Page 192 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

“They’re outsiders!” By the time Dad said this, they were home again.
“Outsiders aren’t the same as us. If they want to leave, they just leave. If they
want to stay, they just stay.”
“Then what about the dogs?” Fear showed in Mama’s eyes.
“They should be all right,” Dad asserted.

Daisy remembered the expression in the eyes of the old dog that was missing
an ear, and she twisted uneasily in her chair. The people had gone, but they’d left
the dogs behind; they must have hearts of steel. Someone whispered to Daisy,
“It’s because you discovered us that we moved away . . .” She was stunned, and
shifted her gaze to her dad. Dad was smoking: the smoke he exhaled formed a
white mushroom cloud that covered his face.
After tidying the kitchen, Daisy went back to her bedroom. The bedroom was
small, with a narrow window facing the backyard. Daisy walked to the window.
She simply couldn’t believe her eyes.
The boy was sitting on a pile of snow. He was naked, resting his head on one
hand as if asleep. He must have been exhausted from running.
Some people were entering from the gate in the backyard: their faces were
familiar. They were all squinting at the dazzling white sky. Daisy heard them
enter the house with slow, heavy steps. The building creaked with each step they
took. Daisy fancied that they were old elephants emerging from the forest.
Mama stood at the door and said to Daisy, “The outsiders have arrived.”