Laziness in the Fertile Valley

by Albert Cossery

  Rafik wanted to see her one more time; he wanted to try to explain the beauty of this peaceful existence he had chosen above her love. A few days before, he had charged Hoda to go to her and ask her to see him. But Hoda had told him, just before lunch, of the failure of this overture. Imtissal refused to see him. From that moment, Rafik had been thinking of the one means left to approach Imtissal: to go to her house without warning and thus force her to hear him. He resolved to go out some evening and do this. But would she admit him? He was anguished at the thought of this meeting. However, it was too strong for him; he had to try a last explanation with Imtissal. Perhaps he would be able to make her understand that he had never ceased to love her, that this had nothing to do with love; he was simply incapable of leaving his father’s house, that shelter which protected him from the ugliness of the world. To tell her all men were murderers, and that he was afraid of them — she would surely take him for a fool. No matter! In any case, after this decisive explanation he would be calmer. Because ever since this drama of love had slipped between him and his sleep, he hadn’t been able to taste fully of his quietude. The ghost of Imtissal, vindictive and murderous, always stood before him, an obstacle.

  Rafik rose up from the bed, left his room and crossed the hall. In the kitchen, little Hoda was scampering about like a mouse; Rafik slipped noiselessly into the dining room. His plan to intercept Haga Zohra and keep her from seeing his father hadn’t left him for a moment. For this purpose the dining room was the best lookout. From the wide-open hallway door, Rafik could watch the wooden staircase that led up to the next floor. Thus, when Haga Zohra came, he could hardly miss seeing her. And then, there was the couch. Rafik could lie down while he waited for this vile go-between. He resisted the couch for the moment; it was still too soon. He would run the risk of falling asleep at once. He must give proof of his endurance. Without it all his laborious maneuvers would have been for nothing. Rafik sighed and called all the energy of which he was capable to his aid. Then he went to the window and looked at the sleeping alley. At this hour, everyone in the house across the way was asleep. It was a three story building, newly constructed, its walls unplastered, with the forbidding look of a prison. Rafik had only seen men there; the women must have hidden themselves, peeking out from behind the blinds. These bourgeois families, with their prejudices and barbarous customs, no doubt forbade their females to show themselves outside. Rafik thought he’d like to sleep with one of them. But that was dangerous, and then they’d be ugly. He gave it up without regret. After a moment a child appeared; he was coming up the other side of the street, playing with a hoop. It was an iron hoop, very heavy, and the child was having trouble rolling it on the uneven ground. He soon disappeared at the turning of the alley, shouting in triumph.

  Rafik began to feel again the ravages of this unwonted watch. His eyelids burned, his legs were getting weak. That he had to miss his siesta because of this cursed Haga Zohra was an unbearable torment. This couldn’t go on long; in a minute he would have to lie down on the sofa. Leaning against the window and turning his head, he stiffened himself with all his might against sleep. He had the impression of swimming against the current in the middle of a river of treacherous eddies. From time to time, in a supreme effort, he managed to free himself; he raised his head and breathed deeply. Then, again, he found himself plunged into the depths of an annihilating sweetness. The waves of an immense, seductive sleep covered him. Once again he came to the surface to breathe. Suddenly a distant noise reached him; he thought he was dreaming, shook himself, then listened attentively. The noise became more distinct, louder, the deaf murmur of a crowd on the march. Rafik heard them approach slowly, and soon he could see a strange procession passing in front of the window.

  It was a man burdened with chains, surrounded by a mob of clamoring children. Some of them marched backwards in front of him, to watch him the better. The man carrying the chains had the stature of a giant, and long hair that fell in curls to his shoulders. A huge beard hid his black face streaming with sweat. His breast was naked and his waist bound with a sort of loin cloth of rags. The ends of the chains were wound round his ankles, as if to weigh down his steps and give him a pathetic grandeur. He looked like a galley slave escaped from some wild and distant prison. With an enormous stone he hit himself on the chest above the heart. The blows were spaced far apart, and each time he raised his arm, the crowd of children became silent in anxious expectation. At the spot where the rock struck him, the skin was only a cracked and greenish crust. The man punctuated each blow with a muffled grumble and some indistinct words like an invocation. He played his role of penitent sinner with a tragic magnificence. Sometimes, from a window, someone threw him some money; the man gathered it up and slipped it into a leather pouch hanging around his loins.

  Rafik had seen this creature several times before, and even, while still a child, had followed him in his rounds through the alleys. But was this the same man? There were numbers of them who had adopted this system of spectacular begging. They had formed a wild sect and were proud of these tortures they inflicted on themselves to make people pity them. Rafik was horrified. These diabolical means to which men were reduced to live seemed to him like the extreme limit of a universal nightmare. The man loaded with chains looked toward the window, slowly raised his arm and beat the heavy stone against his chest. During this brief moment, his gaze fell on Rafik standing at the window. Rafik closed his eyes and stood without moving, the keen look of the man planted in him like a knife. He waited a long time till the noise of the crowd grew distant, then he opened his eyes.

  Again silence and peace. Rafik felt ill. He was tired; he trembled with humiliation and disgust. Instinctively he moved toward the couch and lay down. The spectacle of men devoted to the vilest misery depressed him as though he had been caught in their ruin. He had tried to insure himself against such contacts, had raised walls between himself and this degraded and subject humanity. He didn’t want to be a party to such abjectness. He felt outraged; he felt a physical repulsion even to witness such insane brutality. It was really a butchery; everywhere the same people, stupefied, jostling, carried along like a herd of buffaloes by the same everlasting lies.

  Rafik breathed deeply, stretched and tried to forget the horrible eyes of the man with the chains. One more thing to forget. How many times had he tried to forget the hideous sights that were always before him? It was useless to try to hide them; the poisonous vapors filtered through the cracks of his hiding place. He remembered he had resolved to go seek out Imtissal and felt a desperate terror.

  “It will be the last time I go out,” he told himself. He lay motionless, like a fox in his lair, waiting for Haga Zohra. There was nothing but silence, an impalpable silence, empty of all substance. Suddenly a voice echoed from the next floor. It was old Hafez calling Hoda, and his words seemed smothered by the monstrous silence. Rafik leaped up, ran to the door and looked into the hallway. He saw Hoda, barefoot, start hurriedly up the stairs. The young girl, shocked to see him, stopped short.

  “Come here, girl!”

  Hoda came back down the steps and up to him timidly.

  “I know why he’s calling you,” said Rafik. “He wants to know if Haga Zohra is here. Tell him she hasn’t come and that she isn’t coming anymore. I’ll strangle you, I warn you, if you ever let that woman in the house. Besides, I’m here; I’ll wait.”

  “It’s not my affair,” said Hoda. “What have I got to do with it? Why pick on me?”

  “I know he’s promised you some money. And you want to make us all miserable, filthy girl!”

  Hoda was ready to cry. She knew Rafik’s brutality, his rudeness and his violence. She lowered her eyes, assumed a look of humility, and resigned herself to his worst.

  “I don’t want money,” she said. “I don’t want anything. Have I asked for anything? I just do what I’m told.”

  “Then do what I tell you,” shouted Rafik.

  “Ssh!” whispered Hoda. “You’ll
wake everyone.”

  Rafik stopped, disconcerted at the thought that everyone was asleep. He who was always so careful of others’ sleep — what had happened to him? Exhaustion had made him lose control of himself. But there was something else. Rafik realized that he wanted Hoda, and that his desire had been born the same instant she whispered to him to be quiet. The silence was erotic. It carried the heavy odor of an oppressing voluptuousness. He caught Hoda by the throat and tried to drag her to the couch.

  “Come,” he said.

  She shook her head, struggling to free herself.

  “Not now,” she said. “I haven’t time. My master’s calling. I’ll come back later . . .”

  But Rafik wasn’t listening to her. He held her by her waist, blindly pressed her against him, in a mad desire for sleep rather than lust. Hoda fought silently. She knew what was coming; he was always like this with her. Rafik was already searching under her dress, trying to touch her.

  She felt his fingers hunting in her; a shiver ran over her body and she began to struggle more desperately. She felt that Rafik was drowning and that his movements were weak and without desire. In fact, Rafik was already tired of the battle. His head fell back, he yawned; his tenseness left him, he felt himself falling into an abyss of unconsciousness. Hoda, with an abrupt movement, managed to escape his grasp. She ran up the stairs.

  “I’ll strangle you, daughter of a whore!”

  He waited a moment at the bottom of the stairway; he could hear his father’s cries cursing Hoda for being late. Then, he fell back into a heavy, devouring silence. Rafik was still panting from frustrated desire; he had lost all feeling in his legs, his head was spinning sickeningly. To sleep! But he was too furious with himself to go back to the couch. He needed to talk to someone.

  V

  Serag wasn’t asleep, he was only resting. When Rafik entered the room, he opened his eyes and was astounded to see his brother up at this sacred hour of the siesta.

  “Why are you awake? Have you gone crazy?”

  “I’m not crazy,” replied Rafik. “Worse than that. You don’t seem to remember. While you sleep, I alone have been trying to do something about the unhappiness that is menacing us.”

  “What unhappiness are you talking about?”

  “You still haven’t understood anything! It’s true — you don’t think of anything but running up and down the roads. However, your father’s marriage should give you something to worry about. It’s a real calamity for us all. Serag, my brother, our peace is threatened, don’t you understand?”

  “Then you really believe in this marriage?”

  “Certainly I believe it. Your father insists on it, if only for spite. It’s a long time since he’s annoyed someone, and now he can. I’m sure he’ll do it as soon as possible.”

  He sat on the foot of the bed, pulling his legs under him, and buried his face in his hands. The shutters hadn’t been closed and a luminous day flooded the room. Rafik hated this cold light that enveloped him like a shroud.

  “How can you sleep in that light?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t sleeping,” said Serag. “I’m trying to get used to the day. I don’t want to live in the dark.”

  Rafik sighed and didn’t answer. His face in his hands, he seemed to meditate. He hadn’t yet recovered from his attempt upon Hoda and a vague excitement persisted in him. Serag looked at him with amused sympathy. He realized Rafik was fighting against sleep and was curious to know his reactions. Would he be able to hold out long? He had never seen his brother exert such an effort against the poisons of sleep. It was like a miracle — a miracle of a man suspended above a precipice, holding himself in the air by his will alone.

  “What do you plan to do?”

  Rafik uncovered his face, blinked, and said in a sarcastic tone:

  “If I’m awake at this hour, my dear Serag, it’s not for my own pleasure, believe me. It’s a question of not letting Haga Zohra in the house. Without her help, your father will never be able to get married. It’s very simple. Thus, as you see, I’m waiting for Haga Zohra, to throw her out.”

  “Then you’re going to spend your time waiting for her?”

  “Yes, I’ll wait as long as I have to.”

  “But this could last for months.”

  “All right! I’ll wait months — years even — if I have to.”

  “You’re a hero!” said Serag. “I didn’t think you were capable of such a sacrifice.”

  “This sacrifice is going to save our lives,” said Rafik. “You can’t imagine what it would be like to have a woman around us. In a few days we’d be reduced to slavery.”

  He became silent; Serag didn’t know what to think of his brother’s attitude. That Rafik should give up his siesta, because of this story of a marriage, seemed insane to him. Something else must have pushed him to this extremity. Perhaps hatred for his father.

  “You were also going to bring a woman into the house,” he said. “Have you forgotten? You’ve borne a grudge against your father ever since your episode with Imtissal.”

  Rafik started; he seemed to have suddenly lost his torpor. He turned on Serag, looking at him threateningly.

  “That’s not true,” he said, “I’ve no grudge against him. I’ve known he was right for a long time. You don’t know all the respect I have for him. I admire him for the kind of life he’s led and has surrounded us with. He’s never wanted to get mixed up with the world, he’s never tried to increase his fortune. And above all, he’s always despised other men. All the members of our family were like servants before him, even though some of them were richer than he is. It’s his disdain to mix in the affairs of the world that has always pleased me. That’s what gives us this quiet and this marvelous idleness. How could I hate him? But now he wants to ruin everything. And I won’t allow it.”

  “I don’t see how this marriage will ruin our lives,” said Serag.

  “Why can’t you understand! This woman can destroy us. A woman will want clothes, jewels — I don’t know what all. One day she could be possessed by the devil and decide she must organize a séance to cast him out. You see us sleeping in the middle of all those mad dancers!”

  Serag began to laugh. Rafik’s idea struck him as a tremendous joke.

  “Don’t laugh,” said Rafik severely. “This is very serious. Your father can lose his last penny in this adventure. We may be forced to go to work!”

  “Well!” said Serag. “I ask nothing better.”

  “O idiot! You’ll repent those words.”

  “I assure you Rafik, I want to work.”

  “You want to work. I don’t know where you ever got the idea, You are without doubt either a monster or an imbecile. In any case, you’re certainly not one of this family.”

  “I want to work,” said Serag, with a tone of despair. “And also to leave this house.”

  “On my honor! You’re an ingrate. If you weren’t my brother, I’d let you go through with this madness. But I pity you. Which reminds me, what’s happening at your factory?”

  “The factory’s always the same,” replied Serag. “I’ve been to see it again this morning. No one seems to want to finish it.”

  “Then finish it yourself,” said Rafik. “There’s a good job. What are you complaining about?”

  “You’re making fun of me, damn you!”

  “Listen Serag, I’m not making fun of you. I’m only trying to lead you off a bad road. Believe me, work is no good for you or any of us.”

  “Maybe,” said Serag. “But I don’t want to keep living like this.”

  “You’re young. I really do pity you. You still don’t know what kind of factory it is?”

  “Do you know?”

  “Yes,” said Rafik. “When I was studying to be an engineer, we used to visit factories. They were huge, unhealthy, sad buildings. I spent the most painful moments of my life in them. I’ve seen the men who work in those factories; only they weren’t still men. Their misery was written on their faces. If I
left my studies, it was solely because I didn’t want to be the head of that horde of sufferers.”

  Serag shivered at this lugubrious speech. He closed his eyes and saw his romantic dream of work crumbling, broken in the maze of immeasurable sadness. Work could only be a damnation and a suffering. Serag was silent; he was the prey of a dull uneasiness.

  During a long moment, there was silence, then they heard a soft creaking. Rafik jumped off the bed, opened the door and glanced down the hall.

  “No,” he said. “No one.”

  “You thought it was Haga Zohra?” asked Serag.

  “Yes, I thought it was. Never mind; I should move, otherwise I’ll fall asleep. What misery! and I can’t count on any of you. Your brother Galal is sleeping peacefully. He hasn’t even tried to think about the danger he’s in. But pretty soon he won’t be able to sleep.”

  “How are you going to keep him from sleeping?” asked Serag. “Nothing can wake Galal. I’ll bet he isn’t even thinking about this. He’s already forgotten.”

  “He won’t forget for long,” said Rafik. “I’ve had enough of seeing him peacefully relaxed, while I kill myself waiting. He’ll have to help me.”

  “By Allah I don’t see Galal leaving his bed to watch for Haga Zohra. You’re crazy if you expect it.”

  “Believe me, I’ll get him out of his bed. He hasn’t realized what this fatal marriage means. When he sees, he won’t sleep anymore either.”

  Rafik began to walk around the room; from time to time he stopped in front of the window. Serag’s room was at the back of the house, and looked out on a vacant lot where some scrubby bushes were growing among all kinds of rubbish.

  In the middle of the lot was a dwarf palm, dried up and fruitless; men used to come to it to piddle against its trunk. At this moment, a child was squatting by it, his raised galabiah revealing his nakedness, urinating dejectedly. Farther away, one could see the winding line of houses profiled against the fields. Rafik was content; he had just rid Serag of his illusions. He would have liked to disgust him with work forever; it was an invaluable service. All his repulsion for the workaday lives of men had risen in his throat. He came back and said with malicious cruelty: