The Gray House

Smoker arrives, towing Tubby after him. I am busy for a while spooning oatmeal into Tubby’s mouth, and then it’s suddenly the end of dinner. I leave Tubby unfilled and try to satiate myself with whatever I can before it’s all carted away. I can feel for Blind, in a way. It’s hard being Alexander if you’ve never been him before. Tubby blinks pathetically over his bib, opening and closing the empty mouth in hopeless expectation of more food. I slap the fork down and inquire of Smoker if his vacation is quite over while I’m struggling here with pangs of both hunger and guilt, and if it is, would he be so kind as to maybe help me out? Smoker doesn’t argue, to my surprise, and takes Tubby’s spoon. His style of feeding is exceedingly slow. The oatmeal is delivered in minuscule portions, but it is at least something, and I can return to unhurried mastication.

One by one the entire canteen crew assembles around us. Hovering and throwing meaningful glances in the direction of the clock. I shove the sandwiches into the bag, pat Tubby, filled to the brim with the oatmeal he hasn’t swallowed yet, say “Step on it!” to Smoker, and make a dash for the exit. I am probably the least stable when there is an increasing number of unseen watch dials crowding around.

When we arrive at the door Smoker hesitates, as if undecided whether he wants to enter or not. I can see he’s not really thrilled about it, but on the other hand it’s not like he has any choice.

He puts his hand on the knob and says, looking away, “You know, I’ve been there too. In the Coffeepot, with you. It was the first time I’ve actually seen something extraordinary happen, instead of listening to you tell a story.”

“Oh. So, how was it?” I say, intrigued. “Are you still bored?”

“No.” He lowers his eyelashes, so it’s impossible to tell what his eyes reflect now. “Not anymore. But tell me this. What I saw . . . Did it really happen?”

“That depends on what you saw.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. For some reason. I haven’t figured it out for myself yet.”

I sigh.

“None of us wants to talk about it. I thought that’s what was driving you nuts.”

“No,” he says, sounding surprised. “Quite the contrary. I’d be mad if you started debating it. I think. I’m not sure. But even you haven’t said anything.”

“And good for me,” I say. “Alexander wishes to sink through the floor as it is.”

Smoker nods and opens the door.

Sometimes I get this curious impression that he’s one of us. Rarely, though.

I wonder what would you do if your roommate, bedmate, tablemate, and mate of every other kind suddenly woke you up in the middle of the night with a hoarse cry of “There you are! Finally I’ve found you!”

In the Outsides it’s customary to call for paramedics in cases like that, but we’re not in the Outsides, so I speedily crawl away from him, put a pillow between us, and start deliberating whether it’s time to cry “Help!” yet or if it could wait for a little while longer.

“I found you,” Noble insists, tugging at the pillow. “You’re not going to wiggle out this time. I know who you are.”

He looks like he’s totally round the bend.

I tell him that I had no intention of wiggling, and that luckily for both of us I also happen to know who I am.

“And now that we’ve established who both of us are, and know everything about each other that’s possible to know, what say you we get some sleep? It’s dark. Everyone’s sleeping. Look. So, hush-a-bye . . .”

“I want to go back,” Noble says. “Back here, but earlier, and I want everything to be different. I mean, the same, but with me in it.”

“And it is very stupid of you.”

“I’ve made my choice.”

Amazing how they all consider these words to be a final argument. Like it’s a spell against which I’m helpless. I’d have laughed if I didn’t want to cry.

“Think,” I say with a sigh. “Think carefully, and come another time.”

His fingers clamp on my wrist with such force that I’m afraid it’ll break.

“No! Please!” he says. “I might not find you another time. Even once was hard enough.”

The guy’s crazy, I tell you.

“Hold it!” I say. “Wake up, baby. I’m here all day, every day. There’s no need to go searching.”

I push the pillow aside, sit up, and give him a slight fillip on the bridge of his nose between the eyebrows. Very lightly, in fact I barely touch him, but Noble reels back as if I whacked him with one of the weights from Mustang’s footboard, and almost falls on his back. He closes his eyes. Opens them. Stares at me like he’s never seen me before.

“Damn you,” he says. “You hurt me.”

“And you woke me up. Now we’re even, and can go back to sleep satisfied. Sweet dreams.”

I fluff the pillow and close my eyes, painfully aware that peaceful sleep is not likely in the cards.

And I’m right. Noble doesn’t back down.

“You are him,” he says. “You can’t fool me.”

I sit up again.

“Of course I can fool you. Easily. Anytime I want.”

The lights of the two tiny wall lamps make his eyes look like black vortices. Windows into a bottomless blackness.

“You can’t do this. I found you. I asked you. You must help me now.”