Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

“You said you knew what I’ll be like when I grow up. Could you tell me? It's kind of important.”

“It's hard to explain,” Witch sighed. “It's more like a feeling than a picture. But I can promise you that girls are going to like you.”

“They're going to drop down at my feet,” Grasshopper said wretchedly. “Defeated and helpless. I'd only have to pick them up without stepping on my ears. My zits and patchy sideburns will drive them crazy.”

Witch gave him a puzzled look.

“I've no idea who it is you just described. It definitely has nothing to do with you. Go back. I’ll hang out here for a while.”

“Good night,” Grasshopper said.

She thinks I'm stupid now, he thought dejectedly. All because of Stinker.

Grasshopper was fighting the typewriter. He only had the first few lines of the letter: Hi, Wolf. How are you? We are good. Waiting for you. One day is already over, and the second is half-over. So tomorrow we are waiting for your note with ... The word instructions was giving him trouble. Grasshopper had already found and discarded two different ways of spelling it. Humpback hovered over his shoulder, sighing loudly but not daring to offer help.

“I think it has two i 's,” he blurted finally.

“You mean iinstructions ?” Grasshopper said acidly.

Humpback went red.

“No. I didn't mean that. Not both of them in the beginning.”

“Keep it to yourself, then.”

“Send my regards,” Stinker squeaked from the bed.

“I haven't gotten to the regards yet. And stop interrupting! Or I’ll never finish.”

Grasshopper conquered “instructions” and paused to think about what was next, absentmindedly gnawing at the finger of his prosthetic hand.

“You're going to break it,” Humpback warned in a whisper.

Grasshopper put away the finger.

There was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” Stinker yelled in a high-pitched voice.

The door squeaked and admitted bashful Siamese, the pride and horror of Stuffage. Both of them at once, pressed against each other.

Grasshopper directed a panicky look behind their backs, waiting for Sportsman to come barging in on their heels, and the rest of Stuffage with him. But the twins were alone. They took a few more steps and froze, still inseparable, glued together. Same clothes, same face—indistinguishable like two coins.

“What do you want?” Grasshopper asked.

Blind stopped caressing the book with the indented pages and raised his head.

“We need to talk,” Siamese said.

“Very suspicious,” Stinker noted. “I don't think I like the sound of that at all.”

Siamese apprehensively shuffled their feet. Tall, lanky, thin lipped, and... kind of hinged, Grasshopper thought unkindly. Aquiline noses peeking from behind flaxen bangs, round gold-colored eyes, cold and unblinking, almost a seagull's stare.

“Did Sportsman send you, or are you by yourselves?” Blind asked.

“By ourselves,” Siamese said in unison. “We came because... we wanted to ask... could we also... move to your room?”

They seemed to press their sides against each other even tighter. Sighed loudly several times and fell silent.

“Where did that come from?” Humpback said.

Siamese didn't answer. Outside of their domain they looked subdued and not as ghastly as they usually did, but nowhere near pleasant either. The elbows of their white hoodies were of a blackish tint, and each had a badge on a chain around his neck. One with the letter R , and the other with the letter M . The badges always turned themselves blank-side up, making them pretty useless for distinguishing which of Siamese was which.

“So you're not letting us?” the left Siamese asked glumly.

Grasshopper didn't have time to answer. The door slammed open and excited Magician, looking past Siamese, waddled into the room.

“Wolf's coming!” he shouted. “Honest! They let him go!”

“Hooray!” Stinker said.

Everyone transferred their attention to the door. Grasshopper thought with relief that now he didn't have to finish typing the letter. Humpback huffed jubilantly right behind him. Stinker grabbed the binoculars, for some reason. Siamese stealthily shuffled to the side, whispering among themselves and throwing sullen glances at Grasshopper.

“I am the knight in armor of purest plaster!” Wolf declared, appearing at the door. “And I seek a squire, loyal to the end and properly fit to kneel and bind my shoelaces, for I, clad thus in armor, am akin to a tortoise fettered by its carapace.”

He approached Grasshopper and poked him with an umbrella handle.

“Come, be my squire, noble youth. A bag of gold rewards each year of your service. And should I perish, this splendid armor passes on to you, and you can fetch good coin for it.”

Wolf lifted his sweater and tapped on the plaster.

“You won't regret it. Your life shall be filled with wonders beyond measure.”

Grasshopper nodded.

“I gladly accept. But we have Siamese here ...”

Wolf squinted at the twins.

“My trusty helmet obscures my vision,” he said. “But tell me, noble youth, isn't this just evil spirits tempting me by choosing to assume two visages so like each other and reveal them to my gaze?”

Siamese exchanged glances.

“Spirits, of course.” Stinker giggled. “Who else? And now they want to live with us. If we agree.”

Wolf thumped the umbrella on the floor. It opened.

“Sorcery,” Wolf muttered, closed the umbrella, and turned to Stinker. “Your words are indeed puzzling to me, young friend. This cave where we have assembled does not belong to us. By God's infinite grace any vagabond is allowed to enter, dry his cloak by the fire, and regale us with tales of his adventures. Thus he repays us for our hospitality. If these two are not an infernal apparition, even though the similitude of their faces burdens my senses heavily, by all means do invite them closer to the fire and assure them of our goodwill.”

Siamese gaped at Wolf, dumbfounded, their seagull eyes unblinking.

Wolf tapped the floor with the umbrella again.

“Are you of low birth? For what reason do you conceal your names from us, as if ashamed? Could it be that you have covered them with dishonor? Could it be that you are in fact Cain's issue, cursed to forever roam the world?”

“Nnnooo... ,” one of the Siamese moaned. “We're... We're not that at all!”

“Knights is what we are,” the other offered brightly. “Caught in a storm.”

Wolf lifted an eyebrow and fixed the brothers with a suspicious stare.

“Warm yourselves, then,” he said finally, “and relate your story to us.”

He sat down on the floor. Magician, Humpback, and Grasshopper quietly took their places around him. Siamese exchanged glances and sat down too, cross-legged and identically hunched.

“Are you in trouble, knights,” Humpback whispered. “Wolf can keep up this charade until lights out.”

Magician, without even waiting for further instructions, placed the guitar down at his feet, propped it up with a chair, and strummed it a couple of times.

“Ah,” Wolf said. “The splendid minstrel and his harp. You are here as well.”

Magician nodded smartly, picking at the strings.

“And there is the captive monster, once the devourer of innocent maidens, but now repentant.”

Stinker contrived to look deeply repentant. He did it mainly by hanging halfway off the bed and sounding a mournful wail.

“It rues its misdeeds greatly,” Wolf translated. “Daily it recounts the unfortunate girls in its prayers, imploring mercy from their enraged shadows.”

“Oh... Oh... ,” Stinker moaned. “Theresa, Anna, Maria, Sophia ...”