Albert Cossery - Laziness in the Fertile Valley

After a moment the door opened, and Imtissal appeared, her hair loose, her long body undressed for the night.

“It’s you! Come in, darling!”

“I’ve come for a visit. Am I disturbing you?”

“On the contrary. I’m very happy to see you. Come in and sit down.”

Hoda went into the room; she didn’t sit down, but asked:

“Is the baby asleep?”

“Yes, but you can take him on your lap.”

Hoda went over to the corner of the room where Imtissal kept the cradle; the child was sleeping. She took it gently in her arms, then sat on the ground and held the infant in her lap. She was overcome with joy.

Imtissal, the students’ friend, sat negligently on the edge of the bed. She wore a yellow dressing gown, embroidered with large scarlet flowers. It revealed her full body that had an almost primitive sensuality. In the light of the kerosene lamp, her outrageously painted face looked like a mask. She had a heavy, tragic beauty.

“Tell me,” she said. “Has Rafik sent you?”

“No, by Allah!” said Hoda. “I came by myself. I like to see you and play with the baby.”

“I like to see you too.”

“You’re so nice to me.”

“Aren’t they nice to you?”

“They’re terrible. The nicest one is Serag.”

“That’s because you love him,” said Imtissal.

“I guess you’re right,” said Hoda.

“And does he love you?”

“I don’t know. You can’t ever tell with him.”

“No one can ever tell with any of them,” said Imtissal.

Her voice was husky and slow; it promised infinite sorrows and joys. She heaved a sigh and was silent. Since her experience with Rafik, she had nourished an unspeakable hatred for his family. She had never forgiven them for destroying her love, nor, especially, her dream of a more dignified life. Imtissal believed old Hafez had taken his son from her because she was a prostitute; she didn’t understand the true reasons for his refusal. She had cursed him unto the tenth generation.

“They sleep all the time, don’t they?” she asked.

“They did sleep,” said Hoda. “But now they’ve all gone completely mad.”

“Why, what’s happened?”

“They’re threatened by a real catastrophe.”

“A catastrophe! What is it, darling?”

“It’s my master. Can you believe it, he wants to get married!” said Hoda.

Imtissal burst into hysterical laughter; it shook her entire body.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” she said. “So old Hafez wants to get married! What does Rafik think of that?”

“He’s the most upset of all. He swears all day long. He hardly sleeps anymore; he’s waiting.”

“What for?”

“He’s waiting for Haga Zohra, the go-between. He wants to keep her from seeing my master. She’s the one who’s arranging the marriage.”

Imtissal seemed to be overcome by a frantic gaiety. Her eyes shone; she clapped her hands and turned over on the bed.

“It’s marvelous,” she said. “Then they’re awake and waiting. You can’t imagine how this delights me. I’d love to see them!”

“It’s not very amusing for me,” said Hoda. “The whole load falls on me.”

“I feel sorry for you, darling,” said Imtissal. “I forgot you have to bear with all their extravagances.”

She took the comb from the night table and began to comb her hair. She had black hair, very long, that hung all the way down her back, divided into two heavy plaits. Imtissal took great care of it. She knew the power of its secret aroma to arouse desire in the inexpert bodies of her young clients. She was a prostitute endowed with an exceptional temperament. Her business didn’t tire her too much; above all, it wasn’t repugnant to her. She felt no revulsion from her contact with her young lovers. Their ignorance and timidity in their search for pleasure amused her. She had taught many of them how to make love. She was proud and maternally concerned with their progress. Rafik was the only man she had ever loved. To him she had revealed the passionate secret of her body and all the experience acquired in her business. She had believed he would always love her; thus her deception was slow to heal. Then the baby had come.

The child slept on Hoda’s knees, his pale face lined by the reflections of the lamp. She looked at it with a bitter smile on her painted mouth. She was afraid of seeing him grow; then she wouldn’t be able to keep him in the room with her. Sometimes, when he cried, she had to hold him in her arms, while she submitted to a client’s lovemaking. One day they would have to separate, or go elsewhere and live in larger quarters. This was her sole preoccupation now.

“Are you expecting anyone?” asked Hoda. “Tell me if I should leave.”

“No. I’m not expecting anyone for the moment,” said Imtissal. “You can stay. Go on.”

“What more is there to say?”

“Tell me about Serag. Is he upset about his father’s marriage?”

“Oh no! Serag only thinks of leaving to look for work. I’m afraid for him.”

“Why are you afraid?”

“I don’t know. Do you think they’re made for work?”

“I think they’re incapable of it. There’s no danger of losing him. He’ll give up the idea soon.”

“May God hear you!” said Hoda. “It’s given me a heavy heart.”

“Yes,” said Imtissal. “I know them, I know what they can do. They scorn people who work. They’d rather wet their pants than unbutton their trousers — it’s too tiring.”

“That’s Galal,” said Hoda. “He’s exactly like that.”

“That one I don’t know,” said Imtissal. “I’ve never seen him. When I came to live here, he was already buried in sleep. He seems to be their teacher. Rafik admired him tremendously.”

“He’s astonishing,” said Hoda. “When I watch him, all at once I want to go to sleep myself.”

Instinctively, at the memory of Galal, she opened her mouth and yawned. The child was heavy on her knees. She was tired from her day’s work and her limbs felt stiff. The odor of the kerosene lamp, mingled with the aroma of perfume and cosmetics, was strange and heavy in the room. Hoda felt herself falling asleep. The great bed, the mirrored chest which reflected all Imtissal’s movements, all the atmosphere of faded, cheap luxury, began to dizzy her. She saw Imtissal’s supple, adorned body languishing on the rose quilt. One of her legs, slipping through her dressing gown, seemed, in the weak lamp light, like the supreme indecency of all flesh. Hoda felt drugged in the stagnant air; she heard the death-rattle of love infiltrate the silence. The room seemed, for the first time, strange and corrupting. She shook herself, blinked her eyes, and asked in a smothered voice:

“You don’t want to see him again?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Rafik,” said Hoda. “He still devils me about you. He thinks it’s my fault you won’t see him.”

“Tell him I’ll never see him again,” cried Imtissal. “And that I curse him with all my soul. To think he stuffs himself there, in the middle of his disgusting family. Ah! You don’t know his pride! He’s bursting with vanity. Do you know what he said to me one day, when he saw a funeral go by? That he wished he was the dead man. Because of the pomp of the cortege, you understand! How can anyone be so vain!”

“He told me he wanted to explain some things to you,” said Hoda.

“What has he to explain? I don’t want a single explanation. It’s enough to know he’s plunged in unhappiness! Ah! It’s going to be so funny! I hope someone will pass out sugarplums at that rotten old man’s wedding. Don’t forget to bring me my share.”

Imtissal had risen; she was standing now at the foot of the bed, in a martyred pose. A bitter pain twisted her highly painted face. Now she finally had her revenge! She bared her breasts and burst out in hysterical laughter.