Albert Cossery - Laziness in the Fertile Valley

“I wanted to ask you to come to my house and see my paintings. I must know what you think of them.”

“Well, you’ve wasted your time!” said Rafik. “I’m not coming to see your pictures. Besides, I don’t know anything about painting. My opinion wouldn’t be any use to you!”

“That’s not true,” said Mimi. “I know your ability. You’re the only intelligent person in the whole quarter. All the others are asses.”

“What makes you say that?” said Rafik.

“I know your philosophy of life,” said Mimi. “It’s magnificent.”

“It’s astonishing that you know something about my philosophy of life,” said Rafik. “I’ve never confided in you.”

“I know,” said Mimi. “But I’ve understood all alone. The whole quarter is always saying absurd things about you and your family. I always have to defend you.”

“That’s very amusing,” said Rafik. “May I know what they say?”

“They say you’re all idlers,” said Mimi. “And that you’ve sunk to the depths of laziness. They also tell an extraordinary story. It really goes beyond the limits of imagination. I don’t dare tell you. You’ll think I’m an idiot.”

“What story?” asked Rafik.

“Well!” said Mimi. “Forgive me, but they say your brother Galal sleeps for months at a time, and that it takes a pair of pliers to open his eyes.”

“All that’s perfectly true,” said Rafik. “My brother Galal has been sleeping for seven years. He only wakes up to eat.”

Mimi stopped and looked at Rafik. He suspected a joke, but Rafik’s serious expression made him change his mind. Such a thing was possible then! He was stunned, unable to speak a word.

Rafik watched him fixedly and waited. It amused him to have aroused this state of foolish astonishment in Mimi. He didn’t move for a moment, his face impassive; then he began to walk on into the night. Mimi followed him silently.

“Ah! I like that kind!”

“What kind?”

“Like your brother Galal. To sleep seven years! What an

artist!”

“You think he’s an artist?”

“Certainly. That’s what I try to explain to the imbeciles in this quarter. They take you for idlers.”

“But it’s the truth. Why contradict them?”

“They’re asses, I tell you. They don’t understand the beauty there is in this idleness. You’re an extraordinary family. And you, Rafik, you’re the only intelligent man in the world.”

“You think so?”

“I’m never wrong about you. And I’ve never understood why you’ve detested me. Don’t you feel that the two of us could revolutionize this quarter?”

“Since you understand my philosophy of life, you should know that I don’t like noise and that I’m too fond of my tranquility.”

“I’m talking about a moral revolution. We could teach these fools, these married men, what real wisdom is. I, with my painting, I express nothingness. It’s a shame you don’t write. But it’s true you’re a living example. That’s enough.”

Mimi was becoming exalted in talking; he came closer and closer to Rafik, speaking almost into his ear. He did not suspect the trap Rafik was setting for him. He was too happy to discern the least malevolence in Rafik’s affable conversation. His passion had blinded him; he let himself be seduced by his own words, ardently desiring that the road would grow longer and that the night would cover their idyll eternally. However, at moments, he sensed a subtle menace insinuating itself between him and his companion. It was a disagreeable sensation and Mimi forced himself to escape it by brushing against Rafik as if to prove his presence more strongly.

Rafik, disgusted, pulled away from Mimi, then turned on him with the sudden desire to leap at his throat. But he controlled himself; he didn’t want to give his game away yet. He was still waiting for Mimi to go far enough to destroy him with one blow. There was still time to check him when he became bolder. To tell the truth, he didn’t want to admit to himself that Mimi’s philosophy of life had aroused his curiosity. He had forgotten his mission and thought no more of Imtissal. He asked:

“And how do you express nothingness?”

“I paint the canvas in one color,” said Mimi. “Some of them are black, some red, some green. It depends on my mood. The important thing is that they represent nothing.”

“In short it’s nothing colored,” said Rafik.

“Exactly,” said Mimi, “You’ve understood me perfectly. I knew that you would. We’re made to understand each other.”

Mimi was ravished by this interest Rafik seemed to take in his painting. He thought he was living in a dream. Never had Rafik been so agreeable or so understanding. He forgot all his past injuries, walking with his eyes on the sky, smiling at the stars. He stumbled against a stone, almost fell and caught Rafik’s arm. Rafik gave him a look full of hatred.

“I forbid you to touch me. I don’t like your ways.”

“Don’t be angry. I didn’t do it on purpose. Listen. You must know that no one has ever seen my canvases. You’ll be the first to see them.”

“Thank you for the honor.”

“Oh! Don’t thank me. It’s a great joy for me. I can’t wait to know what you think of them.”

Rafik stopped, crossed his arms and looked hard at Mimi.

“It’s no use. I’m not coining to see your canvases.”

Mimi shook his head in astonishment.

“Why? What have I done? You were so nice just now.”

“You really thought I was being nice?” sneered Rafik. “Well, my dear Mimi, you were a fool to believe it! I don’t like your ways. You’re a phony. You’re not even an invert.”

“Me?” said Mimi, mortally offended. “I’m not an invert? You don’t know me. You don’t know what I can do.”

“I don’t want to know,” said Rafik.

He had just struck Mimi at the heart of his pride, and he was overjoyed. Now he was finished with him. He only had to get rid of him. He walked on, hurrying.

Mimi seemed to have collapsed. It was as though Rafik’s words had struck him fatally. He remained without moving for a long time, standing by the side of the road. He hadn’t expected this supreme insult. No injury could have wounded him so deeply as this denial of his abnormality. All his artistic vanity expressed itself in the display of his inversion. For Rafik to deny this! He couldn’t bear it. Suddenly he realized he was alone and an overwhelming terror seized him. He began to run after Rafik, uttering loud cries. But he couldn’t catch him.

She was weary now; all afternoon a gang of college students had played truant in her room. They did this often, at least twice a week. While their parents believed them away at school, they came to her room and gave themselves up to a kind of little orgy. They brought with them a bottle of whiskey and some cigarettes, made a lot of noise and caroused like madmen. Then they went stumbling away with dark circles under their eyes, overjoyed at believing themselves already men. Imtissal loved these riotous gatherings and the tender promiscuity of youth made bold and feverish by her nakedness. They made love by turns and behaved as if it were a question of sportive competition. Afterwards, each bragged before his comrades of his own prowess. The victor of the day was known all over the quarter, but his glory did not last for long. It was quickly eclipsed by other more glittering virilities.

This amorous emulation intoxicated Imtissal and created around her the legend of a femme fatale. All the adolescents of the quarter wanted to convince themselves of their erotic acumen,

and so her room was never empty. However, at the end of the day, Imtissal was tired and didn’t know where to go to relax or to get a change of air. Before the child was born, she often went to the movies. The vulgar sentimentality of the stories which unrolled before her eyes was a comfort and made her forget her own life. This pleasure was now forbidden her; she could not leave the infant alone. She was suffocating in her room and her existence began to seem wretched to her, bound up in distress and loneliness.