Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

“Ask to be put in the Fourth. We don't have a television. Never had. And cats only come in winter. Even if you make a couple of them crazy, no one is going to make a big deal out of it. Got it?”

His stare was unblinking. I never got an answer. So I decided I'd done what I could, nodded at him, and went back. When I looked at him over my shoulder he wasn't looking at me. He was thinking. I made it up to the second floor in record time, sprinted to the door of the dorm, coaxed Sphinx out into the hallway, and told him everything. Then we both went down and I showed him the Scarlet One.

Sphinx frowned.

“Mommy's clearly hysterical and imagining things. You're too gullible, believing every story you hear.”

“Mommy is bonkers, that's a fact. But she hasn't got enough imagination to make up something like that.”

We went closer. Soon the pasty family spilled out of the office. We couldn't hear them from where we were standing, but we'd seen and heard all of this a million times already. It never varied except in the details. Small details. The tank woman floated up to him, patted his head, flapped the red lips for a bit, and walked on. The man shoved something in his pocket. Money, what else? The girl looked directly at us, while the pet piglet was chewing gum and blowing bubbles. They burst and covered his snout in translucent film. He used his nails to scrape it off and shove the gum back in his mouth. Finally they all left and we returned to the dorm.

They brought him an hour later. Shark did, personally. We had to listen to everything Shark had to say concerning the cramped conditions in other dorms, and then about the camaraderie that was supposed to unite those less fortunate. Once he'd blabbed his fill he sailed away.

Scarlet One was looking down at his feet all that time. And we were looking at him. The corduroy jacket was too big for him, and the sweater under it was too small. He stood a little splayfooted, and apart from the freckles, we couldn't make out much about his looks. His eyes were of indeterminate color, speckled, as if reflecting the freckled face. Fingernails gnawed off. He was incredibly calm. No one who's just been brought in could be this calm. Everyone liked that in him. I didn't have to look around, I just knew that they did. I was happy for him.

“Epilepsy,” Noble grumbled. “Just the thing we were waiting for. Someone having convulsion fits right here in full view.”

“You're exaggerating,” Wolf said. “Besides, what about your own first day here? Equal to at least three fits at once, if I remember correctly.”

“Such a quiet kid,” Humpback said. “Nice, even. I vote we take him.”

While they were discussing him in this fashion, Scarlet One just stood there looking down. His face was completely impassive, like Blind's when he's listening to music. I wasn't taking part in the discussion. I alone knew what he was. He was a dragon, a scarlet dragon, a fairy-tale visitor from a different world. Because sad people with knowing eyes and mysterious abilities do not appear in piranha families for no reason, or by accident. I was worried about Sphinx, though. His usual perspicacity seemed to have evaporated.

Sphinx stepped forward.

“You are going to stay here only if we agree to it,” he said. “You’ll get a nick and become one of us. But only if we agree.”

I exhaled. Sphinx was not in the habit of explaining these things to newbies. Of explaining, period. He must have felt something too. Just didn't want to admit it.

Scarlet One looked at him.

“Then can you please agree,” he said. “So I can stay.”

He said “you” to Sphinx personally, as if he knew which one of us made the decisions about who stayed and who went.

“I'm so tired,” he added. “Really, really tired.”

He didn't mean us, he was talking about something from his past.

“All right,” Sphinx said. “We accept you. But you have to swear that you're not going to blow up electronics, attract thunderstorms, or turn into animals.”

The pack giggled at the joke that was not a joke at all.

“I don't know how to do any of that,” the newbie said earnestly. “But I understand you. If that's what is required, then I swear.”

The pack was hysterical. I was the only one not laughing.

And that's how Alexander came to live among us.

A newbie is always an event. They're just so different. It's exciting just to look at them. Watch them and observe how they change, little by little, how the House pulls them in, making them part of itself. I know many detest newbies because they're a handful at first, but I happen to like them. I like observing them, pestering them with questions, pulling jokes on them. I like the strange scents they carry in. Many things, not all of them capable of being put in words. One thing's certain—where there's a newbie, there's always excitement.

That's the way it was with Noble, and with everyone who came before him. Everyone I ever saw, really. But not Alexander. It's as if he didn't come in from out there but materialized, more of this place than any of us. With the shadows cast by the bars on the windows already etched into his face, with the voice as soft as the rustle of the rain. Possessing memories of each of us. He seemed to have been born here long ago, absorbing all of the colors and smells of the House. He kept his word. He's never done anything that someone else would not be doing. He was quiet, pointedly so. He did have fits from time to time, breaking and ruining everything in his wake, but that happened rarely. There was just one thing he did allow himself—chasing away our bad dreams. I saw how he did it: he would jump up all of a sudden, walk over to someone who was asleep, whisper indistinctly in his ear, and go back. We were no longer awakened by screams—either our own or someone else's. Our nights became more peaceful. Except for those that came after Wolf ...

I catch that thought by the tail and try to turn it back.

DO NOT THINK ABOUT THAT!

Except those nights. When even Alexander could do nothing. When ...

ENOUGH! NOT ALLOWED!

With a desperate effort I manage to put the brakes on it. Then I realize I've been crying for a while. Good thing the rain's picked up. Coming down for real now. I throw back my head, intent on getting soaked. Then I start shaking. The cold managed to creep under my coat and vests while I was occupied. Teeth start chattering. Time to go.

I wheel over to the porch and wait. The darkness falls suddenly and swiftly. Shadows are floating past the curtains on the windows. The music seems to be louder than usual, or maybe I'm just imagining it because of the rain and the darkness and me here all alone, forgotten and abandoned. I feel sorry for myself. Then I feel very sorry. Then extremely sorry.

“Tabaqui! What's wrong?” Alexander thunders down the steps, holding a jacket like a tent above his head. “I thought you wanted to stay.”

“I did, and then I didn't anymore. And the ramp is too slippery, as you can see. So I had to call for some help.”

He drags me into the elevator. I shiver and rattle my teeth, rather theatrically. He leans over, looks me in the face.

“What was it you saw, Tabaqui? I can feel it.”

“Lots of things. You're not old enough to know.”

“Sorry. I won't leave you by yourself for that long next time.”

On the way to the dorm I explain to Alexander that liking a drizzle is an altogether different thing from liking a downpour. The latter happens to play havoc with vehicles not designed for prolonged exposure to the elements, and a wheelchair should be kept dry regardless of one's love for rain.

“Mustang has been in service for a long time now, and is deserving of attention and respect. Even if its churlish rider, also owner, is not.”