Laziness in the Fertile Valley Read Free Page B

tragedy!”
    “Why, is he a relative of yours?”
    “No, it’s not that. But I’m interested in the factory. If you’ll go with me I’ll explain it to you.”
    He felt painfully the need of company. At bottom, he knew he’d never get as far as the factory alone — that he’d surely fall asleep on the way. This had already happened to him several times.
    “I can’t come with you,” said the child. “I have to go on hunting.” He hesitated a moment. “But if you’ll give me a half piastre, I’ll come. I haven’t a house to eat in. You understand!”
    Serag fumbled in his pockets, drew out a collection of junk, among which was a two milliemes piece. It was a souvenir he had kept for a long time. Suddenly he had remembered it.
    “I haven’t much money with me right now,” he said to the child, holding the coin out to him, “but here are two milliemes. Will that do?”
    “We won’t haggle,’ said the child. “It’s all right, let’s go!”

II
    The path they followed was hidden by the corn field. The child walked ahead — limping, either because of his injured foot, or only to give himself the air of an heroic martyr. Ever since he had touched his two coins he had abandoned himself, overflowing with unbelievable energy. He had torn off an ear of corn, crunched the hard kernels, then spat them on the ground with disgust. Serag paid no attention to him. He felt only his presence, and his gesticulating walk kept him from sleep. He moved forward like a sleepwalker, his brain invaded by thick clouds.
    For a moment the cold became very sharp. Serag shivered at each blast of wind. His red woollen sweater, with its rolled up collar, scarcely protected him. But this seemed only a minor evil. He was really oppressed by his shoes. As always, when he went out to look at the factory, he wore his old football shoes, a survival from his years at school, and they weighted down his steps and bruised his feet. No mere whim governed his choice of this strange gear; it had a profound meaning for him. Serag wished to prove to himself, in venturing on this pilgrimage, that he was making a dangerous expedition. The idea of performing some daring feat filled him with a certain fervor. Without this fervor he wouldn’t have had the courage to try anything. Therefore, he suffered the football shoes, as a torment necessary to his liberation.
    Suddenly the path grew wider, and they found themselves in the middle of a field planted in clover. A peasant’s hut of dried mud, partly in ruins, stood on the edge of an ancient trench filled with weeds. Nearby, a dismantled sakieh lay in the dust. Serag stopped; he could go no farther. He stumbled down the side of a furrow and dissolved in tears.
    The child continued on alone for several steps, then turned and came back toward Serag.
    “You paid me to come with you. Let’s keep going.”
    “I’m tired,” implored Serag. “Have pity on me.”
    “You’re crying,” the child observed, puzzled. “Why? Are you sick?”
    “It’s nothing. I’m not sick. I’m just tired. Give me one more minute.”
    “I can’t wait,” said the child. “Stop crying. What a day this is! There probably isn’t any factory at all.”
    “There is a factory,” said Serag. “On my honor, you’ll see it soon. We aren’t very far now.”
    “Why do you want to go there?”
    “I’ll explain in a little while. You’ll see. It’s very interesting.”
    The child pondered a long time. What drew this sleepy young man to see a factory? After puzzling awhile he seemed to have found out.
    “Tell me: you’re not looking for treasure by any chance?”
    “No, it isn’t treasure,” said Serag. “It’s only a factory under construction. Believe me, there isn’t any treasure.”
    “It doesn’t matter,” said the child. “Maybe we can find some treasure anyway. Now get up! I’ve waited long enough. This day’s wasted for me.”
    Serag got up painfully, ran his fingers through his hair, then