Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

Ralph went to the window and said over his shoulder, “Have a seat.”

And immediately turned around, not sure of what he'd see: a futile search, ineffectual grasping for solid objects in the surrounding emptiness—or a sure swiftness of motion. Ralph wouldn't have been surprised if Blind were to stay frozen in place, either. Or asked him for help, stumbling over the words. But Blind just did as he was told—sat down where he was standing, cross-legged by the door, and secreted his hands under his armpits.

“I can't see you this way,” Ralph said, rummaging in the stuff piled on the sofa in search of his cigarettes. “Only the top of your head. How much hair falls on your plate every time you have lunch?”

“I never thought to count,” Blind said. “Is it important?”

“It is slovenly.”

Ralph found the pack, lit a cigarette, and sat on the sofa.

He smoked in silence, allowing Blind to get comfortable. Or uncomfortable. Blind wasn't moving. It was obvious that he could sit here like this forever. If this is the game you want to play ... The only thing betraying Ralph was the cigarette; otherwise he had turned into stone as comprehensively as Blind. The ash growing at the end of the cigarette prevented him from disappearing completely. Blind didn't have any ash to worry about. The bog-green sweater, exposing glimpses of body through its chunky braiding, had turned into parched lizard skin, the cyanotic eyelids folded over the eyes. Blind was no longer there. Ralph imagined that he was entertaining an ancient reptile, or a fancifully turned tree knot, or even a shadow of the knot. Whatever it was could remain motionless for a very long time. Ralph never had enough patience to find out exactly how long.

“Tell me what happened to Wolf. And how it happened.”

Blind immediately flowed back into the boyish persona and eagerly leaned forward.

“He did not wake up. No one knows why.”

Ralph looked at his cigarette, or what was left of it—a column of ash miraculously clinging to the filter.

“Is that all you can say? Try again, please. In more detail this time.”

Blind shook his head.

“We were sleeping,” he said. “In the morning everyone woke up, and he didn't. He behaved normally the night before, didn't complain of anything.”

Ralph tried to imagine this.

Strictly speaking, Blind wasn't lying, but the incongruousness in his words was akin to a lie. Ralph was well aware of the connection they had to each other. It cemented them into packs, it drove the Third to the doors of the hospital wing the night Shadow died. Why were they compelled to come there on that day and at that hour, all of them, even the blockheaded Logs? Was it like a bell tolling, a bell that only they could hear? He'd seen them more than once, the hunched figures by the walls of the Sepulcher. They weren't smoking or talking, they were just there, sitting quietly. It wasn't exactly a wake, rather a way of participating in what was unfolding in a place where they couldn't be. Was it possible that they, who could sense death through thick walls, might not sense it in their own room? That they wouldn't wake up when one of them was dying?

“He was dying five feet from you and you felt nothing? Nothing was bothering you?”

“It wasn't even five feet,” Blind countered. “We wouldn't have been sleeping if we'd felt anything.”

“I see,” Ralph said, getting up. “Why do you think I wanted you to come? Anyone from your group could have told me exactly the same thing. If you're going to insist on continuing this charade, there's the door right behind you.”

Blind crouched lower.

“What should I have said so that it's not a charade? What would you like to hear?”

“I would like to hear what you, the Leader, have to say about a member of your pack not waking up one morning. If I am not mistaken, it is your responsibility to make sure they do wake up. Yours and no one else's.”

“Strong words,” Blind whispered. “I cannot be responsible for everything that might happen to them.”

“How about knowing why it happened? Or are you not responsible for that either?”

Blind did not answer. As soon as Ralph made a motion toward him, Blind's posture changed, dissolved in a deceptive softness. A familiar trick. Poor little House kids. This is precisely how some of them react to a perceived threat. And this is exactly when one has to be extra vigilant. Blind relaxed, but his eyes, those clear pools stapled to fair skin, froze. Turned into ice. A chilly, snakelike stare. Blind didn't know how to hide it.

“If you want to look harmless, get yourself some shades,” Ralph said, surprised at himself.

“The pack becomes nervous if I wear them,” Blind said, his voice tinged with regret. “Sphinx especially. I can't ignore him.”

“What does he think about Wolf's death?”

“He tries not to think about it.”

“As far as I know he was rather attached to him, wasn't he?”

Blind laughed unpleasantly.

“What a strange turn of phrase... Attached. Yes, he was. With a steel cable. A very thick one.”

“What happened to this cable that night?”

“I don't know. And I am not planning to ask him.”

“Are you a heavy sleeper? Would you wake up if someone moaned next to you?”

A shadow of rage flitted across Blind's face and was gone.

“I would wake up if a mouse scurried next to me. Wolf did not moan. There was no sound from him at all. He had no time to even realize ...”

“Ah, so that's how it is!” Ralph straightened up. “Now we’re getting somewhere. How would you know what he did have time for and what he didn't? To hear you say it, you were fast asleep along with the rest of the pack.”

“I just know. He was also asleep. Or his face wouldn't have been so peaceful. His fear would have awakened us all. It must have been the most peaceful death in the entire history of the House.”

“If it were Sphinx instead of Wolf, and if I were to tell you of his death using the exact same words you've just used to tell me about Wolf's, would you be satisfied with my story?”

Blind hesitated before answering.

“I don't know. You're asking too much of me.”

“Are you glad he died?”

He shouldn't have said that. Ralph realized it as soon as the words had been spoken. Too late. For a quick couple of seconds Ralph really expected Blind to spit pure poison at him.

“don't you think there are things about me that do not concern you? What I feel when someone from my pack dies is my business. don't you think?”

Blind closed his eyes, listening to something that only he could hear, and then changed his tone of voice completely.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to offend. If you needed to ask me that, then I owe you an answer.” And then obligingly—Ralph caught that external force, something almost palpable making Blind strip naked in front of him—added, “I was not glad. But there is no one else I'd rather exchange for him. Not one. If this is what interests you. If it's what you meant when you were talking about me being glad. I am also innocent of his death, if you meant to ask that . And if you meant my dislike of him—yes, that was true. I did not like him. Just as he, me. There were times when I imagined that I would have been glad if he ...”

“Enough,” Ralph said. “I apologize. That was tactless of me.”

Blind hugged his shoulders. Ralph could not shake off the feeling that he was witnessing Blind being skinned alive. Or having his carapace cracked open. And that Blind was doing it to himself.

“All right,” Ralph said. “Your honesty is even worse than your silence. And if I asked you about Pompey, you'd say that you have no right to be talking about the affairs of the Sixth. Is that correct?”