The Gray House

TABAQUI

DAY THE FIFTH

“’Tis the voice of the Jubjub!” he suddenly cried.

(This man, that they used to call “Dunce.”)

—Lewis Carroll, The Hunting of the Snark

Tuesdays are Swap days. I haven’t been down to the first since Pompey. That floor somehow ceased to attract me. You can call it cowardly, I guess, but it’s more to do with waiting it out. There are bad places and there are temporarily bad places. That temporary badness can be waited out. That’s what I ponder all morning. How I miss the Swap days and how enough time has passed since Pompey for the first floor to stop being a bad place.

So after classes I take stock of my belongings. Of everything stuffed into the bags and boxes. Can’t find anything worthwhile. That’s what comes from not swapping for so long. When you’re away from that business for a while you lose the nose for it. I am scraping the bottom, turning over the deepest piles, and come across the long-forgotten flashlight with the naked lady. That is, the handle has this form, so you’re supposedly holding her at the waist. Ghastly thing. Very slightly dented. I’ll take it. But this abomination immediately makes me feel ashamed, so I pick out three strings of bead necklaces. Walnut shells, date pits, and coffee beans. It’s a bit painful to part with those, but I can always make more. I have the technology. All of this fits into one bundle, a very small one.

I dive into the record stacks, the back rows. Yngwie Malmsteen. Exactly the kind of thing that’s just begging to be swapped. Lary’s going to go bananas, but I’m certainly a better judge of what is or isn’t useful to have around. Besides, it is quite likely that I won’t find anything to swap it for, and then I’ll just put it back. In fact, I’m almost certain that this is how it’ll be. I put the record into a plastic bag, so it’s less conspicuous. Time to drive.

The din hits me on the landing, and all I can see when I look down are figures rushing to and fro. More people than usual. Many more, come to think of it. I can’t quite grasp why, but once I’m down there I notice that half of the swappers are girls, and then I’m surprised at my own surprise. It’s not as if they wouldn’t have anything worth swapping. I keep forgetting about the new Law. This makes me slightly uneasy. I’m really introverted by nature, and I don’t like being ambushed. Yes, the Law, that’s all nice and good, but not when you haven’t been expecting it to jump out at you. Which I wasn’t. But I’ve already wheeled down here in front of everyone, it wouldn’t do to just turn back.

I drive slowly past them—sitting and standing, hawking this and that. I try to look the way I always look. Like they have always been loitering here, nothing special about it. It’s not too hard to look unruffled in the throng of primped-up Rats and Hounds. You’re almost invisible in it. Takes an effort to muscle through, even.

Owl’s already in his favorite corner with cigarettes, Monkey’s camped out with the stickers behind the drinks machine, but most everyone else is lost in the sea of girls. Nobody has their wares out. You’re supposed to ask, and I hate that. Looks like I came all the way down here for nothing. Who needs my gaudy flashlight and homemade necklaces? People are here for the opportunities to hook up, and all that changey business is just a pretext. Still, I make it to the other end, so that I can return with my head held high.

“Whaddya have?” Gnome asks.

His spots make him look like a fly agaric. He’s looking over my head and doesn’t give a crap about what I have. He’s asking just because. Next to him, sullen Gaby is holding a huge poster of Marilyn and yawning like a crocodile.

I drive by quickly. There’s a short line in the records corner, four Hounds and two bespectacled girls. Before them an empty space, and before that a single girl, all alone. Suddenly I’m stuck near her. Had to stop to catch the record that chose this moment to try to slide off Mustang and slither out of the sleeve at the same time. And then . . .

I see it. It’s on her knees, the vest of many colors. Decorated with glass beads. Shiny and flashy. A small sun. It’s impossible, of course, that a thing like this could have been brought just to be swapped, but I’m still mesmerized. It has this effect on me. She looks up. Green eyes, a shade darker than Sphinx’s. And hair so long she seems to have tucked the ends under her, like it’s a mat.

“Hey,” she says. “Like it?”

Like it? What kind of question is that? I need to go back and find something valuable. The boombox could get me killed, but there are always Noble’s shirts. And my lucky amulets.

“I don’t have anything in exchange,” I say. “Only useless trinkets. I have to go now.”

She stands up. What’s her nick? Mermaid, isn’t it? She’s tiny. Didn’t she used to be a wheeler, though? Or maybe I’m mistaking her for someone else.

“Try it. It’s a small size. Might be too tight.”

Malmsteen slips down again.

“No, no need,” I say, trying to yank the guy back. “I was just coming through.”

My ears start burning for some reason. Burning and getting in the way.

“But you liked it. Try it on,” she says, pushing the vest at me. “Come on. I need to know how it looks on someone.”

I take off the two I’m wearing and put on this one. Do the buttons. It’s totally mine. In all possible respects.

“Cool,” Mermaid says, circling the wheelchair. “Perfect fit. Almost like I made it with you in mind.”

I start to undo it.

“Oh no.” She shakes her head. “It’s yours. A gift.”

“No way.” I pull off the vest and hand it to her. “That’s not how it’s done.”

Well, all right. I had this unsavory habit once. Coming down to the first on a Swap Tuesday with nothing, choosing something I fancied, and then asking the owner, “Mind just giving this away?” And they did. What choice did they have? Then they started running away at the sight of me, or hiding their stuff. That’s when I quit wheedling gifts. Got tired of it myself. But I never would have taken something like this for free. I still have my pride, after all. So I keep shaking this marvelous vest at her, begging her to take it back.

“I brought it so I could give it away,” she keeps explaining. “But only to someone who would get it. You get it, so it’s yours now. Take it, don’t make me angry.”

Hair the color of milky coffee, falling below the knees. Green shirt, pairs well with her eyes. She’d be perfect for my bead necklaces. So I untie the bundle. And the first thing to fall out is the tawdry flashlight. Horribly embarrassing. But she’s only seeing the necklaces. It’s obvious, just by the way she looks at them, that she knows her stuff.

“Beautiful,” she says. “Did you make them yourself?”

“Take them,” I say. “All of this isn’t worth one single pocket on your vest.”

“This one.”

She picks up the date pits and puts them around her neck. There aren’t many girls in the world who would look good in that. She’s one.

“These, too. Don’t make me angry,” I say, shoving the rest at her.

I’ve got to rush, because I spy with my little eye that Lary is trying to force his way through the mass of swappers, and he looks loaded for bear.

“Bye! Thanks for the present!”

Driving away swiftly. Lary is almost there, except he happens to step on someone’s cigarette stash and is consequently waylaid for an important discussion. So I have a momentary reprieve that I intend to use fully.

“Hey! Who’s up for giving me a lift to the Fourth? Cash on delivery!”

Three solicitous Rats jump in to volunteer. Microbe and Sumac I reject. Not enough brawn. So Viking gets the job. He hoists me on his shoulders, and we’re off to the races. I am positively dashing in my new vest, and he makes a handsome mount.

“Hold it, bastard!” Lary squeals somewhere behind us. “Stop!”

Naturally, we don’t stop. It’s a chase, the thing I like more than anything in the world. Viking’s legs are pumping, white boots flashing. Jostling me rather hard.

“Yoo-hoo,” I shout. “Step on it!”

Viking flies up the steps. The yellow bangs keep falling over his eyes, so I tuck it away. Wouldn’t do for him to stumble. Then I dig his earbuds from under his collar and stuff them in my ears. The cords are barely long enough, so it’s not very comfortable, but now we have music along for the run.

Indeed! One never knows how many delights one simple Swap Tuesday can bring.

We run. The music is plenty bumpy. Viking is plenty fast. I maintain a tight grip on my bundle. Then I spot a familiar shiny dome in the sea of hallway heads.

I tear out the earbuds and shout down to Viking, “Whoa! Right here is fine.”

He puts on the brakes and unloads me on the floor. Right under Sphinx’s feet.

“What’s with the horsemanship?” Sphinx inquires.

“That’s not horsemanship, that’s a matter of life and death,” I explain, paying Viking.

“Where did you get this gorgeous vest? I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”

Lary arrives, spoiling the story of the vest.

“You swapped it!” he screams. “My Yngwie! Sphinx, let me at him! I’m going to kill him!”

Sphinx, naturally, does not let him. Lary is spraying snot and spit, looking like he’s about to go apoplectic at any moment.

“Keep yourself together,” I say to him. “There are Logs all around us. What are they going to think? I’ve never swapped your precious Yngwie. As Sphinx’s legs are my witness.”

“Where is it then, you bloodsucking merchant?”

“Back in the wheelchair, I guess. Downstairs. Where I left it, having had to depart urgently.”

Lary smacks himself in the face, turns around, and runs back.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if Rats get to it first,” I tell Sphinx. “You know how they are. No respect for other people’s property.”

“Look who’s talking about respect for property, Tabaqui,” Sphinx says, crouching down. I climb on his shoulders. “If his record gets swiped, you’re giving him one of yours. Got that?”

I don’t say anything. What can I say? Sphinx knows perfectly well that Lary has no use for any of my records. Just as I, for his. From up here I get a good view of the upper portions of the wall murals, so I busy myself studying them, even though Sphinx is striding too fast for a really close look. Once we reach the dorm I bend down to his ear.

“You know what? I think I’m going to give him a flashlight instead. It’s very nice. Even a bit risqué, in a sense. Deal?”

The time between lunch and dinner drags on the longest, so by dinnertime I’m usually almost bonkers from all the waiting. But that’s only if the day was dull; if it was not and there is something I can tell others about, that’s different. I do have something today, and so I tell, to everyone in turn, until I myself grow tired of the repetitive details. Lary is the only one who refuses to listen. He comes back hauling his Yngwie, slots it in place, shakes a fist at me, and goes away. One might even think he’s totally uninterested in finding out where I got the new vest.

I take it off to get a closer look. Then put it back on. Then take it off again. It gets better and better every time I do it. Even Nanette thinks so. She struts around and tries to peck off the beads. I have to use a magazine to shoo her off. It’s a whole week until next Tuesday, if you count today, but I decide to stock up on the swappies, especially in view of a sack of freshly cracked walnut shells.

Putting on headphones to better filter out the distractions and sundry pack business, I start stringing the shells on a piece of fishing line, picking the smallest and the cutest ones. The radio is tuned to some garbage for the toddlers.

It’s shameful what they feed the Outsides kids. Hair stands on end, honest. I mean, “The Snow Queen” by itself isn’t half bad, but they chose to give the narration to this deep female voice doing sexy whispers and moans, which gives the story a rather unexpected flavor.

“The boat drifted with the stream,” she sighs hoarsely in my ears, “little Gerda sat quite still without shoes, for they were swimming behind the boat, but she could not reach them, because the boat went much faster than they did. ‘Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay,’ said she; and then she grew less sad.” The voice stumbles, overwhelmed with emotion.

Another shell. And another.

Black comes to rummage in the nightstand, then in the desk drawer. Finally finds a razor and goes away. He’s already got a beard to worry about. I’ve got nothing in that department.

“‘I have often longed for such a dear little girl,’” a vampire voice hisses. “‘Now you shall see how well we agree together.’”

Someone’s hair is being combed, with a suspicious crunching sound.

“‘O-o-oh, I’m so sleepy, what is happening,’” Gerda squeaks. She’s forty if she is a day. Fascinating stuff. The necklace is almost ready, and my fingers are in agony. You might think making holes in walnut shells is easy, but it’s not. I hang the first string on the nail. Looks like it’ll be a good one. The shells are all almost identical.

“‘Caw! Caw! Good day! Good day!’”

Judging by the voice, Raven is off the wagon. His spouse seems to be the first character in the entire thing who is actually young. She caws in a tender soprano. I pick out the second piece of fishing line.

Humpback runs in. He has this peculiar face, so it’s obvious that something big has just happened. I drop the shells and look at his lips. I used to be able to read lips when I was younger, but that was so long ago, and besides he keeps turning away, so I can’t quite make it out. I guess I’d better take off the earphones, except I’m scared. Because I think I saw him say “Noble.” Which is impossible.

“‘Yes, yes; for certain that was Kay,’” enunciates the on-the-wrong-side-of-forty Gerda in my head. “‘Oh, won’t you take me to the palace?’”

Out of the corner of my eye I notice that Sphinx is also a bit frazzled. He stumbles backward to the bed and sits down, staring at Humpback. Blind comes in. He looks strange too. And then—Noble’s wheelchair, pushed by Ralph, with Noble in it.

“‘They are only dreams . . . Dreams of noble gentlemen . . .’”

To hell with the headphones.

Silence. It’s so quiet that I can hear the thrum of the House in the walls, and even the noises of the Outsides. Real silence, the kind we don’t often have. Ralph is looking at us, and we’re looking at Noble. Then comes the loudest dinner bell I’ve ever heard in my life. Ralph turns to leave and bumps into freshly shaven Black.

“Sorry,” Black says to him, and then “Oh!” as he notices Noble.

“Not at all,” Ralph says and walks out.

We keep staring at Noble. It really is him. Alive, in the flesh, not in a song or a dream. You can touch him, smell him, pull his hair. I need to find out how long he’s going to be here and all kinds of important stuff, but I’m stupefied and can’t snap out of it. Noble is hunched down in his chair. Pitiful looking, exactly the way I pictured him when playing the harmonica. Closely cropped hair. Not a buzz cut, but it would have been better if it were, because the person who gave him this was clearly bipolar. Hair sticking out in untidy clumps, and between them the skin is visible under the stubble, like he’s got ringworm. Whoever thought of cutting Noble’s hair, especially in this fashion, can’t be considered normal, that much is obvious. Noble has on Humpback’s leather jacket and my old vest. His eyes seem bigger than before, face looks smaller, fingers tease the badges stuck all over the jacket, and he never raises his head. He looks like hell, and the worst of it is that everyone just stares silently.

I begin swaying fretfully. The bad situation is getting worse and worse, until Blind sneaks out to the wheelchair and offers cigarettes to Noble.

“Here, have a smoke. You’re unusually quiet.”

Noble grabs the pack the way a drowning man grasps at the life preserver. And my stupefaction is suddenly gone. So is everyone else’s. I turn on the afterburners, but I’m still the last one to reach him. Noble is being swarmed, jostled, sniffed, and shouted at. I join in the festivities at top volume. In the middle of the celebrations he breaks down and starts crying.

“OK, that’s enough,” Sphinx cuts in immediately. “Dinner, everyone. Leave him alone.”

I am not about to leave Noble alone, no way. I climb on his lap, to have better access to his ears, because right now it’s important to tell him stuff, like how I missed him. I don’t care if he listens or not. When he drops the cigarette, six more are thrust at him from all directions.

“Look at your hair,” Humpback says, ruffling the ugly ’do. “Horrible. Who would do something like that?”

“How’s my vest been treating you?” I ask. “Because if you like it, I’m not going to ask for it back. Especially now that I have this brand-new one.”

“Are you . . . staying?” Sphinx says carefully.

Noble nods.

“Yay!” Humpback shouts, tossing Nanette in the air.

Blind feels Noble’s head and whistles sadly.

“And we have this new Law, imagine that,” I begin, but Sphinx cuts the story short.

“Dinner! On the double!” he shouts testily.

They pry me off Noble and carry me away, even though I struggle valiantly. In the hallway I catch up with Humpback, who’s apparently talking to himself.

“I knew he was a solid character.”

That would be Ralph, obviously. A bit farther away are Sphinx and Blind, and Sphinx is saying, “Smells of the nuthouse.”

That would be Noble.

I put on some speed and bump into their heels. I don’t give a hoot what Noble smells like as long as he’s back, and all this talk is perfect nonsense. The only thing to do now is sing and rattle things. So I sing. I sing, I run rampant, I throw cutlery. I make a huge sandwich for Noble and douse it in syrup. It, the plate, the tablecloth, and myself. I fish meatballs out of the soup, also for Noble. Two end up on the floor for each one I salvage and I stuff them into a second sandwich. Soon I’m swimming in the syrup-and-soup lake. Sphinx gives me a furious eye but doesn’t say anything. It’s Lary who speaks.

“If anyone asks, I’m not from the same pack. ’Cause that’s just embarrassing.”

Then we drive back. I rush ahead, but then fall behind because I remember about Ralph and start searching for him. I guess I wouldn’t have asked him anything even if I saw him, but until I do I can’t be sure. For example, where did he bring Noble from? It’s very intriguing, and you can’t just go and ask Noble, because you can’t. Not done, not allowed, not polite—in a word, forbidden. Unless Noble tells me on his own, which he won’t, that much I gathered. That’s why I keep looking for Ralph, but he’s nowhere to be found, so I go and catch up with the others, who got distracted receiving high-fives from those who already heard the news.

I gladly would have joined in, except the damn sandwiches keep oozing and staining everything, so I am confined to waving my hand as I drive by. It appears that I spot a couple of girls among the well-wishers, but I have no time to investigate further because I’m in such a hurry.