Page 71 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

THE OLD CICADA

A heatwave rolled into the city, and reports of elderly heatstroke victims
streamed in continually. Sirens wailed, and pet dogs lay panting in the shade.

It was much better in the suburbs, where tall poplars and willows provided
shade. All day long, cicadas sang in the trees. After it rained, toads chimed in
with their bass voices. The numerous sparrows and magpies leapt lightheartedly
among the branches and in the thickets. All of them affectionately shared their
food, with only occasional brief clashes. Magpie couples were living on the
crowns of a few old sky-skimming poplars. A little lower was the cicadas’
paradise. Not far away were picturesque multistory buildings. The cicadas sang
continuously, never interrupted by the glum people going in and out of these
buildings. Their loud singing was proud, intense, and aggressive, filled with the
high spirits prompted by the summer heat. It’s true that some people were deeply
annoyed by these singers. They glared with hatred at the old poplar tree above
the bicycle shed. But what could they do? Year after year, the cicadas had a
symbiotic relationship with the poplars and willows. The cicadas could be
destroyed only if you cut down all the large trees. And if you did that, the
temperature of the residential district would rise many degrees. The cicadas
didn’t know this. They sang from an excess of enthusiasm—because of love,

because of the urge to procreate. They drank their fill of the sap generously
provided by the large trees and found the blazing heat wonderful. Especially
when the humidity rose, the thickening layers of clouds hinted at a certain
ancient memory, and they burst into song. Their leader was generally the elderly
cicada squatting on the highest branch. The other cicadas admired him greatly,
and even the magpie couples listened attentively to his song. Before long, the
chorus rose like surging waves and occupied the sky above.
The old cicada, whose body was both dark and bright, had sturdy wings, but
seldom used them. He always stayed in the same place—the strong branch a
little below the magpies’ nest. He was a loner, immersed in memories. He had
stayed underground for a long time—precisely eight years, according to the
magpie couple. Everyone knew he was very old. Still, his energy hadn’t

diminished. But why was he so solitary? Was he still living in his memories,
sensing neither the fellows all around nor the vast blue sky? Cicadas seldom live
underground for eight years. That time had completely shaped his character.
He was an old bachelor who’d never had a love life. After eight years, he had