Page 17 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

How could I dispel this pretty little girl’s inner desolation? I didn’t dare make
eye contact with her, for if I did I would start crying. “I’m the third child, the
youngest,” she said suddenly. “Dad’s in the back nailing together a wooden
cage.”
Before I grasped what she had said and became aware of what was
happening, a black net covered me from the head down, entwining me. Someone
was pulling me to the back of the house. At one side, the girl said excitedly to
that person, “Are you going to throw him into the well?” I had no way to
struggle. I simply could not move.
But the place where they threw me was definitely not the well. It was simply
the small alley behind their home. Wrapped up in that fishnet-like thing, I
couldn’t move, and the small alley ordinarily was deserted. They evidently
meant for me to die here. What could I do? It would soon be dark, and night in
the slums was always cold. I curled up. I heard the butcher’s daughters singing
once again. I could tell that the one singing most resoundingly was the girl

who’d been with me just now. It was so cold, so cold. My burned foot was
numb. I uttered a shrill scream. Perhaps the people inside heard me, for the
singing stopped and then resumed. Listening closely again, I could hear the
dreariness of the songs. Captivated by the singing, I temporarily forgot the cold.
As my mind wandered a little, the cold slashed my skin again like little knives.
Perhaps all of my skin had swollen. I hoped my skin would soon be numb. What
else could I hope for? I thought of the midget and Drum. Were they still in that
room? Or had they been thrown out just like me? What kind of lives did the
butcher and his three daughters live?
I could see a ball of light through the net: it was people passing by with
lanterns. “Why do they always throw their prey out on the street?” the one
holding a lantern grumbled to his companion. They stopped when I squealed.

Above me, they talked in low voices, hesitating about something. The first one
to speak raised his voice suddenly: “How long has it been since we’ve passed
through here?” The other one replied, “Fifteen years. Back then, it always rained
at night, and icicles more than a foot long hung from the rafters. Now it’s a lot
warmer. Why does he still make noise?” As they talked, they squatted down and
freed me from the net. I lay on the ground, because I was numb all over and
couldn’t move. What was going on? I realized that two people were helping me,
but I didn’t see them. There was just that lantern all alone on the ground. It
shone on the netting. Now I could see that the netting that had entwined me so
strongly was actually thin and small, made from something that was a little like
the membrane on some animals. I squealed again. I was thinking I would regain
consciousness by squealing. Just then, the butcher’s little girl opened the door. I
heard her greet the two people. She was wearing a cape. She looked very valiant
and heroic in bearing. But I couldn’t see the two people. They went in and took