“The world is so spiteful,” said Abou Zeid with a certain deceit. “Men say so many things.”
Serag was deeply humiliated. He remembered having already heard such stories about his brother. It was true that Galal had broken all records for sleep and was even capable of worse performances. He only woke to eat or to go to the bathroom. But from this to accuse him of sleeping for a whole month, surely it was an exaggeration. Serag wondered if the public included him in this vice. He suffered under the weight of inertia that bound him to his family. His youth still saved him, but how much longer? Work was the only thing that could rescue him, but it was such a remote possibility, he didn’t dare think of it.
Next door, in the tinker’s shop, a workman twisted over an unwieldy pot while a small boy helped him work the ancient bellows of the forge. Some winter flies moved about silently, but persistently. Abou Zeid drove them away with a controlled and cunning gesture of his hand. At another shop a servant who was doing his marketing swore heatedly at a vegetable seller who had allowed himself to make a joke. His voice echoed in the middle of the road like that of a hysterical madman, as though someone had tried to violate him or tear out his eyes. Abou Zeid tossed his head at this show of human depravity, then took up the train of his mediocre thoughts again. He had just found an idea for his business that seemed congenial.
“About the shop, my son, what do you think of my selling radishes? They’re beautiful — radishes!”
“It’s not bad,” acknowledged Serag. “But it’s still not right. Just the same — think of filling this shop with radishes. It would be amusing.”
“What’s really amusing,” said Abou Zeid, “is to see it empty as it is right now. Believe me, it gives me a scare.”
“Be patient a few more days. I promised to put my mind to it. You know, Abou Zeid, at the moment I’ve a few worries myself. When things are going better, I’ll find a really spectacular idea for your business.”
“Allah watch over you, my son! Only you’d do well to hurry. And above all, try not to bring me ideas that are original and tiring. I’m an old man; I can’t allow myself to have fancies. As you see, my strength declines day by day. But I have confidence in you. May God help you!”
Abou Zeid’s laments originated in a conjugal drama which he had never mentioned to the young man. His pride had kept him silent. Abou Zeid was the victim of a nagging mother in law’s ambition. She kept after him all day, calling him a misshapen monster, unfit, and a failure at business. She made his life unbearable and incited her daughter to rebel. Abou Zeid was reduced by this to beg caresses from his wife. To escape the reproaches of this fury, he had, several months before, quit the little corner of the street where he had sold his merchandise in order to rent this shop. Here he had consecrated himself to becoming a famous tradesman. He now found himself in a trap and was trying to avoid, as much as possible, the disaster that menaced him.
A bus passed, stopping at a nearby station. Some men got out and walked without haste toward their homes. No doubt they were coming back from work, but from what sort of work? Serag observed them with a certain contempt. They didn’t seem harassed, but rather sad. They must have been sleeping in their dusty offices at the bottom of some corporation. The thing that annoyed them above all, was that they couldn’t sleep in their own homes. They had to disturb themselves and go elsewhere to sleep, in order to give the impression they were doing important work. Serag thought them contemptible. They walked off and the bus went on its way, spitting out a great jet of blue smoke.
With the corner of his shawl, Abou Zeid wiped the saliva that was soiling his beard; then he straightened his baskets a little and asked with much interest:
“Why are you worried, my son? Is it — I pray not — that you’re sick?”
“I’m not sick,” replied Serag. “I’m very well. Goodbye.”
Why were they all asking if he were sick? The child too had asked. Did they see something in his face? He walked on a moment, then turned to the right and entered a little alley of hard dirt. After a few feet, he stopped before the iron railing of his house. It was a small villa, shabby in appearance, two stories high. A tiny garden, rapidly filling with rubbish, separated it from the alley. Setag had stopped, his back turned to the villa. He didn’t dare go back into the house; he feared the moment of finding himself with his family again. The sun had come out; entirely free of the clouds, it gave out a penetrating heat. Serag felt warm again, forgot his torments and sank back in an endless revery.
III
Standing in front of the kitchen sink, Hoda was washing a dish. Her tongue between her teeth, her elbows resting on the edge of the sink, she hurried with the precise movements of the well trained domestic. Through the window came the strong rays of the sun, spotting the flags of the floor with dazzling splashes of light. The kitchen was the only clean place in the house, it was her domain, and no one ever penetrated it. Hoda could clean there at her leisure without the usual trials. In the other rooms, cleaning was a hazardous affair that required much patience and discretion. The family was always on the verge of falling asleep and didn’t like to have her working around. Hoda had learned all sorts of devices for putting at least a semblance of order in the house.
In spite of the deafening noise of the oil stove, she heard from the dining room the sound of Rafik’s piercing voice, impatient with the company of Uncle Mustapha. Hoda stopped a moment and listened. She was afraid it was because of her again. It was always the same story: she was late with lunch. Actually, it wasn’t her fault; the habits of the house kept her from coming earlier in the morning. For one thing, Galal had expressly forbidden it. Although she always managed to get in without being seen, the mere knowledge that someone was awake in the house kept him from sleeping. He would have preferred never to have her there at all. He complained about the slightest disturbance around him. His sensitivity was miraculous. He seemed to be equipped with antennae that warned him of the least change in the atmosphere. He was the easiest to satisfy in this strange family, but became intransigent as soon as something concerned his sleep. His complaints were weak, unsuccessful stirrings in the abyss. Even the caresses he allowed himself with her were always almost innocuous, discouraged, and terribly monotonous. Because of this, Hoda wasn’t much afraid of him. She always managed to escape his summary embrace without great damage.
She stood on tiptoe, reached the faucet and turned it on full force. Then she passed some soap covered plates under the stream of water. Soon they were clean and shining. Hoda admired them complacently for it gave her a childish joy to see these immaculate things come from her hands. It was one of the rare satisfactions in her wretched life. But suddenly a thought darkened her face. She had just remembered she hadn’t seen Serag this morning. She had hunted in vain for him in his room. She wondered where he could be. Undoubtedly, he had gone out early. He was the only one in this sleep-besieged house who behaved a little as though he were alive. Hoda was glad he was not like the others; yet she feared all sorts of dangers for him. One never knew what could happen to a boy like him, left all alone to the hazards of the streets, among evil people and things. She saw him crushed by a car, or asleep, in a field, helpless against the sting of a scorpion. She stood for a moment speculative and uneasy, her tongue still between her teeth, the last dish in her dripping hands.
She caught herself, and thought with dismay of the late lunch. And to complete her anxiety, the lentils weren’t done. Hoda left the sink, raised the cover of the pot on the stove and dipped the soup ladle into the steaming lentils, tasting them with the end of her tongue. They were cooked, but not salted enough. Hoda took a handful of salt from a jar, threw it in the pot and put the cover back on.