House Of Stairs Part 4

Chapter 9.

"I hope they hurry up and bring back some food," Blossom said, twisting her hands as she watched Oliver and Abigail disappear into the whiteness above. "It must be way past lunchtime by now."

"I wonder if food is really what they're after?" Lola mused.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Haven't you ever wondered what it might be like to be alone with a boy?"

"What?" Blossom was shocked. "You mean.... But that's immoral and dangerous! Didn't they ever tell you that? Why-"

Peter closed his eyes. He wasn't interested in their conversation, which, being naive, he didn't understand anyway. He wanted to think about Oliver. Basically, it was like having Jasper back again.

But no sooner had that thought entered his mind than another came and quickly contradicted it. It really wasn't like having Jasper back again, it was very, very different. His delight began to fade. It disturbed him, for instance, to see Oliver go off with Abigail. He would even have braved the steps and bridges to be with Oliver, but clearly Oliver hadn't wanted him to come, and the rejection was quite painful.

It had never been like that with Jasper ... Jasper ... The old home. The room they had shared. The pictures came easily to his mind now, and they had undergone a change. The walls of the room swayed with rainbow colors, and the furniture seemed to be alive, each object with its own benevolent personality, murmuring comforting words to him, enclosing and protecting him. He let himself drift into it, cradled in the warm, underwater, rainbow-hued dimness that undulated around him.

But suddenly there was something in the way. Something harsh and irritating. He tried to push it away, but it would not go. Something was flas.h.i.+ng on and off, and there were strange sounds, and a girl screaming. Reluctantly he opened his eyes.

It was the food machine. Its screen, which usually glowed dully, was now flas.h.i.+ng on and off with an intense, bright red light, so bright that it dazzled his eyes. And all around them were invisible, whispering voices, saying something indistinct that he could not understand.

Blossom was hysterical, jumping up and down and pointing to the machine. "What's it doing? What's it doing?" she shrieked, stopping to stick out her tongue frantically. "Maybe it's going to work now, maybe it will work, how can we make it work?"

Lola, who had leaped to her feet, was oddly enough staring at Peter. "Peter," she murmured, in a strangely hushed voice, "Peter, what's the matter with you? You've been sitting there staring at that blinking light for more than a minute and you didn't even notice it."

"What?" he mumbled. "Staring? But ... but I was asleep, dreaming. My eyes were closed."

She was standing motionless, watching him. "They were open," she said, her voice still hushed. "They were wide open, Peter, your eyes were open the whole time."

"Who cares about his eyes?" Blossom shrieked. "What are those voices saying? Maybe they're telling us what to do. Maybe they're telling us how to work the machine! We've got to do something!"

"How ... how long ago did the others leave?" Peter asked, ignoring Blossom. A p.r.i.c.kling of fear was crawling up the back of his neck. It seemed to him that they had left about fifteen minutes ago, and that the light had been flas.h.i.+ng for only a few seconds.

"They left a couple of hours ago," Lola answered, still staring at him.

"Why are you just standing there?" cried Blossom. "Do something, this might be our only chance!" something, this might be our only chance!"

What were were the voices saying? Peter wondered as he got to his feet, trying not to think about what Lola had just told him. They seemed to be saying the same thing over and over again, but the different voices were not speaking in unison, and the individual words were blurred and indistinct. It was like a hundred people with cotton in their mouths, whispering the same thing at different times. the voices saying? Peter wondered as he got to his feet, trying not to think about what Lola had just told him. They seemed to be saying the same thing over and over again, but the different voices were not speaking in unison, and the individual words were blurred and indistinct. It was like a hundred people with cotton in their mouths, whispering the same thing at different times.

"I know!" Blossom cried. "They're saying, 'Food will be coming soon. Food will be coming soon.' Listen, can't you hear it?" Her eyes were darting wildly, and she clasped her hands together. "Oh, I hope they're right, I hope they're telling the truth! It's been so long since we've had any food."

"Shhh!" said Lola, waving her hand at Blossom. "I'm just getting it.... And you're wrong," she went on suddenly. "That's not what they're saying at all. They're saying 'Nude in the house of the doomed.' It's obvious."

"But why would they say that that?" Blossom cried shrilly. "It's meaningless." She spun around to Peter. "You can hear it too. They're saying, 'Food will be coming soon.' Aren't they? Aren't they?"

Peter shook his head. "I ... It, it sounds like ... 'Be careful in Oliver's room.'"

"What?" cried Blossom. "But you're both wrong. They're saying-"

"They're saying 'Nude in the house of the doomed,'" Lola insisted. "Because that's what we are. We're helpless in this crazy place. Or at least they want us to think think we're helpless. You just think it's food because that's all you ever think about." we're helpless. You just think it's food because that's all you ever think about."

"Stop saying saying things like that!" Blossom shouted, stamping her foot. "Stop being mean to me! Just remember, you said a couple of things this morning that I could always tell a few certain-" things like that!" Blossom shouted, stamping her foot. "Stop being mean to me! Just remember, you said a couple of things this morning that I could always tell a few certain-"

"What?" Lola stepped toward her. "What the h.e.l.l are you talking about, you-"

She was interrupted by voices from above, and hurrying footsteps, "-it isn't," Oliver was saying. "Can't you hear them? They're saying, 'She gobbled him up in the womb.'"

"No, it's 'The dish ran away with the spoon,'" said Abigail, sounding out of breath. "It really is, Oliver."

Lola turned back to Blossom, stepping menacingly toward her. Blossom took a step back. "What the h.e.l.l did you mean about-"

For a moment they were all in motion: Lola moving toward Blossom, and Blossom backing away; Oliver jumping to the landing and Abigail, shaking her head, coming down a step behind him; Peter moving forward, almost involuntarily, to greet Oliver. And in that moment there was a whir and a click from the floor, clearly audible above the whispers rustling around them.

Five hungry pairs of eyes focused instantly on the slot beside the blinking light. And out of the slot rolled a tiny ball, not a cylinder; a tiny ball hardly big enough for one small bite.

They all started toward it at once.

"Stop!" shouted Lola. And there was such urgency and command in her voice that they did stop. "Wait! Don't move. Listen." She was breathing heavily. "Stay where you are. One of us just did something that made it work. n.o.body knows what it is, right?"

They nodded silently.

"So stay right where you are and do what you were just doing. That's the only way to figure it out. And don't grab the food! Wait till we know how to make it work!"

Lola stepped toward Blossom again, Blossom backed away (not without a glance of longing at the little ball on the floor); Oliver went quickly back up to his step and jumped down, Abigail shook her head behind him; and Peter moved toward him again.

And nothing happened.

"Again!" Lola cried. "Exactly like the first time!" like the first time!"

The voices whispering around them, echoing through vast white s.p.a.ces. The red light blinking in steady rhythm, falling rhythmically back at them from above in hundreds of pieces, so that they could not help but move in time with it. Now they were all watching each other, timing their movements to each other as well as the blinking light.

And there was a whir and a click and another little ball rolling onto the landing.

"Again!" Lola cried. "Exactly like the first time!" like the first time!"

It was at this moment that it became a dance. Lola and Blossom facing each other, moving away from the light, then back at each whir and click, and away again to bring on another; Oliver jumping down to the landing, and Abigail shaking her head behind him; and Peter each time moving toward Oliver, then away again, watching the red light flas.h.i.+ng on Oliver's cheekbones, Abigail a vague, moving shadow behind him.

Blossom, of course, was the one who broke it.

"No!" she gasped, pus.h.i.+ng Lola aside with her outstretched hand at the beginning of another repet.i.tion, and she pounced at the little pile of brown b.a.l.l.s. "I'm too hungr-" and her mouth was full.

At this, the others pounced too, even Peter. For a moment it was a wild free-for-all, pus.h.i.+ng and grabbing, all of them out of breath. Somehow no one got pushed off the landing, and everyone got at least a few bites, but only enough to have a very mild effect on their hunger, although Blossom got more than the others. The meat was just as delicious as it had been before.

When there was no more left, Lola backed away from the others, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "You sure botched that one," she said, still panting slightly.

"Who, me?" said Blossom, looking up at her from where she was kneeling on the floor, sc.r.a.ping up a bit of food that had been flattened under someone's shoe.

"Yes, you!" The whispering and the flas.h.i.+ng light were still going on, but as Lola took out her next to last cigarette, they both stopped, quite suddenly. The stillness was startling.

"Well, you don't have to look at me like that," Blossom retorted, filling the silence with her whine. "We did figure it out. We can always do it again."

"Can we?" Lola said, blowing out smoke. "Who says so? The other time it worked, doing the same thing didn't make it work again. Why should it be any different now?"

"But ...," said Blossom.

"We should have kept going until it stopped on its own, and saved some food for later," Lola went on. "That would have been the only sensible-"

"Oh, leave her alone," said Oliver, in a voice so uncharacteristically irritable that it sent a small shock through Peter's body. Oliver retreated to Abigail's stairway and sat down beside her. "We got enough to eat. Stop b.i.t.c.hing."

"Maybe you you got enough," Lola said, rubbing her shoulder. "I can still feel it where you pushed me away. G.o.d got enough," Lola said, rubbing her shoulder. "I can still feel it where you pushed me away. G.o.d d.a.m.n d.a.m.n, I wish I were stronger than you!"

"Please," Abigail said. "Stop fighting, please. Look, we did get some food, we should be glad about it. And maybe it will work again. We won't know until we try."

Which they did. They tried, awkwardly and with the embarra.s.sment that, due to the excitement, had been missing before. And it did not work.

"I told you so," Lola said, when they had given up. "Now we're going to have to figure out something else to do."

"Not now," Abigail said. "Please. I'm exhausted. We've been up for a long time, I want to get some sleep."

And so, with a kind of relief, Peter returned to the magic room, where everything was beautiful and strange, and where effort and pain, and stairways, did not exist.

Chapter 10.

Abigail and Peter had no trouble getting to sleep but it was quite awhile before Blossom and Oliver dropped off, and Lola was the last of all. She was also the first to wake when, about fifteen minutes after she had finally dozed off, the whispers and the flas.h.i.+ng light began again.

"Nude in the house of the doomed. Nude in the house of the doomed," whispered hundreds of invisible voices on all sides of her, as Lola sat up, rubbing her eyes and trying to decide if she really had to wake them all. Yes, she decided, she did have to. It was too important an opportunity to miss, for perhaps their dance would work now, as it had the other time the whispering and the flas.h.i.+ng light had come.

Abigail was surprisingly difficult to wake up, and Peter was nearly impossible. It was only after Oliver shook him roughly for nearly a minute, shouting in his ear, that he finally opened his eyes, murmuring, and not seeming to see any of them.

The dance did not go well at first. They were stumbling and dull-witted, and Lola was in a hurry, for there was no way of knowing how long the special conditions would last. But finally they did get into the rhythm of it, remembering, in their hunger, their precise movements from before. And it worked.

It went on for about ten minutes; and when the light and the whispering stopped, so did the food. They had earned a rather substantial pile, but even Lola made no attempt to put any aside for later. They devoured it instantly.

And so they learned the first rudiments of their dance, and that they were to be told when to perform it. It was not long before they learned as well that the machine was a capricious provider, for even with the flas.h.i.+ng light and the whispers and the dance, it did not always work. Nevertheless, it fed them often enough, and kept them hungry enough, so that every time the whispers and the light began, they would instantly begin to dance, hoping that this time there would be food.

And of course, whether it worked or not was part of a pattern, and there would be other patterns too. But as yet they were too close to the outside world to be able to understand them, or to tolerate what was inevitably going to come.

Part Two

Chapter 11.

In the days that followed, they began to talk more freely. Of course they were still very uneasy about where they were and what was happening to them, but most of them were beginning to grow a little more accustomed to being there, and could occasionally think about something else.

"So I said, 'Listen, if you think you're so tough, prove it,'" Oliver said. "So we started circling each other."

"You mean you started to fight, right in the hall and everything?" Abigail asked with awe in her voice. "But what if a hallway patrolman came along?"

"I didn't care. I was furious. I wasn't going to let anybody push me around!"

"Yeah, and how about the video screens?" Lola said. "I suppose you managed to get out of range of them, huh?"

"I wasn't thinking about it," said Oliver, annoyed. "Anyway, so we start circling each other," he went on, trying to put back into the story the tension that Lola had broken, "and then suddenly he comes at me, and starts to hit me, and I give him a kick, just like on the video shows. I kicked out and knocked him down, and he just lay there, and gave up. And then I got out of there fast, and the wardens never found out it was me. He was too embarra.s.sed to tell." He sat back confidently.

Lola shook her head. "Oh, sure. How about the video screens?" she said.

"But I can't stand it," Blossom moaned. "I can't stand stand it! Why didn't it work?" it! Why didn't it work?"

For fifteen minutes they had been dancing in rhythm to the light with no result, until at last one, then another pellet had rolled out, and the light and the voices had suddenly stopped. Blossom and Oliver had each s.n.a.t.c.hed one pellet; the others had nothing. It was unbearably frustrating, for not only were they hungry, but food was the only comforting thing there was, the one relief to everything harsh and barren and alien around them. To each of them, it had quickly become more important than anything else.

"I don't understand," Abigail said faintly. "We did it just the same the last time the light and voices came, and the time before that, and it worked both those times. It just doesn't make sense."

"And it wasn't even trying to make us change anything," said Oliver, shaking his head. "You know it always feeds us first first when it wants us to change. And we when it wants us to change. And we were were doing it exactly the same as last time, I know we were." doing it exactly the same as last time, I know we were."

"Maybe there's some kind of pattern to it," said Lola. "I mean for when it works and when it doesn't."

"Oh, there is not," said Oliver. "It's completely unpredictable. The last two times it worked, the time before that it didn't work, like this time, then before that it worked, and before that it didn't work for two times.... Who can remember anyway? There's no pattern. It's just fickle."

"Machines aren't fickle," Lola said, turning away.

"And my best friend's father was the director director of the whole International Industrial Conglomerates Lobbying Operation," said Blossom. of the whole International Industrial Conglomerates Lobbying Operation," said Blossom.

"Not that guy Edward Baker Jackson, who's always on video programs?" Oliver asked.