Albert Cossery - Laziness in the Fertile Valley

While this was going on, to keep himself busy, Serag tried to find a solution for the problem of Abou Zeid’s shop; this passed the time and thus he could feel that he wasn’t completely inactive. Several ideas came to him, but he rejected them all, finding them ordinary or too easy. He wanted to find something supremely original, something that would amaze Abou Zeid and, at the same time, show him he was a member of a family of decision and refinement. But the idea hadn’t come yet. Serag was in no hurry. He reflected on the matter slowly, with circumspection, sure of uncovering a great idea in the end.

Serag hadn’t been out of the house since his last trip to the unfinished factory. He had to hoard his energy before undertaking a new excursion outside. Now, however, he felt himself in shape again, well disposed after several days of sleep, and he had decided to go and take still another look at the factory. To be sure, he didn’t really count on seeing it already finished, but it was a great consolation for him to visit the spot where he should have been working. He found a comfort and a feeling of action there that enabled him to survive the atmosphere of his home.

Stretched out on his bed, Serag looked toward the window and beyond the window at the blue sky, without a trace of clouds, where the sun burned radiantly. It was a spring day, a spring day that already carried a fatal warmth. Serag was rejoicing at the idea of the long walk to the factory. He thought of the child with the slingshot, saying to himself that perhaps he might see him again. He had an absorbing desire to find him — that child could he so useful to him! He had never forgiven himself for letting him leave without asking for all the details of his vagabond life. Serag thought of him as a skilled traveller; he was thirsty to hear all about his many pilgrimages around the city. With what a strange passion he had chased the birds! Serag had never sensed such a feeling of power in another human being. It was as if the child carried all the weight of the world and, at the same time, defended himself from it with a disdainful carelessness. He had seen so many things, met so many men, Serag promised himself, if he saw him again, to ask his advice about how he could live a fierce and passionate existence. His competence in the matter would be a great help.

He got out of bed, walked toward the closet and opened it. He took out his red woollen sweater, his football shoes, and began to dress.

“You’re going out?”

The door had just opened; Serag turned, saw Hoda, and became provoked. The young girl gently closed the door and walked into the room on tiptoe. She repeated, in a whisper:

“Are you going out?’

“Yes, I’m going out,” said Serag.

“Wait for me,” said Hoda. “I’ll finish the dishes and we can go out together.”

“That’s impossible,” said Serag. “I have some urgent business; I can’t wait.”

“That’s not true,” said Hoda. “The truth is you don’t want me to go. You don’t love me.”

She spoke in a childish voice, full of naïve reproach that moved Serag and troubled him. Her love for him was a hindrance to his projects for escape and an active life. He was angry for letting himself be affected by this amorous and obstinate little girl. It was a weakness worse than sleep that he couldn’t bear to see her suffer. He said, with a profound gentleness:

“But I do love you, you know it well. Only I haven’t time. I have to go out right now.”

She became sad and pouted; she didn’t believe him. She knew be had no urgent business, that it was only his desire to roam that took him outside.

“You ought to sleep,” she said.

“I’ve slept enough. I have to go out. Don’t you understand?”

“What are you going to do outside? I’m afraid for you when you’re outside.”

“You’re only a little girl. Why should you be afraid? All men don’t stay inside and sleep. You don’t know anything about life.”

“But you’re not like other men,” she said. “I’m afraid for you.”

“You’re crazy! What could happen to me? Do you know, Hoda, there are countries where men get up at four in the morning to work in the mines?”

“That’s another of your inventions.”

“No it isn’t. Rafik told me.”

“It isn’t true,” said Hoda, “He was lying.”

“Do you think so?” said Serag. “Anyhow, it’s very difficult. I tried and couldn’t do it.”

“You tried to get up at four in the morning? What for? There aren’t any mines around here.”

“No, but Rafik said there would be soon. Anyhow, I have to train myself.”

“Hush,” said Hoda. “You really frighten me. Won’t you wait for me?”

She had a little girl’s stubborn attachment for him — a sort of vicious and troubled love. For him she accepted the vexations of her situation; thinking of him, she submitted to all the outrages and insults. She knew he wanted to leave the house, and she didn’t know how to stop him. If he would take her with him, she would leave gladly.

She came over to Serag, pressed herself against him, and put her arms around him. He was tall so she had to raise her head to look at him. She looked supplicating and tender. Serag couldn’t help smiling at her.

“Kiss me,” she said.

“I haven’t time. I have to go, I tell you. And I don’t want to tire myself, I’ve a long walk ahead of me.”

She held him more closely.

“Kiss me,” she begged.

Serag put his arms around her neck and began to kiss her mouth. He felt her tremble, and knew he couldn’t get away until he had made love to her. He loosened his embrace and sat on the bed. Hoda joined him, rubbed herself against him coaxingly, her eyes brilliant with a malicious light. She turned on her back and waited, submissive, for the approach of pleasure. She was smiling vaguely, her eyelids lowered, her face taut with expectation. A long moment she remained inert, not daring to move. Serag raised her dress, uncovering her slender brown legs. Hoda looked at Serag, then at her legs, as if they belonged to someone else. The pleasure had not yet come; she felt it trembling in her like a wounded bird. Serag moved his hand gently up her thigh, reached the sensitive spot of her flesh and lingered there. She gave a soft cry, caught him to her with all her strength and forced him to lie beside her.

He softly bit the tips of her breasts that had slipped through her dress. She let him enter her, her face happy and mischievous. Soon Serag’s head weighted her chest; she felt him falling asleep.

“Do you know,” she asked, “that Galal promised to give me five piastres if I’d let him see my breasts?”

Serag drew back, looking at her stupidly.

“He promised you five piastres!” he said. “He’s fooling you, he hasn’t any money.”

“Even if he had some,” said Hoda, “do you think I’d do it?”

“I don’t know,” said Serag. “Maybe he could force you to.”

“If he forced me,” said Hoda, “that wouldn’t be the same thing. Besides, he never would.”

“Why? Hasn’t he ever made you embrace him?”

“No,” said Hoda. “He tried, but he’s too lazy. He’d rather sleep.”

“Then I don’t understand. Why would he want to see your breasts?”

“No doubt that would give him pleasure,” said Hoda. “Sometime he wants to enjoy himself without getting too tired. Aren’t you jealous?”

Serag smiled and looked at Hoda.

“No, I am not jealous.”

Hoda didn’t say anything; she looked disappointed. She had wanted to make him jealous.

“The one who always forces me is Rafik,” she said. “I don’t know how to get away from him.”

“Don’t you like Rafik?” asked Serag. “He’s really remarkable. Do you know he’s been spending his time watching in the dining room to keep Haga Zohra from seeing my father. He’s been waiting for her for days. He’ll surely end by getting sick.”