Page 45 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

them. These two one-eyed young people now lived in this home in place of the
two brothers. I remembered once when I’d seen the older brother change into
one eye. Were these two people variants of the first two? Probably not. I was
sleeping in a cardboard box under the bed, when, at midnight, the two on the bed
shouted in unison, “A flood’s on the way! Flood!” Then they ran out, barefoot.
As soon as they left, I climbed via the stove to the thatched roof. Gazing into the
distance, I saw black clouds rolling in overhead. Lights went on in all the houses
in the slums. Yet no one emerged. Were they waiting? I waited, too, but nothing
happened. Finally I felt bored and was about to go down. Even if there was a

flood, where could I escape to? I couldn’t go into the city: I could lose my life in
a day in the inescapable city heat. I couldn’t go far away, either, for I could die
of terror on the way. Never mind, I would just go back to the cardboard box and
sleep. Oh! What was that? The two one-eyed people! They carried two corpses
out of a house. They were taking advantage of the chaos to rob and kill! But no
one saw them. Was it possible that they were making no noise? No! Ha, here
was another one! Had those people died for some other reason, and they were
simply dealing with the corpses? It wasn’t raining, yet black clouds descended.
Now I couldn’t see anything well. Even the lights in the houses had dimmed.
Was a flood really on the way? Then I’d better sleep on the roof. If disaster
struck, I might get lucky and survive. I had heard people talk about floods. When
a house was totally sealed up by surging floodwaters, no one inside could
survive. I heard that in such circumstances, it didn’t matter how quick-witted
you were or how strong, you would never locate the doors and windows.
Everyone in the slums knew this, and so why didn’t they do as I did and climb
up to the roof? Just now, the two people were running all over the streets

shouting “Flood!” Everyone must have heard them. They had heard, they must
have heard!
The water rose higher and higher. It didn’t block the doors immediately. I
heard the flooding water rush down from the stairs over there. I guessed—a
depth of fifteen centimeters, half a meter, a meter . . . and still I heard no one
fleeing. If anyone was fleeing, their wading would be audible. It was alarmingly
quiet all around. How high had the water risen? I couldn’t see. Something
tickled my feet. Snails. They wanted to climb up my body. I dangled my rear
feet below the roof to probe. Sure enough, my feet touched water. No doubt the
entire slum was inundated. But the water didn’t seem to be rising continually.
And the people? Where were the people? Had water blocked all the doors? Were
the people all dead? I started crying soundlessly. Above me, the sky had
brightened. I listened again: the sound of running water had stopped. Someone

was calling me—“Ricky, Ricky.” Wasn’t it the two brothers? No one else called
me by this name. I glanced out: the mist had broken up. Even though the houses