Page 18 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

and heroic in bearing. But I couldn’t see the two people. They went in and took

the lamp with them. All around, it turned dark once more.
I tried to roll over. With a scream that took all of my energy, I was finally
able to move. I rolled to the corner of the wall of the butcher’s small house. It
wasn’t as cold here as in the other place just now. I slowly recovered a little
feeling. I could hear the conversation in the house very clearly. I heard the three
girls fighting over who could kiss the two men whom I couldn’t see. They were
swearing and making an uproar. Then the little girl probably hurt her two older
sisters with some kind of sharp object. The two older girls let out frightening
wails. But soon it was quiet inside again. Had the little girl achieved her goal?
With a creak, the door opened a little and the lamp emerged. Looking malicious,
the little girl stood at the entrance. Sparks of electricity flashed from her large
eye. The lamp floated in midair and gradually moved far away. Finally it
disappeared in a corner in the west. All of a sudden, the girl bent toward me and
said, “Did you see it all? You little thing, you did see it all! Hey, I suffer too
much hardship in my life, don’t I?” She covered her face with her hands and
began crying. After crying for several seconds, she suddenly stopped and said

fiercely, “Did I cry? No! I never cry. Just now, I was laughing! I laughed so
hard!” She picked me up with both hands, lifted me to her shoulder, and carried
me into the house. Throwing me onto the stove, she walked away. I saw the
butcher sitting indifferently on a wooden stool and smoking a cigarette.

I live in the slums. I was born here, and I grew up here. At night, I lodge with a
family that has a stove. In the daytime, I poke around everywhere into people’s

privacy. I know all kinds of secrets here, but I don’t understand the mysteries of
these secrets. On the outside, these secrets look beautiful but terrifying. Is this
why I’m always eager to poke around?

Part Two

I live in the tunnel under the slums in the lowlands west of the city. When you
come to the wall around the chemical plant, you see a long, long staircase. At the
foot of the stairs is our slum—a large area of simply constructed houses
squeezed together in rows. I used to lodge in other people’s homes. Actually, I
had stayed with all the families who had stoves in their homes. And then, on a
gloomy day, I stumbled into the tunnel. That day, the owner had laced my food

with poisonous mushrooms. Having spotted this, I fled in a hurry—like a
refugee. It was midnight, and everyone’s house was locked. I didn’t dare knock