Laziness in the Fertile Valley by Albert Cossery

distinguished art.”
    “You’re very nice,” said Serag. “But I assure you, you’re mistaken. We’re not artists.”
    Mimi was silent. He was content to have expressed himself. After some lectures on the Occident, he had formed a rather cloudy notion of modern aesthetics. His own ambiguous morals had the same origin. Mimi firmly believed that a true artist must be a pederast by nature. When a friend had asked him what he thought of the philosophy of a celebrated contemporary writer, Mimi had answered: “What do you want me to think? He’s a married man!” His reply had pleased him enormously. He would have loved to tell it to Serag, but he had never asked him. No matter! it would do for another time. He moved his tongue over his lips and smiled easily. He seemed to have lost himself entirely in his unwholesome reveries.
    “Come here, you dirty little dog! Aren’t you ashamed — a
female.”
    Semsen rubbed himself against Mimi’s legs, sheepish and docile. The female dog did not move from her place, watching the scene with rather vague astonishment. Mimi kissed Semsen, picked up a stone and threw it at the other dog. She leaped in the air and ran away without trying to understand what had happened. Semsen regretfully watched her leave. He suffered from his abnormal situation. He was a small mongrel with reddish hair and debauched eyes. He was not a pederast by his own taste, but only for fear of displeasing his master. Mimi punished him brutally each time he approached a female. Semsen was resigned to his lot. His desire to follow his normal instinct seemed like a tragic error to him, since it always brought him blows and insults.
    Mimi calmed himself; he reprimanded his dog with a feigned brutality.
    “Son of a bitch! I should kill you!”
    “What astonishes me,” said Serag, “is the way you could immediately tell it was a female.”
    “I can recognize that easily,” said Mimi. “The dirty animals; they’re rotten and full of fleas.”
    “It’s still astonishing,” said Serag. “I can’t ever tell.”
    They walked on a moment without talking; they were almost alone on the road. From time to time, Mimi turned and threw a furtive look behind. He seemed to be waiting for someone. He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a handful of watermelon seeds. He began to crack them one after the other with a sharp sound. The noise bothered Serag and kept him from dozing. He shook himself and looked around. A cab had just appeared on the road; it came toward them slowly, like a soft dream. It was driven by an enormous driver, who was whipping his horses with fury. In the cab, a huge woman was enthroned on the cushions — a woman of great importance, one would have judged by the monument of her loose flesh. The breeze raised her skirts, revealing her corpulent nudity with cruel lewdness. The two young men gasped.
    “Horrible,” said Mimi. “Did you see!”
    Serag didn’t reply; he had stopped in front of Abou Zeid’s shop. Mimi’s presence upset him; above all, he couldn’t bear his voice. Mimi had an insidious and caressing voice, like syrup. Serag felt caught and was aware of a strange sensation in his whole body. He would have liked to lie down by the side of the road to sleep awhile.
    Mimi wasn’t paying any attention to him. He was possessed by a great exaltation. He became feverish and looked around uneasily every minute. Obviously, he was waiting for something. Suddenly, he seemed relieved at the sight of a man stopped near a tobacco shop. He was about forty, with curled moustaches and huge rings on his fingers. His tarboosh was tipped over his right ear and he carried a cane in his hand. He gave Mimi a conniving look, then lit a cigarette, puffing the smoke with an easy and innocent air. Mimi smiled at him, turned, and put his arm through Serag’s.
    “You seem preoccupied,” he said. “Are you, by any chance, in love?”
    “I’m not in love,” said Serag.
    Mimi smiled and said