Page 10 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

said they came from the icy, snowy plains. When they unloaded the flour, the
children ran off. The frowning adults opened their doors and feigned lack of
interest in the food. “What’s the weather like in the north?” they asked the men
pushing the wheelbarrows. “There’ll be one more cold snap.”
Generally speaking, I didn’t live very long in any one home, lest they

consider me a member of the family. Still, as soon as I appeared, they took note
of me. They placed leftover food on the hearth, and I ate it in the still of the
night. In great contrast to the house mice, I always felt ashamed of eating. I ate
quietly, doing my utmost to make no sound. In fact, I still ate greedily, even
licking the dishes clean. All the families treated me fairly: whatever they ate,
they would leave some for me. Of course it was always leftovers. What kind of
thing did they think I was? I rarely heard them talk about me. They merely spoke
briefly, indicating their awareness of me: “Here yet?” “Yes.” “Eaten?”
“Everything.” They were very aware of me, but they didn’t want to say so. To
me, their brief conversations in the dark were as loud as thunder. It took a lot of
strength for me to jump from the floor to the hearth. Noticing that, they placed a
short stool next to the stove. They were so considerate of me that it weighed on
my mind. I mustn’t get too close to them, and I especially didn’t want to be
drawn into their family disputes. What I mean is the children’s roughhousing at
around midnight. What kinds of demons were frightening the children? Did they
think demons were hidden inside their home? And so they felt safe when they

stayed outside? At such times, the mother would stand at the open door and say
repeatedly, “Come back, my dear. Where can you flee to?” The mothers’ legs
were all shaking. Were they awake?

I had climbed the steps many times in the past, intending to get away from this
confusing place. The sun was so radiant that it would crack the tender skin of my
back. I actually had no shadow on the highway. Oh! My mouth and tongue dry, I

walked and walked on the blacktop road. All I could think of was finding a dark
place where I could rest and drink some water. But where was there any dark
place in this city? The outer walls of buildings were made of glass, and the roofs
were metal. When the sun shone on them, it was like fire. People moved
soundlessly in the rooms. Although they wore something like clothing, I could
see their innards and their bones. I pushed a glass door open and went in—and
immediately felt as if I had walked into a large furnace. The surging waves of
heat would dry out all the fluids in my body. I hurriedly turned and ran toward
the door. Just then, I ran into him—that house mouse. The house mouse was
holding the door watchfully, as though ready for battle. His hair was glossy and
his eyes shining. He apparently had been born especially for this glass house. I