He moved with difficulty among the piles of huge rocks that lay scattered in the sun. The ruts impeded his steps. It was even more dangerous than he’d imagined. Several times he almost fell. He seemed to be going down an endless road. Finally, he stopped. It was the first time he had ever seen a factory so close. He was frightened by these walls that seemed to conceal the desperate labour of men. He saw them grow before him as if to rebuff his sacrilegious presence.
Serag stepped over a pile of old iron and found himself standing in front of the man. He looked at him for a moment in silence.
“Hello!
The man raised his head and replied in an indifferent tone:
“Hello!”
He was cooking beans on his wood fire. He was very old, his clothes patched like a beggar’s rags. A long heavy stick was lying near him on the ground.
“Are you the caretaker?” asked Serag.
“Yes,” said the man. “What do you want?”
“Excuse me,” said Serag. “But I’d like to know why they don’t finish this factory.”
“Allah alone can say,” said the man. “I was told to stay here; that’s all I know.”
They didn’t speak for a moment. The man took no notice of anything but his beans. He turned them with a piece of iron like a spoon. Now and then he inhaled the aroma and closed his eyes in satisfaction. Serag watched him, irritated and impatient. He wouldn’t learn anything after all!
“Then you don’t know anything?”
“Why does it interest you?” asked the man. “Leave the factory alone!”
‘Oh well!” said Serag, “I thought I might be able to work here.”
“You’re looking for work?” asked the man.
He looked at Serag, perplexed, scrutinizing him from head to toe and shaking his head.
‘You don’t look like a workman,” he began. “An effendi like you doesn’t work in a factory.”
“That’s no reason,” said Serag. “I can work very well. I’ve already been here several times; I could do a lot of things.”
He was terribly tired. But he forced himself to assume an easy, friendly manner. He wanted the caretaker’s good opinion. He imagined that perhaps he could recommend him to the director of the factory.
“No, my son. It’s no work for you.”
The beans were cooked; the man took them off the fire. Before beginning to eat, he said politely:
“Help yourself.”
“Thank you,” said Serag. “I’m not hungry.”
He sat on a large rock, facing the man. The sun burned over the whole countryside; it was almost noon. Serag was hot and thirsty.
“Have you been here long?”
“A few months,” said the man. “But I won’t stay much longer. It’s hard work. I have to watch over these stones and piles of iron all the time. There are bandits who come to steal everything. And I’m responsible for it, you understand!”
“It’s very important work,” said Serag.
“Extremely important,” said the man. “And I’m the only one who does it. There should be at least forty people to guard all this!”
Serag had a sudden inspiration. He could help the old man! That would always be a job, while he waited for them to finish the factory.
“Really, do you need help?”
“Of course I do,” said the man. “At least forty people.”
“I’d like to work with you very much,” said Serag. “What do you say?”
“You want to be a watchman?”
“Yes, I could help you guard these stones.”
“My word, you’re a strange boy! What would your mother say?”
“My mother’s dead. She wouldn’t say anything.”
“Even so, I can’t. It’s no work for you.”
“I beg you, say yes! I want to work so much!”
“Why, do they beat you at home?”
“No one beats me,” said Serag. “I want to go away. I’ve decided to work.”
“You’ll make your parents weep,” said the man. “This will be black news for them.”
The man stopped eating; he appeared to be reflecting. This boy seemed very peculiar to him. He began to suspect he had criminal intentions. Perhaps he was a thief. He wanted information so he could come back at night with his accomplices.
Serag was full of hope as he waited for the man’s decision.
“Don’t you want me?”
“No, I don’t want you,” said the man in a menacing voice. “And I advise you to leave quickly.”
Serag was alarmed; he didn’t understand.
“Why are you angry? Pardon me if I’ve bothered you!”
“Yes, you bother me. Get along and don’t come back. Or I’ll call the police!”
“The police!” said Serag, choking.
“I’ll call the police!” the man repeated.
He seized his long stick, and looked as though he might use it. He had become evil-tempered. He slobbered and some bits of chewed food rolled on to his beard. Serag hesitated a second, then left as fast as he could, without looking back.
It was over now. He would never work in the factory. His last chance had failed him. This incident with the old man had ended his illusions. He wouldn’t even be able to come look at his dream. Life would become completely monotonous and insipid without this ideal that had sustained him in his worst moments. Serag felt completely discouraged. The factory had played a prominent role in his life; he had thought of it every day, and now, suddenly, he felt lost; he no longer had a pretext to justify his inaction. From now on he wouldn’t be able to deceive himself.
He had reached the road and walked with his head down, indifferent to the harsh cries of the street vendors who passed. Some servants were doing their marketing, talking in shrill voices. He passed Abou Zeid’s shop without stopping; he was in no mood to hear his lamentations. Anyhow, Abou Zeid was sleeping, stretched out on the threshold of the shop, paying no attention to him. That was a blessing. Serag couldn’t have endured a talk with the peanut vendor. He had no new ideas for him and felt guilty. A little farther on he recognized Hoda among a group of servants standing around a lettuce cart. The young girl saw him too, and came up to him, running. She was carrying a heavy bag of groceries.
“So this is when you do your marketing,” said Serag. “You’re going to be late with lunch.”
“It isn’t my fault,” said Hoda. “The master was asleep, and I didn’t have any money. I had to wait till he woke up.”
“I’m very hungry,” said Serag. “Go on back to the house, girl.”
“I’ll go back with you,” said Hoda.
There was no way to get rid of her. Serag saw she was so happy he didn’t dare send her away. Hoda beamed with joy. She took Serag’s hand, and they walked along, hand in hand, like two lovers. Serag was embarrassed when people passed them, but he didn’t draw his hand away. He even liked to be extravagant in front of these people who knew him. Hoda looked at him and smiled.
“I want to tell you something.”
“What’s that?”
“I was very proud this morning.”
“Ah! What of, foolish!”
Hoda swallowed and said very seriously:
“Before I did the marketing, I walked down the road with Imtissal’s baby. And do you know what people thought?”
“No.”
“They thought it was my baby. They smiled at the baby and looked at me with admiration. I was so proud of it!”
“You’re just a fool! What an idea! So that’s how you spend your time when you should be taking care of the house.”