Page 78 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)
P. 78

demolished. The shed didn’t even have a chair, much less a kerosene lamp.
                   “Listen, they’re coming in!” the old guy said.
                   “What?”
                   “Piglets. They’re a bunch of spiritual creatures, going from door to door.”
                   Ayuan heard the pigs’ breath and stretched out a hand to touch them—and
               felt their drenched and warm bodies. There were five or six of them. Slimy and
               sour-smelling, they were presumably very dirty. Coming into physical contact
               with them made Ayuan happy.
                   “They’re from the swamp. They’re the only ones who can go back and forth
               frequently. If an ordinary person goes there just once, he’ll end up half-dead
               from exhaustion, but they go back and forth . . .”
                   “Can you tell me how to get there? I don’t mind exerting myself.”

                   “No one can tell you. Something like this can’t be taught.”
                   “Is it under the theater?”
                   “Yes. And also under the playgrounds and each and every building. In ancient
               times, this city of ours was a swamp. Now it’s only these piglets that can locate
               the road that runs through there. But tonight they’ve come back, so you’d better
               wait for another opportunity.”
                   The old guy had stood up and gone outside. The piglets huddled around
               Ayuan for warmth. As Ayuan petted them, he felt a deep sense of brotherly
               affection. Leaning against the wall, he sat on a board and let the piglets wriggle
               around his legs. He planned to keep his eyes on these piglets and follow them to
               the place where he longed to go. After a while, he fell asleep. Halfway through
               the night, the piglets made a ruckus when two people entered the room. But the
               people, who seemed to be beggars, left soon, and the piglets clustered around
               Ayuan again.
                   When he awakened at dawn, the piglets were gone, leaving no trace of their
               ever having been in the room. Ayuan recalled what the old trash collector had

               said: “They’re a bunch of spiritual creatures, going from door to door.”
                   Another night, when Ayuan was in a brothel, the prostitute named Fragrance
               whispered to him, “Ayuan, if you die so young, what will people think?”
                   “I never said I was planning to die,” Ayuan retorted.
                   “Maybe not, but you’re acting like someone who will die tomorrow.”
                   “You’re mistaken, Fragrance. I still haven’t gone to the swamp. Why would I
               want to die?”
                   As soon as he mentioned the swamp, Fragrance looked blank. She stole
               quietly out of the bed and sat to one side.
                   She told Ayuan to pay up.
                   Handing her some money, Ayuan left her room without a word and walked
               out of the brothel.
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