Page 114 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

a sheet of paper.”
After saying this, he floated away from the door with a puh. The form of a
person was hanging where he had been. Involuntarily, I pressed myself against
the vacancy, and then heard another puh sound. Had I also been transformed into
a shadow, glued up here? I could still see and touch my hands, my chin, my
shoulders, and my vulgar face. It’s just that these parts had somehow become
thinner.
I could still move. I strode toward the door and looked out from a crack in the
door. The rays of light were no longer so dazzling, and a dark green color had
appeared everywhere. I saw three shadows against the trashcan; their voices
reached my ears. They were scrambling for a box of fast food that someone had

thrown away. At first, they argued loudly, and then they compromised and took
turns grabbing things and eating. I remembered the cook and the broth in the
house. Why didn’t these shadows go into the house? Had they also been evicted?
It appeared that those who were inside the house were powerful. No wonder
their talk betrayed a superiority complex. When I first arrived, had they thought I
was important and discovered only later that I wasn’t?
The sky’s deep green color grew darker and darker. A sentimental watery hue
unfolded in the air. All of a sudden, I remembered why I had come to this place:
someone had stolen my family heirloom, a valuable ink stone. I had sued him
and been crushingly defeated. I’d almost forgotten this, but now at last I began to
remember. I skipped trippingly along the road like a swallow. Why did I feel so
humiliated just then? I looked at the people who had been picking up food to eat

from the trashcan; now the three of them were wrapped around the top of the
concrete lamppost. They were on top of the world as they rested. Their heads
took on their original triangular shapes as they slept. Even in slumber, these
heads didn’t behave well: they bumped into each other like naughty children.
A lot of old houses stood on both sides of the road. Taking stock of them, I
thought that, although they were old and damaged, the gray walls and black
doors appeared forbiddingly haughty. Probably the shadows in the houses had
undertaken a significant project. I looked straight across and saw a long, black
shadow extrude itself from the eaves and then hang from the wall. Next to it
another shadow did the same. They shook in the watery air, looking hopeless.
This old house was the very one I had just stayed at. What was going on inside?
“Now he’s much more composed than before, but he still has a frivolous tail.”
I looked up: it was one of the people twisted around on the lamppost who had
said this. All three of them were awake now, and their heads had become thick
dark shadows again—stretching out and drawing back as they looked at me.
“Perhaps he will never lose that tail. He can’t transform himself into one of

us.”