Laziness in the Fertile Valley Read Online Free PDF Page B

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.
    Now she must find Serag and tell him lunch was ready; then wake Galal who was sleeping, as always, with his head buried under his quilt. Old Hafez ate alone in his room on the top floor. He was never disturbed, living in almost complete isolation. Hoda had been ordered by him to bring his meals to his room. She was responsible for everything and took care of the family as if it consisted of sick children.
    She wiped the plates, stacking them in a pile to carry to the dining room. At this instant, as she turned her head toward the window, she saw Serag standing in the alley, his back turned toward the house. Her heart trembled. Instinctively, she wanted to call to him, but found herself unable to pronounce a word, held back by his strange pose. Serag was standing very erect, his hands thrust in his pockets, his head thrown back, his face held up to the sun. He seemed to be contemplating something fascinating in the sky. Hoda couldn’t see his face, and that intrigued her even more. What could he be gazing at, motionless as a statue? Hoda put the stack of plates on the table and crept to the window.
    Serag was still in his ecstasy, cut off, entirely lost in some dream. Hoda raised her head, looked at the house opposite, then at the sky where light clouds were scattering in the wind. There was nothing unusual to hold the attention. No doubt, Serag wasn’t looking at anything. Perhaps his eyes were even closed. What a strange boy! He could stay that way forever. Hoda stood still for a long time, hoping to see him move, then decided to open the window.
    “Serag! Lunch is ready!”
    Several seconds went by before the young man turned his head. Seeing Hoda, he made a face of annoyance, then smiled sadly. Hoda saw him open the gate to the garden. She ran to pick up the pile of dishes and started toward the dining room.
    “Well, you bitch, is lunch ready?’ asked Rafik.
    “It’s ready,” said Hoda. “You can sit down at the table.”
    “Hurry up, you daughter of a whore!”
    The dining room, on the first floor, was large, with black and white tiling, furnished with a few moth-eaten chairs. Except for the table and chairs, there was only a buffet and a couch, covered by a white cloth with yellow stripes, repulsively dirty. A rather large mat of braided straw covered the tiles under the table. The walls were bare and sweating from the humidity. Like all the rooms in the house, the dining room gave off a special odor of mustiness — the stale air of closed houses, of a vault or a cavern. On one of the walls, in a gold frame, was a huge photograph of old Hafez, retouched with water colors. Because of the dust and flyspecks that had completely covered the glass, old Hafez looked like a horrible daubed corpse. Old Hafez, who never left his room, found this a means of presiding, in a rather terrifying manner, at his children’s meals. But no one paid any attention to him; he grew dimmer in his gold frame, gradually forgotten in the general indifference.
    Rafik was stretched out on the couch, dressed in dirty pajamas, his feet bare except for wooden shoes. He had just finished a very animated conversation with Uncle Mustapha, during which he had riddled him with sarcasms. Now he was relaxed, taking malicious pleasure in his uncle’s crestfallen face. Uncle Mustapha was already at the table, silently at his place, nibbling a piece of bread while he waited for lunch. He had assumed an imperturbable calm, even though he was deeply shaken. Rafik’s sarcasm always wounded his dignity, and he tried to compose himself in an attitude of