Page 128 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

The door creaked open, and a humpbacked old man with glasses and a goatee
came in. Who was following him? Oh my God, it was Qinglian!
“I came into this building from another entrance,” she said. “When I turned
around, you weren’t there. After playing for a while, I came down here. What do
you think of my uncle’s place?”

“Don’t ask questions like that, dear.” Uncle put his hand on her shoulder.
“They bring bad luck.”
I noticed that Uncle had a pointed red nose. He looked quite wretched.

Qinglian and I took the bus again. I felt a surge of emotion. Qinglian’s
expression was indifferent. All of a sudden, I thought of the little thing. Where
had I left it? I gazed at my palm; there was no wound there. Then I felt my face;
there was no wound there, either. I was filled with regret and sadness.
When we were almost home, Qinglian suddenly said to me: “You’re welcome
to go back there with me anytime you like.”

I cheered up as soon as she said that. I had a secret! This was our secret—
Qinglian’s and mine.