutely feel that the circumstances are inappropriate, the setting is inappropriate, and the topic is inappropriate. But there is going to be more, no doubt. Noble is too unsettled right now to put on the brakes just because I asked him to. I have no doubt that, sooner or later, this way or that, this is going to rebound on me. The small of my back is freezing, the nightstand drawer handle is digging into my spine, but I'm exhausted beyond apathy and simply unable to move.

“How do you know about the others, then?” Noble asks. “Somebody must have been talking at some point.”

Now this is called “stalking the prey.” Even though we seemed to be talking about something else, but then what else is there? I lift up my head. From here I can only see his elbow and whispery tendrils of smoke. He shakes the ash off into the oatmeal bowl. Barbaric, that is. But better than having it all over the linens. I am jealous of him. Nobody ever explained anything to me back then. No matter how I phrased my questions. No matter from what side I tried to sneak in or how artfully I disguised the interest. In my case none of that made any difference whatsoever.

“Noble, listen,” I say soothingly. “Why don't you try answering that question yourself. You're not Smoker, after all. Think.”

This is Blind's approach. Boy, would he be amazed if he heard me using it. He himself switched on the meaningful silences in situations like this one. I was supposed to hear the hallowed “Think for yourself” hidden in those silences, do my own thinking and then, provided I arrived at some insight, keep it to myself. Very convenient. If it somehow fell on the Pale One to teach someone how to swim, he'd just toss the subject overboard and wait for the results. I am the only graduate of this drastic method of learning. Sometimes I feel proud of my own resilience.

While I am deep in the recollections of the good old days of my apprenticeship, Noble suddenly brightens up.

“Fairy Tale Night?”

“Precisely!”

Blind's education system had no use for positive reinforcement, but then, I'm not him.

“Do you know what it was called before?” I add. “Night of Permitted Talking. But that would be too obvious, you see.”

“The poems... The songs...,” Noble mumbles. “Somebody might let something slip when drunk. Tabaqui's drunken songs do sound very weird sometimes ...”

I turn toward him and rest my chin on the edge of his bed. This is both comfortable and risky. If I lose control, I am going to fall asleep. Noble would never forgive me if I did.

“Right,” I say drowsily. “And? You're making great progress. You're exactly right about being drunk. And about the songs. Also you might want to visit the poets' assemblies some Thursday evening in the old laundry room. Sit through an hour and a half of inane wailing and figure out some interesting details in the process. Though not an experience I'd like to repeat.”

Noble cogitates for a while longer.

“I'm coming up empty,” he admits. “No more insights. Unless there are people who are even less superstitious and can talk about it openly.”

I can see that he is indeed empty. His face looks tired. I decide to take pity on him.

“The walls. Do you always read everything that's on them? Of course not, no one does. Except those who know what to look for and where. Now you, for example, are a card player. So you know where the latest scores are displayed, right? While nonplayers would never find them in a million years.”

Noble slaps his forehead.

“Of course! I was an idiot! All those hundreds of times ...”

Done. For the next couple of days we are going to observe our packmate glued to the walls. We’ll have to pry him off at mealtimes. This is when it hits me again that he most likely won't have that couple of days, and the thought paralyzes me. No walls, no poets' assemblies. I completely forgot about this while trying to affect serenity, and went over the top. The loss is already gnawing at my insides. It won't do to show this to Noble, who is still right here.

“Do you understand what this means? That it happened to you? It's the House taking you in. Letting you inside. Now, wherever you might be, you're a part of it. And let me tell you, it doesn't like its parts to be scattered. It pulls them back. So all is not lost.”

Noble makes a face and flattens the cigarette against the long-suffering bowl.

“Do you really believe what you just said? Or are you trying to make me feel better?”

“I'm trying to make myself feel better, why? But as Ancient used to say, when words have been spoken they always have a meaning, even if you didn't mean it when you spoke them.”

He laughs and rummages in the pack for a fresh cigarette.

“I have no idea who this Ancient character is, but if he really did say all that then I guess I can feel a bit better. ‘Ancient’ sounds important. Almost like ‘Aristotle.’ You can sleep here if you like. Looking at you, I'm not entirely sure you're going to make it to the dorm.”

Sleep in the Sepulcher? Oh well, why not. I can see Noble doesn't want to be alone here. I get up and go sit on the other bed. There are two of them here, just for the occasion. It even has linens on it, all tucked in and ready.

“You're right. I'm not much of a conversationalist right now. And I also doubt I'd make it all the way back.”

I stretch out on the cot, on top of the slate-colored blanket. This is indescribable bliss.

“Thank you,” I whisper with my eyes already closed. “This is the second time today you are saving my life.”

He laughs again.

“Hey, Sphinx.”

I am not quite sure if he called to me right away or if I was already asleep for some time.