The Beginning and the End (19 page)

After a rather long absence, Hassan paid his family an unexpected visit. The members of the family were gathered in the two brothers' room, their favorite sitting room during the summer months. This time he arrived with a basket in his hand. Putting it behind the door, he stepped forward with laughter in his greeting. They welcomed him as usual. His sister and brothers' reception was unreserved while the mother cast an inquisitive glance at the basket.

“What on earth may a mother expect from a worthless son?” she murmured sarcastically.

Taking a seat in their midst, he assured her with a laugh, “Don't be in a hurry. Patience has its rewards.”

But none of them paid any attention to the basket, for they were not accustomed to expect anything good from him.

“You come to see us only as a visitor!” Nefisa remarked.

“I roam God's vast land, arduously making my living. Don't be surprised if you see me only as a visitor. The reason is that I've found myself a dwelling!”

All eyes focused on him with interest.

“Has God guided you? And have you found a job at last?”

“With Ali Sabri's band and nobody else. But now God has provided us with earnings enough.”

“I shall never be convinced that this is a job in the true sense of the word,” the mother remarked.

“Why not, Mother? With the band I sing, while in other occupations I quarrel, as you know,” Hassan replied.

“Have you really found a dwelling of your own? Where?” Hussein asked.

For a while, Hassan kept his thoughts to himself.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked.

“So we can return your visits.”

“Don't. My dwelling is not properly furnished to receive people. Besides, it isn't a private place; it's occupied by all the members of the band. Let's forget about it. Tell me, when did you last eat meat?”

“To tell you the truth, we've forgotten. Give me a moment to try to remember,” Hussein said sarcastically. “If I draw on obscure memories, I'm able to visualize the last slice of meat I've eaten. But I don't remember when or where. We're a philosophical family. Following the principles of Al Maarri,” he added with a laugh.

“Who is this Maarri? One of our forefathers?” Hassan inquired.

“A merciful philosopher. So merciful toward animals that he abstained from eating their flesh.”

“Now I understand why the government opens schools. It does this to make you hate eating meat so as to have all the meat for itself.”

Hassan rose and went to get the basket. Returning, he placed it before his mother and removed the paper cover. Underneath was a fleshy leg of mutton, the red surface of the meat blending with the white fat. Beside it lay a medium-size tin box.

“I can't believe my eyes,” Hassanein exclaimed. “What's inside the box?”

“Shortening.”

The spirits of Hassan's brothers and sister rose high and their eyes glistened. Their mother's heart was touched by the atmosphere of contagious merriment.

“Now we're sure of a sumptuous dinner for tomorrow,” she muttered, smiling.

“No! You mean a sumptuous supper right now!” shouted many voices.

“Have you any idea of how long it will take to prepare this supper?”

“Never mind. We're ready to wait until the break of dawn!”

Nefisa rose and carried the basket into the kitchen.

Without further objection Samira rose, too, nodding to Hassan to follow her as she left the room. With a knowing smile, Hassan traipsed after her. She took him aside in a corner of the hall.

“Is it true,” she asked eagerly, “that you're really making enough money?”

“To some extent! But my future is uncertain.”

“Can I trust you to help us?”

“Yes, whenever I've enough. I hope so.”

“Where do you live?” she inquired after a moment's silence.

Knowing that she understood him inside out, he realized the futility of telling her lies. “Number seventeen Gandab alley in Clot Bey,” he answered.

“With a woman?” she asked, hesitantly.

“Yes,” he said, giving a short laugh.

“Is it marriage?”

“No,” he muttered, laughing again.

In the darkness, he could not see the signs of disapproval in her face. Having long since despaired of reforming him, she did not take the trouble now to scold him or give him advice. Yet she asked him with interest and warmth, “I suppose you get your earnings by decent means?”

“Yes,” he reassured her. “Have no doubt about this. We are requested to give so many marriage feasts, and we sing in coffeehouses and music halls,” he added emphatically.

Another year passed, and life continued its usual course. The members of the family followed their normal routines of everyday life. Had their dead father come back to life, he would have been shocked by the tremendous change which had come over the souls, bodies, health, even the looks of his family. But he would certainly have recognized them. His wife and children had not changed that much. But his house had become so completely transformed that, no matter how hard he tried, he would have failed to remember it. The furniture had almost disappeared. The sitting room contained only a sofa and a pale thin carpet which had formerly covered the floor of Samira's bedroom. Now it replaced the sitting-room carpet, which had been sold. Most of the furniture had been bartered away, and nothing remained in Samira's bedroom but two sofas, used as seats during the day and as beds at night. Once the sideboard, table, and chairs were sold, the hall, which served in former times as a dining room, became bare. Hassan's bed had been sold. So degraded was the family's condition that they took their meals from a tray laid on the floor. Hussein and Hassanein's beds would have been sold, too, were they not indispensable. The family's life was hard and arduous. Without Samira's determination and frugality, the father's pension and Nefisa's meager earnings would together have been insufficient to meet the essential expenses of food and shelter. As for Hassan's assistance, it was scanty and unreliable, extended only on his rare visits, when he brought them hope and delicious food. From time to time he bought his mother a garment, a handkerchief, or some pieces of underwear. Apart from these rare visits, nobody know where he was.
Apologetically, he spoke to his mother about his strenuous struggles and slim earnings. This being usually the case, he was not always exaggerating. In fact, he had found life harder than he had expected.

He sang with Ali Sabri's band, took part in brawls whenever occasion arose, trafficked in narcotics on a small scale, and possessed the body and money of a rather beautiful woman. But his earnings fell short of his aspirations. Furthermore, his mode of life made it necessary to be extravagant and spend money lavishly, to keep up a dignified appearance and hold his assistants. He was constantly torn by a conflict between his personal needs and selfishness on one hand and love for his family on the other. Sometimes love for family gained the ascendant. But self-love being almost always predominant, he allowed himself to be carried away by the strong current of his reckless life. Then, remembering his family, he would act generously toward them as far as his means would allow. Under this generous impulse, he would wish very much to restore his family to the relative prosperity of the past. But, again, his adventurous life would make him oblivious to it; then, once more overcome with remorse and pain, he would remember, and the cycle would continue indefinitely. Though Hassan's visits afforded the family relief and entertainment, they could not look upon him as the man of the house whose substantial assistance would help them stand on their feet. Samira alone was the cornerstone of the family. Sacrificing herself for the sake of the others, she almost went to pieces; two years of this life had aged her quickly, telling on her more than the previous fifty. She became thin and pale, a mere skeleton. Yet she did not surrender to the ordeal. Never complaining, she steadfastly adhered to her ingrained virtues of fortitude, determination, and strength. She worked throughout the day cooking, washing, cleaning up, sweeping, patching, darning, and attending particularly to her two sons, watching their play, urging them to study, settling their trifling disputes, and checking their impulses, especially
those of the whimsical Hassanein. Busy though she was, she kept thinking of the family's present and future, absorbed in her pain at seeing her daughter, Nefisa, moving incessantly from one house to another, working hard but earning little, in her laborious and desperate endeavors. With supreme stoicism she endured her pains, drawing upon an unshakable faith and clinging to a firm hope, which she believed was bound to be rewarded no matter how long it might remain unfulfilled. By her efforts, her two sons were able to make steady progress without swerving from their goal, and despite their austerity and deprivation, to continue their progress with admirable persistence.

Hassanein was more pained by his deprivation in love than by life's humiliation. His beloved was no less stubbornly adamant than his mother. She forced him to be content with an ascetic, platonic relationship that was unsuitable to his passionate temper. Engrossed in the troubles of their private lives, the two brothers were almost oblivious to the drastic changes their country was undergoing at this time. In fact, Hussein paid very little attention to politics and public affairs. Perhaps Hassanein was more interested in politics than his brother, but not sufficiently so to be considered a political-minded student. His interest was confined almost entirely to partisan discussions or participation in peaceful demonstrations.

Their mother objected to their participation in political life. Entirely ignorant of politics, she was so absorbed in her feelings for her family that she had no room for national sentiment. Hearing the distressing news of student deaths and injuries in demonstrations, she became alarmed.

“Poor boys!” she was saying to her sons. “What use are demonstrations and politics when these boys have lost their lives?! Their families are afflicted, their homes are ruined, and their death serves no purpose.”

Conscious that he lagged behind his fellow revolutionaries, Hassanein gave vent to his suppressed feelings.

“Countries live by the death of their heroes,” he said.

She gave him a stern look. Lowering his eyes, he changed his mind and desisted from his inflammatory speech. Later, when the Home Front was formed and the nationalists entered into negotiations with the British which led to the conclusion of an agreement, a general sense of relief pervaded the whole country. Hassanein resumed his political conversations, with more daring than his brother when speaking to their mother.

“Now do you realize,” he said, “that the sacrifices made by the martyrs have not been in vain?”

This time she did not get angry, feeling that the danger was now past and that peace had returned. But she did not give up her former opinions.

“Nothing in the world can make up for the death of a young soul,” she said.

“Mother, you've lived for half a century under occupation,” Hassanein said. “Let's pray to God”—he laughed—“that you'll live for another half century under independence!”

“Occupation! Independence!” the mother replied, in disapproval. “I don't see the difference between them. It's better for us to pray to God to relieve our distress and make life easier for us.”

Hassanein spoke with enthusiasm and faith. “But for the occupation, our family would never have been left in the lurch after Father's death. Isn't it so?” he asked, turning to Hussein.

“I believe so,” Hussein said hopefully.

Very skeptical, the mother looked from one to the other. She did not care for general conversations such as these which occasionally cropped up, whence God only knew. For only one purpose was she ready to forget the external world, and it weighed heavily upon her mind. This was to steer these two young men, whom she loved more than her own life, out of troubled waters to secure harbors, and to see them become two happy, successful men, immune from the evils of life, providing the family serenity and peace.

At the end of the scholastic year, Hussein obtained the baccalaureate. During the interval of waiting for the results of the examination to appear, the family suffered bitter doubts and fears. Nobody dared to predict how things might develop if Hussein should fail to pass or lose his exemption from fees. After her prolonged patience, it was impossible for Samira to conceive of such an outcome, or to see all her hopes in ruin.

Surrounded by his brother, his sister, and his mother, their quivering hearts palpitating with hope and fear, Hussein took the newspaper from the newsboy, cast dazed looks at it, searching its pages for his successful number. It was a dreadful moment, indelibly imprinted on their memories. But now it was a happy day, the first happy day after two gloomy years. Their souls filled with joy, they offered their thanks to God. Their happy mood sometimes manifested itself in their gentle conversations, and occasionally in the prevalence of a glowing silence of reassurance. This gave them hope for tomorrow. But as they thought about the future, both near and distant, their happiness evaporated almost without their realizing it. Once more they imagined the difficulties confronting their lives. Thus these transient moments of serene happiness gave way to worry and deep pensiveness.

For the first time in his life, Hassanein discovered the truth that happiness is short-lived and that sorrow and pain outlive it. Hussein used to think of his future. Of course, he had his ambitions and dreams. Yet he was aware of the unpleasant facts of life. As if probing their reaction to his success, he inquired, “What do you think my next step should be?”

The mother's greatest desire was that their miserable condition
of life be terminated at any cost. All the worthwhile pieces of furniture in the flat having been sold, she knew that it was impossible for her family to continue this sort of life much longer. But she was reluctant to impose her opinions on him and control his career the way she controlled his life. He was no longer an infant. If on his own accord he agreed with her views, all well and good. But if he did not, let him choose whatever course of action he judged best for himself. In that event, the family was bound to continue as before in stoicism, fortitude, and even hunger, until God would ordain plenty and abundance for them.

“Let's think it over carefully,” she said curtly.

Moved as usual by his passions, Hassanein was thinking fast, disguising his egocentricity behind what he believed to be the common good. “Life has become intolerable,” he said. “We're ill-nourished and almost always hungry, our clothes torn, darned, or threadbare, and our house is empty. We shouldn't prolong our suffering. We've no choice but to become practical about our lives,” he said.

Understanding his brother well, Hussein realized at once what he was driving at. Convinced though he was of the substance of his brother's argument, he was irritated at his cunning. “Why do you say ‘we' when I'm the only person involved in this matter?” Hussein asked.

Realizing that his brother usually divined his ulterior motives, Hassanein became disturbed. “I'm laying down a general principle that applies to you right now and to me in the future,” he said.

“You mean to say that I should find a job?”

Hassanein avoided an answer. “What do you think?” he asked.

Hussein turned to his mother. “What do you think, Mother?” he asked with a smile.

His smile affected her profoundly. She realized that he was placing his career in her hands, and that he was transferring
responsibility for his future to her shoulders alone. But she would never persuade him to do anything against his will. Never, even if that meant that they must endure further humiliation for another four years. Of her three sons he was the only one who obeyed her without resentment or hesitation. So how could she permit him to become the family's sacrificial goat?

“Hussein, your opinion will be mine, too,” she said unequivocally.

Hussein smiled mysteriously. Impelled by an irresponsible desire to annoy Hassanein, he said, “I'm thinking of continuing my higher education.”

“You've chosen the right thing.” Nefisa was pleased.

“This means four more lean years,” Hassanein said hesitantly.

“No, just one more year, and at the end of it, by God's will, you'll become an employee,” Hussein said with a grin.

Defeated, Hassanein laughed. “Perhaps,” he said apologetically, “you think that I want you to find a job to give me a chance to continue my higher education in peace and security. But, in fact, I want to relieve our suffering family. Besides, granting that to be employed on the baccalaureate is a sacrifice, you should be the one to make this sacrifice, not because I wish to deny you something which I want to get for myself, but because our family can make use of your sacrifice right now, while it has to wait another year to make use of mine.”

“This is false logic. I'm sure that you won't agree to make any sacrifices, neither this year nor the next,” Hussein said, laughing.

The mother intervened to decide the matter once and for all. “Do what you like, Hussein. We've no objection,” she said.

Smiling at her serenely, he remarked, “I didn't mean a word of what I said. I just wanted to make it clear to him that I understand him well enough. I don't even blame him for the way he thinks; he has his reasons. Now, one of us two has to make sacrifices and accept a job. As the elder brother and having
obtained the baccalaureate, it's my duty to do so. I know how bad our circumstances are, and how wicked and cruel it would be of me to think of continuing my education. I must be content with my lot. Let's all pray to God to help us get what we want.”

Despite their expressions of regret, Hussein could see relief in all their eyes. Sorry though he was, he experienced feelings of peace and pleasure.
Our family,
he thought,
has almost forgotten all sense of relief and security. I should be glad to restore some such feelings to them. Why should I regret my sacrifice? To be a teacher or a clerk is all the same to me. Had our dreams been down-to-earth, we wouldn't have subjected ourselves to sorrow and frustration.