Page 77 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

THE SWAMP

There actually was a swamp right in this big concrete forest of a city. Older
people could still remember it. Ayuan wasn’t old, but he knew of the swamp

from hearing Uncle Sang talk about it occasionally.
One night after drinking too much, Uncle Sang was about to fall asleep as he
sprawled over a big square table. Ayuan was chatting excitedly with the waiter
about going into a small business together, when Uncle Sang sat up straight and
started shaking Ayuan’s arm. He yelled, “You have to be broad-minded in order
to see the bigger picture! Everything I told you before was true! We mustn’t let
superficial things blur our vision . . . You, Liuma: you’re a waiter here, but
you’re a schemer; you’re too ambitious, and you aren’t broad-minded. Why are
you tugging at me? I have to get it all out; there won’t be another chance!” He
flung Ayuan’s hand off.
In the blink of an eye, Liuma vanished. Waving an arm, Uncle Sang shouted,
“He’s gone into hiding! This schemer—he’s gone off to hide in a place you
would never think of!”
It took all of Ayuan’s strength to drag Uncle Sang out of the bar. They turned
into a long alley; Uncle Sang’s home was at the end of the alley.
That evening, all the lights in the alley were out. Ayuan groped his way ahead

in the dark. Uncle Sang stopped walking and grabbed hold of a streetlight.
“Damn you. Where are you taking me?”
“Your home. It’s just ahead.”
“I want to go to the swamp. That’s where Liuma is hiding. You’re panicky,
aren’t you? You’ve never heard of that place, have you? I’m telling you: the
swamp is ahead on the right, under the Grand Theater! Take a look at those two
stars: they’ve risen from the swamp.”
Ayuan looked up: two stars really were stuck to the wall of that high
structure. They weren’t neon lights; they were real stars, glittering brightly. How
could stars be on the wall? Two tall figures approached—Uncle Sang’s two
moody sons. They dragged him home, one supporting him on each side. Their
footsteps sounded as if they were trampling through concrete.

Ayuan counted the days. Twenty-four days had passed since that night. He’d
been exploring clues to the swamp all along. One night, he and an old trash
collector were squatting in a small shed in a shantytown that would soon be
demolished. The shed didn’t even have a chair, much less a kerosene lamp.