Albert Cossery - Laziness in the Fertile Valley

She went over to the cradle and watched the baby sleeping. It was strange the way he slept all the time. Even the coming and going of her clients did not seem to disturb him. Sometimes, Imtissal thought he was dead. She had to lean down close over him to hear his thin, fragile breathing. For a long moment she stood by the cradle and watched. Then, she went to her bed, stretched herself out on it and sank down into her thoughts.

It happened now that she often thought of Rafik, but this was only to delight in imagining him tortured and restless. The marriage of old Hafez seemed to her like a divine vengeance. She could not think without a malevolent pleasure of this grotesque event which was going to ruin the life of her former lover. She had never forgiven him for leaving her, for giving in to his father. For a long time she had wished the worst afflictions on him. And now her desire was going to be realized by an unforeseen event. From now on Rafik would be enclosed in a circle of torments that would make him dizzy. Imtissal already knew through Hoda that the young man could no longer sleep, and that he was contriving by all possible means to prevent his father’s marriage. She was eager to know all the details of this scabrous affair. She was waiting for the next visit of Hoda, who had promised to bring her news of the latest developments. Rafik’s discomforts had become the only distraction that brightened her imprisonment.

Someone knocked on the door. She got up from the bed and went to open it. In the obscurity of the landing she couldn’t make out the face of her visitor. She thought he was one of her clients and said mechanically:

“Come in.”

“It’s me,” said Rafik. He entered the room and closed the door behind him.

Imtissal uttered a cry and thrust out her hands as if to repel the apparition of a ghost. She drew back to the bed, lowered her hands, and remained stunned for several minutes. She could not bring herself to realize that Rafik was in her room. Then she recovered and started to overwhelm him with abuse.

“Scoundrel! Why did you come here? I don’t want to see you.”

“For heaven’s sake, stop shouting,” Rafik said. “I didn’t come here to fight with you. I’ve got to talk to you.”

“What have you got to say to me?” Imtissal cried. “Get out of here, you devil!”

Rafik stood in the middle of the room, still out of breath from his haste to escape Mimi. The brutal way he had left Mimi, after having wounded his artist’s vanity, had so pleased him that he had arrived at Imtissal’s room without knowing it. All along the way he had thought only of Mimi’s sorrowful and bewildered face illuminated by the vague glare of a distant street lamp. And now, in Imtissal’s room, he still thought of the scene with satanic joy. For some time he remained indifferent to the hysterical rage of the woman, then he yawned, remembered he had come to explain something, leaned on the back of a chair and said weakly:

“Listen! I don’t deserve your insults. Why do you treat me like an enemy? I’ve only come to explain to you. ”

“And how would you like me to treat you?” Imtissal cried at the height of her fury. “You who’ve done so much harm to me! Do you expect me to be grateful to you? Listen to him. What impudence!”

“I’ve suffered as much as you have,” Rafik said. “But it had to be. Try to understand that I’ve come to explain all that to you.”

“Explain what? I know you and your family. All the quarter knows you. You’re snobs and idlers. And you dare come here to insult me!”

“I haven’t come to insult you. Just listen to me. And above all, stop shouting. You’ll rouse everybody.”

“You’re afraid of everybody now? Don’t worry. This isn’t a cemetery like your house. People are alive here: shouts don’t disturb them. I’d like them to come and find you here. That would be a pretty sight.”

“I beg you, Imtissal, don’t cause a scandal.”

She laughed sarcastically.

“A scandal! The scandal is you and your family. You can’t get away from it. Everybody knows about you. No one would learn anything new.”

She had sat down on the edge of her bed, her dressing gown half open over her naked legs, in a pose of abandon that contrasted with the hate reflected in her eyes. She seemed calm now, her rage had yielded to the bitter pleasure of fully tasting her vengeance. She thought she understood why Rafik had come to see her. His unhappiness had brought him. She couldn’t believe anything else. The approaching marriage of his father — this menace had finally roused him from his inertia. He had only come to her in search of a little consolation — to dissipate the torments that were stifling him. She saw him so beaten down that she had one instant of forgetfulness, and all her being was invaded by pity. But this only lasted a moment. She became enraged and vindictive almost at once.

“I know what brought you here,” she said. “You’ve left home, and so you’ve come to tell me all your troubles. I warn you, don’t count on any sympathy from me. You won’t get it.”

“I don’t want your pity,” Rafik said.

“What do you want then, you bastard?”

“First I’d like to sit down,” he said. “I’m very tired.”

He sank into a chair and sat immobile, his back stooped, his gaze absent. Imtissal had almost cried out again to stop him from sitting down, but she remained voiceless, held by a kind of contagious torpor which emanated from the young man. It was true that the simple presence of these people induced drowsiness, even sleep; Hoda was right. Before the lax and almost lifeless air of Rafik, she was seized by a frightful weakness; she felt herself the prey of a senseless dizziness. She couldn’t fight against the sensation of torpor which held her. She closed her eyes as if under the shock of a sudden fatigue, reopened them with fear and looked at the young man slumped in the chair. Before him she felt as impotent as if she were faced with a corpse. How could she fight a dead man?

Rafik had not budged; he felt secure in this room and thought only of going to sleep. The silence which had followed Imtissal’s abuse seemed propitious to sleep. Yet some torment persisted in him. The comfortable warmth of the room concealed a trap more cunning than all the traps of the world: the presence of this woman’s body, half clothed, swollen with anger and stupor. He made a great effort not to look at her. In spite of him, she was crushing him with her massiveness, becoming more vital and obscene. He thought he would never get to sleep and stared at her with terror. What he saw convinced him of the danger he was in. Fallen back on the bed, Imtissal had spread her legs, and her half-opened dressing gown bared, like a defiance, the inexorable nudity of her flesh. There was no doubt, she defied him. But, extraordinary thing, he felt no desire before that offered flesh. All that was part of a world long since abandoned; it was a pale vision from a distant and miserable past. He sighed, yawned, stretched himself full length, then once more fell into immobility and silence.

“Speak,” she said. “Tell me what you want.”

He looked at her, a little stupefied. He had completely forgotten why he had come and tried to remember.

“I’ve simply come to tell you why I left you two years ago. Back then you wouldn’t allow me to explain my decision. You chased me out like a dog, without even wanting to listen to me. And then, the idea that you thought I was only obeying my father tormented me. There is something else. I want to make you understand what forced me to act the way I did. ”

“Your father!” Imtissal cried. “I knew you’d end up talking about him. He’s the reason you came here tonight. I know what he’s cooking up for you, and it makes me very happy.”