Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

And the most unpleasant one is, of course, Wolf. After mentioning his name Vulture didn't let slip even a vague hint. And that was exactly the moment when his leg started hurting. Coincidence? From what little Ralph knew about Vulture, nothing was ever a coincidence with him. Bird was certainly capable of enduring sudden pain without batting an eye. And Wolf had been one of those who'd changed reality around them. One of the strongest in that regard. A potential challenger. Could this be the answer?

The dull lights cast a yellowish pall on the hallway. Sheriff was hobbling toward him—the Second's sugar daddy and horror show. In a word—Rat, only older and bigger.

“Wow.” Sheriff winked from under the bill of his cap and dissolved in a big smile. “Why, hello, pardner! What the hey are you looking for in this stinkin' swamp?”

Ralph momentarily faked surprise and joy upon meeting an esteemed colleague and effected a high-five.

“Guess I couldn't stand being away from you.”

Sheriff burst out in a fit of laughter and disappeared behind the door of the Second, still giggling. The tail, thick as a rope, slithered in after him, and Rats stepped aside to make way for it ... Rats giggled too, rubbing their hands.

When Ralph returned to the door of his room he found a note stuck to it with a pushpin: This is insulting. You could have dropped by. It wasn't signed, but there was no mistaking Shark's hand. Ralph teased the pushpin out, stuffed the note in his pocket, and went to see the principal.

Shark was waiting for him in the nonbusiness part of his office, sunk in a low armchair upholstered in cheery chintz with yellow-blue flowers. Knees above his chest, nose in the TV. He shot Ralph a sideways glance with his mottled eyes and gestured at the chair next to his.

“So you're back.”

Ralph sat down and immediately sank in up to his chest as well. Shark's countenance provided irrefutable evidence of the approaching end of the working day.

“I'm leaving soon,” Shark confirmed, as he sucked in the clear liquid sloshing in his glass without the help of the straw and stared at Ralph. “I don't see any reason to be waiting here for the classes to end. No reason at all. Do you see any reason? Because I don't. Nobody does. But that's the deal, apparently. I’m supposed to sit here until I'm blue in the face, even though no one cares if I do or not. No one comes, no one knocks, no one asks anything. Ever. But here I sit. Performing what's left of the principal's duties. Chained here like a dog, from eight till four, and don't even think of taking off the tie, because who knows what might happen! I have to be ready for whatever it is. If this looks like I have it easy, trust me, I don't. It is far from easy. Welcome back, dear fellow. These past years have been kind to you. Still spry.”

“Six months is years now?” Ralph said, surprised.

“It is.” Shark nodded. “In combat situations each month counts as a year. So, all in all, you've been AWOL for six years, which means that you should've been terminated long ago. This is not to reprimand you in any way, mind. I'm just keeping score.”

“Thanks.”

Ralph looked at the screen.

Shark didn't appreciate being ignored. He reached for the remote. The screen blinked off and Ralph turned the chair to face the principal. Shark's finger was waving at the bridge of his nose.

“What was the duration of your leave supposed to be? Two months. Two. Not six. You realize, of course, that you're through here. And have been for a while. But”—the finger made a circular motion—“I forgive you. Do you know why? Because I like you. And I understand why you decided to scram. Why is it that I understand? Because that's the kind of person I am. Caring and understanding.”

Ralph relaxed and stretched his legs. Listening to Shark's crazy talk was a part of every counselor's job description, and had long become a matter of routine. He was thinking about Wolf. And Pompey. And the hole. What exactly was the “hole” that Pompey, according to Vulture, had dug for himself? What did Great Bird mean by that? Still, thinking about Pompey was easier than thinking about Wolf. He didn't want to think about Wolf at all.

“But who's going to understand me? Nobody, that's who. I stand alone, abandoned by everyone. Now one of my subordinates returns after a six-month absence and he doesn't even consider stopping by to say hello. I have to write notes to him! And only then does he come. What's the best word to describe this? I’ll tell you. That word is ‘shit.’ Everything that surrounds me is shit.”

“I'm sorry,” Ralph said. “I would've come even without the note.”

“When?” Shark's mottled eyes lit up angrily. “Tomorrow? Or maybe the day after? I demand respect. Or you can all go to hell. I’m the boss here! Am I right?”

The principal fell silent, sighing heavily into his glass.

Ralph stole a look at his watch. There were less than twenty minutes left until the end of the last class, and he wanted to drop by the Sixth before Hounds scattered throughout the House. That meant arriving there directly after the teacher left.

“You,” Shark said, placing the glass on the floor and slumping dejectedly in his chair. “You're the only counselor worthy of the name in this entire hellhole. And you just up and left, ran away to the coast. Abandoning us here to be carved up.”

“No one's carving up anyone.”

“That's what you say.” Shark's scratchy voice was pouring soft sand into his ears. “And you're the only one to say that.” He sniffed at the palm of his hand and frowned.

Ralph waited patiently. The principal wasn't drunk. He was in the state that the less politically correct counselors dubbed his “period.” There was no sense in trying to debate him now.

“I am very sick,” Shark volunteered suddenly, staring directly into Ralph's eyes. “They don't believe me, but it's just a question of time.”

Ralph affected concern. “What's wrong?”

“It's cancer,” Shark said darkly. “That's what I suspect.”

“You've got to go and have it checked. Might be serious.”

“No use. I prefer to remain in the dark. So that when I’m killed, at least that will save me from a more drawn-out and miserable death. Which is a comfort. A rather cold one.”

“There are different ways of being killed.”

Shark flinched. “No kidding. Are there also different ways of saying nasty things to a terminally ill man, instead of, oh, I don't know, maybe trying to cheer him up?”

He sat there for a while, looking like he was ready to breathe his last right that moment, then looked at his watch and stirred nervously.

“Oh... There's a game on today. Damn! Forgot all about it!” He jumped up and looked around the office. “Right. Switched off everything. Now only the lights. And the door.”

He searched his pockets.

“Want to go grab a bite?”

“No. The trip took it out of me. I think I’ll turn in early.”

Ralph took the keys proffered to him and turned off the lights. Shark was looking at him proudly.

“It's good to have you back. We’ll fill you in tomorrow morning. don't think your vacation is not going to really cost you in the end.”

“I have no doubt it will.”

Ralph locked the door and returned the key ring to the principal. He jangled it, hunting for the key to his bedroom.

“Why did Noble's mother take him away?”

“You know already,” Shark said with admiration. “As usual. One foot in the door and already knows everything. I've always said you weren't quite normal. In the best possible sense, of course.”

“So why did she?”

Shark finally located the key and painstakingly separated it from the others.