Page 95 - I Live in the Slums: Stories (The Margellos World Republic of Letters)

SIN

I had a wooden box in my loft. Everyone in the family knew about it, but no
one had ever opened it. The year I was born, Father gave me this box he’d

prepared. Mother was in charge of storing it. Father was a very crafty guy who
always came up with long-term plans that often stretched to the unforeseeable
future. And then he simply forgot his plan. For example, this wooden box. When
he gave it to Mother, he said very seriously that the contents of the box were
confidential. He meant to open it himself when I was grown up, for it contained
something important having to do with my future. But after I grew up, he forgot.
Mother didn’t remind him, either; perhaps she didn’t believe that Father had
anything so terribly wonderful stored in the box. After living with him for many
years, she knew him like the back of her hand, so she didn’t even mention it to
him.
The box was made of ordinary fir, with a layer of lacquer slapped over it. It
had a little lock—a common enough lock, which had rusted over the years.
Maybe it was habit or maybe Mother’s attitude had affected me; in any case, I
never considered unlocking it. After Father and Mother died, I threw the box
into the loft one day and never gave it another thought. I didn’t have the
curiosity one should have about some things. And yet I was endlessly interested

in things that shouldn’t have concerned anyone. I was born this way; I couldn’t
help it.
In August, my cousin, whom the family dubbed “Killer,” came to stay for a
while. She was in her early thirties, yet her forehead was covered with wrinkles,
surprising for one her age. When she walked, she held her head high. I didn’t
like to be around her because she spoke unkindly; sometimes her words could
even be murderous (Father was one of her victims when he was alive), so in the
family we all spitefully called her “Killer” behind her back.
“Rumei,” she sat down and began talking, “that fashionable colleague of
yours started spreading rumors about you yesterday among people I know well.
But I’ve seen you walking arm in arm with her on the streets. What’s this all
about?”

“Mind your own business. If you have to butt into other people’s business,
then you’d better not stay with us,” I said in disgust.
“But it wasn’t because of this that I came here,” she said pensively. “I came
because of—that box!”