Page 175 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

2.

I fainted again. This time, it resembled real death: there was no suffering; in
the blink of an eye, I lost consciousness. The last thing I saw was the gardener
walking toward me with a saw in his hand.
But I wasn’t cut down by the saw. After being soaked by a heavy rain, I
discovered that I was still standing in the meadow. I began drinking water: after
being parched and thirsty for so long, I felt that the flavor of water had changed!
It was the spicy hot flavor that I loathed more than anything. What was

happening? Oh, I couldn’t bear it. I’d better not drink it. Still, I couldn’t suppress
my thirst. Without giving it another thought, I drank this spicy soup that had
fallen from the sky. My withered roots began swelling quickly, and my leaves
greened. My peers all around were cheering and skipping, they were so excited.
But I was in unbearable pain as if my whole body was on fire. If I could move, I
would definitely roll around on the ground, but I was destined to suffer in
silence. At the extreme boundary of pain, I lost consciousness again and again.
And again and again, I regained consciousness. I heard myself talking
incoherently in the heat: “I’d rather die—”
Luckily, the rain ended quite soon. Still in pain, I saw the gardener stop next
to me. He caressed the long crack on my body and began to laugh eerily. His
malicious laughter infuriated me. I was so angry that I trembled violently, nearly
losing consciousness once more. He left quickly and inspected his plants’ growth

after the rainfall. Everyone greeted him with cheers because rain was a gift from
the gods, an unexpected gift. My response was the only contrary one. I was the
only plant in the garden that wasn’t irrigated. Now my swollen roots and my
branches and leaves that had suddenly consumed so much water disgusted me.
Indeed, I felt not only pain but disgust.
Before dark, the pain finally began to dull, or rather my roots, trunk,
branches, and leaves became numb. Little by little, the sun withdrew into the
hills, and the air was rain-freshened. Now and then, someone passed by the
garden’s gate. Each person was holding a small red flag. Beside me, I heard the
Taiwan grass say that people were going to the hillside where there would be a
party tonight to celebrate. “Because this is the first rainfall of the year,” the
Taiwan grass said in a gratified tone.
In the gradually descending darkness, I was coming to understand something:
in this lifetime, I would never again be relaxed and joyful—qualities that
everyone hoped for. I’d better learn to seize an alternative happiness in being
parched, tense, and tormented. That sort of happiness was like the gardener’s

malicious laughter. If I learned to laugh as he did, perhaps a vast horizon would
unfold before me.