Page 112 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

few seconds—or at the most, two minutes. It was at that moment that you
arrived.”
I wanted to ask him some more, but he started snoring. I couldn’t touch him,

either. Perhaps I was the only one in this room with a physical body. My left
hand was here, and my right hand was here. I could touch my face.
The sound of snoring filled the entire room. How odd. Why didn’t I feel even
a little drowsy? I was too excited. My thoughts began roaming around in the
midst of the snoring sounds. Over there in the stove, which was as big as one in
a farmhouse, the bright coal fire was belching blue flames. Two shadows
crouched at the sides of the stove. They kept talking in whispers. A sss-woooo,
sss-woooooo came from them as they grew longer and shorter. Their
conversation, however, didn’t stop for even a moment. People enjoyed many
advantages when they were transformed into these wispy things.
At my feet, behind the large cupboard, there were also a few shadows.
Sometimes they snored and sometimes they didn’t. They were worried.
Whenever they stopped snoring, they muttered some short phrases: “Inhaling!”

“Attention!” “Hold up.” “Fling it out.” “Throw it in.” It seemed they had trouble
sleeping. Maybe, whether asleep or awake, they always lived like this.
All of a sudden, a wind chime rang near the window, ting-ling, ting-ling,
startling me. All the sounds in the room ceased. Everyone was listening intently.
I couldn’t stop myself from clambering out from under the bed. This drew curses
from all directions, probably because the noise I made interfered with their
listening. What significance was this bizarre wind chime transmitting? Arching
my back, I glided over to the side of the window. It was still sounding, but no
wind was blowing. I lifted the curtains gently, my eyes narrowing in the glaring
white light. I saw it suspended on the window. It was shaking by itself, as though
it were alive. I couldn’t look at it very long, so I had to let go of the curtains. A
deathly stillness filled the room. It took about two minutes for the wind chime to
stop shaking. At first, the several persons on the bed sighed, “Finally.” “Man’s
extremity is God’s opportunity.” “All’s well that ends well.” The cook also came
out. He was on the bed when he said to me, “Your wandering back and forth in
this room is making me light-headed. I really shouldn’t have fed you soup. Just

look at how much space you’re occupying in this room.”
“I certainly didn’t intend to occupy your space,” I said, chagrined.
“But you did, anyhow.”
“Then what should I do?”
“You should leave, instead of taking our space. Whoever dragged you in here
in the first place was an idiot.”
His words made me disgusted with myself. I dashed over to the door. At the
worst, I might die, but—regardless—I was going out. I took a deep breath,