Laziness in the Fertile Valley by Albert Cossery Page A

ecstatically:
    “All love! I couldn’t live without love.”
    Serag didn’t answer him. After a minute Mimi said again:
    “Tell me: how’s your brother Rafik?”
    “He’s all right,” said Serag.
    Mimi had been in the same class with Rafik and always favoured him. He loved his rude manners, the harsh sound of his voice, and his pallor of the sensual male. Unfortunately, Rafik had always met Mimi’s advances with a stiff and cold disdain. Mimi was profoundly wounded each time, yet his desire grew. He was almost completely happy when he could just see Rafik and delight in his presence. But since Rafik had resolved to stay in the house, Mimi had been left to the torments of the abandoned lover. Actually, his whole conversation with Serag had only been to hear some news about his brother.
    “Why doesn’t he ever go out?” asked Mimi.
    “He doesn’t like people,” said Serag. “He’d rather stay in the house.”
    He hates me,” said Mimi. “I don’t know why. I like him very much.”
    “I don’t think he hates you,” said Serag. “You’re wrong about that, I’m sure.”
    “He hates me,” said Mimi. “Every time he sees me, and it’s scarcely ever now, he tries to avoid me. What have I done to make him hate me? Would you, my dear Serag, do me a favour?”
    “With pleasure,” said Serag. “What is it?”
    “Well, I’d like you to ask Rafik why he doesn’t like me. It’s very important to me. I’m so fond of him. Will you tell him?”
    “I won’t forget,” said Serag.
    Mimi turned and looked behind. The man with the moustaches and the large rings was following them slowly. Mimi came close to Serag and whispered in his ear:
    “I’m terribly sorry, but I must leave you. I have to meet someone.”
    In pronouncing these words, he seemed to confide a momentous secret to Serag.
    “I’m very glad to have seen you,” he said again, before going away. “Goodbye.”
    “Goodbye,” said Serag.
    A group of wan children was standing in front of Abou Zeid’s shop; the neighborhood school had just let out for the afternoon. Some little boys and girls, their books under their arms, were buying things and pushing one another around. Abou Zeid was not waiting on them with his usual nonchalance; he seemed a bit frightened by his turbulent clientele. Serag waited until there was no one left, then he went up to Abou Zeid.
    “Hello!” he said, “O illustrious merchant!”
    “Ah! it’s you my son! By Allah! Spare me your sarcasms.”
    Serag squatted near Abou Zeid and let sleep overcome him. Abou Zeid watched him sleep, and then he too closed his eyes. Behind them, the black beetles took possession of the empty shop.

VII
    Old Hafez woke up with a start; he was shivering and bathed in cold sweat. He had just had a bad dream, an endless, terrible dream. He raised the handkerchief tied over his eyes with a feverish movement and shrank back under the covers fearfully. He tried to remember his dream, but it had become confused in his mind. He had only a vague, troubled memory that excited his senile sensuality. After a moment, he grew calmer and looked around. The room was plunged in half darkness, so that he had no idea what the time was. Old Hafez tried to discover the hour by some sign in the room. He glanced around, then stopped before a tray on the table. He’d eaten lunch. Therefore it must be afternoon, and he had just taken his siesta. He pulled off the handkerchief that still bound his forehead and protected him from the disturbing brightness of the day. He couldn’t sleep without it.
    He sat up in bed and began to think. As usual, his reflections were simple and passionless. But for some time he had been prey to gnawing thoughts; a mute uneasiness was devouring
him. This marriage he had resolved upon, at the decline of his life, preoccupied him beyond all reason. It was the desire for renewed youth, and, at the same time, an act of authority. In his solitude, he had imagined this marriage as the