Page 27 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

dad. A person had arrived at such a deep underground, and yet could still hear

everything her family members were doing above. What was that like? The
women below grew quiet. Coo-coo-coo, like doves. Maybe they were going to
sleep. All of a sudden, Lan said sternly, “You can’t go there!” Her loud voice
startled me. And then it was quiet. I sat up. I heard busy sounds all around, and
that person’s chiding. That person—he was chiding as he washed his feet. He
was forever resentful of little animals for being too lazy.
I kept thinking of what Lan had said. Where did she say one couldn’t go?
Certainly, this dark place hid frightening things. I’d have to be very cautious.
The incident with the ants was a good lesson. To avoid disaster, I’d better just sit
and not move. This newly excavated hole was my home. Just when I was
thinking of this, the person carried the wooden basin of foot-washing water over
here. He yelled, “Watch out!” as he threw the water into my hole. Once again,
flustered and exasperated, I jumped out. All the hair on one side of my body was
wet. He kept picking on me. Was he in charge of all the little animals down
here? In this hole, I could hear Lan talking, but now he had made it impossible to
stay in my hole. If I went elsewhere, it was hard to say if I’d still be able to hear

Lan. If I couldn’t, I’d be very lonely. The flying squirrel flew over again, rubbed
my nose, and flew away. He let out a really stinky fart. I wanted to break away
from this person, because he never let me rest. I felt he was intentionally
malicious. Maybe he even hoped I would die: his actions implied it. Couldn’t I
try to escape?
I had to escape. I couldn’t be sure where I could go and where I shouldn’t. I
just moved ahead and let nature take its course. Oh, there was a fence here. Oh,
could there be a vegetable garden inside the fence? I could hear even more little
animals inside it. Sniffing as I walked along the fence, I soon discovered a break
in it. I went through the hole and came to an even more exciting place. But it
was an even worse place to stay. Every passerby shoved me, a sign that I was
unwelcome. After a short while, I discovered the difference: none of the little
animals here was digging holes. Sometimes they moved; sometimes they were

still. When they were still, a whistle sounded in the distance. On hearing the
whistle, they all rushed in that direction. When they were running, the whistling
stopped and so they began hesitating and finally stopped again. Then they
listened attentively once more. Before long, the whistling resumed from a
different direction, and so they once again rushed in that direction. Before long,
they stopped again. I was among them and felt keyed up. It was both chaotic and
orderly here. Everything was decided by that bizarre sound coming from an
unknown place. No, I couldn’t adapt. They ran so fast, and while they were
running they shoved me down on the ground and stepped on me as they went
past. So the next time they were waiting for the whistle to sound, I fumbled my