Page 34 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

was that the master and mistress no longer cared about him. I didn’t know why,
but I was saddened as I imagined the old man shut up in the trunk, as well as his
face that had been cut by glass. When I remembered the earlier incident, I
thought maybe he wasn’t the one who had made me faint and thrown me out on
the street. Then who was it? Woody? Didn’t he want me to be close to the old
man? Two days later, they really did hang a new frame on the wall. The frame,
however, no longer held the old man, but a yellow chrysanthemum. This yellow

chrysanthemum fell far short of the ones I remembered: it was a little washed-
out and a little withered and its background was an overcast sky. After hanging
the yellow chrysanthemum, the couple no longer conversed with the frame. They
stood and gazed at the flower, but I didn’t know what they were thinking. I
wondered if the flower was substituting for their father. I was displeased with
them because at night when I planted my ear on the trunk, I still heard feeble
moans. Now they paid no attention to their “dad.” They paid attention only to
that flower. Finally, I realized that people’s feelings were changeable. People
were so fickle! I thought, We probably aren’t the same. I—an orphan left to roast
in a pottery bowl on the stove—I still remembered my parents and ancestors.
And I remembered my hometown—that pasture and even the pool in the middle
of the pasture. I remembered all of this really well and could call everything to

mind without the slightest effort. But these two people: yesterday they had called
out “Dad” as if they couldn’t leave him for even a second, and today they had
completely forgotten him and were showing feeling only for the little flower. As
for their father, they had put him into a shabby trunk from which he could never
escape. I was too young back then and usually confused the real person with his
portrait, so I was displeased and angry with the man and his wife. I made up my
mind to leave their home.
I saw them pushing a pedicab out. I knew they were going to sell rice; that
was what they did for a living. Generally they didn’t come back until evening.
After they left, I went up to the stove and ate a huge meal, then jumped down
and went outside. Their house was at the end of the row. I slid along the wall for
a long time without running into anyone. The doors to the houses stood open.
Where had everyone gone? All of a sudden, a child dashed out of one home.
Shrill curses followed him. Sure enough, it was Woody. He went across the
street and disappeared behind a strange house. I followed him and reached the
front of that house. It did look like a house. It had eaves covered with grass.

Looking more closely, though, I noticed it had no doors or windows. It didn’t
even have walls. It was a solid thing, with two caves leading to the inside. I
stood there, not daring to enter the caves. After a while, Woody walked out of
one of them. He was a little bent over, to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling of