Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

Black was fiddling with the rubber bunny, regarding it thoughtfully, as if he was in fact seeing something else there in front of him.

“And ever since that time we kind of can't stand each other. Silly, I know. I bet you're thinking right now, ‘This is nonsense, those grown-up guys still nursing their childish grudges.’ Well, these grudges keep getting reinforced. A lot of other things get added in. And they keep adding. Like this one, with Noble. Sphinx makes it look like I doomed him to something horrible. When in fact all I did was save him. But would anybody say it like it is? Of course not, how could they? There is only one truth, and Sphinx is the one telling it. He's the smartest here, and we're all like nothing before him.”

“He certainly has charm,” I offered carefully.

“You should have seen him when he was nine,” Black chortled. “The shining light of the House. One smile and swoons all around. It's not the same now. He's been cranky lately. But he's still got it, no question. So I'm surprised you haven't dashed off after him to the Sepulcher, trailing smoke. Usually that's more or less the effect he has on people.”

It wasn't a pleasant experience, listening to what Black was saying, but in some sense I'd brought it on myself. And maybe, just maybe, there was a grain of truth in all of this.

“Are they going to take Noble away now?” I asked, in a clumsy attempt to change the subject.

Black was wiping dust off the bunny and didn't even look in my direction.

“Probably. I wouldn't be so hung up about this. But for the guys in here, there's nothing worse in the whole world. For them, there's no life in the Outsides. As for me, I'm counting down the days until graduation. I guess I'm a black sheep in that regard.”

Being a seasoned and much-persecuted black sheep in my own right, I nodded understandingly. Now I knew what made Black different from the others.

“I understand,” I said. “That's how it was with me too, the last half year.”

“And that's why I find you easy to talk to,” Black said.

I nodded again. We were silent for a while. This mute understanding was growing between us, and we were afraid words might spook it. It's not that I considered Black to be right about everything. But I had to admit that talking to him was indeed much easier than talking to Sphinx or Humpback.

“Noble is not well,” Black said suddenly, apparently trying to get everything that was bothering him out in the open. “Tried to kill himself a couple years ago. Once, twice... Sphinx got to him. With his drills, like a sergeant. Amazing how he's crawling around now, right? Well, you should have seen the way Sphinx was driving him. Followed him one step behind, and as soon as Noble stopped he'd step on his legs. So Noble was in turns crawling and yelping. Crying and still crawling. A sickening sight. And Sphinx kept following and stepping on him.”

I had to close my eyes when I imagined what he was talking about.

“Black, stop it,” I said. “This is too much.”

“Sure,” Black said. “It's better not to know. To continue thinking that Sphinx is this sweet guy. Very helpful, if you want to blend in.”

I let that pass. I was still trying to come to terms with the image of sadistic Sphinx trampling someone's legs with a beatific smile on his face. I had a hard time even imagining this. But at the same time I realized that Black wasn't lying, and this contradiction was driving me crazy.

“Black, I'm sorry,” I said finally. “I didn't want to interrupt. I guess I am better off knowing things like that, at least to... to better understand what's what. But I need some time to adjust. To absorb the information.”

“I'm fine with that,” Black replied. “I didn't tell you all this so that you start avoiding Sphinx from now on. That's not the point. The point is that Noble is nuts. He's sick. Always has been. Even before Sphinx added to it. He needs treatment. So when Sphinx goes all righteous on me, telling me that I, wouldn't you know, behaved despicably, I want to just laugh it off. But when six other people, who, by the way, all witnessed everything I've told you about, when those six all agree with him, that's no longer funny. Make sense?”

“Yeah.”

Black took out another cigarette.

“Just wanted, you know, for at least one person in this damned zoo to understand. Just one.”

He lit up. I saw that his knuckles were scraped, and his hands trembled so much that he couldn't quite connect the end of the cigarette with the lighter's flame.

I was sitting there, stunned, torn between anger and pity. I understood him. I understood him all too well. But I didn't want to. Because it meant becoming a black sheep again. Only this time there'd be two of us. And I so wished to become a full-fledged member of the pack. To be with them, to be one of them.

“I understand you. I do. I'm sorry if it doesn't look that way from the outside.”

“No, I'm sorry. I guess I shouldn't have dumped all of this on you.”

But he was obviously glad I'd said that. And I realized that this was it. There was no going back. I chose Black.

I was trying to convince myself that maybe this wasn't quite the end of the world when Black finished his cigarette, tossed the butt over the back of the sofa, and got up, favoring his aching leg.

“Let's roll,” he said. “Now we're definitely not going to make it before it's dark.”

He stuffed the pink bunny into his pocket.

We didn't make it even as far as the Second when the lights went out. They blinked twice, and then it was dark. I'd been forewarned and prepared, but still I startled. Black was right: if I were to find myself alone in this inky blackness, I'd just be stuck wherever I was when it came. But Black did have a flashlight. Now I was holding it, and he was pushing the wheelchair.

I was still digesting our conversation and must have been doing a lousy job of lighting our way, because at some point Black stopped and told me to point the flashlight straight ahead. I apologized and raised it higher.

The murals on the walls looked different. They loomed out of the darkness in fragments, most of them unfamiliar, even those that I passed several times each day. And when faced with the White Bull I simply gasped in astonishment. Black understood and stopped, giving me the opportunity to fully illuminate the drawing.

The Bull was swaying forlornly on its slender stick legs, watching us with its human eyes and thinking about something sad. It was the most amazing bull in the whole world. It was drawn in an affectedly primitive, childish manner, and its expressiveness went straight for the heart.

“Look at it,” I whispered.

Black stepped forward and scraped the wall where it had started peeling, costing the bull half a horn.

“It's coming off. Vulture tried putting clear varnish on top, that's why it looks dull now.”

The image of Vulture as a custodian of wall art was such an incongruous one that I could only mutter something indistinct. The House was a strange place indeed, and every day brought me new evidence of this.

“Who painted this?”

Black looked at me funny.

“Leopard, who else? Oh yeah, I keep forgetting you haven't been here that long. You can't mistake his drawings for anyone else's.” He thought for a while, then added, “Leopard was Leader of the Second. Some three years ago. Red's third after him.”

He seemed to force that last bit out of himself, but I got the impression that the details would have been forthcoming if I started asking questions. It was strange but refreshing knowledge: that my every question would be answered concisely and exhaustively. With no equivocating, clowning around, references to Pheasants, or long discourses about the Ways of the House. I immediately decided not to abuse this, and to begin by not digging further into the topic of Leopard's disappearance. Especially since Black's tone of voice very strongly hinted at the answer.