The Gray House

The next morning, Wolf changed the lightbulbs for brighter ones. They made shades for two of them out of colored craft paper, and Wolf covered them with Chinese characters. The third one occupied the shade Beauty had been washing. After Beauty left, Humpback washed it all over again, but Beauty didn’t know that and so every time he walked under it his face was illuminated by a smile, itself like a lightbulb under the dark bangs.

They guarded the room in shifts all day. The wall was almost completely dry now. The Stuffage Pack was suspiciously quiet. From time to time one of them would sneak out and shuffle outside the door, trying to peek through the lock. Or they would knock and run away before someone could open. Wolf and Grasshopper were on guard during lunchtime. Wolf sat on the windowsill looking out into the yard. Grasshopper lay on his bed. The hamster scratched in its bowl. The room on the other side of the wall was silent. Then someone knocked. Wolf had been jumping up and down all morning, opening the door only to find emptiness behind it and hear the sound of running feet, so he didn’t even move.

“You’d think they’d give it a rest during lunch, at least,” he said.

The knocking resumed. Grasshopper got up.

“May I?” a squeaky voice said, and a big-eared head insinuated itself into the crack.

Grasshopper closed his eyes. Then he opened them again.

“This can’t be a wheeler?” he said.

“It is,” the visitor said. “Amazing, huh?”

And he rolled into the room.

Stinker the wheeler was known far and wide. Grasshopper had heard a lot about him, even though he’d never met him in person. Those who had, all confirmed that Stinker was the nastiest wheeler in the House. The walking juniors considered all wheelers whiny and nasty, but even the other wheelers had branded Stinker as such. That’s probably because he was. The mere sight of him made seasoned counselors wistfully count the years remaining until retirement. His roommates harbored secret desires to throttle him in his sleep. Stinker was nine, but he’d already managed to pack a lot of achievements into his life. His fame, or rather infamy, preceded him.

“I came to have a look,” Stinker said. “Are you going to throw me out?”

“Look,” Wolf said, “if you’re really interested.”

Stinker stared at the wall. Grasshopper and Wolf stared at him. Stinker was small and ugly looking, with incongruously big ears and round eyes. His pink shirt sported greasy stains. Grasshopper had never seen such dirty hands. Still, it was nice of the wheeler to have come all the way here to look at their wall.

“Like it?” Grasshopper asked.

Stinker turned away from the wall.

“Dunno. Maybe I do. And maybe I don’t. Are you a separate pack now? With your own separate room?”

He knows already, Grasshopper thought with surprise.

“We’re not a pack,” Wolf said. “We are Poxy Sissies. We spread disease. If someone asks, you tell them that.”

“Oooh!” Stinker’s large eyes lit up with excitement. He now resembled an owl out to hunt. “That’s a good one. I’ll remember that.” He looked around. “You are only using five beds. Sort of too few of you for this whole room.”

“So? Quite enough for disease-spreading.”

“That’s true.” Stinker picked bashfully at his dirty hand. “Here’s what I thought . . . Could you maybe use one more Poxy Sissy? I’d volunteer. I can spread disease too. I’m really good at that.”

Grasshopper looked at Wolf. Wolf looked at Grasshopper.

He’s going to agree, Grasshopper thought, horrified. He might not know what Stinker is. They held him in the Sepulcher for too long.

But it looked like Wolf did know.

“We don’t need anyone else,” he said.

Apparently this was the answer Stinker expected. But he continued to stare at Grasshopper. His round owlish eyes were too big. They seemed boundless if you looked into them for a while. They glowed with a strange inner light, drawing you in, like a sky bristling with stars. Grasshopper looked for a bit longer than was safe.

“You can come,” his unwieldy lips said by themselves. “If you want to.”

Stinker blinked, and the glow of the faraway stars was extinguished. He wiped the nose with the back of his dirty hand. Then sniffled and exposed the picket fence of his sharpish teeth.

“I’ll just go grab my things. Won’t be a minute.”

He turned around and rolled out. Surprisingly quickly. The door slammed behind him. His victory song filled the hallway. Grasshopper took a step backward, staggered, and sat on his bed.

“What have I just done?” he said.

“Oh, nothing much,” Wolf said, still looking at the door. “Only invited the most famous dirtbag in the House to live with us.”

Grasshopper was ready to cry.

“Wolf. I swear, I didn’t want to. I don’t know what happened. He was looking and looking, and I said . . .”