Grasshopper came out into the yard every night. When Witch showed up, he went in search of Blind, a letter deep in his pocket. Sometimes it was Blind who passed a letter to him—then Grasshopper went down to the ground floor and waited by the laundry-room doors. He got so used to it that he kept forgetting about the danger, only remembering when he saw Witch burn the letters in front of him.
Blind took to disappearing at night. Humpback tried every possible way of constructing the tent, but it still crashed. Then came the rains. Elk said of them that they smelled of spring. The yard became a muddy mess. Humpback’s dogs stopped coming. They were thinking about having offspring and were therefore too busy. Siamese Max got knighted.
TABAQUI
DAY THE SECOND
In one moment I’ve seen what has hitherto been
Enveloped in absolute mystery
—Lewis Carroll, The Hunting of the Snark
Just your regular day. The wind rattling the glass, everyone yawning silently. The wind is relentless, so Alexander opens the windows and lets it in. Then it tortures the frames until they moan and chases the curtains so that they become frighteningly like things that are alive and struggling to break free and fly away somewhere. Pity they can’t. Would have been a sight to watch.
Third period is highlighted by a visit from Ralph. He comes with his own chair. Puts it in the corner and sits on it like he’s stuck until the bell rings.
He hasn’t changed at all. A stint in the Outsides can sometimes really do a number on a person, but there’s no trace of it on him. It’s like he went away only yesterday, and today he’s already back. The familiar jacket over the familiar sweater. The gloved left hand, the one missing the two fingers, and those eyes. The eyes of an inquisitor. Makes you shiver. When the lesson ends he stands up and stares at us. He’s leaped over. It’s so obvious. I marvel at his lack of discretion. Really, someone should tutor him, though I’m having a hard time imagining who that might be. Yes, he’s not exactly young, but he’s not stupid either, and quite capable of understanding things. In the Outsides it’s considered impolite to visit someone else’s house naked. In the House it’s impolite to enter by leaping over. This is like climbing into a window and sitting at the dinner table without so much as greeting the hosts. Or going through someone’s bedroom and pulling out the dresser drawers. Or . . . I don’t know what else to compare it to. And Ralph, when it comes down to it, is not really to blame. Just a wild creature. Untamed.
Now he’s asking Smoker how he’s doing in the new environment. Smoker says he’s fine. No complaints. Has everything, requires nothing. He also contrives to look as if this is not so. Ralph nods and departs. Noble isn’t mentioned at all.
After lunch I’m the last one to get back, because I lingered, shooting the breeze with Shuffle. Upon arrival I’m met by the packmates milling at the door. Not entering it, though.
“Something the matter?” I ask.
“The door,” Lary says, poking it with his fingernail, the one that’s longer and even uglier than the rest.
“So?” I say. “It certainly is, everyone knows that.”
“Locked,” he says.
There goes the nail again, pointing out to me that it’s the door that’s locked, in case I, heaven forbid, would think that it’s actually the wall.
“Who the heck would need to lock himself in?” I ask.
“That’s what we’ve been thinking. Who the heck,” Lary says and looks back at Sphinx.
Sphinx is all pensive. Spring cleaning of the soul, no doubt.
“I would expect some knocking going on right about now. Maybe even a bit of shouting. And then whoever answers would be the one who’s locked in there,” I suggest.
“True. But what for?” Humpback says. “Why would they want to do it?”
We exchange glances. Me, Sphinx, Humpback, Lary, Smoker, and Alexander, with Tubbs in tow.
“It’s probably Blind?” Humpback offers tentatively. “He wasn’t there at lunch.”
“He must be thinking about something important,” Lary says, brightening. “And here we are knocking. Might be very awkward.”
Sphinx and I exchange glances again. Failing to remember any previous occasion when Blind would lock himself in the dorm to think. I drive around the circle once and return.
“Or maybe Black. Killing himself. What? Quite possible, after what happened yesterday. You know . . . Us saying nasty things about his precious dog . . . and stuff. He’s a proud man. Couldn’t live it down,” I say.
“Shame on you,” Humpback says. “We’re on edge as it is.”
I do two more rounds. Alexander squats down by the wall, apparently tired of standing. Humpback is scratching at the number 4 on the door. Rubs off the lower half.
“Damn!” Sphinx blurts out. “Are we going to stand here all day like statues in front of our own door? I feel stupid.”
“They’re all watching,” Lary says bashfully. “Maybe we can move?”
I look around and see that indeed they are. Watching and even crowding in places. A nasty predicament. I get a rolling start, planning to smash into the door and jostle whoever is on the other side, but Vulture chooses this particular moment to approach, so I have to make it look like I’ve decided to practice driving.
“Issues?” Vulture inquires. “Anything wrong with the door?”
He is leaning foppishly on a cane and swinging a key chain on his pinkie. Naturally, there is more than just keys on it.
Sphinx hesitates.
“I’m not sure we should.”
“Should, definitely should,” I say. “Who knows what could happen. We need to investigate. Still, my money is on Black hanging there. He hasn’t quite been himself these last few days. Brooding.”
“Heavens!”
That was Vulture.
Humpback shakes a fist at me.
The picks jangle, the long wire snakes inside the lock, the hallway audience moves closer, tongues hanging to the side from curiosity, and in the distance I spy Red, cruising in our direction at top speed with a vicious grimace on his face, but we burst inside—with me being pushed in front of everyone else—and manage to slam the door before the noses of those trying to stick them in our business. Vulture gets a pass, since he helped and is therefore entitled to the information.
I quickly cross the anteroom.
“What’s that?” Sphinx asks behind my back.
Someone seems to have had the gall to squeeze in. Shameless is what it is. The intruder is Red. He spits a couple of words into Sphinx’s ear. Sphinx nods and hisses at us.
“Hold on!”
I have no intention of holding on to anything, Red or no Red. I push the door and enter the dorm. It’s empty like a family vault. No one’s hanging, no one’s on the floor with his veins split open, no corpses at all, in fact.
“Look at that,” I say. “No one’s here.”
Lary breathes spasmodically in my ear.
Humpback asks, “So who’s locked it, then?”
And here we see legs dangling off Lary’s bunk. Two of them. Lary gasps and grabs hold of my hair. Legs dangle. Long ones, clad in black stockings. One has a white pump on, the other just the stocking, with a hole in it so that the pink toes are sticking out. There’s something very familiar about those legs. They descend, lower and lower, and then Long Gaby appears at the other end of them, crashes to the floor, and winks at us quite insolently. The shadow around her eyes is all smudged and runny.
Lary lets go of my hair and claws at his heart. Humpback screws his eyes shut and shakes his head. I don’t get it. What’s the big deal? So she’s a bit on the scary side, but not excessively so. And live Gaby is certainly better than dead Black. Just my opinion.
Gaby is a local celebrity. She’s celebrated for her height and lack of brains, but mostly for her surplus of sex drive. Different approaches to deal with it were proposed and tried, to absolutely no avail. The management then decided to refer to it obliquely as “noncompliant be
havior.” That “noncompliance” was fought doggedly until everyone got tired both of it and of Gaby herself, and Long was allowed to live as she wished, to her and everyone else’s joy and benefit.
“Hey,” she imparts in the husky voice of a habitual drunkard, and leans over to her stilts, cinching and tucking something down there. The short sweater reveals a pink bodysuit underneath, and her hair is decorated with candied lemon peel, Lary’s delight. Lary moans softly.
“What have you been doing here?” Humpback inquires.
Gaby just grins with the purple-lipsticked maw, not taking the attention off the stockings. The answer to Humpback’s question comes from Lary’s bunk, in the form of Blind appearing over the edge. He’s noticeably purple in places. The places she pressed against. He leans down limply and lets fall the second white shoe. It lands with a thud.
“Merci,” Gaby rasps, fitting it over her oversized appendage.
She struts to the door, majestic and content, heels clicking, and is intercepted there by Red. He looks exceedingly pimpish, his newfound occupation written all over him. They ride off into the sunset, she towering over him by a full head, he throwing back furtive glances. The door slams shut, and then it’s very quiet, apart from my exuberance. I have to drive around for a while to calm down. Vulture is still standing there, with a look like he was just force-fed a whole lemon.
“My bed. My bed,” Lary mutters. “They defiled it.”
“What?” Sphinx says and sits where he stood. To think this over, I guess.
Blind slips down. I wheel over and study him thoroughly. Because I need to know.
“So?” I say. “How was she? To the touch, I mean. Not too bony?”
“I’ll be going now,” Vulture says mournfully. “It appears you have no further need of my services at this time.”
No one stops him, and he departs.
“Thanks for your help!” Sphinx shouts at his retreating back. “Sorry!”
“How was it?” I ask Blind again. “Do you feel a new man now?”
“Leave me alone,” he says. “Right now I don’t feel anything.”
“My bed!”
Lary still can’t quite handle this. Runs around. Then climbs up to his bunk, and from there comes a mournful wail.
“Thank you. That you didn’t choose mine,” Humpback says. “Really big thanks, Blind.”
“Not at all,” Blind says and sits down next to Sphinx. “Sorry about the door. I didn’t have time to go find another place.”
“No harm done,” Sphinx says, casting his gaze upward, where Lary continues the lamentations. “What exactly did you do to his bed? He sounds frantic.”
“Nothing much.” Blind suddenly perks up. “You know what, it really is fun. Would you like a go? I can call her back. We’ll throw everyone else out. Except Lary, he can stay . . .”
Lary tumbles down and stares at Blind, horrified.
“No, thanks,” Sphinx says. “Not with her, no. I’d have nightmares. Until the day I die.”
“Is she that ugly?” Blind asks dejectedly.
“She is a creature from the pit of hell!” Lary shrieks, arms upraised. Then he turns back to Blind. “Linens exchange, right now. Or I never sleep up there again.”
“As you wish,” the Leader agrees readily.
Lary studies him with suspicion. Blind’s linens deserve a separate song that I never seem to get around to composing. Lary is a pig, no argument, and often goes unwashed, but at least he doesn’t stumble around the House barefoot. Or cough up hairballs on the pillow.
“I’ll think about it,” Lary proclaims.
“Enough,” Sphinx says, getting up from the floor. “Your linens forgot what color they were supposed to be. Long ago.”
“And now you could sniff at them,” I pipe in. “Turn your sleepless nights into erotic revelations.”
Lary spits in my direction, clutches at his head, and sits down on the floor.
“Tomorrow there will be a new Law,” Blind says matter-of-factly. “So I’m trying to figure out how we’re going to announce it. Wall? Or Logs?”
Stunned silence. For quite a while. Finally Humpback clears his throat.
“Ri-ight,” he says. “Red, he’s not stupid. He knows which side his bread is buttered on.”
“Of course he’s not stupid,” I say. “Never was. He’s a Leader, whatever else he is.”
More silence.
I climb on the bed and sit there, digesting the news. Too much news for one day. Long Gaby, new Law . . . New Law means girls. Here, there, and everywhere—them visiting us, us visiting them. The way it had been before, the way it hasn’t been for a long time. It’s an unusual thought, and I can’t quite construct the image no matter how hard I try. I’m out of habit. Or, rather, it’s gone completely, but come tomorrow it’ll have to be revived, the habit as well as the communication skills, because tomorrow they are going to be here: the girls. That means skirts, perfume, braids, hair spray, ponytails, and long eyelashes with ends curled slightly, and smoky eyes, and tender names for the wheelchairs, and narrow fingernails, like Noble used to have, and they are born of our ribs but their voices are much, much softer . . . Do they like tea? And if they do, what with? And where do we get the “with,” and who’s going to invite them over, not me, that’s for sure, but someone would have to . . .
“Breathe!” Sphinx yells at me. “Breathe, silly! You’re turning blue!”
I catch myself in time and resume breathing. A marked improvement.
“Thanks,” I say. “I seem to have paid too much attention to certain thoughts, and they sort of filled me up and spilled out.”
“Sing them, then,” he says. “You’re constitutionally not cut out for silence.”
True, that. I think better when I talk. And singing works better still. Part of my alien internal design.
Black comes back. Drops the dumbbells in the corner, stares at Blind’s purple spots in wonderment, and goes off to the showers. There’s no one to tell him about Gaby and the new Law, because Lary trotted off to inform Logs and I am not yet ready. I have to sort out everything. After that—oh, how they’re all going to wish I’d shut up, but until then I’m as silent as a grave.
Blind is still slumped on the floor, chin between his knees. Humpback trains Nanette to attack intruders. Alexander strips the linens off Lary’s bed and shakes out the blanket and duvet. Nothing much going on, in short. I decide to go down to the yard, where my thoughts will have more space to roam. I might even get sad there for a bit, regarding various sad circumstances. I haven’t been getting sad properly for a long time about anything, apart from Noble, that is, and haven’t gone to the yard alone either. I grab my coat and ride. Alexander stops torturing the duvet and goes to see me off.
I’m alone in the yard. I like being out alone, everyone knows that. There’s no rain, but the weather is cold and kind of raw. The big puddle, where the water is clear in the middle and murky at the edges, is reflecting my head. It’s black and unkempt. I resemble a porcupine. I stare at it. Then it gets boring. I throw a small stone into the puddle. Then another one.
The clouds are running out of room in the sky and start jostling one another. I pick up another stone. This one is an unusual color. Seems to be white. At least, that’s how it looks in the dark, but there’s no way to tell for sure. I pocket it, to have a closer look later. Rustle of rain; the first drops slide down my nose. I throw back my head, opening my mouth. Heavenly tears cover my face but my mouth doesn’t feel anything. The rain’s still too thin.
Alexander’s outline in the window. He looks down and waves. Wants to know if I need to go up yet. I wave back and sway from side to side.
That’s my answer. The rain doesn’t bother me. I’d even like it to become stronger.
Alexander disappears. He’ll come and pick me up before dinner, plenty of time for me to change clothes then. For now I’m content.
I think back to that one time I was sitting here. It was raining then as well, a
nd harder too. The steps were shiny black, and water was running down the wheelchair ramp in rivulets. I was thinking about something. Or maybe dozing off. Can’t tell for certain. Rain, sun, wind; they all impart strength. So I sat and waited for it to soak into me to the last drop, to the point of translucency. Once sated, I decided to go back. I didn’t go up right away, but took a ride along the first floor instead.
And right there, in the hallway, there they were. Standing side by side. This fat fire-breathing woman, a regular human volcano. Red coat, black hat. Crocodile leather bag. Lips like an open wound. Cheeks like slices of bologna. Teardrop earrings. There was a puddle at her feet, from all the water that had dripped down, she was shuffling in it and stewing silently. And the man next to her. Pale and pasty like a mealworm. A snout for a nose, lips pursed. Tortoiseshell glasses. Pity the tortoise! Pity the crocodile! I wouldn’t want to be in their place.
Also they had a snit of a girl, about fourteen. Gangly, blondish, red albino eyes. Also in a red coat. And a boy of about ten. Spitting image of his father. Clearly the pet of the family. Piggy eyes, snout nose, lips coming to a point—all there. Coat—red-and-gray check. Obviously. The entire brood was flashing way too much red.
And a little apart from them, leaning against the wall, stood Scarlet Dragon. The only really red one in the whole gang. Red is a tricky color. Deceitful. You can wear it and put it on your face all you want, and only become even grayer. It is the color of conjurers, clowns, and killers. I like it, but not always and not everywhere.
I am Tabaqui, dispenser of nicks at first sight. Godfather for scores upon scores. In every incarnation the master of tales, the royal fool, and the keeper of Time. And I can always tell a dragon from a person. Dragons are not evil. Just different. If I saw him alone first, not surrounded by his family, I might not have spotted him right away. But this was easy.
He was thin and covered in freckles. Old battered jacket, patched-up homemade sweater, jeans fraying at the knees. His eyes contained a whole different world in them. An entire abandoned planet. Long, slender fingers gnawed raw.
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