The Gray House

THE HOUSE

INTERLUDE

The House is walls and more walls of crumbling plaster. The narrow passages of the staircases. Motes dancing around the lantern on the balcony. Pink sunrises through the gauzy curtains. Chalk dust and untidy desks. Sun dissolving in the reddish clay of the rectangle that is the backyard. Shaggy dogs dozing under the benches. Rusting pipes crisscrossing and twisting into spirals under the cracked skin of the walls. Rows of small boots with battered toes, tucked under the beds. The House is a boy disappearing into the emptiness of the hallways. The boy who is falling asleep in class, who is striped black-and-blue from endless fights. The boy of many names. Head-Over-Heels and Prancer. Grasshopper and Tail. Blind’s Tail, never more than half a step behind him, treading on his shadow. To anyone who seeks to enter, the House presents its sharpest corner. Once you’ve bloodied yourself against it, you are allowed inside.

There were thirteen of them. Others called them “nightmare,” “gang,” and “ankle biters.” The last of these they emphatically contested. They themselves preferred “The Pack.” And, as befits a pack, it had a leader. The leader was already ten. His nick was Sportsman. He was fair-haired, rose-cheeked, blue-eyed, and taller than everyone else, except Elephant, by a full head. He slept in an adult-sized bed and didn’t have any visible disfigurements or hidden diseases, no zits or fixations, he wasn’t even collecting anything—in short, he had nothing that everyone else had to some extent. For the House he was too perfect.

Rex and Max, the lame twins, were just called Siamese, as they hadn’t acquired separate nicks. Narrow faced, gangling, and yellow eyed, with only three legs between the two of them, as alike as two halves of one lemon, inseparable and indistinguishable, two sticky-fingered shadows with pockets full of keys and lockpicks. No door ever stopped them. Anything left unattended became theirs.

Shaggy Humpback liked marching music and dreamed of becoming a pirate. During the summer he browned almost to a crisp, became a hunched raven and a breeding ground for insects. Dogs sensed the tenderness in him from afar and rushed to partake of it. His hands smelled of dog fur and his pockets were full of bread and sausages for his four-legged friends.

Whiner and Crybaby were also inseparable like Siamese, but looked different from each other. Crybaby, with his pale bug-eyed stare, resembled a praying mantis. Whiner’s deeply set little eyes made him look like a little rat. They were both dyslexic and both loved collecting things. They collected nuts, bolts and screws, pocket knives, and bottle labels, but their pride and joy was a vast collection of fingerprints.

Rabbit was an albino and possessed dark glasses tied to his ears with a string and shoes with orthopedic heels. He always knew what river flowed where. He remembered the names of cities, many of them unpronounceable, could enumerate their principal thoroughfares and inform of the best ways to get from one of them to another. He identified the major categories of national manufacturing output and the impact they had on the corresponding countries. Many considered Rabbit’s knowledge useful, but hardly anyone respected him for it. His front teeth were slanted forward, making him look like a rodent. They were also the reason for his nick.

Beauty, an impossibly cute boy with very dark eyes, was ashamed of his out-of-control arms and legs and never talked. His feet carried him to where he didn’t wish to go, his hands dropped things he wished to hold. He fell a lot and was covered in bruises. He was ashamed of those too.

Round-faced Hoover was crazy about his treasures. He found them everywhere. What he called treasure was everyone else’s trash. In the nine years of his life, Hoover had amassed a hoard, filling a dozen secret places and one trunk, and now spent as much time each day inspecting it as searching for new precious objects.

Curly-haired Muffin was rotund and obnoxious, and liked to dress up and design pretty clothes for himself. His wardrobe took up a lot of space and annoyed his roommates. Muffin’s nose struggled to peek out of his cheeks, which, in their turn, yearned to meet his shoulders. All the female teachers adored him. Their name for him was Li’l Cupid.

Crook was crooked because of a wicked disease that also made him walk sideways. His head relied on a stiff plaster collar for support. This did not prevent him from being able to run amazingly fast. Crook collected butterflies, so all through the summer, with the hunting season in full swing, he never parted with his net and specimen jars.

Elephant was enormous, shy, and retiring. He stuffed rubber toys in the pockets of his overalls and cried if left alone. Elephant’s head was covered in white fuzz. He was thought of as the baby of the Pack, even though few of them came up to his chin.

Bubble wasn’t quite sane, in the common opinion. Everywhere he went, he went on roller skates. His ears were open to the four winds, his bulk protected him in collisions. He called himself Wild Whirlwind and his only fear was of damaging the skates. He’d outlived seven pairs already but cried bitterly when saying farewell to each one. Under his bed he kept a box full of the busted wheels taken off his dearly departed friends.

Sportsman’s Pack occupied two dorms at the very end of the hallway. The larger of those they called Stuffage. Stuffage rarely earned visits from counselors and, consequently, rarely was cleaned. Hoover’s treasures, stored in the most unsuitable spots, fell out at the slightest touch. Elephant’s toys, chewed to a sorry state, collected dust under the beds. The dangerous clanking collection of Whiner and Crybaby nestled on the windowsill. Sticker sets adorned the walls, fighting for space with Crook’s butterflies. Muffin’s clothes could not fit inside his locker and spread out onto the chairs and headboards. A stinky hamster moved in under Humpback’s bed. A mysterious plant in a hanging pot took residence above the bed of Max the Siamese. The wardrobe housed their homemade weapons, which clattered like a bag of sticks every time they tumbled out.

They let the hamster out for walks. The plant dripped dirty brown water. Stickers fell off and disappeared in Hoover’s secret places. No amount of cleaning could save Stuffage from accumulating stuff.

The Pack remained a pack only while it reminded everyone of itself. By means of broken windows, graffiti on the walls, mice in teachers’ desks, smoking in the bathrooms. The notoriety flattered them and also separated them from their sworn enemies, the wheelers. But by far the favorite pastime of the Pack was the newbies. Mama’s darlings, still smelling of the Outsides, sissies and crybabies not worthy of nicks. Newbies provided unlimited opportunities for entertainment. There was scaring them with spiders and worms. Smothering them with pillows and stuffing them into lockers. Jumping at them from behind and screaming into their ears. Putting pepper and baking soda in their food. Gluing their clothes to the chairs or just ripping off the buttons. If all else failed, there was always a good thrashing.

An equally wide assortment could be applied to the sightless, especially those who, for some reason, wanted to stand up for the newbies. Strings stretched across hallways, beds and nightstands moved, clothes painted with stupid messages. Doors barred with chairs from the inside, thumbtacks on the floor combined with carefully hidden sneakers, items disappearing and others appearing in their places. Sky was the limit if you knew how to think up such things. The Pack did.

“There! There they are! Get them!” the boys yelled, tearing down the hallway in a multicolored avalanche. Their eyes were aglow with the thrill of the hunt, their sweating hands clenched into fists by themselves.

“Gotcha!” they exclaimed once the prey was cornered.

The prey, Grasshopper and Blind, prepared to fight. But it always happened the same way, whether they prepared or not. The screaming tide of punching arms and kicking legs engulfed them, flipped them over, dragged along, and ebbed, satiated. The hunters were running away, waving the captured fragments of clothing and emitting piercing whistles. Lame Siamese struggled to keep up with the rest. Once the clatter died down, Blind got up and dusted himself off.

“Oh well,” he said. “They still enjoy the advantage in numbers.”

Grasshopper, his face buried in his lap, didn’t say anything. Blind sat down beside him.

“Please don’t,” he said. “Didn’t you notice there were not as many of them today? Have you managed to clobber any of them?”

“I have,” Grasshopper said glumly, still not lifting his head. “But there’s no use anyway.”

“You only think there isn’t,” Blind said. He felt his cheek, which was starting to swell up, and winced. “There is too use,” he said forcefully. “Max wasn’t there with them, and that tells me a lot.”

Grasshopper looked at him inquisitively.

“How do you know which one is which? They’re identical.”

“They are, their voices aren’t,” Blind explained. “Max must have gotten scared. Probably because of that leg of his. They’re one person short now, don’t you think that’s significant?”

Grasshopper sighed.

“There are still too many of them for the two of us. We’ll never defeat them.”

Blind gave a derisive snort.

“‘Never’ is a long word. You seem to be fond of silly words like that for some reason. Think how we’re stronger than they are. And they are only more numerous than we are. One day, when we grow up, they are going to regret ever picking on us.”

“If we manage to live that long,” Grasshopper said. “Which, if this continues the same way for much longer, we won’t.”

“You’re a pessimist,” Blind said resignedly.

They sat back to back without speaking. A ceiling light went on, then another. Grasshopper’s ear was on fire.

“Could you feel my ear, please?” he asked. “It burns.”

Blind felt for his shoulders, then his neck, and then pressed his hand against the ear. The hand was cool and soothing.

“Blind. Think of something,” Grasshopper said. “While we’re still alive.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Blind was cradling the ear and thinking. Thinking of his promise to Elk. Promise me you’ll take care of him.

All the remaining lights switched on, illuminating the hallway.

Back in the dorm, under Sportsman’s guidance, the boys were installing a pan filled with water on top of the half-opened door.

“It’s gonna fall down,” Muffin warned. “On your own heads. Or someone else will come in before them. That’s what always happens.”

Muffin was sitting on his bed, nursing a finger damaged in the fight. He’d jammed it against one of the Pack, and this made his mood especially nasty.

“It won’t,” Sportsman assured. “We set it up solid.”

Whiner jumped off the chair and flicked a sideways glance at the pan.

“Genius idea, guys! So they come in, and Blind—bang!—right in the head! And then he’s like out cold, so we grab the mama’s darling—bang!—down the toilet he goes!”

He cackled. Crybaby was polishing the knives by the windowsill, but squeaked enthusiastic agreement.

They went to their beds and settled in for the long wait. The pan’s blue sides glistened, hanging precariously over empty space. This was fun. For everyone except Humpback. He was against the pan business, just like he’d been against the dead rat in the newbie’s bed, and the dog poo in Blind’s shoes before that. Humpback was a humanist. But they never listened to him.

“Let’s go,” Blind said and got up off the floor. “Or you’ll fall asleep right here. I thought of something, except I’m not sure if it’s going to work.”

Grasshopper rose reluctantly, still pressing the injured ear to his shoulder. He was sure that none of what Blind thought of ever worked, hardly for anyone.

“If you thought of how we are going to go there and clean their clocks, I’d rather stay here and sleep.”

Blind did not answer and started in the direction of their dorm. Grasshopper followed him, grumbling and fuming.

“I could half do with a cigarette right now,” he said.

“You’re too young to smoke,” Blind said without turning his head.

“For how long do they usually beat up newbies?” Grasshopper caught up with him. “A dozen times? A hundred? Several months?”

“Once, maybe twice.”

Grasshopper stumbled, flabbergasted.

“Once or twice? Why are they still picking on me, then? It’s been forever! How am I so special?”

Blind stopped.

“You’re special because you’re not alone. There’s two of us, and that means war. Us against them, them against us. I thought you knew.”

“You mean that if not for you . . .”

“They would’ve accepted you long ago.”

Blind wasn’t joking, because he was never joking. Grasshopper searched his face for even a trace of a smile, but Blind was somber.

“So all of that is because of you?” said Grasshopper in a dead little voice.

“Yup. Took you long enough.”

Blind turned around and started walking again. Grasshopper staggered along. He was the most miserable person in the whole House. And it was Elk’s fault. Elk the kind, Elk the wise. Elk who gave him a friend and protector, along with an army of enemies and interminable war. He never would fit in with the boys as long as Blind was with him, and Blind was going to be with him forever, because that’s what Elk wished. They would always be hated and hunted. He wanted to cry and scream, but instead he silently kept up with Blind. Because if he were to say anything against Elk, Blind would go ballistic, and that would be even worse.

Blind stopped in front of door number 10. A senior dorm. The door was painted black, with messages in red and white and splashes and splotches of paint for effect.

Blind stood and listened. Grasshopper was rereading the messages, even though he knew them all by heart.

TO EACH HIS SONG.

SPRING IS THE TIME OF HORRIBLE CHANGES.

Den of the Purple Ratter.

BEWARE. HERE BE DOG THAT BITES.

NO KNOCKING. NO ADMITTANCE.

In the House, a door into someone’s dorm was not always a door. For some it could as well have been a solid wall. This was one such door, so when Blind knocked, Grasshopper gasped in shock.

“What are you doing? We’re not allowed in there!”

Blind entered without even waiting for a response.

The door closed and Grasshopper crouched down next to it. He could guess why Blind would need Ancient and tried very hard not to think about it.

After some time the door opened again. The messages shifted and then moved back in their place. Grasshopper stood up. Blind leaned against the door with a mysterious smile. His unseeing eyes flowed wetly behind the half-closed eyelids.

“You’re going to get an amulet,” he said. “But you’ll have to wait a little.”

Grasshopper’s heart skipped a beat and crashed down into the pit of his stomach. His knees buckled.

“Thank you.” His whisper was barely audible. “Oh, thank you.”

A nightlight turned toward the wall illuminated the darkened room. Ancient meditated over a tin box with an open lid. Talismans against the evil eye looked back at him through their glass pupils. Stones with holes in them; monogrammed buttons, coins, and medallions splashed with patina; dog teeth and cat teeth; fingernail-sized shards covered in Chinese characters; mysterious seeds on strings. A treasure trove such as to make young Hoover lose his senses were he ever to see it. There was a lot to choose from, but Ancient couldn’t make up his mind. Finally he closed his eyes and reached out at random.

A tiny sandstone kitten. It had a human face, gouged by the long wait inside the box and repeated encounters with its other inhabitants. Ancient turned it around in his fingers, smiled, and put it on top of a scrap of suede.

To it he added a root that resembled a rat’s tail, and a chip of turquoise. He admired his creation for a while, then took a drag on his cigarette and carefully dropped the accumulated ash into the middle of the tableau. Folded the corners to produce a small suede pouch and sewed up the top with thread.

“Let’s hope you can bring happiness to your very green owner,” he said doubtfully, setting it aside to look for a suitable cord to hang it on.

Grasshopper lingered timidly at the door, not daring to enter. The senior was sitting on a striped mattress set directly on the floor next to a large fish tank. His hair was completely white, his face had almost the same color as the hair, and the whiteness of his fingers made it hard to distinguish the cigarette he was holding. On his face only the lips and the eyes had any color or life in them. Wine-colored eyes in the halo of white eyelashes.

“So it’s you who needs an amulet?” Ancient asked. “Come in.”

Grasshopper approached, tense and apprehensive, even though he knew that Ancient was not going to jump off his mattress and attack him. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to.

The fish tank glowed green. It contained only two fish, two small black triangles. Glasses with sticky residue on their bottoms crowded the straw mat in front of the mattress.

“Lean closer,” Ancient said.

Grasshopper crouched next to him and Ancient put the amulet around his neck. A small pouch of gray suede with white stitches.

“That friend of yours, very tenacious,” Ancient said. “Obstinate, even. Both are commendable qualities, but they can really get on one’s nerves. I never make amulets for juniors. You are lucky. You’re going to serve as an exception.”

Grasshopper tried to see his amulet without appearing to look at it directly.

“What’s in there?” he whispered.

“Your power.”

Ancient reached and tucked the amulet inside Grasshopper’s shirt.

“Better this way,” he said. “Less visible. Your power and your fortune. Almost as much as I gave Skull back then. So be careful. And try not to show it to anyone.”

Grasshopper blinked, stunned by Ancient’s words.

“Wow!” He lowered his head and looked at the harmless bump under his shirt with reverent awe. “That’s too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much,” Ancient said with a laugh. “And besides, it’s not going to come right away. Please don’t imagine yourself walking out of here the next Skull. All in good time.”

“Thank you.”

Grasshopper felt the need to say more, but he didn’t know what. He was very bad at those things. His lips formed a smile all by themselves. A silly, happy smile. He looked at his feet, grinning widely, and just kept repeating softly: “Thank you . . . Thank you . . .”

In his mind he was already ripping the pouch apart with Blind’s fingers. What’s inside? Could it be another monkey skull? Or something even more wondrous?

Ancient appeared to have read his thoughts.

“An amulet cannot be opened, or it will lose all of its power. For at least two years you are not allowed to do it. After that time, maybe. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Grasshopper’s grin disappeared.

“I’m never ever going to do that.”

“Run along, then.” Ancient dropped the cigarette in the glass of lemonade and looked at his watch. “You’ve taken a lot of my time as it is.”

Grasshopper ran out, not missing the opportunity to demonstrate to Ancient how he could push door handles with his feet.

Blind was crouching by the door but rose to meet him.

“Well?”

“I have it,” Grasshopper reported in a low whisper and stuck out his chest. “Feel it. Under the shirt.”

Blind’s fingers slithered under his shirt and searched for the pouch. They tickled, and Grasshopper giggled and fidgeted.

“Stand still!” Blind said sternly and continued the examination. “Something hard, made of stone,” he said finally, letting go of the pouch. “Also something dried out, like grass. The suede is too thick, I can’t make out the details.”

Grasshopper was hopping impatiently. He wished very much to blurt out what it was that he now had hidden under his shirt, but did not allow himself to. Unverifiable things like that are better kept silent. But the Great-Power-on-a-String was egging him on. He had to rush somewhere and do something to slake the itch in his legs, the urge to jump and fly.

“Can we go climb the big garage?” he suggested. “Or the roof, that place we found, under the moon! Tonight is the greatest night! We can’t just go and sleep!”

Blind shrugged. As far as he was concerned it was a perfectly ordinary night, and he’d much rather sleep than scramble up to the roof, but he understood that Grasshopper’s excitement wouldn’t permit them sleep. Ancient’s words had to be digested before the two of them could go back to the Pack. Ancient was great. Blind sincerely admired what he’d heard of their conversation from behind the door. There was no other senior in the House who could have pulled it off.

“All right,” he said. “Roof it is, then.”

Grasshopper gave out a shrill whistle and bounded down the hallway.

The Great Power throbbed under his shirt like a second heart, lifting him off the ground. The floorboards caught him and then tossed him back up, like a rubber mat. Grasshopper’s happiness screamed and hollered. He was dancing as he ran. In his wake the dorm doors opened, letting out the indignant shushes.

Blind caught up with him only at the end of the corridor and then they were walking side by side, two boys in tattered green shirts, so very different from each other.

The Sixth was cursing them, yawning and fighting off sleep.

“I can-n-n’t do it anymore,” squeaked Crybaby, peeling off his socks. “And I don’t wanna m-m-miss thi-i-is!”

A sock traversed the room and landed on the desk lamp.

“It’s night already! How much longer?”

“Suck it in,” came the curt reply from Sportsman’s bed. “You waited this long, wait a bit more.”

Rex the Siamese was holding his eyelids apart with his fingers. His brother was blissfully asleep, hugging his pillow.

Sportsman surveyed his enfeebled Pack.

“Wimps,” he whispered. “A sorry bunch of wimps.”

Muffin yawned, snapped shut the journal with sports-car stickers, and pushed it under the mattress.

“Whatever. I’m going to sleep,” he announced and turned over facing the wall. “This thing is gonna fall on them anyway, even if I don’t see it.”

“Traitor,” growled Rex the Siamese.

“Yourself,” Muffin countered over his shoulder.

Sportsman sighed and inspected the remaining troops.

Just four limp, green-shirted figures, swinging their legs, each on his own bed. Plump Elephant, who was sucking his thumb, felt Sportsman’s gaze on him and extracted the thumb and smiled tentatively.

“Now can I go pee-pee?” he asked.

“Damn it!” Sportsman exploded. “Can’t you manage one hour without the bathroom? One needs to pee, another needs to wash his feet, and then there’s watering the plant! What kind of Pack is this? You’re just a load of sad sacks! All you think about is eat, sleep, and pee on schedule!”

Elephant slowly reddened; his sighs turned to sniffles and then to tears. Max the Siamese woke up immediately. Elephant was already at full bawl. Max looked at his brother. Rex hopped off his bed, limped to Elephant’s side, and hugged his pudgy shoulders.

“There, there, baby . . . Don’t cry. It’ll be all right.”

“I want pee-pee,” Elephant sobbed. “He doesn’t let me.”

“He’s going to right now,” promised Siamese, his yellow eyes shooting daggers at Sportsman. “He’s going to let you like he’s never let anybody anything ever.”

Humpback, who until then was lying quietly on the top bunk, shot up.

“Enough!” he howled and chucked his shoe at the pan on top of the door.

The pan crashed to the floor amid deafening clatter and torrents of water. Elephant startled and went silent. Crybaby whimpered and pulled up his feet. The floor was turning into a lake.