Page 195 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

each month? She had to abide meticulously by her own regulations. She
connected her daily activities like notes in a melody, and she would say rather
contentedly, “Look at me—like a fish in water.” The villagers didn’t care
(perhaps they didn’t know) about her confusion over time, but they appreciated
her strictness with time. They thought this was noble. When the market was
about to close, they gathered on both sides of the road. They would look at their
watches and say, “The queen will arrive in eight minutes.” “Still seven more
minutes . . .” “Four more minutes . . . ,” and so forth. This was the moment they
waited for excitedly. It was a stately moment. The queen arrived and greeted the
villagers. She walked like the wind and soon disappeared from their sight. She

had to hurry home to peel potatoes, shuck broad beans, and light the fire to cook
her meal. After eating, clearing the table, and tidying the kitchen, she had to sit
down and write her daily work diary.
The “work diary” was actually simply a record of her day’s activities, as well
as some accounts. Writing her work diary gave the queen her greatest joy and
satisfaction. Afterward, she felt relaxed and reinvigorated. Because this activity
was so absorbing, the queen sometimes deliberately broke away from her writing
and stood outside for a while and looked at the sky. Then she returned to her
desk and continued with her record and her accounts. Once when she was
looking at the sky, a little black bird fell onto her shoe, pecked at her shoelace,
and flew away. In that split second, she felt overwhelmed by this great favor. As
she deliberately prolonged her happiness, heaven once more generously gave her
greater happiness. The contradictory thing was that her palace had no calendar;
she had never bought one in the market. She had a radio; with it, she received
messages from the world. This little box could tell the queen the date and the
year. The queen would listen half-heartedly. After a few minutes, she would

forget it all. Perhaps she had too much to fill her time, and she was too busy to
pay attention to extraneous things. After writing in her diary, she had to sweep
the carpet—such a pleasurable activity. Cleaning the coal lamp was enjoyable,
too. Each time, she polished its glass cover until it reflected her face as clearly as
a mirror. She looked into the glass cover and said softly, “I’m getting old . . .”
She felt an inner joy that was incomprehensible to others. Why was she happy
about growing old? Because it meant she was becoming more and more
experienced and determined. It also meant that she was drawing closer and
closer to her parents, the old king and queen.
People believed that the old king was originally from Wang Village.
Someone even said that he used to be a knife sharpener. Later, he increased the
distance between the villagers and himself by building a big house in the
wilderness and calling himself king. He married a young woman from another

place. Folks said that the couple went away for half a year and came back rich.