Free Laziness in the Fertile Valley by Albert Cossery Page A

at her legs, as if they belonged to someone else. The pleasure had not yet come; she felt it trembling in her like a wounded bird. Serag moved his hand gently up her thigh, reached the sensitive spot of her flesh and lingered there. She gave a soft cry, caught him to her with all her strength and forced him to lie beside her.
    He softly bit the tips of her breasts that had slipped through her dress. She let him enter her, her face happy and mischievous. Soon Serag’s head weighted her chest; she felt him falling asleep.
    “Do you know,” she asked, “that Galal promised to give me five piastres if I’d let him see my breasts?”
    Serag drew back, looking at her stupidly.
    “He promised you five piastres!” he said. “He’s fooling you, he hasn’t any money.”
    “Even if he had some,” said Hoda, “do you think I’d do it?”
    “I don’t know,” said Serag. “Maybe he could force you to.”
    “If he forced me,” said Hoda, “that wouldn’t be the same thing. Besides, he never would.”
    “Why? Hasn’t he ever made you embrace him?”
    “No,” said Hoda. “He tried, but he’s too lazy. He’d rather sleep.”
    “Then I don’t understand. Why would he want to see your breasts?”
    “No doubt that would give him pleasure,” said Hoda. “Sometime he wants to enjoy himself without getting too tired. Aren’t you jealous?”
    Serag smiled and looked at Hoda.
    “No, I am not jealous.”
    Hoda didn’t say anything; she looked disappointed. She had wanted to make him jealous.
    “The one who always forces me is Rafik,” she said. “I don’t know how to get away from him.”
    “Don’t you like Rafik?” asked Serag. “He’s really remarkable. Do you know he’s been spending his time watching in the dining room to keep Haga Zohra from seeing my father. He’s been waiting for her for days. He’ll surely end by getting sick.”
    “I know,” said Hoda, “He hasn’t only been waiting for Haga Zohra. Most of the time he’s waiting for me too.”
    “Does that annoy you?” asked Serag. “He’s nice, Rafik. Why don’t you like him?”
    “I only like you,” said Hoda. “And you’re mean to me.”
    “I’m not mean,” said Serag. “I’m just thinking about other things.”
    “What are you thinking about?” asked Hoda. “By Allah! You’re crazier than the others. I’m so unhappy!”
    “Go away,” said Serag. “I have to leave. I’m late already.”
    “Don’t go too far,” said Hoda.
    She got up from the bed, smoothed her dress, and went out of the room silently.
    Serag closed the gate to the garden and walked toward the highway. He was in a bad mood, felt weak, and cursed himself for giving in to this mood of Hoda’s. Now he didn’t have the energy to go as far as the factory; he’d have to put it off until another time. He realized that this girl was as pernicious to him as sleep. Her attachment for him was going to compromise his attempt for a free, industrious life. It was one more fetter to his dream of running away from his father’s house. How could he get free of her? Still, she was only a child, and Serag felt sorry for her. She was unhappy, he knew; she would be even more unhappy when he left.
    Serag reached the highway; he had decided to go see Abou Zeid at his shop. He wished to submit several rather banal ideas to the peanut vendor that might give his mediocre business a lift. Thus, at least, his afternoon wouldn’t be entirely lost. It was warm, almost hot; Serag perspired and panted slightly, his eyes blinded by the glare. The sun burned everywhere, and the houses, on both sides of the road, seemed painted with large swaths of light. Serag was walking unsteadily, feeling as though he had ventured into an overwhelming brightness, full of invisible hazards. His hands felt damp in his pockets; he pulled them out and wiped them on his pants. Then he walked on, his arms swinging, his mind empty, his eyes fixed on the ground. He rarely met anyone on the road; it