Page 113 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

worst, I might die, but—regardless—I was going out. I took a deep breath,
opened the door hurriedly, and pounced on the air outside. Behind me, I heard
several wind chimes.
My memories are confused. Things that happened when I first arrived here
seem to have occurred yesterday. After I left the large house, I was almost
blinded by the dazzling white blaze. In particular, the glass windows of the large
mansions were launching one flame after another into the air. This city was

going to be scorched. I hurriedly sought shelter in a small box at the side of the
road. It was an abandoned newspaper kiosk, its windows blocked with
cardboard. By all appearances, someone before me had used it for a shelter. No,
wait a minute, someone was inside right now.
“You’ve been evicted,” he said. “Were you evicted because of your frivolous
behavior?”
A deep sense of shame that I’d never felt before took hold of me. I really
wanted to burrow under the ground and never come out. I couldn’t remember
exactly how old I was, but anyhow I was no longer young. How come I was still
behaving like a frisky colt? I had never realized this when I was still at home,
but when I arrived here my true nature was revealed.
The person talking with me—a talking shadow—was glued to the tin wall.

This person seemed overcome with worries. I asked if I was invading his space.
He thought about this for a long time before answering: “Space isn’t an issue in
a place like this. I’m here only temporarily to take a rest. This is a public
newspaper kiosk. Who would be able to stay here long?”
I was relieved, yet my sense of shame didn’t vanish. My hands, my feet, my
chin, my messy beard, my vulgar voice: all these made me really ashamed. Not
to mention having been evicted from the large house: I couldn’t even think about
that, for if I did I’d go out of my mind. I closed my eyes: I no longer wanted to
see anything. On the wall, he sneered a couple of times. I didn’t know if he was
laughing at me or not.
“Who are you laughing at?”
“Nobody. People like us enjoy sneering a couple of times when we have
nothing else to do.”
His words weren’t very friendly. I certainly didn’t want to stick around here,
but where could I go? This person was hanging on the wall, and a faint smell
emanated from him. He made me feel really uncomfortable. Maybe I smelled

even worse and I simply wasn’t aware of it. In despair, I raised one hand to my
eyes. My hand had withered. It was like two layers of skin wrapped around
bones. And that wasn’t all: the bones in my hand had become thin and pliable.
“Brother, I see that you’re extruding yourself. You’ll soon become as thin as
a sheet of paper.”