Albert Cossery - Laziness in the Fertile Valley

The mouse seemed to be seized by a sudden frenzy; it leaped all over the room as though in search of some way out. Galal listened to it, scarcely breathing, the covers drawn up to his chin. Above all he feared it would jump into the bed. The thought drove him mad. He would have liked to have turned on the light, but to reach the switch he would have to make a crippling effort. He lay still under the blankets, forcing himself to forget everything, and tried to fall asleep again.

He felt some presence near him and started up.

“It’s you!”

Uncle Mustapha was standing near the bed. He was dressed as usual and wore his tarboosh on his head.

“Are you going out?” asked Galal.

“No, I’m not going out,” said Uncle Mustapha. “I’m worried.”

“I see,” said Galal. “You’re always dressed as though you were going out. And that tarboosh! How can you stand it on your head? Isn’t it heavy?”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Uncle Mustapha. “I beg you, wake up a minute.”

“Say what you have to say,” said Galal. “I’m awake. What do you want?”

“I’m worried,” said Uncle Mustapha.

“Why? What’s the matter now?”

“It’s your brother, Rafik,” said Uncle Mustapha. “He went out last evening and he isn’t back yet.”

Uncle Mustapha was silent and watched Galal. The night bulb in the hall sent a thin streak of light through the open door. In this, single beam, Galal’s face seemed hideously pale, like that of a cadaver. Uncle Mustapha recoiled, appalled. He sat on Rafik’s empty bed and sighed several times, even more profoundly than usual.

“You’re worried for nothing” said Galal. “What time is it?”

“It’s ten o’clock,” said Uncle Mustapha.

“Is that all!” said Galal. “I thought it was much later.”

“What bothers me,” said Uncle Mustapha, “is that he doesn’t usually go out. I don’t understand it.”

“Maybe Serag took him along to look for work,” said Galal.

“That’s impossible,” said Uncle Mustapha. “Rafik wouldn’t do it. He’s never looked for work. Besides, Serag is in his room.”

Actually, Uncle Mustapha’s distress was only a pretext for coming to talk to Galal. He needed to talk to someone. He was growing feeble in this house; the deathlike silence oppressed his soul. His conscience also tormented him. The image of the washerwoman’s swollen stomach wouldn’t leave him. Ever since he had thought of her, he couldn’t manage to get her out of his mind. Every day it grew more overwhelming. Uncle Mustapha couldn’t fight it; the stomach swelling with mysterious life was crushing down on him, almost suffocating him. A strange thing was happening to him: he had begun to think about the child. What had become of it? Uncle Mustapha was ready to give some remorse to these reflections. His life was thus given a fixed point; he found this a charming relief. He could spend his leisure hours plumbing the remorse of his conscience. He finally felt like a man again!

“Then you’ve no idea where he could be?”

“Uncle Mustapha, I haven’t any ideas. Don’t you know that, or are you doing this on purpose? I’m very patient. But I want to be left alone.”

“Don’t be angry, my boy!”

“There’s that cursed mouse too. That’s why I was awake.”

“Is there a mouse in this room?”

“Yes, it’s over there chewing on God knows what!”

Uncle Mustapha had instinctively stiffened and drawn up his legs. He looked fearfully at the floor.

“I’ll tell Hoda to set a trap,” he said.

“Never mind,” said Galal. “I don’t want a trap. I might catch my foot in it.”

There was a silence. Uncle Mustapha tried to hear the mouse. He stared at the line of light that came through the door; it was his only safeguard against the danger. But there was no noise. He raised his eyes and looked at Galal. In the half light, he saw his almost unreal face lit by an evil smile. He heard a faint snickering.

“Uncle Mustapha! I know where Rafik went!”

“Where, my boy?”

“He’s undoubtedly gone to murder Haga Zohra! He’s full of courage. He wants to rid us of our great misfortune!”

“Be quiet, Galal, my boy! You astonish me. You’re a wise, thoughtful lad. And here you fling yourself beyond all reason!”

“The thing that’s beyond all reason is this marriage.”

“Your father wants to marry. It’s his right. No one can stop him.”

“What about our rights! Uncle Mustapha, haven’t we the right to sleep in peace’?”

“What stops you from sleeping?”

“Uncle Mustapha, why do you play the fool? A child would understand. How can we sleep with a woman in the house? A woman who runs in and out all day, arranging everything around her. She’ll want everything right and proper to impress the neighbors. She’ll begin by getting a maid, because little Hoda won’t be enough for her. Imagine it, Uncle Mustapha, a maid in the house! It makes me tremble! Without counting all her relatives! They’ll come visit us. We’ll have to get up and dress to meet them. We might even have to talk to them. What kind of life would that be, I ask you!”

“You’re exaggerating, my boy! And then, your father wants it. He’s the master. After all, he wouldn’t be so disagreeable if there was a woman in the house. Life would be much pleasanter.”

Uncle Mustapha had built a delightful picture of the change his brother’s marriage might make in the life of the house. He already rejoiced at the thought of receiving people, and perhaps, even, of paying visits.

“Uncle Mustapha, I always thought you were a traitor. But not that way! You must want to see us all dead!”

“Calm yourself! I haven’t said anything so tragic, believe me!”

“Let me sleep. Who knows if our days for sleeping aren’t numbered already! I don’t want to talk anymore.”

“I beg you, don’t go back to sleep. Talk to me a little longer.”

Uncle Mustapha didn’t want to go back to his room. The image of the washerwoman’s swollen stomach was up there, waiting for him. This evening he didn’t feel strong enough to face it. It was like a tatter of living flesh that he could only touch with infinite caution. He wanted to rest, as long as he could, in this shadowy corner, face to face with a human being, even if he was half buried in sleep.

“Listen to me! Maybe the marriage will never take place.”

Galal rose up in the bed, just enough to show his astonishment.

“Why not?”

“Because of the hernia!”

“What hernia?”

“Your father’s hernia, you’ll see!”

“My father has a hernia?”

“You didn’t know?”

“No. How should I know? That’s extraordinary news. I knew he had diabetes. I even thought it was a lucky thing and would make it easier for him to marry.”

“Not at all. The diabetes was Haga Zohra’s idea. The truth is your father has a hernia.”

“Have you seen it?”

“As I see you now. It’s enormous!”

There was a solemn silence.

“Then we’re saved!” cried Galal.

“I think so,” said Uncle Mustapha.

“Well! Uncle Mustapha, thank you for the news. You can go now. I’ll be able to sleep.”

Uncle Mustapha got up in spite of himself yet he still hesitated to leave. But he already heard Galal snoring and knew it was useless to insist. He left the room with the sad face of an abandoned man.

♦ ♦ ♦

The sudden glare of the electric lamp fell on him like cold water. He gave a start and sat up in the bed.

“You must be crazy to turn on the light without even warning me.”

“Excuse me, I couldn’t find my pajamas.”

It was Rafik who had just come in and was undressing nervously.