The Gray House

The seniors and the juniors, the cooks, and the counselors filled out the House quickly and expertly, as if there was never a time when they weren’t there. The principal’s office ceased being the most interesting place in the whole House and became just the principal’s office, a place of daily pilgrimage for teachers and counselors, of plans and phone calls. Became that which it was supposed to be. Discovery was exiled down to the yard. The narrow-eyed kite flew a couple more times, then ended up forgotten in the attic. The tale of the wondrous bird and the three-day rain failed to interest anyone. The walls of the Poxy room were now taken up with strings of seashells and tree nuts.

SMOKER

POMPEY’S LAST STAND

In the Grayhouse Forest for two days straight

Water leaks from the skies.

Shake off the moss, wake up your mate

And dance, and look in his eyes!

But you don’t see the eyes and you don’t have a face,

Wet is your fur and tight your embrace.

Then you will find that there is no truth

Stashed in the hollow’s black mouth.

Let your hand inside, take it out and read,

Tiny black beasts on the whitest paper.

Then run away, because you need

To shout the words that they whisper.

To shout the truth that’s not there at all,

That’s up to you to create,

In the prickly grass leaving the scrawl

Of your heavy six-taloned gait.

Sing as you run and shout as you dance,

You’re a freak, so let out a scream—

Let the whole world know you’ve been born by chance

Of the tree and the forest stream.

Chorus:

Quick! Quick! Go bite a tick!

Drape the ears over the cloak!

We’ll dance all night and we’ll sing our delight!

We, the proud Gray Forest folk!

“The Rain Song”

The silence that had devoured the world once the pack moved to the Sepulcher continued even after they’d returned. The noisy morning dissolved in it without a trace. After classes, Sphinx and Blind both climbed on the windowsill and smoked there without a single word, each using his own ashtray. Humpback took Tubby out for a walk. Alexander hid himself on Humpback’s bunk. Tabaqui sat there like a prairie dog, all hushed and mournful, his sorrow on full display. The boombox hissed idly. The nastiest silence there is, the silence of many people being silent together. We stewed in it until lunch, and in the canteen I realized I couldn’t stand it anymore. It weighed on me like something that was alive, something suffocating. Then I noticed that ours was not the only quiet table. The entire canteen was silent. Even the music, usually thunderously loud, seemed hushed. I could hear cooks talking and jangling the cutlery in the kitchen behind the wall. This is where I got really scared. Trembling-hands scared.

The lunch-end bell clanked once and went dumb, as if by magic. Usually it was followed by an immediate explosion of clatter, with the Second rushing to the door tripping over themselves, clearly showing that the air in the canteen had suddenly become impossible to breathe. They didn’t go anywhere this time. A couple of wheelchairs peeled off the Pheasants’ table, circled the exit, and returned.

“I detect a whiff of mayhem,” Jackal observed. “Can you feel it?”

It was hard not to. As soon as we rose to go, we were intercepted by the delegation arriving from the table of the Sixth, three Hounds in all, and Laurus solemnly presented Sphinx with some kind of note.

“‘Pompey requests the Leaders of all packs to assemble in the Coffeepot for an important discussion,’” Sphinx read out.

He shrugged and passed the note to Blind.

As soon as those words were said, everyone started talking at once. The silence was shattered. Logs began their rounds between the tables. Pheasants clustered together to better guard against a perceived assault.

“This is an outrage!” Vulture shouted above the fevered din of voices. “People are in mourning here!”

Pompey raised his hands in a mollifying gesture.

“I commiserate,” he said. “But business is business.”

Vulture scowled dismissively, and Birds reflected his grimace in a dozen bad mirrors.