The Gray House полностью

Siamese whistled. Humpback applauded. Splint the counselor appeared behind the crestfallen principal’s back, pushing a cart. Black Ralph, hands in pockets, marched alongside him, while Elk was bringing up the rear carrying a box full of letters. The cart was piled with packages. A mound of boxes in bright wrappers.

“What’s that?” the seniors inquired.

“Packages for the owner,” Stinker said and nodded to Humpback and Magician. “Prepare to accept the goods.”

The cart was transferred from Splint to Humpback. Magician, in one practiced theatrical sweep, covered it with the Hands Off sheet, hiding the contents from the prying eyes. Sissies trooped in the direction of the Poxy room, pushing the cart in front of them. The Stuffage boys made way, flabbergasted. As the procession filed past the rows of seniors, they looked at Stinker approvingly and sneaked peeks under the cover.

“That’s one wicked squirt,” Lame said with a tinge of respect in his voice. “He’s going to crawl far.”

Stinker nodded left and right, graciously bestowing his toothy smile on the assembled admirers.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, stopping the escort. “Just one moment.”

He wheeled over to the cart, rummaged under the sheet, extracted the smallest package, in bubble wrap with stars plastered all over it, and tossed it to Whiner.

“There. This is yours, guys. Thanks for the support.”

The seniors applauded. Whiner ogled the package in disbelief.

“Drop that thing right now,” Sportsman hissed, shouldering his way through. “Wheelers’ handouts! Drop it, I said!”

“No, I won’t,” Whiner said, clutching the package tightly. “Why should I? Get your own things and drop them if you want.”

Sportsman slapped Whiner across the face. Wheelers rumbled indignantly.

As he was catching up with Sissies and the cart, Grasshopper looked over his shoulder. The principal was still standing at the entrance to the staff room. The counselors on both sides of him patted him on the shoulders soothingly. Principal’s vacant stare was fixed directly in front of him.

Could he really have gone crazy? Grasshopper thought. I mean, it’s possible . . .

“I want that cart back!” Splint the counselor shouted after them, his glasses glinting. “Miscreants!”

A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT CORRIDOR

Every time she returned to their place, she wondered at the difference between the two corridors and never could understand what the secret was. It wasn’t that theirs was narrower and shorter. It wasn’t the windows (that one didn’t have them), and not the area rugs either . . . But tonight she finally got it: their corridor wasn’t a corridor.

The old principal . . . The former principal (that white beard; she couldn’t recall the face anymore) favored girls, and it was reflected in the disparity between the corridors. The white beard had been long gone, but the favorable treatment persisted. Only four per dorm; yes, they were tiny, more cells than rooms, but still only four, and you could always close the door. And those area rugs, balding and fraying, and the cords on the curtains, and the television sets. White beard put them up in every dorm, but he’d been long gone, and the televisions broke down gradually until there were only two left. One of those two was glowing now by the wall, and in front of it, on mattresses and blankets dragged out of the dorms, an enraptured (whatever could they be expecting to learn?) selection of females from various rooms positioned themselves. Stumbling in the dark between their arms and legs, stepping on the pillows and mounds of apple peels, she finally figured out the difference. Their corridor was not a place separate from the dorms, it was their continuation, one common dorm, a place where after dark anyone could crash down and sleep.

The ghostly glow flitted across the faces. She extricated herself from the tangle of prone bodies, opened the door (in daylight you could distinguish a smeared silhouette of a cat on it), and entered the room. Greenish dusk, four mattresses on the floor, and the glinting eyes of the one dubbed Catwoman. She switched on the light and tossed the backpack on the floor.

“I’m back. Sure is quiet here.”

“Everyone’s out,” a soft voice answered. “Didn’t you see them there?”

A slight stress on there, just enough for a sensitive ear.

“No, they’ve all filtered back to the rooms,” she said reluctantly. “Haven’t seen anyone. Why are the lights out? Your eyes hurt?”

“Mine don’t.”