Page 144 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

The senior citizens recreation center was Ms. Wen’s secret, but it also seemed
to her that everyone knew this secret. Besides her two sons, some retired
colleagues—affecting a casual manner—also asked her about it. Ms. Wen
thought, A certain kind of structure is closely related to everyone’s life, and that
structure always has to be embodied in some real objects—buildings, for
example—otherwise, there would be no way to see it or visualize it. Had she
discovered the structure of the senior citizens recreation center, or rather had the
structure kept sending her messages, luring her to be part of it? Perhaps once this
kind of thing happened to someone, he or she would naturally draw people’s
attention. And so Ms. Wen now sensed that she was enthusiastically surrounded
by people. Everyone seemed to expect something of her. Even the vegetable

vendors in the market were talking about her. “She transformed an ordinary
building into a thing resembling fate.” “People say that if a building went
through infinite changes, this must have been caused by someone’s physical
force.” Ms. Wen just happened to hear these comments. The two people were
purposely talking loudly; obviously, they meant for her to overhear them. The
vegetable vendors’ feedback heartened Ms. Wen. New hopes kept surging from
her heart. If the structure was revealed in everything in the world, she could
speak from it at any time to anyone she wanted. Yes, she had to continue with
this because it was connected with happiness. Ever since last month, as soon as
she stepped into the starry sky, a roof would appear above her. She felt perfect.
She wanted to transmit the profound mystery of euphoria to other people. That
is, one could enter into different things and become the thing itself. Of course,

this involved having some skills; she would be happy to pass these skills on to
others. She would share her experiences: how to discern directions by touching
the walls, the doorknobs, the staircases, and so forth. And how to determine the
scope of her movements according to the height of the ceilings and the length of
the corridors.
Going to the senior citizens center to meditate had become Ms. Wen’s
privilege. This began as a casual visit to the building after she retired. One day,
after eating dinner and tidying up the kitchen, she went out for a walk. She
remembered that she had run into a retired school principal. He had said that she
“looked healthy.” Then she had passed the senior citizens center and noticed that
the door was open. The lights were still on in several rooms. Curious, she
walked in. She went first to the Ping-Pong room; the two Ping-Pong tables stood
quietly under the light. No one was likely to come here. And so she withdrew
and walked into the chess room. On the chess table was a drawing of a person’s
head. The drawing was blurred; perhaps it wasn’t a picture of a person but the
contours of a granite cliff. Ms. Wen sat down and looked at it, and wondered

which old person would paint like this. As she kept looking, she went into a sort