The Gray House полностью

“What’s scary about it? There isn’t anyone here,” he said. “I have the letter in my pocket. And I gave that other one to Blind. Just as we agreed.”

Her hand slipped into his pocket and took out the envelope. Grasshopper expected her to hide it, but instead she ripped it open and began to read. Grasshopper kept his eyes down. The letter apparently turned out to be very long.

“Thank you,” Witch said as she finished reading. “I hope you weren’t too cold back in the yard. It was darn freezing out there.”

“I wasn’t.”

He watched as she produced a small lighter and put the flame to the corner of the envelope. The fire sprang up in her hands. She turned it this way and that with the fingers, dropped the last remaining scrap, and stomped on it.

“So that’s that,” she said, rubbing the ashes with her heel.

That was when Grasshopper got really scared. He knew that the letter was a dangerous thing to be carrying, but only now that Witch had burned it did he realize that he’d been walking around with that danger in his pocket and had even managed to forget about it sometimes.

“It’s all right,” Witch said, guessing at his horror. “Don’t think about it. We’ll try writing each other less frequently. But you and Blind shouldn’t be talking about it. Even when you’re alone.”

“Blind wouldn’t be talking about it even if we were alone in the middle of a desert,” Grasshopper said. “Blind never talks about things that don’t concern him. Or those that do, actually.”

“That’s good. Come out into the yard from time to time. After dinner. Alone. If you see me there, don’t try to talk to me, just walk by so I can put the letter in your pocket. Deal?”

Grasshopper nodded.

“Is it hard . . . being Skull’s girl?” he asked, blushing at his own indiscretion.

“I don’t know,” Witch said. “Compared to what? Probably not any harder than being Moor’s girl, I guess.”

Grasshopper chewed on his shirt collar a bit.

“You said you knew what I’ll be like when I grow up. Could you tell me? It’s kind of important.”

“It’s hard to explain,” Witch sighed. “It’s more like a feeling than a picture. But I can promise you that girls are going to like you.”

“They’re going to drop down at my feet,” Grasshopper said wretchedly. “Defeated and helpless. I’d only have to pick them up without stepping on my ears. My zits and patchy sideburns will drive them crazy.”

Witch gave him a puzzled look.

“I’ve no idea who it is you just described. It definitely has nothing to do with you. Go back. I’ll hang out here for a while.”

“Good night,” Grasshopper said.

She thinks I’m stupid now, he thought dejectedly. All because of Stinker.

Grasshopper was fighting the typewriter. He only had the first few lines of the letter: Hi, Wolf. How are you? We are good. Waiting for you. One day is already over, and the second is half-over. So tomorrow we are waiting for your note with . . . The word instructions was giving him trouble. Grasshopper had already found and discarded two different ways of spelling it. Humpback hovered over his shoulder, sighing loudly but not daring to offer help.

“I think it has two i’s,” he blurted finally.

“You mean iinstructions?” Grasshopper said acidly.

Humpback went red.

“No. I didn’t mean that. Not both of them in the beginning.”

“Keep it to yourself, then.”

“Send my regards,” Stinker squeaked from the bed.

“I haven’t gotten to the regards yet. And stop interrupting! Or I’ll never finish.”

Grasshopper conquered “instructions” and paused to think about what was next, absentmindedly gnawing at the finger of his prosthetic hand.

“You’re going to break it,” Humpback warned in a whisper.

Grasshopper put away the finger.

There was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” Stinker yelled in a high-pitched voice.

The door squeaked and admitted bashful Siamese, the pride and horror of Stuffage. Both of them at once, pressed against each other.

Grasshopper directed a panicky look behind their backs, waiting for Sportsman to come barging in on their heels, and the rest of Stuffage with him. But the twins were alone. They took a few more steps and froze, still inseparable, glued together. Same clothes, same face—indistinguishable like two coins.

“What do you want?” Grasshopper asked.

Blind stopped caressing the book with the indented pages and raised his head.

“We need to talk,” Siamese said.

“Very suspicious,” Stinker noted. “I don’t think I like the sound of that at all.”

Siamese apprehensively shuffled their feet. Tall, lanky, thin lipped, and . . . kind of hinged, Grasshopper thought unkindly. Aquiline noses peeking from behind flaxen bangs, round gold-colored eyes, cold and unblinking, almost a seagull’s stare.

“Did Sportsman send you, or are you by yourselves?” Blind asked.