Albert Cossery - Laziness in the Fertile Valley

“You know the city well?” he asked.

“There’s nobody anywhere who knows the city as well as I do,” the child answered. “I know the smallest alleys and all their beggars.”

“That’s fine,” said Serag. “I’m sure you’ll be able to help me find some work.”

“What kind of work?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I advise you not to look for it,” said the child.

“Why not?” asked Serag.

“Because you might find it.”

“Well?”

“Well, that would be terrible for you.”

“Not at all,” said Serag. “Listen. Right now I’ve got a little money. And I plan to leave tonight for the city. Do you think you can meet me there?”

“Where? It’s a big city you know!”

“Wherever you like. You choose the place.”

The child scratched his head and thought a minute.

“I’ll wait for you under the statue of the Renaissance,” he said. “Do you know where it is?”

“Yes,” Serag answered. “I remember. It’s near the railway station.”

“Right. I’ll wait for you there, tonight, around nine o’clock.”

“Agreed,” Serag said. “Goodbye!”

“Aren’t you going to give me anything for my trouble?” asked the child.

“Excuse me,” Serag said. “I forgot.”

“I’ll get things ready,” the child said. “If only I didn’t have any debts!”

Serag went back to the house, his heart filled with joy and pride. He was sure he represented a new kind of man — the man of the future — and he was already smiling at the thought of the victories he would score against the abject world of the idle.

That evening, during dinner, he could scarcely control his impatience. The meal dragged along with disheartening slowness. It seemed as though Hoda deliberately tried to postpone the moment of departure. She ate slowly, taking an infinite amount of time to gather the plates and remove the cloth. She moved about like an automaton, with an absent air, a frozen smile on her lips. However, she must leave with him. Serag had finally allowed himself to be convinced; Hoda was going to accompany him on his marvelous adventure. But she didn’t seem at all excited by the approach of the departure, which meant to Serag the beginning of a new life, full of unpredictable dangers. Her stupid indifference aggravated the young man’s nervousness; from time to time he gave her a furtive look, charged with pleas, to beg her to hurry. But Hoda did not appear to understand.

Only Rafik had noticed the anxiety of his young brother.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” Serag said.

“I hope that from now on you’re going to calm down and not upset yourself with these wretched scenes about escape and work. We can live happily now and sleep to the end of our days. At last we’re rid of that accursed marriage! And you owe it all to me.”

“To hell with the marriage,” said Serag.

“You thankless child! Look at him, Galal my brother! The ingratitude of this child wounds my heart. We ought to kill him! With such a spirit in the house we can never find tranquility.”

But Galal seemed too cast down to answer. His head between his hands, he leaned on the table, staring at the plate of food before him with eyes scarcely opened. He didn’t even have enough energy to eat. Rafik was used to his eldest brother’s characteristic air of heavy discouragement, but his present attitude was somewhat alarming; it seemed to prophesy evil times.

“What’s the matter? Why don’t you eat? You seem more depressed than usual. Is that mouse keeping you awake again?”

“It isn’t the mouse,” said Galal, “It’s Father. My dear Rafik, I’ve just had a veritable catastrophe.”

“What did Father do to you?” Rafik asked.

“He kept me awake all day!” replied Galal. “My word, he’s a criminal!”

“When was this? Today?”

“I don’t know,” Galal said. “Maybe it was today; perhaps it was a few days ago. It doesn’t matter, I’m completely exhausted.”

“What did he want?” said Rafik. “He came down to your room to see you? I can hardly believe it.”

“No,” said Galal. “He didn’t come down to my room to see me. That would have been less terrible. But he sent me this man without a heart” — he nodded his head toward Uncle Mustapha — “who harassed me until I finally had to go upstairs with him. He had promised to carry me on his shoulders, but he scarcely helped me. It was a long torture.”

“What a story! But you haven’t told me yet what Father wanted.”

“I think it had something to do with a murder. He asked me to lecture you about it, and to tell you not to forget he is the master. It seems that you wanted to kill Haga Zohra?”

“Oh! Was that all!”

“I forgot to congratulate you,” said Galal.

“It isn’t worth the trouble,” said Rafik. “From now on that fat businesswoman won’t dare come up here. Let her arrange her marriages in hell!”

“We owe you eternal gratitude,” said Galal. “My dear Rafik, you’re a hero!”

“You’re nothing but an ill-mannered boy,” interrupted Uncle Mustapha, who, during this time, had been eating quietly, his face set and dignified. “You have done an enormous injustice to our reputation. Haga Zohra will go everywhere peddling what you’ve done. What will people say?”

“I piss on all the people,” said Rafik.

“What a scandal for our family!” said Uncle Mustapha.

Serag feared a long dispute, but Rafik let his uncle’s exclamation go unanswered; he only gave a mocking smile. No doubt his success in ridding them of the menace of old Hafez’s marriage had made him more indulgent. He seemed to have recovered his calm and was eating heartily. But after a moment he looked at his uncle, and couldn’t resist the desire to unleash one last pleasantry.

“Uncle Mustapha,” he said, “I allow you to give my father, the title of Bey. He deserves it. With a hernia like his, he could easily be a minister of state.”

“How dare you talk like that about your father!” said Uncle Mustapha. “What are you saying about a hernia. You have no shame!”

“Uncle Mustapha,” said Rafik, “you aren’t going to tell me that you pretend my father hasn’t a hernia?”

“On my honor, I didn’t know. Now you’ve begun making up ugly stories about your father!”

“But it was he who told me,” said Galal.

“I didn’t say anything to you,” said Uncle Mustapha indignantly. “You’re all spoiled. Your father is tired of your disobedience. He has informed me he plans to leave you alone here and retire to his estate.”

“Heaven he praised!” said Rafik. “Is he really going to do it?”

“At last we can sleep.” said Galal.

Uncle Mustapha had purposely lied in order to give an impression of intimacy with old Hafez. He hadn’t realized that such news would please his nephews, and that it would even arouse their enthusiasm. But it was too late to retract. He tried to save the situation by taking refuge in an enigmatic silence.

“Come,” said Rafik. “Tell us the truth, Uncle Mustapha.”

“There’s nothing else to say,” said Uncle Mustapha. “I’ve told you all I know. You can believe me if you want to.”

“How can we not believe you?’ said Rafik. “Uncle Mustapha, you’re the genius of this house.”

“I forgive you for what you did to me the other day,” said

Galal. “Only, don’t begin again.”

Now Hoda was clearing the table; they were all getting up to go back to their respective beds. Serag waited and watched them leave, then he also got up and shut himself in his room.

An hour later, he slipped furtively out of the house and hurried down the side of the road. Hoda was waiting for him in a shadowy corner, dressed up as if for a promenade. In the dimness