The terrace room was a dusty little shed, lighted by a skylight, heaped pell-mell with all sorts of kitchen utensils, bits of furniture and discarded objects. Serag knew the books he wanted had been put away in a suitcase. He found it hidden in a corner under a pile of empty bottles and damaged water pipes. He managed to free it, cleared it of some of the dust that covered it, and opened it.
He was moved at this memory of his life as a student and the distant past of his school days. These books represented a magnificent period for him. Then the future had seemed smiling and full of hope. The house had not yet become what it now was: an inviolable retreat of sleep.
He picked up a book and began to leaf through it.
“What are you doing here?”
Serag dropped the book and turned around.
“It’s none of your business, girl!”
“I’ve been looking for you for half an hour,” said Hoda. “Lunch is ready.”
She came up to him slowly, happy to have found him. He recoiled; he feared this little girl more than anything in the world. Her fatal tenderness was an abyss for him, into which he fell each time with despair. This girl, with her obstinate love and her naïve perversity always weakened his instincts for revolt. It was as though with him she was transformed, leaving childhood, to become a wheedling and cynical woman.
“Why are you handling those books?” she asked. “What are you starting now? When are you going to be sensible?”
“Leave me alone. I’m old enough to do what I want.”
“You’re only a child.”
“Ah! I’ll show you if I’m a child,” said Serag. “You see these books? I’m going to sell them.”
“Sell them! What for?”
“To get some money, girl!”
“What are you going to do with the money?”
“With money I can get out of this house,” said Serag. “Now do you understand?”
“So that’s what it’s for,” she said. “Cursed boy! So you’re beginning this madness all over again.”
“I’ve decided to go away,” said Serag. “But this time I’m really serious. With the money from these books I’ll be able to get along until I find some work.”
“Then you’re really going.”
She had tears in her eyes. She had thought he had given up his childish ideas of adventure, and now, again, he was thinking of nothing but running away and roving around the country. She realized how much his obsession blinded him. But what could she do? The only chance of keeping him near her was to leave with him.
“Take me with you,” she said.
“I’ve already told you it’s impossible,” said Serag.
Hoda wiped her tears and became her most seductive; she smiled at the young man, offering him her lips. But Serag turned away. Then Hoda closed the suitcase, sat down on it, and caught Serag’s hand, drawing him to her.
“Come sit by me.”
Serag sank down beside her; he was already helpless, hypnotized. He was never able to resist the perverse attraction that came from her young body.
“You don’t want to take me then?”
“No,” said Serag. “What would I do with you?”
“I’d keep house for you.”
“I’d rather go alone. I don’t need a woman.”
“You’ll be afraid alone. I’ll take care of you.”
“Why should I be afraid? Work doesn’t frighten me.”
“How do you know? You’ve never worked yet. It’s hard to be alone. Don’t you believe that?”
“I don’t know,” said Serag. “Anyhow, anything is better than staying in this house.”
She leaned against him, putting her mouth close to his ear.
“Take me with you,” she pleaded. “Don’t leave me. I’ll kill myself.”
In reality, Serag was beginning to be aware of his fear of leaving for the city alone. The idea of taking Hoda with him no longer seemed so absurd. Actually, the young girl would be a useful companion, and her presence would make the hardships of his new life less painful to bear. Still, he hesitated.
She watched him pondering, her heart pounding. She stroked his cheek, then kissed his mouth.
“Take me.”
“I don’t know yet,” said Serag. “Perhaps I’ll leave with you. We’ll see. First I have to sell these books.”
“Oh, I love you,” said Hoda. “Kiss me quickly! My master is waiting for his lunch.”
In the afternoon, Serag took the books to Abou Zeid. The peanut vendor was squatting outside his shop in his usual position, warming himself in the sun; he was apparently applying himself to certain putrefaction. His gaunt and hairy face was stamped with an ageless torpor. The baskets standing near him were almost empty.
“Good day, Abou Zeid!”
“Good day, my young gentleman!” replied Abou Zeid. “What have you there?”
“Books,” said Serag. “I’ve come with a wonderful idea for your business.”
Abou Zeid looked benevolently at the young man, and at the same time, with real apprehension. Above all, he feared being upset, and the rude efforts that characterize certain occupations saddened his charitable soul. He asked timidly:
“What’s your plan, my boy? I hope it’s honorable.”
“It’s an inspiration,” said Serag. “First let me put my books down. I’ve carried them from the house.”
He put the books on the ground, stuck his hands in his pockets, looked at Abou Zeid and smiled. Abou Zeid gave the books a quick glance, but didn’t dare touch them. He didn’t yet suspect the role these books were to play in the project the young man wanted to submit to him.
“Explain,” he said. “I’m waiting for your good words.”
“Very well! Here it is. You’re going to buy these books and become a bookseller.”
“A bookseller!” said Abou Zeid. “I’m too old, my boy. I don’t think the work would suit me.”
“But it’s wonderful work,” said Serag. “You’ll be the first bookseller in the quarter. Do you realize what an honor that is?”
“Ah! You think so?”
Abou Zeid was a little overwhelmed by this proposition; it was far beyond his poor hopes. He had never been so ambitious. All he wanted was to escape his odious mother-in-law’s sarcasms. The crabbed woman continued to torment him about his miserable trade. What would she say when she saw him installed as a bookseller? The question worried him considerably.
“You’re sure it’s suitable work?”
“Certainly,” replied Serag. “What makes you ask?”
“I don’t know, my boy! What are these books about?”
“They’re school books. Very serious books. You don’t suppose, Abou Zeid, my father, that I’d sell you obscene books?”
“That’s not what I meant. Excuse me, my boy.”
He became silent and again seemed to be reflecting. Serag stood waiting the result of these laborious efforts, their true motive hidden from him. He didn’t understand the merchant’s reticence and began to feel tired. Suddenly, he saw Mimi appear in the sunlight, his hair disordered, looking as though he hadn’t slept all night. Serag smiled at him, but Mimi bowed distantly and walked on, his hands in his pockets. Strange, his dog wasn’t with him. Serag wondered why Mimi had greeted him so coldly, and what had happened to his dog, Semsen. Then he forgot the young man, and gave all his attention to Abou Zeid, whose inner debate seemed to be coming to an end.
At that moment, a young girl with long braids and mascara on her eyelashes stopped in front of the shop. Abou Zeid asked her hostilely:
“What do you want, girl!”
“It’s for Om Ehsane.”
“What does she want?”
“Two cents’ worth of chickpeas,” said the child. “She’ll pay you tomorrow.”
“Help yourself, girl! And leave me in peace!”