Page 190 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

saw Mama’s face above her. Mama was smiling as she watched her.
“Yesterday, your dad and I went to that home again.”
“What home?”
“The one in Mosquito Village. He told your dad that because you had
discovered their secret, the villagers had all moved away. Now his family is the
only one left there. How did you happen upon such a place?”
“So you and Dad have known about this place for a long time?”
“Yes. Your dad was a short-term laborer there for years. Sometimes he stayed
overnight. He went there with the Mosquito villagers at night. But each time he
lost his courage on the way and returned by himself. He has regretted this for
years. He felt disgraced.”
“Have all of them moved? Is that one family still there?”
“Now that family has also left. Naturally, the rat still lives there.”
“Oh, my poor dad,” Daisy sighed.
At breakfast, she didn’t dare look at Dad. She ate with her head down.

When she finished and looked up, she realized Dad had already left the table.
“Your dad decided to go out by himself. Staying at home in such snowy
weather makes him uneasy.”
“Where did he go?”
“The place where you went,” Mama said with a smile.
Daisy jumped up, rushed to her room and put on boots, and then chased after
him.
Dad had reached the other end of the village. His silhouette was a tiny black
dot.
“Dad! DAD!” she shouted through tears.
Dad stopped and waited for her.
“Why are you crying? Why are you crying?” he asked absentmindedly.

“Where are you going?”
“Mosquito Village.”
He shrugged his shoulders. Daisy walked in silence with him.
When they reached Mosquito Village’s tall old willow tree, Dad suddenly
said, “Daisy, do you still remember the road you took?”
“Road? I didn’t pay any attention. I was just walking. Everywhere, everything
was white . . . Let me think. Oh yes—smoke! Someone was burning hell
money.”
“You have a good memory. It’s helpful.”
While they were talking, they came to a courtyard. Last time, Dad had stood
at this door eating corn on the cob. But now the doors and windows were tightly
closed. No one was here. The odd thing was that under the eaves were two
benches. “Someone knew we would be coming,” Dad said as he sat down.