“The noise ran through him: irritating, melancholy, trapped in a never ending repetition. There must be a street-cleaner stalled below his window. He would wait hopefully for it to fix itself and go on, until at last he remembered that the sound was the river at Uji, and he was far from home. Then he would roll over and touch his guardian, listen for the breathing of the others. Count them all, as if they were still in Africa. At least no one was dying tonight. In a hollow of fragile security, w...ith walls of grieving sound, he would sleep again.In the early morning, he slipped out of bed and went to change himself. He never wore underwear in the daytime now. Dust covered the white pan of the shower, and of the water closet in its little cupboard. Clavel wanted to try everything, but even his long-suffering guardian rebelled at the idea of water sloshing around in their changing room. Standing naked he drew a fingertip along the inner rim of his bellyfold, and flicked the wanderers it gathered onto the thickest dust.It would be years before this place was hygienic.The sanitary bin was full.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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