Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

“Wake up, will you,” Tabaqui hissed when I wheeled by him.

“Alexander hasn't gone in either,” I said by way of an excuse.

Tabaqui gave me a withering look, pursed his lips, and turned away. I was stationed between Angel from the Third and Monkey from the Second. The former was intently studying something on the ceiling and yawning. The latter fidgeted, made faces, and smacked his lips. Angel's hand barely touched mine, while Monkey now gripped my hand, now shook it, now almost pushed it away. I got the impression that neither one of them perceived me as a human being at that point. I was just a fragment of the chain. Nothing more.

Once the movement ceased, Pompey rose from the mat, stretched, and entered the circle, bobbing under a pair of clasped hands.

“Does it always happen like this? Like a kids' game?” I whispered to Monkey.

He looked at me distractedly, made another face, and said that he had no idea what I was talking about.

Sphinx led Blind toward the circle. Blind then also went inside.

“Why this merry-go-round?” I asked Monkey again.

“What do you mean why? So that everyone can see properly, you fool! And so that nobody's hands ...”

Monkey didn't finish. A collective cry made us startle and crane our necks. The chain broke. Pompey lay prostrate on the floor, kicking his legs and making strange bubbling noises. Sort of like a cooing dove.

Is that all? I thought, stunned.

What I saw next made me sick. Pompey was clutching at his throat, and between his red fingers there was a knife handle. I closed my eyes, and then heard everyone exhale in unison. That could only mean one thing. But I still waited, not able to make myself look again. When I did, Pompey wasn't moving anymore. Just lying there, a sad bulk in a widening pool of blood. Not a single person among those sitting and standing around could have any doubts that he was dead.

The circle was still standing, even though no one was holding hands anymore. It was very quiet. We all looked at Pompey in silence.

I realized then that I was going to remember this for the rest of my life. The corpse on the glistening green paint, the track lights reflecting in the dark glass of the windows, and the silence. The silence of the place where too many people were silent.

Blind crouched down near Pompey, felt for the knife, and pulled it out. The wet noise almost made me throw up. I waited for the rising contents of my stomach to settle down a little, then turned the wheelchair around and dashed toward the doors. The only thought in my head was to leave this place as soon as I could.

I was speeding blindly down the corridor and definitely would have crashed into something at the very next turn if Tabaqui hadn't caught up with me.

“Hey! Where are you going? Stop right there!”

He grabbed my wheelchair and forced me to stop.

“Smoker. Calm down. You've got to calm down,” he kept repeating.

I told him I was absolutely calm. He produced a flashlight from his backpack and we proceeded along. Very slowly.

Tabaqui was trembling and mumbling, “Not with me, barred from me, find yourself another skin, walk up the river, join with the moon, but never with me, not now and not soon ...”

I laughed.

“Please stop with the crazy,” he said, “or we’ll have to slap your cheeks and pour water on you. And I don't think anyone wants to do that at the moment.”

“What is it you want to do at the moment?” I said. “Lots of demands on your time?”

He didn't answer.

“That's not a reason to kill him!” Sphinx shouted in Jackal's face.

“That is too a reason!” Jackal shot back.

“You're not old enough for things like that,” Lary said.

“So?” I said. “That means no one can save Pompey now?”

And they all stared at me. The way people look at complete idiots.

Which was exactly what I was.

“Oh god!” I said. And laughed. And couldn't stop myself. Tabaqui stopped and waited out my bout of mirth.

“And that rat,” I said. “Remember the rat? I thought you were going to kill it. Whack it with the broom. But you weren't planning to, were you?”

I saw the reflections of the flashlight in both of Jackal's big round eyes. Two yellow dots.

“You were never going to hurt it. The rat? No way. Right? But it was only Lary who was really afraid of Pompey. And you all knew that Blind was going to simply kill him ...”

Tabaqui was still looking at me without saying a word.

“You all knew,” I said. “When you were joking about his bats. When you were telling stories. When you were singing songs. Sphinx was sure of it when he was talking to him today... Now I understand ...”

“So?” Tabaqui said. “Let's say we did know. So what?”

He wasn't disgusted, and he wasn't sorry. Not a single bit. It was obvious even here in the darkness. And if not for Sphinx... if not for his “That's not a reason to kill him,” I'd have had to assume they were all like this. “That is too a reason,” Jackal had answered. Yes. They kill in this House. And there I was with my “no one can save Pompey now.” Sarcastic. Mocking. Even they were surprised. Of course they were. I'd outcynicked them all.

I laughed again. I laughed and laughed, and then I literally choked on the laughter as it turned into a spasm. I vomited. Right on my legs. I didn't have time to lean over or turn to the side.

Tabaqui gasped but didn't say anything.

Alexander, with another flashlight, caught up with us at the bottom of the steps. He looked me over, grabbed the handles of the wheelchair, and ran. Jackal was speeding alongside. I screwed up my eyes very tightly and tried not to think of anything. Least of all, of the Great Game. This silly, amusing game, born out of boredom.

Once we reached the bathroom, Alexander unloaded me on the floor and undressed me down to my briefs. I was sitting on the wet floor, trembling. He took away my clothes and returned to wash the wheelchair, and still I was sitting there, naked. Then he and Humpback shoved me into the shower stall, turned on the water, and closed the door. I stretched out in the little tiled alcove, under the jets of water cascading down my back, and listened to their voices, muted by the frosted glass, mingling with the sound of the shower. Listened to them talk while they were washing my wheelchair.

“Grabbed all the knives and razors and hauled them away,” Humpback said. “Even the nail files. Gone. He has his own hiding places.”

Alexander mumbled something indistinct.

“Used a pillowcase to wrap them. Mine, for some reason. I wonder why.”

Squeaking of the wheelchair. Silence.

“We can give Smoker my pants. At least they won't be falling down. But I'm all out of clean shirts.”

I closed my eyes and put my face inside the water stream. This way I couldn't hear anything else. Much better. If only they'd left me alone, I might have spent the night there, numbing myself in the shower, and then maybe feeling a little better in the morning. But they pulled me out. Pushed aside the door and dragged me onto the towel spread out on the floor.

As I was drying myself, in came Lary, took my place in the stall, and started splashing around like a manic seal without even bothering to close the door.

Sphinx entered and froze in the middle of the bathroom with a perplexed look on his face, as if he forgot what it was he needed here.

I emerged from under the towel. There was a stack of clothes on the stool next to me. I saw a gray-checkered shirt on top.

“I'm not wearing that,” I said. “Take it away.”

Humpback looked at me quizzically. As if there was something incongruous about me not wanting to put on that shirt. Blind's shirt, I'd seen him wear it, not once and not twice. As if it wasn't obvious that I had no desire to wear anything that was his after what had just happened.