The Gray House

Sphinx looks around the canteen. It brings to mind the aftermath of an explosion in a pigpen even more than usual. The shards are still glinting by the door. The oilcloth snatched off Rats’ table lies crumpled on the dirty floor. Curtains have been stripped off the windows, and several people pretend to be sleeping now wrapped in them. One corner is occupied by anxious Logs holding an emergency war council, in the other Birds are constructing a screen for a makeshift latrine, harried by Elephant squeaking miserably, “Want pee-pee! Want pee-pee!” at regular intervals. When Sphinx imagines the stench of urine added to the overall conditions in the room, he flinches disgustedly. And all the while the Leader of this entire joint is dozing off contentedly under the serving window, with his frock coat for a bed. As Sphinx observes the peaceful scene he imagines himself screaming, shaking Blind, kicking and trampling him. He starts walking, overflowing with these emotions.

He walks past Tabaqui, busily forcing something into his backpack that would make it even more deadly. Past the flowerpot containing an acid-green plant, made of plastic but still visibly gnawed on. Past the conspiratorial Logs watching the door warily. He’s almost there when Blind speaks without opening his eyes.

“Sphinx. You’re stalking me like a hungry tiger stalks a lamb. If you want to catch people unawares you’ll need to make your walk less expressive.”

Sphinx pushes the urge to scream and kick deeper down and sits next to him.

“Let’s talk. I have a lot of questions.”

“Let’s. Where do we start?”

Blind’s unruffled attitude should be infuriating to Sphinx, but instead it saps the fight out of him. The fight and the desire to discuss anything at all.

“Black’s bus. I don’t like this business with the fake license. He can’t be any good at driving. Even if he did take a couple of lessons, that still isn’t enough. He has no experience. He’s going to kill himself and everyone else stupid enough to join him.”

“I don’t think so. He’s a very responsible person. Besides, it’s not like I can stop him from doing something after graduation. I can’t even stop Lary after graduation.”

“But you wouldn’t even if you could.”

Blind shrugs.

“That’s right. I wouldn’t. It’s his decision. He’s a Leader. Why in the world would I want to stop him?”

“I see. I had the feeling that this was going to be useless.”

Blind opens his eyes, sends his arm under his shirt, and scratches himself furiously.

“I thought you said you also had a lot of questions,” he reminds Sphinx.

Sphinx looks at him probingly.

“I did. It’s just that I’m not sure anymore if I should be asking them.”

“Try me,” Blind suggests.

“Do you know why they are being so thorough with the searches?”

Blind straightens up.

“I do.”

“And?”

“They’re afraid of the graduation. They are making sure no one’s assembled a stash of explosives, poisons, and so on.”

“Then why today? The graduation is not until . . .”

“Tomorrow. All we have left is this evening and this night. And also a bit of the morning, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

It is now Rats’ turn at the inspection table. The Pheasants have been checked and cleared, along with Elephant. It is likely that he managed to reach the toilet before it was too late.

“Where . . . ,” Sphinx begins, but has to clear his throat. “Where did you get that information?”

He speaks very softly, his outward appearance is completely serene, he does not make a single sudden movement, but the heads of those sitting at the table slowly turn in his direction. Tabaqui. Noble. Humpback.

Counselors extract condom packets by the fistful from Red’s backpack. It appears to hold an inexhaustible supply of them. The melancholy smirk of Rat Leader quivers and floats in Sphinx’s eyes, as if he were looking at it through a thick layer of water.

“Tomorrow morning they will call another all-hands,” Blind says. “Assemble everyone in the lecture hall and declare it. And about ten minutes after that the parents will start arriving.”

Sphinx is silent. He is counting the days that have been stolen from them, from him . . . from all of them. Seven. No, six and a half. A pittance. They would’ve flown past quickly. But now, robbed of them, he is so shocked that he’s unable to speak or react to what Blind is saying.