Albert Cossery - Laziness in the Fertile Valley

“Let him go,” said Rafik. “He’ll learn about life. It will teach him a lesson.”

He got up slowly, leaned over and looked between his father’s legs. He wanted to see the hernia. The hernia was there, very noticeable under his nightgown. It was even bigger than he’d hoped. He smiled diabolically and lay down again.

“I’ll buy you a new suit,” said old Hafez, at the end of his arguments. “Does that please you? You can go to the tailor’s today. What more could you ask for? You see, I do everything to be agreeable.”

“It’s not a new suit I want,” moaned Serag. “Father, don’t you ever understand?”

“How do you expect me to understand?” said old Hafez. “Ungrateful child! Do I go out? Do I go to the city? What makes you any better than me? By Allah, I’m sorry I sent you to school! What did they teach you at school, tell me?”

Uncle Mustapha hadn’t said anything. He didn’t dare speak for fear of giving himself away. Actually, he was the only one who appreciated this departure, who thrilled at this promise of adventure. He, too, wanted to go away, to leave the house and the sleep-filled disorder that was like a nightmare. He gazed at Serag, moved to tears. He would have liked to go with him.

“My dear Serag,” he said, “if you ever go to the city, don’t forget to go by Emad El Dine Street. That’s where my apartment was.”

“Your apartment,” said old Hafez. “What has your apartment to do with this?”

“I’d like him to see it, that’s all,” said Uncle Mustapha.

“This is impossible,” said old Hafez. “You’re inciting the child to leave with such ideas. Is that how you help me?”

“He wants to show us he lived in a nice apartment,” said Rafik. “Don’t bother, we’ll take you at your word.”

“That’s not what I meant, I assure you,” said Uncle Mustapha.

“Drop this,” said old Hafez. “Haven’t you any pity for your old father?”

“You’re making us unhappy,” said Uncle Mustapha.

“I’m not trying to make you unhappy,” said Serag. “I just want to work.”

“How can we help being unhappy if we know you’re working,” said old Hafez. “We’re not egoists like you. Come, be reasonable. You’re going to make me weep.”

Old Hafez began to sniffle very effectively. He had decided on this as a last recourse to soften his son. Uncle Mustapha joined him. He had been holding back his tears but now he could let them flow. They had reached the crisis of the drama. No one, after this, could do anything.

“All right,” said Serag. “I won’t go. Only, I beg you, stop crying.”

“At last you’re reasonable!” said old Hafez. “You’re a joy to your father. Come kiss me!”

Serag went up to his father and kissed him on the forehead. He felt miserable and ashamed.

Old Hales began to call for Hoda in a piercing voice that woke Galal.

“What’s the matter now? Where are we?”

“He’s not going,” said Rafik.

“So much the better,” said Galal. “Then this is over. I can go back to bed.”

Hoda was waiting anxiously in the kitchen for the result of this family debate. She came running at her master’s call.

“Come here, girl!” said old Hafez. “You’re to fix a chicken for lunch today. Do you hear?”

He turned to Serag and said:

“Serag, my son, don’t worry. We’ll all go see the city some day.”

“Don’t count on me,” said Galal.

There was nothing but those street lamps that flickered in the night, creating, all along the road, large patches of provocative shadow. Each time he reached one of these spaces in the night, Rafik slackened his pace and savored a moment of peace. He had really decided to see her; he didn’t hesitate as he had the last time. The desire he had felt for her was gone, leaving no trace of regret or bitterness. He’d thrown it away as a dead thing. He realized now that this long forgotten desire of the flesh would inevitably have led to an end of his happiness. He no longer wanted anything but the endless joy of sleep.

He felt lighter, as though moved by a gentle, tranquil power that seemed to have taken possession of him. To have grasped this elemental truth, hidden at the bottom of life — the way of the least effort — filled him with pride and gratitude. He felt as though he were floating in a decaying world that hadn’t yet discovered its true nature. The stupidity of men was boundless. Why did they have to struggle, always vicious and discontented, when the sole wisdom lay in a careless, passive attitude? It was so simple. The least beggar could have understood it!

When he thought of his fate if he had gone off with Imtissal, Rafik felt a shiver of terror. Today he would have been a slave among other slaves. And for a woman! Because she would have induced him to work — forced him to work with her inane stubbornness and female unscrupulousness.

It was this woman he was now going to see, to explain his past attitude and his real reason for having left her. He didn’t want to let a misunderstanding based on a pitiful, unhappy love affair go on any longer. She must know the truth. Rafik became more elated as he came nearer Imtissal’s house. This final explanation would relieve him of an enormous pressure that weighed upon his sleep. He must destroy this illusion of love and conclude it with dignity.

He was feeling more and more buoyant when he heard himself called. He straightened up, made a few hesitant steps then stopped. He turned, suspiciously.

“I’ve been calling you for ages,” said Mimi. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“No,” said Rafik. “What is this! Are you following me now?”

“Oh no,” said Mimi. “Believe me. I was just in the house, looking out the window. I saw you go by and ran after you.”

Mimi was breathless and seemed a little out of his head. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, and his shirt was open on his chest. His whole appearance betrayed his hurry, and, also, a delirious joy.

“Why did you run after me?’ said Rafik in a hostile tone. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” said Mimi, affecting a confidence that exasperated Rafik.

“Well talk! I’m listening.”

“May I walk with you?” asked Mimi. “Just for a minute?”

Rafik hesitated, but the pleasure of humiliating Mimi was too strong. He knew the young man’s passion for his respect, and he had a sudden desire to hurt him. He said, with an edge of malice in his voice:

“I’m glad to see you. Walk with me if you like.”

“This is really good luck,” said Mimi. “I was just thinking about you when you went by.”

Mimi couldn’t quite believe in this happy encounter, for he had dreamed of it for so long. He behaved like an awkward lover, showing off with absurd gestures, and smiling a wonder-struck smile. He hadn’t detected the cold malice in Rafik’s last words and already believed in his success. However, he felt he must act with great discretion, because Rafik, he knew, was always on guard. He mustn’t offend him. While walking beside Rafik in the obscurity of the night, he looked at him constantly. He wanted to be sure of his entire willingness.

Rafik was walking with an indifferent air. He was aware of all the emotions his presence aroused in his companion, and secretly rejoiced at his uneasiness. He was waiting until he declared himself to deal him a crushing blow. But Mimi didn’t seem to want to talk; happiness had made him mute.

Now they were crossing the lighted circle beneath a street lamp. Rafik suddenly felt he couldn’t hold back his impatience any longer. He turned toward Mimi and asked:

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

Mimi faltered a moment. The brutality of this question had taken him unawares. He seemed to have forgotten everything, thinking only of the joy of being with Rafik. His smile disappeared, and he stammered;