The Gray House полностью

“I am sorry. I did not mean to offend. If you needed to ask me that, then I owe you an answer.” And then obligingly—Ralph caught that external force, something almost palpable making Blind strip naked in front of him—added, “I was not glad. But there is no one else I’d rather exchange for him. Not one. If this is what interests you. If it’s what you meant when you were talking about me being glad. I am also innocent of his death, if you meant to ask that. And if you meant my dislike of him—yes, that was true. I did not like him. Just as he, me. There were times when I imagined that I would have been glad if he . . .”

“Enough,” Ralph said. “I apologize. That was tactless of me.”

Blind hugged his shoulders. Ralph could not shake off the feeling that he was witnessing Blind being skinned alive. Or having his carapace cracked open. And that Blind was doing it to himself.

“All right,” Ralph said. “Your honesty is even worse than your silence. And if I asked you about Pompey, you’d say that you have no right to be talking about the affairs of the Sixth. Is that correct?”

Blind nodded.

“And you also haven’t the foggiest idea how he died?”

“I do. But I am not allowed to say.”

Ralph sighed.

“Right. So why do you suppose I ask Leaders to come here when I need information? Well, I can tell you, it’s not because I enjoy listening to them brush me off with empty talk. Dismissed. You may leave.”

Blind got up. “You forgot to ask about one more person.”

“I didn’t forget anything. It’s just that I am no longer enjoying this conversation. I’m not in the mood to continue it. Go away.”

Blind did not go anywhere. His face clouded with apprehension, as if he knew he had to undertake a daunting task with no hope of being able to accomplish it.

There, Ralph thought with relief. He’s going to ask for something, and I’ll learn what can make Blind turn himself inside out.

“What do you want to ask me for?” he said.

“Noble. For you to find out something about him. It’s been a month since they’ve taken him, and we haven’t heard anything. Where he is, or how he is.”

Ralph did not answer, trying to hide the astonishment. The nicks on the walls, painted over; the things, distributed; the funeral laments, performed—all this he had seen and heard and known about. Those who left the House were a part of this knowledge, one of the facets he was absolutely sure of. And yet what Blind had just asked for, even the mere mention of someone who was supposed to have ceased existing, to never have existed the moment he was taken from the House, blew that sureness completely out of the water.

Blind waited patiently. Ralph’s cigarette suddenly burned his fingers.

“You’re dismissed,” he repeated. “Go.”

“What about Noble?”

“I said you may go.”

Blind’s face froze. He opened the door and disappeared. Ralph did not hear anything; Blind moved soundlessly.

Ralph remained standing, looking up at the glass panel on top of the door. The letter R, inverted back to front, oozed into the room, a warning and a caution, reminding him that he was but a part of the House.

Maybe that’s the real reason for my return. To find out what happened to one of them now that he’s gone where they can’t reach him. And to bring them the answer . . . They’ve been waiting for me.

TABAQUI

DAY THE FIRST

“His form is ungainly—his intellect small—”

(So the Bellman would often remark)

“But his courage is perfect! And that, after all,

Is the thing that one needs with a Snark.”

—Lewis Carroll, The Hunting of the Snark