Louse by David Grand Page A

Godmeyer.”
    When they reach the end of the wing, they turn into Poppy’s chambers and close the door behind them. As the door slams shut, Mr. Lutherford and Mr. Heinrik peek their heads out of the kitchen and step into the hall. The two men remove the masks they are required to wear in “Sterilization,” and look down the wing.Mr. Lutherford waves at me to come toward them. Beside the spindly Mr. Heinrik, Mr. Lutherford looks like a mountain. “Have you heard anything in the wings, Mr. Louse?” Mr. Lutherford inquires.
    â€œAnything at all?” Mr. Heinrik follows.
    I shake my head at them. “No, no, nothing, nothing at all,” I sputter.
    â€œThere is no reason to withhold information, Mr. Louse,” Mr. Lutherford follows. “You may discuss these matters freely. We are at liberty, if you recall, to discuss such matters freely.”
    â€œI know my rights very well in this regard, Mr. Lutherford. Thank you for your advice and concern.”
    The two men turn to one another as if to confirm what they believed about me. At this point my neighbor, Mr. Crane, the maintenance engineer, and Ms. Morris, a member of the cleaning crew, a diminutive woman with a squeaky voice who is a little hard of hearing, greet Mr. Lutherford and Mr. Heinrik in the hall. They stand huddled around, speaking confidentially. All with the exception of Ms. Morris.
    â€œNo, he never does,” Ms. Morris squeaks. She looks up from the group and smiles at me as though I can’t hear what she’s saying, as though she thinks I can’t tell she is talking about me. “But I’ve just come from Communications. They found out, a moment after, from Pan Opticon.” Ms. Morris pauses and looks at me again. “They are saying,” she continues, then breaks into inaudible whispers. When she is through with what she has to say, she looks at me again. So does everyone else. No smiles this time. Everyone just looks intent on saying something more. “Yes. Well, you know, you can always trust most of what you hear,” Ms. Morris says plainly.
    â€œThey’ve come out with more names,” Mr. Crane says, diverting their attention.
    â€œOh yes?” Mr. Heinrik inquires.
    â€œFordham, Reynolds, and Olivier,” Crane informs.
    â€œIs that right?” Ms. Morris squeaks.
    â€œI believe I’ve met Reynolds,” Mr. Lutherford boasts.
    â€œOlivier…Olivier. I know that one,” Heinrik remarks.
    â€œFordham somehow doesn’t surprise me,” Crane asserts.
    â€œNor me,” Ms. Morris seconds.
    â€œWe all know him,” Lutherford proclaims.
    â€œHe’s been through here, hasn’t he?” Ms. Morris queries.
    â€œOn more than one occasion,” says Crane.
    â€œWhat does that make it now?” asks Heinrik.
    â€œFordham, Reynolds…,” Crane lists.
    â€œOlivier, Lumpit…,” Morris lists.
    â€œNester, Kovax…,” Lutherford adds.
    â€œBlank, mustn’t forget Blank! And Berger and Blurd,” Heinrik finishes.
    â€œOh Blurd. Blurd, Blurd, Blurd,” Crane says contemplatively.
    â€œNo. Blurd doesn’t surprise me at all,” says Lutherford.
    â€œImagine. With a name like that…,” Ms. Morris says.
    â€œYes. I’ve passed that one in the hall,” says Crane.
    â€œHe likes to hum, that one, doesn’t he?” says Heinrik.
    â€œBlurd?” Lutherford blurts.
    â€œOh yes. Blurd is a hummer,” confirms Heinrik.
    â€œI’ve heard Blurd hum,” Ms. Morris says sheepishly.
    â€œIt’s no wonder a man of such free spirit is under suspicion,” denounces Lutherford.
    â€œHave you ever found yourself humming?” Crane intones.
    â€œNo. I can’t say that I have,” Ms. Morris confesses.
    â€œAs far as I know I’ve never been much of a hummer,” Heinrik jests.
    â€œOh, but that Blurd surely is,” Lutherford confirms.
    â€œThey