I Live in the Slums

by Can Xue

  “This—is—the—exact—same—wooden—box—you’ve—talked—about—so—often. It’s been up there all along.” I pointed to the loft.

  “Really?” my cousin laughed. “Then how about opening it?”

  “I don’t have the key. Father forgot to give it to me,” I said, disheartened.

  “And you forgot to tell him you needed it, didn’t you?” Her tone softened. With the tip of her toe, she moved the wooden box; as she did so, its contents made a suspicious sound. Mimicking her, my son also pushed it with his foot. The two of them pushed it back and forth. Their actions were so disgusting that I was sorry I couldn’t slap them.

  I bent down and picked up the box, took it back to the loft, and wrapped it in cloth. As I was doing this, neither my cousin nor my son looked at me. They had begun a game of chess. I was superfluous.

  “Didn’t you say you came here because of the box?” I reminded my cousin. “Didn’t you say there’s a sin hidden in the box?”

  With her eyes fixed on the chessboard, she said, “Did I? Maybe I did.”

  “It’s been up there all along. I see that you haven’t bothered to glance at it.”

  “I don’t need to. I’ve known it was there all along, and I’ve known that you didn’t have the key. Hey, did your father have a particular reason for not giving you the key?”

  “No. I’m sure he simply forgot.”

  I don’t know why, but even though I had wrapped the box in cloth, from then on all of us—my husband, my son, my cousin, and I—kept unconsciously casting our eyes at it. This situation made me uncomfortable. Often, when we were talking with one another, we suddenly fell silent as we looked simultaneously at that cloth package. My cousin was always the first to avert her eyes, and then she would titter. And I would blush from indignation.

  In order to prove my cousin’s thoughts groundless, I started searching for the key Father had left. It had to be somewhere; it couldn’t have been cremated with him and placed in his urn. First, I opened a large bundle of his things. I turned them all over, from the large ones to the small ones, and looked through them carefully to see if the key might be with them. I spent three days doing this secretly in the bedroom—after work and out of my cousin’s and husband’s sight. But I didn’t find anything. Never mind the key to the box, there was no key at all among his effects. I finally recalled that when Father went out, he had never taken the house key with him, thus often inconveniencing himself. My thoughts turned to Father’s friends and relatives. Would any of them know? I knew he’d been close to his younger sister. There was nothing they didn’t discuss. I decided to call on this elderly aunt.

  Although winter had already passed, my aunt was still all wrapped up in a heavy scarf and shivering constantly. Sucking in air, she kept muttering, “Killer weather. So cold. Why would you venture out in this cold weather?”

  I explained why I had come. My aunt stopped shivering, shot a glance at me, and said, “No. He never mentioned that key. Your father was the fox in the family. He never told the truth. Whenever he came over here, he wanted to borrow money. So many years have passed. Why are you still concerned about it? It’s tough to figure out what your father was up to.”

  “But the box is still here. He left it to me. Can I smash it open and look inside?”

  “This isn’t my business. You can see I’m old. After a while, it will be difficult for me to talk. Why would I bother about his things? I sit here and often dream of skiing with your father in the courtyard. Back then I was six and he was eight. Even at that age, he was already a trickster. If you don’t want to let this matter drop, you can go and see his old friend Qin Yi.” Her toothless mouth was shriveled; she seemed to want to say more. Suddenly, she dropped her head, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

  I figured it would be impossible to get any useful clues from my aunt. I might as well go home first. I decided to visit Qin Yi the next day. I hadn’t seen him since Father died almost seven years ago.

  Qin Yi lived on a small winding lane. It had just rained, and there were puddles everywhere. After I walked along this lane, my pants and feet were all spattered. Ahead of me was a little old man being chased by an old woman with a large wooden stick. She kept stumbling and falling, and she was crazy with rage. For his part, the old man was as nimble as a goat as he leapt over one puddle after another. Later, the old woman tired and sat beside the road cursing him. The old man went into the house and hid. He was Qin Yi, who had been Father’s young friend and student.

  When I went inside he was jittery. He didn’t ask me to take a seat, either. He was only too anxious for me to leave. But after hearing my question, he seemed interested and invited me to sit down and have some tea.

  “Although he was my teacher, I have to tell you he was a big fraud. I’ve said this all along. He was always hiding boxes and saying there were huge secrets inside that he would explain later. But he never did. I have a box of his, too. I opened it a long time ago, and it was empty. He was still alive then, and I asked him about it. He said he was joking, and that he hadn’t imagined I would smash it open. By saying this, I don’t mean to encourage you to smash your box. Just leave it alone. Maybe there’s a little something inside.”

  “Yes, of course there’s something inside. I heard it. It’s also heavy. After all, he was my father.” I felt a little resentful of Qin Yi. I didn’t know why my father had trusted this kind of person.

  “Maybe, maybe. He was your father. So you believe there is something in it. But I know nothing about the key.”

  Later on, I also visited a cousin, one of my father’s former colleagues, and one of my mother’s confidants, and still didn’t learn anything.

  As the story about my box made the rounds among my acquaintances, some people found excuses to call on me. They would sit down and glance at the loft. Whenever I looked at them, they would turn their eyes away and look down and exchange small talk. Each time, my cousin would stick her hands in her pants pockets and stride back and forth.

  One day, my cousin’s parents—a very boring couple—were among the visitors. After they sat down, their eyes slid to and fro like a thief’s and they made impertinent remarks belittling today’s youth. Then my cousin came over and cursed them. She said they hadn’t been invited. She wanted them to take off.

  “Don’t think I don’t know everything about you,” her mother said as she left. “Some people look all right, but actually they are thoroughly rotten. Just listen to what people say about you.”

  When the visitors were gone, my cousin was still furious and gasping for breath. All of a sudden, she grabbed my collar and shook it hard. She said, “Was it you who started talking about the box?”

  “I talked with some people—with my father’s relatives and good friends. So what? This isn’t some terrible secret! Outsiders must have known of it long ago.”

  “You fool!” Utterly exasperated, she let go of me. “What makes you think outsiders knew about this? With your parents dead, I’m the only one who knew. Now everyone is interested in your box. Do you think your father can still rest in peace in the ground? You’re doomed. You sinner!”

  I could see I’d made a mistake. Avoiding her eyes, I spoke haltingly, “I’m . . . just . . . not . . . convinced . . .”

  Because so many people were coming over, all I could do was hide the box away, hoping to dispel their curiosity.

  But visitors still showed up, sat at the table, looked down, and didn’t look at the loft again. They didn’t say anything, either. They thought their manner would signal that they knew all there was to know. I realized that as soon as they left they would talk about me maliciously. Qin Yi was one of the visitors, confirming for me that it was he who had spread the rumors. This evil was gnawing at Father’s corpse all the time.

  One day when I came home from work, my son complained to me that even the kids at school had started talking about us. He couldn’t stand the looks he was getting from others. His face filled with rage, he wan
ted me to open the box and get it over with. “Isn’t it just a wooden box? Why did you hide it?” He said I had hidden the box, yet he was the one who ran into trouble everywhere he went.

  “They’re also gossiping about murder. It stresses me out,” my son said indignantly.

  I thought about the mistakes I’d made. But the root of all of these mistakes stemmed from Father’s having given me a locked wooden box without a key. Why on earth had he hated me so much?

  My husband wearied of neighbors and relatives shuttling in and out of the house. I often felt that he was surreptitiously observing me to see if I would give in. One day, after hesitating for a long time, he finally said, “Rumei, let’s give it up.”

  “What’s this ‘us’? You’re talking about me. I’m telling you I don’t care what you think about this matter. That’s right. You! And all the rest of you, too!” I glared at my cousin. She was looking at the ceiling.

  “Why are you so obstinate? We can break the box open and look inside. Isn’t that the way to get to the bottom of this? What on earth are you afraid of?”

  “No!” I shouted, and then dashed into the bedroom and shut the door.

  I dragged the box out from under the bed and shook it next to my ear. The contents seemed to be withered leaves, straw, or letters. When I shook it a few more times, I thought it was none of these, but merely some broken bones or small pebbles or wood chips. What was inside the box was really hard to determine. Could Father have simply been playing a prank? What kind of person did he think I was? The same as Qin Yi? Actually, what was the essential difference between Qin Yi and me? The only difference was that up to now I hadn’t smashed open the box. There must be someone who understood, and that person was probably my cousin. Otherwise, why would she have said that it was because of this that she had come to stay here? In the seven years since I put the box in the loft, it hadn’t attracted any interest. That’s right: my cousin created this disturbance. Maybe Father had dropped her a hint and she’d picked up on it. She was very bright.

  When I thought of how Father had regarded me, I felt thoroughly disappointed. I threw the box down, and a vague plan arose in my mind. Yes, I was going to retaliate against the dead—Father and also Mother—and consign them to hell. My husband entered quietly and noticed the box on the floor. He mistakenly thought I had yielded. As he stood under the lamp, his lanky body appeared to be floating. I heard him sigh. He seemed to be talking to himself: “It shouldn’t have grown so serious in the first place. Who cares about things that belonged to the dead? It would have been okay if everyone had continued being in the dark, wouldn’t it? The past few days, those people have really been driving me nuts.”

  Early in the morning, my cousin packed her things. She stood up right after breakfast and announced she was leaving. My son immediately shouted in protest, saying she shouldn’t leave so soon. They hadn’t finished yesterday’s chess game.

  “What’s your rush?” I looked her straight in the eye.

  “You no longer need me here,” she smiled. “Evils will continue, but there won’t be any serious problem. I’m relieved. And I can’t stay here forever. It’s already been long enough.”

  I held back my rising anger. “Didn’t you say you would curb the evils?”

  “I was just exaggerating. We all like to boast, because it makes us feel important. I have to deal with my own problems. As you saw, the two old folks came here making trouble. They were extremely malicious. They wanted to kill someone!” Then she hefted her backpack, waved her hand, and left.

  “I never thought she could have put up with this situation,” my husband whispered.

  “Could you? What’s your ‘situation’? Do you know? Don’t play innocent! We’re a little too old for that.” This startled him. He sneered and went outside.

  My son also left the table, glared at me, and walked away.

  Outside, people were talking. The neighbors. They were crowding around my husband asking him something. I felt a roaring in my head. Everything was like an arrow in a bow.

  My husband seemed to be saying something, and they all suddenly understood. They marveled and slowly dispersed.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed the tape recorder and smashed it on the floor. No one paid any attention to me. They had all gone. I returned to the bedroom and took out that wooden box and shook it a few times next to my ear. I heard the sound of withered leaves, or perhaps they were letters or photographs. It was possible, too, that they were bones or wood chips. At this moment, my curiosity kept mounting. My anger was mounting along with it. I put the box in a bag and hurried outside.

  When I returned, my husband was waiting at the door. His face was somber. My son was with him. As soon as my son caught sight of me, he ran off.

  “Did you throw that thing into the river?” my husband asked, his hands starting to twitch.

  “So what if I did? It’s mine. I can do whatever I want with it.”

  “Sure. You have the right.” His gaze was wandering, and his hands stopped spasming. “Rumei, tell me the truth. Aren’t you afraid? Especially when you wake up in the middle of the night?”

  “Why should I be afraid? Can being afraid solve the problem? Who can avoid it? Your plight isn’t any better, either.”

  “Oh, yes! Now I get it. What a fool I’ve been! Thanks to your awakening, I now understand everything. We don’t have to be such sticklers for form, do we? You and I want the same thing. We just deal with it differently. Your father was really an old fox. He was always disguised well. I wasn’t at all suspicious of him. Don’t worry. Those people won’t be back. They all have their own troubles. You could just as well have opened it and taken a look before throwing it away, you know?”

  “No!” I said with finality.

  After that, my husband and son drew away from me, though we were still talking and laughing together. They acted as if nothing had happened, but I could see it all written on their faces. They often glanced absentmindedly at the loft, as if to remind me of the sin. This went on for days.

  Actually, I was often startled awake in the middle of the night. At times like that, I seriously thought of making an identical box for my son, and putting withered leaves or several newspapers or a few wood chips or a few slices of something else inside it. I even discussed it with my husband. My husband concluded that I wanted to shift the responsibility.

  When I had nearly forgotten her, my cousin reappeared. Her face was tanned and her hair was scorched brown. She still looked very much the way an old maid looks, with her hands stuffed into her pants pocket.

  “Are you here to investigate the case?” I ridiculed her, while doing my best to look relaxed.

  “Who has time for that? I’ve been traveling on business all along. When I was in the Gobi Desert, I considered staying there. Then I thought, Isn’t everywhere the same? The same evil, the same deception, so I decided I might as well come back here. How are all of you? Did time heal the wound?” Looking up, she swept her eyes toward the loft, and a fleeting smile skimmed over her face.

  “There’s still something I don’t understand. You were so serious about this matter. And then you just forgot it all? Do you treat your own issues like this?”

  “Of course,” she laughed, “I act just the same. Everything is but an assumption, and we need to be flexible in dealing with each of our problems. Your father was a very flexible guy. He was never left with no way out.”

  “So you just faked the serious manner to remind me. Is that it?”

  “I can’t say I was faking. At the time, what I said was all true. Later, with the problem on the table, I believed you understood it all, and so I left your home. What kind of outcome do you want? Nothing can be completed. This is the conclusion. I remember there was a wooden box, right? Your father loved these childish games, and he purposely concocted mysteries. In the past, you were really numb. If I hadn’t reminded you, you wouldn’t have noticed anything, would you? In fact, there were also some specia
l characteristics to your father’s methods. A box!” She burst out laughing, and then turned serious again. “There’s no point in being so earnest about this. Why would it matter if you had opened it and looked inside? You’re still too stressed out. You aren’t flexible.”

  Just as suddenly as she had appeared, my cousin vanished. One night, I encountered her mother on the street. The old woman was standing alone looking in all directions. I knew who she was looking for.

  “She couldn’t have gone far, Auntie. She told me she’d be around. She’s probably somewhere nearby.”

  “I’ll make her pay for what she’s done.” She squeezed these words out from between her teeth. In the cold wind, her face was frozen purple.

  Before long, my uncle—my cousin’s father—died. She didn’t show up, but I knew she was still here. She was a ghost, a person like Father. Perhaps someday, she’ll walk into our house again and announce that she has to investigate another of my sins.

  THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PARTITION

  When I was a kid, we lived in a place where all the neighbors shared a kitchen. It was large, holding more than ten coal stoves. It also had a tap; everyone took turns getting water to wash vegetables. Cooking was easy in those days, for in general each family had two dishes every day—greens and tofu, or greens and strips of meat fried with pickles. The kitchen was liveliest when people were cooking. We all chatted in loud voices, mingled with the ding-dang noise of metal scoops striking the woks.

  If we all stopped making noise at the same time, we could hear a strange buzzing sound coming constantly from the other side of the kitchen wall. People said that a workshop on the other side of the wall made tin gardening pots. But it had been closed for several months, probably because there wasn’t enough business. Ordinarily, when we walked through that narrow passage to reach the street we saw a big lock hanging from the workshop door. What was making the buzzing sound? Adults paid no attention to things like this; they acted as if there was no sound.