Page 94 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

mistake. The bride from the photography studio had wanted to slide into the
deep, bottomless lake—another thing he could never do. Uncle Sang must have
seen what sort of person he, Ayuan, was. He was always waiting—waiting until
dangers befell him by mistake.
A whistle blew outside. Ayuan changed into his work clothes and put on his
hard hat. He followed the foreman to the work site. When he recalled that Uncle
Sang had praised him for having “a job,” he cheered up.
“You didn’t go out drinking. I’m glad to hear that. You’re a tough guy! The
others are worthless cowards,” the foreman said, as he walked along without
turning his head.
When Ayuan stood on the scaffolding and looked out at the city, he heard
bubbles echoing incessantly in the currents of air. Moisture-laden air blew over
his face, and he couldn’t help shouting, “Uncle Sang, I’m here now!!”
He saw the gray sky pushing against him, as if it would crush him.