Laziness in the Fertile Valley by Albert Cossery Page B

last manifestation of his failing will. His unsociable spirit was always toying with all sorts of caprices whose essential aim was to contradict those around him. For some years he had not given an undeniable proof of his bad disposition; his family had begun to forget. Thus before dying, he wanted to leave some ineffaceable evidence of his tyrannical power.
    For several days old Hafez had been waiting impatiently for Haga Zohra. She had promised to help him. She was a notorious go-between, and the allure of a profit made her extremely diligent. Old Hafez wasn’t worried about that; his worries were elsewhere. He paused in his reflections and listened to the silence of the house. No noise came from the first floor — everywhere the same silence. They must all be asleep. Old Hafez thought bitterly of his children. He hadn’t seen them for a long time; sometimes he managed not to see them for months. But through Uncle Mustapha he knew everything that was being plotted against him. Decidedly, they weren’t pleased with the idea of his marriage. He also knew Rafik was at the head of the revolt, that he’d sworn to kill Haga Zohra. He had given them too much freedom, and now they thought they could do anything. But he knew how to break them; he would show them he was still master.
    Unfortunately, this struggle with his children was only a minor concern. Something else preoccupied him much more — a monstrous affliction. Old Hafez considered this affliction as the only serious obstacle to his marriage. He couldn’t even think of it without seeing his dream of a tardy union dissolve at once. He pulled back the covers, raised his nightgown, and examined his lower abdomen worriedly. An enormous hernia protruded like a mountain between his thin legs. It was really horrible. Each time old Hafez looked at his hernia, he was stupefied by its form. Every day it assumed fantastic shapes. Old Hafez was saddened when he uncovered it. He asked himself anxiously how he could dare present a young wife with such a calamity.
    He put out a trembling hand and tested the swollen, hard skin with extreme circumspection. Then he began to massage the edges slowly and expertly. Old Hafez watched hopefully to see this stubborn swelling between his legs grow smaller, but it seemed, on the contrary, to enlarge under his hand. It was ridiculous, insane. After some minutes, he gave up his treatment, pulled up the covers, and began to call for Hoda. No one answered. He took a package of cigarettes from under his pillow, drew one out and lit it. Then he called again. This time, he heard Hoda running up the stairs.
    “You don’t listen when I call you!”
    Hoda was panting slightly; she was always afraid when she entered the old man’s room. She felt physically ill and wanted to vomit.
    “I came up right away,” she said.
    She lowered her head humbly; her hair was hidden under a scarlet kerchief, bordered with tiny white shells. She watched the old man furtively, waiting for his orders. Sometimes he was completely unreasonable. Most of all, she feared he would make her look at his hernia. Old Hafez frequently showed it to her, simply to watch her reaction. Hoda’s obstinate silence usually comforted him, but today it didn’t help; he tossed in his bed and groaned:
    “Open the window!”
    Hoda went to the window and opened it. The rude light invaded the room, and the objects resumed the look of dead things. It was a large room, filled with heavy furniture, tarnished and dusty. Old Hafez felt drowned by this profusion of light; he blinked his eyes and turned to the wall.
    “Tell me, girl! Hasn’t Haga Zohra come yet?”
    “No,” said Hoda. “Not yet.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “I’m sure,” said Hoda. “I haven’t seen her.”
    He rolled over and squinted at her.
    “You’re lying, daughter of a bitch! I know my children told you not to let her come up.”
    “That’s not true,” said Hoda. “No one has told me anything. I’ll bring her