The Gray House

He sat down, feeling somewhat uneasy, as he always did in Godmother’s presence. This woman had an ambiguous effect on him. Yes, she was undoubtedly good at what she did, effortlessly handling the problems that would reduce Darling to a sniveling mess, she was smart, responsible, and rational, and the girls respected her. At the same time, her aloofness was off-putting. No one in the House liked her. To Ralph it looked like she had no feelings at all for her charges, that she was comprehensively impersonal. He tried to convince himself that this was just a professional deftly hiding her emotions, but it did nothing to dispel his prejudice. Godmother was too icy for her job. Or too old. Trim and straight, like a retired ballet dancer, invariably in the same gray pantsuit, white cuffs gleaming, she appeared fifty while in reality pushing seventy.

“I would be interested to know if that remark hasn’t been simply an attempt to calm down the principal,” Godmother said.

Her eyes behind the glasses glinted severely and accusingly. The cold, round, staring eyes, the hooked nose, the long neck—they all combined to make her look like a bird of prey. But despite all that, anyone talking to her got the impression that she had been a great beauty once.

“No,” Ralph said after a pause. “I don’t remember exactly the conversation you’re referring to, so it is possible that I was trying to calm him down, but the last time the situation really was much less stable.”

“Are you concerned at all that as of today there are again two belligerent groups in the House?”

It took some time for Ralph to understand what she meant, and when he did he almost laughed out loud.

“No,” he said. “I am not concerned. I do not consider this conflict to be serious.”

Godmother’s fixed stare became unblinking.

“Why?” she said.

“You see,” he said, feeling awkward for intruding on her turf with his musings, “this so-called war is entirely the girls’ invention. I think it’s their way of coping. They are aware that graduation is coming whether they like it or not, and with it the separation from the boys with whom they have established relationships. They also see no chance of those relationships continuing beyond the gates of the House. So, what’s easier: accepting the separation or convincing themselves that those who they’re being torn from are the enemy? They chose the latter. On balance, it would mean less pain for them overall. The war may look silly, but it appears to be an effective technique.”

“Do you consider yourself an expert on female psychology?” Godmother said.

What infuriated Ralph wasn’t the question itself but that it made him blush.

“No,” he said drily. “I do not. I was merely expressing an opinion.”

“An opinion that deserves the highest praise,” Godmother said even more impersonally. “I salute you.”

Ralph again tried not to let his annoyance show.

“Would that be all?”

“Apparently,” Godmother said. “I would like you to keep one thing in mind, however. The principal does not share your optimism.”

“I would imagine,” Ralph muttered.

“And he is prepared to use all options available to him to ensure safety at the time of graduation. What would your attitude be toward that?”

“One of understanding,” Ralph said, getting up. “If you’ll excuse me, I still have some unfinished business to attend to before the meeting.”

Godmother nodded. “Of course. Should we be expecting any suggestions from you?”

“Possibly.”

As he left, she remained in her place, looking ahead at the wall, like a robot that’s been switched off. Sitting very straight, with hands folded in front of her.

A round-faced, big-eared boy in a black skull-and-crossbones T-shirt peeled leisurely away from the door. Ralph closed it behind himself.

“What were you doing?” he whispered.

“Listening in,” the boy said earnestly. “I am well aware that I shouldn’t,” he added, preempting Ralph’s reaction.

Ralph lightly massaged his eyelids.

“Why do you do it, then?”

“Sometimes my curiosity gets the better of my ethical values,” the boy admitted. “Has that ever happened to you?”

Ralph leaned against the door.

“Please leave,” he said. “Get out of my sight.”

Whitebelly nodded eagerly and retreated.

“Did you hear that?” Ralph mumbled, making his way toward the stairs. “And this one isn’t even a Log.”

But in all truth, he was glad of the encounter. Charmingly insolent Whitebelly chased the image of the unmoving mannequin in the staff room from his mind’s eye. A frightening image, even if he wasn’t quite ready to admit it.