Laziness in the Fertile Valley Read Free

being, come from a world of combat and despair. Now Serag understood the anguish that he created around him. It was not simply due to his misery, nor to his expression of a precocious criminal. No, this anguish was the message of a hostile and troubled universe, lost, ages before, of which he was only the pale and unconscious reflection. He gave the impression of a pitiful trapped animal, destined for the worst fate, and constantly the victim of latent dangers. What dangers? This was just what Serag had wanted to learn: the obscure mystery which enveloped the hard life of men.
    The child devoured his bread with feverish haste. He still wasn’t sure about this providential meal.
    “Well, do you like to hunt birds?” Serag asked.
    The child stopped eating. He seemed to be gravely offended.
    “I don’t do it for fun,” he said. “I hunt them so I can sell them. Do you think I’ve got time to waste?”
    He assumed an air of importance, looking almost with pity at Serag.
    “Excuse me. I didn’t know you were working. It’s nice work you have there.”
    “It’s damned hard work,” replied the child. “Since this morning I haven’t killed a single one. They’re worse than devils.”
    To sell birds! Certainly it was a business as worthy as any other. Serag realized this perfectly. But even so, it seemed a little fantastic to him, a little too frivolous. Was the child making fun of him? He must scorn him. Yet he remembered the child’s cruel efforts and couldn’t help marveling at him. Perhaps this was the sort of work for him. He would have liked to ask for explanations, to know the details of this mad industry, rich in risks and adventures. Perhaps, one day, he himself could take up this work, if he judged it sufficiently lucrative.
    “And this brings you a lot of money?” he asked.
    The child didn’t reply. He had finished eating his bread, but seemed scarcely appeased. Suddenly he began to jump on one leg, spinning around like a maniac. This exercise plunged him into a state of rare intoxication. His face had taken on an expression of careless joy. He scarcely paid any more attention to Serag and seemed to have forgotten him completely.
    Stretched out on the grass, Serag watched the child turn; then he blinked his eyes to keep himself from dizziness. He was shocked by the child’s contradictory behavior and understood nothing of his changes of mood. His imagination reveled in a savage reality which only included the child intermittently. He swung between an absurd dream and a terrifying reality. Serag couldn’t manage to place him in any part of his pathetic image of a world tortured by agony.
    A fine rain began to fall, making the country still more melancholy. Serag was aroused from his torpor by the drops of rain striking his face. He sat up, shook himself, and remained sitting on the grass, his arms clasped around his knees. After a minute the rain stopped and a vague light shone down. The sun emerged from the clouds, then again was caught by the heavy mass of phantom ships.
    The child still spun around; he was panting — at the height of ecstasy. Serag noticed that the leg he held in the air was wrapped in an old piece of cloth, just above the heel.
    “Did you hurt your foot?”
    “I was run over by a streetcar,” replied the child, and he stopped turning.
    “It’s better now?”
    “Yes, it’s better. But it’s not important. Tell me: haven’t you any more bread?”
    “No,” said Serag, “I only had the piece we ate. I’m very sorry. Are you still hungry?”
    “I’m always hungry,” said the child. “And you, what are you going to do afterwards?”
    “After what? What do you mean?”
    “I mean when you’re hungry again,” explained the child.
    “Why I’ll go back to the house for lunch,” said Serag.
    “Ah! you’re one of the ones who have houses!”
    “Yes,” said Serag innocently. “I have a house not far from here, near the highway.”
    But at once he was ashamed and saw