The Gray House

“Now . . . ,” Tabaqui said, raising his finger. “The second layer. All nice and legal. Observe closely, and whatever you think is extraneous we can remove. Although, to be honest, there is nothing extraneous here.”

The legal layer consisted of a Walkman with ten cassettes, a chocolate bar, a notepad of Jackal’s poetry, a packet of nuts, a pocket chess set, spare batteries, a deck of cards, a harmonica, and four horribly dog-eared paperbacks. It was little wonder that I found it hard to breathe once I donned the jacket. And even though it was Tabaqui who offered to get rid of anything extraneous, he was extremely critical when I said I’d like to leave behind the harmonica and the cards.

“I can’t play the harmonica,” I tried to explain.

“Exactly! This is the time to learn.”

“And I don’t do solitaire.”

“I’ll give you a guide!”

Sphinx jumped off the windowsill and joined us. Humpback extracted two stale rolls from the left pocket of the jacket. Tabaqui observed them sadly.

“They haven’t been there for that long. They’re still quite digestible.”

“Tabaqui, enough,” Noble said. “Who is going to the Cage, you or Smoker?”

“He is!” Tabaqui exclaimed. “Except he is a complete novice, and should listen to the wisdom of his more experienced packmates!”

From the breast pocket I excavated a stack of word puzzles, another notebook, and a pen.

“That would be mine,” Noble said and put out his arm. “You can leave it, it’s fine.”

I gratefully handed the wad to him and turned my attention to the books.

“The Poetry of Scandinavia,” I read on the cover.

“If you’re not into it, I’ll take that,” Humpback said eagerly.

It dawned on me that each of them contributed to the jacket when it was their turn to sit in quarantine. That’s how it became so heavy. Everything that they considered useful was in there.

Now it was Lary’s turn to astonish me. He was swaying indifferently back and forth on the heels of his monstrous boots while the jacket was being gutted, and then suddenly offered, “I have never been there, not once. I have this, you know . . . claustrophobia. I can’t even go in the elevators.”

I was so stunned I didn’t know what to say. It was the first time Lary had talked to me. I mean, not really, but the first time he addressed me as a human. As an equal.

“Oh,” I managed. “I see.”

“I’m afraid of it,” he continued in a whisper, drawing closer. “People tell things. But you’re cool. You’re on top of it.”

“Hey!” Tabaqui said. “Stop this defeatist nonsense on the eve of the departure. This is going to be rest and recuperation. Lary, leave him alone, take your morbid look somewhere else!”

Lary shuffled away obediently. Tabaqui continued his lecture. He said that there actually were two quarantine rooms. The blue one and the yellow one. And that the blue one was not for the faint of heart, but did wonders for the soul, while the yellow one was just pure bliss all around.

“The blue one makes you depressed, and the yellow stinks of urine, because the flush always gets stuck,” Sphinx said. “And they are both only blissful if you dream of being alone. Was that ever your dream, Smoker?”

“I think it is now,” I huffed, weighed down by the miracle jacket. I couldn’t even bend my arms, because of the stashes in the elbows. “Are they . . . coming for me soon?”

They did come fairly soon.

They were already wheeling me out like a motionless dummy when there came another surprise, this time from Alexander. He ran to me and handed me a flashlight.

“They say that the lights are completely out at night. Here, take this, in case you need to find something in the dark.”

I couldn’t bend my arms, but my fingers were in perfect working order, so I grabbed the flashlight. And I had a second to look into Alexander’s eyes. They were the color of strong tea. And they were speckled.

I also had time to say “See you” to the rest of them. To Jackal, who was waving to me sentimentally. To Lary, milling at the door. To Noble, who nodded from the bed. To Sphinx, sitting on the headboard. To Humpback. To everyone.

Cases, as they were called, were stationed on the first floor, two per shift. They lugged heavy stuff, if there was any to be lugged, transported the wheelers if it was suspected that the wheeler in question might object to his transportation, swept the yard, fixed this and that, and from time to time traversed the hallways with grim determination, carrying empty stretchers, for some reason. Also guarded the front door, instead of the actual guard, who was guarding the door to the third floor. But mostly they drank. Cases figured prominently in most of the local jokes, even those told by Pheasants.