“You’re exaggerating, my boy! And then, your father wants it. He’s the master. After all, he wouldn’t be so disagreeable if there was a woman in the house. Life would be much pleasanter.”
Uncle Mustapha had built a delightful picture of the change his brother’s marriage might make in the life of the house. He already rejoiced at the thought of receiving people, and perhaps, even, of paying visits.
“Uncle Mustapha, I always thought you were a traitor. But not that way! You must want to see us all dead!”
“Calm yourself! I haven’t said anything so tragic, believe me!”
“Let me sleep. Who knows if our days for sleeping aren’t numbered already! I don’t want to talk anymore.”
“I beg you, don’t go back to sleep. Talk to me a little longer.”
Uncle Mustapha didn’t want to go back to his room. The image of the washerwoman’s swollen stomach was up there, waiting for him. This evening he didn’t feel strong enough to face it. It was like a tatter of living flesh that he could only touch with infinite caution. He wanted to rest, as long as he could, in this shadowy corner, face to face with a human being, even if he was half buried in sleep.
“Listen to me! Maybe the marriage will never take place.”
Galal rose up in the bed, just enough to show his astonishment.
“Why not?”
“Because of the hernia!”
“What hernia?”
“Your father’s hernia, you’ll see!”
“My father has a hernia?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No. How should I know? That’s extraordinary news. I knew he had diabetes. I even thought it was a lucky thing and would make it easier for him to marry.”
“Not at all. The diabetes was Haga Zohra’s idea. The truth is your father has a hernia.”
“Have you seen it?”
“As I see you now. It’s enormous!”
There was a solemn silence.
“Then we’re saved!” cried Galal.
“I think so,” said Uncle Mustapha.
“Well! Uncle Mustapha, thank you for the news. You can go now. I’ll be able to sleep.”
Uncle Mustapha got up in spite of himself yet he still hesitated to leave. But he already heard Galal snoring and knew it was useless to insist. He left the room with the sad face of an abandoned man.
♦ ♦ ♦
The sudden glare of the electric lamp fell on him like cold water. He gave a start and sat up in the bed.
“You must be crazy to turn on the light without even warning me.”
“Excuse me, I couldn’t find my pajamas.”
It was Rafik who had just come in and was undressing nervously.
“Well, did you kill her?”
“Kill who?”
“Good heavens, have you forgotten? Weren’t you supposed to kill Haga Zohra? What a fool I was to count on you.”
“I haven’t forgotten a thing. Don’t do anything, I’ll kill her one day.”
“Where were you? Uncle Mustapha was worried about you. He was in here bothering me about it.”
Galal kept his eyes shut while he talked; he couldn’t bear the hard glare of the electric light. He seemed like a blind man, his hands twitching in the void.
“Turn off that light, I beg you!”
Rafik had finished undressing and tied his pajamas. He turned out the light and lay down on his bed. He seemed determined to sleep.
Galal’s voice rose in the darkness:
“Listen: Uncle Mustapha just gave me some wonderful news.”
“What news?” asked Rafik.
“It’s news of the greatest importance for all of us,” said Galal feverishly. “Father has a hernia.”
Rafik stirred, then leaned over the bed.
“You’re sure Uncle Mustapha wasn’t lying?”
“I don’t think so. He told me he’d seen it. The marriage won’t take place.”
“It’s a good thing,” said Rafik in a dreamy voice. “Is it big?”
“It seems that it’s enormous! We can relax.”
“Not entirely,” said Rafik. “I’ll still have to wait for Haga Zohra. She’s a damned good go-between. She could marry off a corpse.”
They slept with peace in their souls, thinking of their father’s hernia that had saved them from disaster.
X
Standing on the embankment, Serag inspected his surroundings and found himself at the same spot where he had seen the child hunting with a slingshot. He was certain he would soon appear again from behind the tall stalks of corn. The sycamore stood before him at the side of the path, and he heard birds twittering in its branches. The path wound across the corn field and the road was at the end, lost in vaporous distance. Serag trembled at the slightest noise, looking around with a lost air. He was sad because the child wasn’t there. In going out that morning to look at the unfinished factory, Serag had thought of him, telling himself he must wander around this neighborhood. He was disappointed not to see him. He had imagined the child would have to be there, waiting, and he was almost angry with him for this betrayal.
He looked around again, but saw no trace of the child. He didn’t know what to do now. The child’s absence was a bad sign. Fate was against him. He had intended to go to the city with him. He wanted to link himself to the child, and follow him to exciting adventures. But the child had deserted him; he traveled the roads alone, fearless. Serag thought he would never find him again. He felt a bitter nostalgia at the memory of their first meeting.
He was tired from having waited in vain for the child. He still had to go as far as the factory; his supreme hope lay there. He came down from the embankment and started across the fields.
It was almost summer now. It was a hot day and Serag was uncomfortable in his heavy sweater. He thought he would have to change his outfit if he kept up these visits. Perhaps he would even have to buy some dark glasses to protect his eyes from the sun. Nevertheless, this heat was better than the changeable winter weather. There was no chance of wind or rain. There were no more heavy, sullen clouds, bringing sadness and desolation. Serag felt the desire for adventure stronger than ever. New blood seemed to be moving in his veins. Life with his family had become unbearable. Ever since his father had decided to marry, a demon seemed to have come into the house. Rafik was up in arms; even Galal no longer slept as much as usual. It was really pitiful to see Galal so upset; he had become almost human. Serag suffered for him.
He routed these harassing thoughts and walked faster. This brightness all around opened unsuspected horizons. He imagined he was really going to work. It was a beautiful illusion and Serag smiled contentedly.
He reached the top of the little hill, puffing. Now he could see the factory; it looked the same as it had on his last visit — no change in its half finished walls — the same sad abandonment, the same hostile air. Serag saw a man crouched near a hut. In front of him was a little wood fire on which he was cooking his meal. Serag felt a ray of hope, but he quickly saw that the man was a caretaker and not a worker. He wondered for a moment if he should ask him about the factory. Then he would finally know why it wasn’t finished, and if it would ever be finished. The man should know. However, Serag hesitated about making the extra walk. He was still rather far from the man, and the way was uneven and full of obstacles. It was really a rather hazardous walk. But Serag dearly wanted to know what chance he had of working in the factory. This was his only hope of finding out. He gathered his courage, walked down the hill, and, gritting his teeth, began to cross the cluttered ground towards the walls of the factory.