Page 38 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

wished they would pick me up and carry me into the house. I longed for the days
that I had spent in their home. After all, there was no place like home. There was
nothing good about being covered with cuts and bruises and left at the roadside.
But the master and his wife didn’t intend to take care of me. They were talking
about Woody. I said to myself over and over, Woody, Woody, you little brat,
what are you plotting with your parents? Just then, I heard the aged voice again,
and the man and his wife ran out in a panic. They didn’t even see me. I was sure
of that. “You’re the rat in their home,” that old man said from above. I exerted
myself to turn and look up. I saw the old frame hanging over the door. It was
vibrating slightly, and bits of glass were falling from it. This was the old man,
but I couldn’t see his face. I could only see bits of glass stuck in that frame.
Suddenly, a loud sound came from within, and the frame flew out and landed
next to the road in front of the house. Then a wheelbarrow rolled over it. I tried

several times to struggle up, but I failed. Two children ran out of this house.
They bent down and took stock of me curiously for a long time. They called me
Ricky. I had no idea why they gave me a person’s name. I was used to that
family calling me Rat. “Ricky is going to live with us for a while. We should
hide him just in case.” The taller one held me. I saw that he was one-eyed. No,
he had two eyes, but they had grown together. His eyes didn’t see what was
across from him, but looked at each other. How bizarre. How could two eyes
look at each other? But this fact was right in front of me. Before I had time to get
used to this, they shut me up in an inky-black place that had a lot of feathers. As
soon as I lay down, the feathers leapt up. Although it was hard to breathe, I
wasn’t in as much pain. I heard the two boys fighting, and then they said loudly
in unison, “Let Great-grandfather decide! Let Great-grandfather decide!” Next I
heard glass shattering. Don’t tell me there was another frame in this house.
When they opened the box where I was staying, I looked closely at the
brothers: each one’s eyes had grown together. Neither looked out; each of them
looked only at the other. They gave me a plate of red sauce. Its spiciness set my

throat and tummy on fire. But I felt great: my pain had vanished.

I was going to stay in this home for a while. The slums were my home. It didn’t
matter which house it was; I could live in any of them. How would the two
children with eyes grown together treat me? Now my name was Ricky. I’d better
get used to this name—Ricky. See: he has come in. Although he didn’t look at

me, as soon as I saw his eyes looking at each other, I was uneasy. I wanted to
hide in the pile of firewood there.

Part Four