Page 54 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

people on the street looked down at their feet, covered their noses, and hurried
on. I seldom went out during the few months that I stayed with Auntie Shrimp.
And even when I did, I went no farther than the neighbors’ eaves. Otherwise,
Auntie Shrimp would have constantly told me to wash my feet and she would
have scolded me mercilessly. And so, was it simply by comparison that I finally
realized how filthy the slums were? Had Auntie Shrimp been training my senses
over the last few months? Maybe I had never before noticed that passersby
covered their noses as they walked past. Maybe the sides of the streets in the
slums had always been heaped with dirt, and I had simply never noticed.
Thinking back on the past few months of Auntie Shrimp’s slavelike life, putting
myself in her shoes, and then thinking about myself, I couldn’t help but shudder.
However, I still had to thank Auntie Shrimp—for in the past, I was covered with

pus-filled pimples, I was toxic from head to foot, and I had eaten filthy food. But
after spending a few months in her home, I had no pus-filled pimples and I
understood the importance of hygiene. People of the slums were too apathetic.
How could they have grown so lazy that they let the doorways become dumps
for waste and dirt? Not only was filth overflowing into the air here, but it also
seeped underground. The asphalt roads and the cobblestone sidewalks were
stained by a thick layer of something black and greasy. Even the mud was dirty,
filled with ash and oil. Why hadn’t I ever noticed this before? This blockhouse,
though, was clean, as if no one had ever come up here and heaven’s wind and
rain had cleaned it naturally. This granite structure must be very old. Plumbing
the depths of my memory, I found no trace of it. Was it because no one had ever
come here that it was so clean? Why hadn’t others come up here?
I stood at the side of the pond, thinking of all kinds of things. I would soon
freeze to death. My top priority was to save my life by finding a home to move
into. I noticed a house with a door that wasn’t shut tight and thought I’d go in
and deal with any consequences later.

“Who’s there?” An old voice spoke in the dark. I curled up quietly against the
foot of the wall, afraid the man would see me, but he got up unexpectedly, shone
a kerosene lamp on me, and said, “Ah, it’s a snake.” How the hell had I changed
into a snake? He poked me with a club and I took the opportunity to roll into the
house. How bizarre this was: a heatwave rolled through the house, and I
immediately warmed up. The stove wasn’t on, so where had the hot air come
from? I saw that familiar mouse stick his head out of the hole. Three scrawny
roosters stood under the bed. The man of the house was short and little. I
couldn’t see him very well because his head was wrapped in a white towel. He
drove the roosters out with the club, and they jumped up. One flew to the
windowsill, scattering the smell of feathers all over. When the little red-tailed
rooster passed by me, I was actually scalded! Its body was as hot as red-hot