Page 172 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

every day. Each time I start thinking of him, my pigment is enhanced, and I
become quite beautiful. Some nice-looking people have also appeared here, but
I’ve never seen anyone as perfect as the gardener. I’m always wondering how to
attract his attention; I’ve never been successful, not even once. It doesn’t matter
how ugly I am, or how pretty, he pays no attention to me.
Sorrel: In general, we can’t live in this kind of dry sandy land. But for some
reason, ever since the gardener had us put down roots here, we felt that this was
the most suitable home for us. The infertility of the soil is good for our species.
Why? Because the feeling of being on the edge of death gives our internal being
the power to grow again. We hear that those who live in humid areas don’t have

nearly as much vitality as we do. The profile of his steady back always gives us
strength. He’s our angel. I should say that he’s the one who chose this garden for
us. And so sometimes, when we hear rumors that a mysterious sect built our
garden, we’re furious!

There are also some faint humming, groaning sounds; I have no way to figure
out where they’re coming from. But those sounds are even more meaningful;
they make me even more uneasy and curious. It’s fair to say that these hidden
inhabitants are the ones who maintain my interest in life. Even if the gardener
hasn’t watered me for a long time, and even if I’m dispirited in the state of being
more dead than alive, I need only hear that humming and groaning and the
shadows within me shrink and all kinds of desires are revived. It’s hard to say
exactly what kind of voice this is. Mostly, it’s a kind of narration without a
specific audience, but someone can sense a provocative element in the strange
tone. Anyhow, I did.
I couldn’t see any logic to the gardener’s cutting off my water. My roots were
still shallow, merely inserted in the layer of sand. I had heard there was good-
quality black soil beneath the sandy layer, but it was in a very deep place. Even
after growing for ten years, our roots would not reach down that far. Of course
the gardener had this much common sense. So did his actions indicate that he

had abandoned me? If so, then why did he move me here in the first place?
When I was in the nursery, I had no anxiety! Back then, we were ambitious and
looked forward to realizing our aspirations after being moved here. In the misty
starlight, I saw my destiny clearly many times. Back then, I didn’t yet know it
was my destiny; I thought it was merely a dark shadow. Then the gardener came,
twice altogether. He was a remarkable person who didn’t talk much. There was a
black badge on his shirt, but I couldn’t see the dark pattern very well. I felt
strongly attracted to him: the moment he set eyes on me, I swayed wildly. You
can imagine the result.
After being moved here and planted along with everyone else, I didn’t change