The Gray House

by Mariam Petrosyan

  The unluckiest guests of the house find only the old man’s mummified corpse. It lies in the cardboard box that the stereo system came in, in the company of withered flowers, carved nutshells, and faded postcards. Some bury him before leaving, others dump him out of the box and beat up the body, venting their disappointment, and then there are those who remain in the house, waiting for who knows what—another old man instead of this one, a replacement, so to speak, since this one seems to be dead? Sooner or later they too leave empty-handed. The old man can be a mummy for however long he wants. It doesn’t bother him at all.

  There are plenty of legends and rumors about him. People tell tales of him in places near, far, and very, very far. The oldest of those depict him as sitting on top of a mountain with two skeins of wool, black and white. He winds up one of them and unspools the other, turning day into night and night back into day. The later tales say that he eternally spins an enormous wheel, divided into a summer half and a winter half, and the summer side of it is red while the winter side is white as snow. There are other stories. But all of them end the same way, in bestowing of gifts. Everyone who meets the old man receives a present from him, and it’s those gifts that people desire when they go out in search of him.

  The lucky visitors receive gears from broken watches. The luckiest of all, an egret feather. The first gift means one thing while the second means quite another. Everyone asks for the first and no one asks for the second, because no one knows that this gift even exists. It is not mentioned in any tales or legends. The watch gear can be lost, exchanged, or given away. The feather disappears if it ever leaves the possession of its owner, so it cannot belong to anyone else.

  It is not easy to get the old man to part with a watch gear, the feathers he gives out extremely rarely, and no one ever receives anything else. Almost never. There was only one time when he was asked for a dream. A very peculiar dream, one that explained how to see other people’s dreams. A small boy asked for it, and took with him a gourd stoppered with henbane. Some years later the same boy, now grown, came again with an even stranger request. The old man was intrigued. Out of the eggs he had, he chose the most beautiful, green with white speckles.

  “They are very delicate,” he warned. “Be careful. Keep it warm near your heart, and when she hatches, let her out into a stream, but make sure there aren’t any predatory fish around. In forty days she will be grown.”

  “What will she be in twenty days?” the boy asked.

  He was an odd boy, and the old man was slightly apprehensive about the fate of the creature inside the egg, but he liked giving unusual gifts, and the boy was the only one in many, many years to want something other than what everyone always wanted. With him the old man wasn’t bored.

  And boredom is the one thing that the old man hates. From time to time, tired of the monotony of the gifts he gives to others, he makes a present to himself. The simplest things, really. Nothing valuable or extraordinary, but it’s always nice to receive an unexpected, unusual present. Especially if you then forget that you received it from yourself.

  SMOKER

  (CONTINUED)

  Humpback retold the old familiar tale of the Pied Piper. Changed some details, that’s all. I didn’t remember it all too well, but I am pretty sure it didn’t used to say there that he only led away the smallest children, three and younger. “Pure of mind and desires.” It sounded rather strange. Because it’s not clear how it would be possible to lead away kids who, for example, can’t even walk yet.

  Humpback never explained that, so I imagined away, coming up with some truly amusing images. Like babies cooing and kicking their little legs, floating up from their cribs, circling around the rooms, flitting out of opened windows, and flying to the tootling piper in his red tunic.

  That wasn’t even the half of it. To imagine a one-year-old that the parents wouldn’t be able to hold on to was even harder. Then I realized that in the original tale this wasn’t explained either. It just said that the Piper led away all children, period. So the littlest ones had to be included in that, too. I don’t think I’d ever thought about that before.

  Lary told about an enchanted princess. Obviously meaning Needle. Red told about fugitive deaths. Likely meaning himself.

  Tabaqui told about a little old man who so disliked making presents, while at the same time being somehow obligated to do exactly that, that he even faked his own death to make them leave him alone.

  Owl and Corpse dovetailed their stories with Tabaqui’s, telling about their own encounters with this old man.

  Vulture and Noble continued whispering to each other, and Lizard fell asleep. I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal if I tried to get some sleep as well, but it didn’t work out that way.

  Because the next person to climb the stepladder was Blind, and the ringing silence that followed knocked the sleepiness right off me.

  Blind remained silent too for a while. The candles went out, the lanterns didn’t give off much light, but I could see that he was barefoot, dressed in his regular clothes, and that his hand was now wrapped with a bandage instead of a towel.

  Finally he spoke. He said that he wished all of us luck, whether we were leaving or staying. Or leaving thinking we’re staying, or staying thinking we’re leaving. Or, finally, returning. Blind said that whatever we chose, every one of us would have to begin our lives anew, because the life that’s waiting for us would have nothing in common with the one that was ending. Many would remember nothing of this life, but that shouldn’t frighten us. “Those who live believing in the possibility of a miracle will find it.” Then Blind said that he was not saying good-bye to those who were leaving, only to those who were staying and returning.

  By this time I was thoroughly confused, and couldn’t figure out which of them I was.

  But it got even more mysterious.

  Blind declared that he needed two volunteers—an experienced guide for the inexperienced guide, and a caretaker.

  “This latter position is permanent,” he concluded, and jumped down.

  As soon as he did they switched on the wall lamps and everyone started getting ready to go.

  I didn’t realize that the Fairy Tale Night was over, it happened so suddenly.

  The lights exposed piles of dirty plates and half-eaten food, candle drippings, and overstuffed ashtrays. It was no longer cozy, as if we all found ourselves in a train station, and just like people do when coming to a station, everyone everywhere hugged, said good-byes, and gave each other trinkets to remember them by.

  Black sat next to me, slapped me on the shoulder, and said, “Take care, man . . . See you around.” And then left. Then I was being kissed by Needle, her face tearstained and puffy. Horse gave me a tiny broom, for luck. Lary hugged me and burst into tears, so passionately that it was all I could do not to start sniffling too.

  I didn’t have time to wallow in misery and get steeped in the farewell spirit. They quickly hoisted the backpacks on their shoulders and went out, with a sizable crowd trailing along to see them off.

  Alexander helped me climb up on the windowsill, and together we looked at them crossing the yard.

  It was still dark out, but Needle’s wedding dress seemed to be glowing, and I could clearly see her in the crowd. Her, and Lary in his operatic white shirt. For some reason, out of all the happenings of that night, this stood out in my memory, how they all walked across the yard to the gates, bride and groom leading the procession. Someone was holding Needle’s train. Black was certainly striding along purposefully, lugging his enormous backpack, lips pursed severely, but him I couldn’t distinguish from above, I just knew that he must have been there. Him, Horse, Bubble, and Zit, and Genepool . . . and also Red, as it turned out later. And those two from the tent camp.

  There actually weren’t that many of them leaving, but the darkness made it seem like it was a large crowd, so I even started fretting if they all would fit in their bus, because I remembered Black saying that it was quite a small
one.

  Then they closed the gates, those who were seeing them off returned, and we tried to re-create the cozy night in the candlelight, but it just wasn’t the same anymore. People still cried, talked in whispers, said good-byes and gave out remembrance gifts, though more subdued now. Less tragic.

  I discovered that I’d been holding armfuls of presents, and more were scattered around on the bed, but I didn’t remember whom most of them came from.

  Humpback climbed on the top bunk and was playing the flute. Beauty and Doll discussed Needle’s bridal attire in excited whispers.

  The old night guard disappeared somewhere. I didn’t know then that he had also left with the bus, so I assumed he just went away like the two from the tent camp. R One was the only unusual guest still remaining. He was sitting on the bed that was pushed against the wardrobe, drinking Vulture’s tequila straight from the bottle.

  Blind sat next to him and asked something. Ralph choked, and Blind slapped him on the back. I was curious what it was they were talking about, so I crawled closer.

  “As you wish,” Blind said, getting up. “But it is entirely up to you.”

  R One grabbed his arm and made him sit back down. “That was a joke, right?”

  Blind said that he had no intention of joking. Then he extracted a grubby brown envelope from his pocket and handed it to Ralph.

  “If you change your mind, open this. When you are done with all the rest of it.”

  Ralph immediately stood up and looked around. He looked like Blind had just reminded him of a bunch of urgent and important things he had to do.

  “All right,” he said. “How much longer is this night going to last?”

  Blind shrugged.

  When Ralph left, Blind took his place on the bed and grabbed the guitar left by Shuffle. The bandage on his hand interfered with playing, so he took it off.

  Sphinx sat down on the floor next to the bed. Tabaqui stopped driving around the room and also crawled closer. A little while later, Alexander joined them too.

  Blind twanged the strings, very softly, Tabaqui whistled, Sphinx and Alexander just sat there silently. The morning refused to come.

  I got tired of waiting for it and fell asleep, so I don’t know how long the others were able to endure this.

  Shortly before dawn I awoke to the sounds of the flute coming from the hallway. Plaintive and repetitive. I opened my eyes, registered the deepening blueness of the sky, and went back to sleep. Right around that time someone also stroked my hair. Tousled it and went away. I would never know who it was.

  Those who had left at the end of the night tried to do it quietly.

  I was woken up by Sphinx.

  “Get up,” he said. “Or you’ll miss graduation.”

  It would have been less jarring if he’d set off an alarm clock by my ear. I sprang up.

  “What? Already?”

  The room was thoroughly trashed. It looked like that after every exciting night, though, so the mess was entirely expectable, but no less disgusting for that. And not a single soul in sight save for Sphinx and me.

  “Have they all left?”

  “They have,” Sphinx said, wearing a crooked smile. “And know what? You’ll have to help me, because there isn’t anyone else.”

  He had these huge shadows under his eyes. They took up half of his face. He obviously hadn’t slept a single wink, otherwise his clothes would have been as rumpled as mine were. I’d fallen asleep on one of the mattresses they tossed on the floor, amidst my presents. Horse’s broom had left an imprint on my cheek, and I appeared to have crushed the flashlight that Humpback gave me. This made me very upset.

  “You’ll glue it back later,” Sphinx said. “Just toss it in your bag, they’re going to take this place apart brick by brick.”

  “Why?” I said.

  I had trouble with coherent thinking that morning.

  “Because,” Sphinx said.

  I collected all the gifts and put them in my bag. The crushed flashlight I wrapped separately, hoping to mend it afterward somehow. Then I had to make coffee and do the tidying up, because Sphinx couldn’t do any of that without his prosthetics, and Alexander never showed up. Of course, it was not a proper cleaning, the way Alexander would have done it. I just stuffed the bulk of the trash in black plastic bags, smoothed out the crumpled blankets, and emptied the ashtrays. Only when we finished the coffee did I ask where all the others had gone. I had been reluctant to ask before, because there was something not quite right about us being completely alone.

  “You’ll know soon enough,” he said.

  And I did. Relatively soon. This knowledge still haunts me, often keeping me up at night. That, and also that I’ll never find out who tousled my hair before leaving. Every time I think about it I imagine different people doing it, so it was almost as if they all did it. Well, maybe Tubby wouldn’t be able to. Anyway, I only learned in the morning that there was another big group that had gone away. Who knows where? They had both left and stayed back. Neither dead nor alive. People would get to calling them Sleepers, but that would be a couple of years later, back then no one called them anything at all. There just wasn’t a word for what they were. They had all assembled in the Third for some reason.

  “Probably because there were so many of them from the Third,” Sphinx said. “Six in all.”

  I didn’t pay close attention to his words then.

  There was no graduation that day. The parents did come, but no one was released. Some of the parents stayed, for support and also to keep an eye on the way we were interrogated. Thanks to them, and to Spider Ron, or we’d be in trouble. Sphinx was right about the House being taken apart brick by brick. They did almost exactly that. I don’t think there was a single object left that wasn’t probed, sniffed at, or disassembled. All drugs in the Sepulcher had been checked and rechecked, down to the last pill. On the second day a K-9 unit conducted a sweep of the House, with two German shepherds and a bloodhound. From the basement they extracted unfortunate Solomon. I only caught a glimpse of him, from a distance. Someone pudgy and filthy was marched down the first-floor corridor in handcuffs, loaded into a police van, and driven away. Then they unearthed human bones in the basement. I thought we’d be eaten alive, but luckily for us it soon turned out that the bones were more than a century old, and everyone promptly calmed down.

  The interrogations went on. Two, three hours each day, sometimes more. Different people each time. Some were more interested in those who had disappeared, others in those who had turned into chrysalises. But it made no difference, we could not help them because we didn’t know much, and what we did know we could never say.

  We all became very close during that time. I guess nothing pushes people closer together than a shared secret. Lizard, Guppy, Dearest, and Dodo moved in with Sphinx and me. After us, the Third had the biggest loss, and they looked even more confused than we did. The Sleepers were moved to the hospital wing right away, but it was obvious that for Lizard and the rest of them the Third felt creepy. They only ever went there to water the plants and then came right back. Also we had two fathers, mine and Guppy’s, spending the nights with us, and once out of the four nights, Ralph.

  Dearest was the first to be taken away. I don’t think he was right in the head. Other Birds assured me that this was normal for him, but clearly his presence bugged the hell out of them as well, and Dearest had gone home two days before everyone else.

  At some point, I don’t remember exactly but I think it was on the third day, I realized that no one had asked a single question about Tabaqui. And no one came for him. Then I noticed other strange things. I hadn’t seen the Sleepers, and had no desire to gawk at them, as it were, the interminable discussions were quite enough for me. But the entire town seemed to know that there were twenty-six of them. We also knew that all the Insensible of the House were there. I counted our Insensible, added the girls, and got twelve. Which was too many. There couldn’t have been only fourteen others, because if you
took us and the Third that would already make thirteen. I turned this over in my head for a while and then tried to forget about it. Anyone to whom I could point out this incongruence would simply tell me to go to the Sleepers and count them myself. We weren’t prohibited from visiting them, provided we had an escort. But my curiosity hadn’t yet reached the level where I’d actually drive over to have a look at something like that.

  Eventually I couldn’t keep it in anymore.

  “You know,” I said to Sphinx, “it seems that more people have disappeared from the House than we think. Blind, for example. And Noble. Everyone counts them among those who disappeared. Which means they are not there among . . . them, you know. But they did not leave with the bus, we both know that.”

  Sphinx sighed and gave me a reproachful look. Almost like all this time he’d desperately hoped that I would refrain from asking him this very question.

  “Striders go over completely,” he said.

  After he had said that, he didn’t need to worry anymore that I would pester him with questions. There are sentences that cause the brain to activate its defensive mechanisms, and the first thing it does is stop asking. I came to the conclusion that they went and drove away not in two groups, but in three, and moreover, the third group, the smallest of them, was itself made of two parts—those whom everyone knew had disappeared, and others who were forgotten as soon as they had vanished. Tabaqui clearly belonged to that last one. And that wasn’t the weirdest thing about it.

  A lot of stuff got left in the room that used to belong to those who had gone away, sunk into the unending sleep, or disappeared. Many of the things were painful to see, at least for Sphinx and me. But nothing, and I mean not a single thing of Tabaqui’s remained. Not even a button. I searched for them specifically. Turned over everything. Not a sock, not a worn slipper, not a pin, not a stale bread roll. Nothing. At all. I stopped looking for the traces of Tabaqui when I noticed that his drawings and writings had disappeared from the walls. There weren’t even empty spaces where they used to be. There was something there, just not what had been there before. And then it came to me that I’d forgotten his face. I could re-create him in my mind in general, the frizzled hair, the outrageous outfits, where he liked to sit, how he liked to chomp loudly, but his features eluded me. What color were his eyes? What about the nose—aquiline or snubbed? I thumbed through my sketches. I’d drawn Jackal a million times, in pencil, in ink, in crayon. I couldn’t find a single one. It was as if someone went methodically through my drawings and stole every one that depicted Jackal. Instead I found a bunch of sketches I’d never done. That is, I didn’t remember doing them, though they certainly were in my hand.