Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

Of all people, Noble was the least likely to be my tablemate in the Coffeepot and, if it were up to me, the least likely to have a conversation with. But that's how it turned out. He was asking questions, I was answering them, and his damned looks started to work their magic again. It was very hard to constantly keep in mind what he really was while being so close to him. Besides, I developed a nagging feeling that this Moon River thing wasn't exactly a harmless drink. Rather, it was something I shouldn't have been drinking at all.

Just as I was fretting about it, there it was. Rabbit put the tiny cup on the table and pushed it toward me.

“This is going to be on your conscience,” he warned the other wheelers.

I peeked inside the cup and saw an oily smear on the bottom. There wasn't enough there to fill a thimble.

“Wow!” I said. “So little.”

Rabbit sighed loudly. He did not go away. He was standing there waiting for something.

“Money,” he said finally. “Are you gonna pay?”

I panicked. I didn't have any on me.

“How much does it cost?” I asked.

Rabbit turned to Tabaqui and said, “Look, it's all your fault. I wouldn't have given him anything. He's a Pheasant, he's got no sense at all.”

“Shut up,” Noble said, thrusting a hundred at him. “And get lost.”

Rabbit took the bill and left, but not before giving Noble a dirty look.

“Drink up,” Noble said. “If you really want it.”

I looked into the cup again.

“Not really. Not anymore.”

“And you're right!” Tabaqui exclaimed. “What for? You don't have to, and besides, why that, all of a sudden? Have some coffee instead. And a roll.”

“No. Thank you.”

I was extremely embarrassed. All I wanted to do was go away as soon as I could.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I didn't know it was so expensive.”

“Nonsense. So you didn't, so what? The less you know, the longer you live,” Tabaqui squeaked, before suddenly screaming, “Three coffees!”

And then he spun the wheels and went spinning himself. I didn't notice how he did it, when he pushed what, but he was spinning like crazy, shedding morsels of food, beads, and other stuff, like a trash bin whirling on the end of a string. A small feather settled on my shoulder.

“No, really, thank you,” I said.

The carousel stopped.

“Why not? Have you got other plans?”

“I haven't got money.”

Tabaqui blinked like an owl. His hair was standing on end from all that spinning. He looked really deranged now.

“What money? It's Noble's treat. We invited you over, after all. The price is trifling, by the way.”

Rabbit brought a tray with three cups of coffee, cream in a pot, and some mangled rolls. No one was listening to my protests.

“You don't have to treat me,” I tried again. “I don't want anything.”

“Oh, I get it,” Tabaqui drawled and sat back in his wheelchair. “See, Noble? Who would want to have coffee with you after you broke his face? No one, that's who.”

I felt my face flushing. Noble was drumming his fingers on the table and did not look at us.

“Why don't you go ahead and apologize,” Tabaqui said. “Or he’ll just go away. And you’ll get what you always get. Nothing.”

Noble went red. Very quickly and very visibly, as if someone had slapped his cheeks.

“Why don't you stop telling me what to do!”

Now I didn't want to just go away, I wanted to fall through the floor. That would've been faster. I turned the wheelchair around.

“I'm sorry,” Noble mumbled without looking up.

I froze. My wheelchair half-turned, my head between the shoulder blades. That didn't make any sense at all. In all of my dreams of revenge, Noble never apologized. I could not imagine him doing that. I would knock out all of his teeth, fracture his jaw, make him slightly less beautiful, make him swear and spit blood, but we had never gotten as far as an apology.

“I wasn't myself that day,” Noble went on. “Behaved like a total jerk. If you were to go to the Spiders I'd have problems. You have no idea how big. I couldn't sleep for two days straight. Waiting for them to come knocking. And then I figured you hadn't told anyone. I wanted to apologize but couldn’t. It just wouldn't come out. It only came out today because of Jackal here.”

Noble finished and finally looked at me. It was not a kind look.

I didn't say anything. What could I say? “I forgive you” would have sounded stupid. “I’ll never forgive you” was even worse.

“I don't understand,” I said.

“What is it you don't understand?” Tabaqui the Jackal interjected immediately.

“Anything.”

“But would you have some coffee with us now?” he asked coyly.

Really persistent, he was.

I wheeled back to the table and took the cup off the tray.

“This isn't right,” I said. “This isn't how it goes. You are breaking the rules. No one ever apologizes to a Pheasant. No one. Not even after knocking his head off.”

“Where is that written?” Tabaqui said. “I have never heard of this rule.”

I shrugged. “I don't know. Same place as all the other rules, I guess. But it's there, whether written or not.”

“That's rich!” Tabaqui was looking at me with what seemed almost like awe. “Look at him! He is teaching me the House rules. Me! The nerve!”

Noble was fiddling with the cup of Moon River, studying it.

“What do they make it from?” he asked. “What's in it?”

“I don't know,” Tabaqui snorted. “Some say toadstool extract, others, Vulture's tears. I guess it is possible that Bird Daddy cries bitter green poison. Who could really tell? But it is poisonous, all right. Those of a romantic persuasion insist that it's just midnight dew collected at a full moon. But dew is unlikely to have sickened so many people. Unless it's been collected in the sock of a Bandar-Log, of course.”

“Give me a bottle or something,” Noble said, putting out his hand.

Tabaqui frowned.

“Want to off yourself? Get some rat poison instead. It's more certain. And much more predictable.”

Noble was still waiting with his hand out.

“Oh, all right,” Tabaqui grumbled, digging in his pockets. “Go ahead, drink whatever you want. Who am I to say anything? I've always been one for freedom of choice, you know.”

He handed Noble a tiny vial. We observed Noble carefully transferring the contents of the cup into it.

“What about you?” Jackal turned to me. “You're awfully silent. Tell us something exciting. They say that all the recent Pheasant assemblies were dedicated to you.”

I sprayed a mouthful of coffee on my shirt. “How did you know? I thought no one cared what we did.”

“You thought a lot about us that is strange.” Tabaqui giggled. “We strut like stuck-up peacocks, never noticing anything that's going on around us. From time to time we knock someone's head off but never notice that either. Our shoulders are heavy with the White Man's Burden and our hands are weighed down with this thick tome of House Rules and Regulations, where it is written, Attack the weakest, kick a man when he's down, spoil what you cannot get, and other such useful advice.”

That was actually pretty close to what I thought of them, and I couldn't help smiling.

“There,” Tabaqui sighed, “just as I thought. I was not far off, then. But if you had even a smidgen of tact, you wouldn't have demonstrated it so openly.”

“What are those assemblies you're talking about?” Noble said and tossed a pack of Camels over to me. “I've never heard of them.”

Tabaqui went momentarily speechless with indignation. I laughed.

“See! This is how you and those like you besmirch our image!” Jackal screeched and snatched the cigarettes from under my nose. “It is because of you that we are perceived as stuck-up peacocks! You have to be a complete nitwit not to know of the Pheasant assemblies. Please don't judge us by him,” he said, turning to me. “He hasn't been here for more than a couple of weeks and is really quite ignorant.”