“But as I told you time and time again . . .”
“The only good cripple is a dead cripple!” an entire chorus sings in unison.
Of course. Mastodon’s maxims are classic. Quoting them from memory is something even Elephant can do.
“You bloody bastards!” Mastodon roars, slamming both of his fists against the top of the lectern. “Waste of genetic material! Human debris!”
A cloud of dust floats up in the air. The audience howls and applauds furiously.
“I wish I had a hand grenade, screw the gun . . .”
He is being dragged off the podium. The entire counselors’ row pitches in. Shark, out of range in the back, flaps his fins miserably.
Black turns to me and asks, “What’s going to happen to Smoker now?”
“Same as the others, I guess. His parents will come and take him.”
He nods, thoughtfully rubbing the chin.
“I’ve got two of those in my pack, too. And still I worry more about him than about them. Strange, huh. I guess that’s what’s best for them, but I still feel like a traitor. Wonder why that is.”
“Because it’s true. We have betrayed them.”
Black glowers at me. The tiny skulls on the scarf wrapped around his head do their black-and-white dance.
“How so?”
“By failing to change them.”
Black takes a pack of cigarettes from his backpack, shakes out one, and stashes it in the front pocket of his shirt.
“Too bad. He’s a nice guy. You just got to him with your tricks, no wonder he’s flipped. I know how that works.”
“Yes, you would, wouldn’t you,” I say politely.
Humpback steps on my foot while continuing to study the ceiling nonchalantly. But strange as it seems, Black doesn’t take offense. Leadership certainly has effected some positive changes in his demeanor as well.
“You’re a meanie, Sphinx,” he says.
And that’s it. I wait for the follow-up, but it never comes.
Shark announces that “one of our students expressed a desire to address us” and a proud Pheasant is being wheeled out to the podium, indistinguishable in his black-and-white fatigues from any other representative of the species.
“Every pack,” Black says, “has its own black sheep. Even Pheasants. We only notice them if one gets kicked out and lands on our territory, the way they did it with Smoker. Hounds are no different. Snapping at each other until they concentrate their attention on one person. Then for him it’s curtains.”
I open my mouth, catch Humpback’s eloquent look, and shut it back up. Black, however, manages to read a lot in my expression.
“You were going to say something about me again? Go ahead, say it. Except it’s not exactly the same. I wanted to be a black sheep. I was goading you. Maybe I did become it, though not to the extent I wished.”
“Whose degree of blackness concerns you at this moment, yours or someone else’s?” I say. “What is it exactly we’re discussing here?”
“Everything concerns me.” Black takes out the stashed cigarette and starts rolling it between his fingers. “The Sixth has its own rules. It’s in the Sixth that I understood how the nonconformist, the ‘other,’ is bullied. Whatever was going on in the Fourth is child’s play compared to that. Once you see what real hazing looks like you recognize it anywhere. It’s not a pretty sight.”
“I’m so happy,” I say, “that you finally saw something like that. As for me, I lived through it when I was ten. As I remember, with your help. And enthusiastic participation.”
“Hey!” Humpback throws up his hands. “Sphinx, don’t . . .”
“No, wait.” I’m angry now, and it’s hard to stop. “He says he’s never seen anything like it until he ended up in the Sixth. So I’d like to know what exactly was it he saw when his gang was chasing me all over the House like a plague-ridden rat!”
Black torments the still-unlit cigarette without looking at me. I am slowly cooling off and beginning to regret my outburst. This is probably the first time ever that we’ve had a normal conversation. Or at least tried to.
Black tosses the gutted cigarette.
