The Beginning and the End (30 page)

Smiling, Nefisa entered the flat. These days she seemed to be always smiling, always cheerful. Observing that her mother was absorbed in her thoughts, she approached her and said jokingly, “Mother, now that our troubles are over, you don't need to worry anymore.”

Depressed, Hassanein mentally echoed his sister's words. But had their troubles really come to an end? It occurred to him that the entire budget of the army was not enough to resolve their problems. He raised his eyes toward Nefisa. He said to her, “It's time that you took a rest!”

“Do you mean that I should give up my work?”

“Yes.”

“I'll give it up with absolutely no regrets. I'll stay at home as ladies do. I'll be the lady sister of an officer!”

He could not help saying sarcastically, “And the sister of Master Hassan, too.”

She looked in astonishment from him to her mother, wondering why he referred to his brother with such sarcasm.

“Doesn't this please you?” he continued.

With tenderness and compassion, the girl replied, “Whatever Hassan may be, his kindness in undeniable.”

“I don't need to be reminded of that,” the young man added. “God knows that I love him. But I can't help saying that his way of life is disgraceful.”

This last sentence pierced her heart, and she averted her eyes. As she recalled her own loose behavior, her limbs went cold and she shuddered with horror. Obviously, she thought, he is referring to me and nobody else. The silence made her nervous, and she murmured, “It happens in every family!”

“But not in respectable families,” Hassanein said resentfully.

Overcome with suffocating anxiety, she would have liked to vanish into thin air. Pretending to laugh, she said with affected merriment, “It's quite possible to have in the same family two brothers, one of them a minister and the other a thief. For God's sake, don't disturb our peace. Guess what—I've prepared a platterful of
kunafa
for you. Let's warm it up and eat it in peace!”

Leaving the room, she headed for the kitchen, her face troubled, her soul disturbed, and her heart fluttering with fear and worry. He had asked her to stay at home as respectable ladies do, and she certainly welcomed this. But what was done could not be undone. She could easily make excuses for her loose behavior, pretending that her object was to earn money to support her starving family. True enough, but only part of the truth. There was the tormenting mortal despair of resisting her sexual urge. How much she wanted to extinguish it, even if it involved her own extinction! Yet this sexual urge, flaring up more desperately and degenerately than before, had become almost uncontrollable. Her sense of guilt caused her great suffering. Her only consolation, if it was any consolation at all, was that fate held no better prospects for her. And she became torn between a wretched past and an irrepressible thirst for sexual gratification. Realizing how impossible it was to ignore this thirst, she was incapable of predicting whether she could adapt to her new way of life at home. Could she possibly be content to wait monotonously, indefinitely, for death to come upon her? She was not quite sure that she could accept this new life faithfully, or that, having lost everything, she could resolutely face up to the torture of sexual deprivation. She loathed and feared the past, but she was bound to it by a demonic force and would cleave to it desperately, stricken with guilt and horror, like a man falling from a mountaintop in a nightmare he was unable to shake off. Absently, she gazed at the slightly burnt surface of the rose-colored
kunafa
until she imagined her own skin burning black inside the platter. Life at the moment seemed so ruthless,
so absurd; ruthlessly absurd. She wondered why God had created her. Yet she had an undeniable gusto for life, and her despair, torture, and fear were merely its manifestations. In spite of it all, she had an appointment with a man and did not want to miss it.

Carrying the platter with a cloth, she entered the room and placed it on the desk. As if she had forgotten her fearful thoughts, she said merrily to Hassanein, “I offer you this
kunafa
by the sweat of my brow. From now on, it's your turn to provide our tongues with sweets.”

Putting their worries aside, the family devoured the
kunafa.
“I wish Hussein were with us,” Samira said as she took a piece from the platter. Waving his finger at her, Hassanein swallowed a mouthful. “It's high time,” he said, “that we get him transferred to Cairo. Ahmad Bey Yousri had promised to transfer him after a year or so. And now almost two years have passed since his appointment at Tanta.”

He wished to enjoy the company of his brother as he had in the past, and hoped to appeal to Hussein for help in overcoming his troubles. Moreover, he had his personal reasons for paying a visit to Ahmad Bey's villa.

At sunset the next day he went to the villa of Ahmad Bey Yousri to thank him on the occasion of his graduation from the College and to beg him to intercede to get his brother transferred to a school in Cairo. The porter stood up respectfully for the visiting officer, led him to the sitting room, then disappeared to inform the Bey of his presence. Hassanein sat on the same chair he had occupied more than once before, under different circumstances. Looking out over the garden, his eyes traced the long zigzagging path on which the girl had ridden her bicycle slowly and warily more than a year earlier. He wondered whether she was still interested in this exercise. For a while, his memories made him smile. Once more he wondered whether he had come, really, for the sake of thanking the Bey and begging him to intercede on behalf of his brother. He smiled again, still perplexed, uncertain of his goals and uneasy about his motives. He felt reluctant to offend his fiancée. He recalled his latest visit to Farid Effendi's flat immediately after graduation and how, spending his time there in tedious conversations, he was overcome with painful feelings of deprivation, for he couldn't be alone with his girl even for a short while. The memory left him with a fuming resentment that submerged the guilt he felt about these other pleasurable memories, which Ahmad Bey's villa revived. Shunning his remorse, he was swayed by ambition which the surrounding magnificence of the villa set aglow in his heart. His imagination was kindled by dreams of eradicating his past, of having a new house, a new tomb, new relatives, prosperity, and a dazzling life. Though he had attained the enviable position of an officer, yet he was conscious of a burning desire for a clean, luxurious life. His heart's innermost feelings made him miserable
and discontented. He was still immersed in his dreams when the porter returned from the interior of the villa, courteously bowed, and whispered, “His Excellency the Bey is coming.” Hassanein rose when the Bey appeared in a white suit, a red rose in his lapel. Casting an all-encompassing glance at the young man's uniform, the Bey said with a laugh, “Welcome to the officer.”

Bowing, Hassanein shook hands with him. But before he could open his mouth to speak, the young man saw the Bey's wife coming from the inside, followed by the girl. Since the family was obviously preparing to go out, he realized he had come at the wrong moment, particularly when he noticed the car turn on the wide path and stop at the entrance hall. Hassanein shook hands with the two ladies, retreated two steps, and said, “Your Excellency, I've come to thank you on the occasion of my graduation. Excuse me for leaving now. I'm afraid I may delay you.”

“No,” the Bey answered. “We'll sit down for a drink of lemonade. We still have enough time.”

When the members of the family took their seats, Hassanein also found a chair, trying his utmost to control his nerves, for he loathed the thought of panicking in the presence of the Bey and these ladies of the upper class. The porter went off to get the lemonade.

“Where have you been appointed?” the Bey gently inquired.

“To the cavalry in Cairo,” Hassanein answered with barely concealed pride.

“You seem to have been high up on the list of the graduates?”

“I came in eighth.”

The man congratulated him. A silence prevailed. Had he met the Bey alone, he would, as intended, have gratefully enumerated this man's favors to his family, his kindly intercessions for himself and his brother, and then proceeded to request Hussein's transfer. But determined to preserve his dignity in front
of the two women, especially the girl, he changed his mind. He saw no harm in postponing discussion of his brother's problem until some time the next day or the day after, when he could raise it with the Bey in his office at the Ministry.

A Nubian servant entered with the lemonade and served it to them. As he lifted his glass to his lips, Hassanein glanced furtively across the rim at the girl. He watched her gently and quietly sipping the lemonade, too much the true lady to take the drink in noisy, vulgar gulps. Relishing the taste slowly and delicately, she took the drink softly and shyly into her mouth, her face wreathed in splendid quietude and dreamy relaxation as if she were surrendering to the numbing touches of slumber. He replaced his glass on the tray, his head turning at the fascinating sight of her grace, elegance, and obvious aristocratic breeding. Suddenly he started as he imagined the girl lying meekly and submissively in his arms.
What madness comes over me!
he wondered.
It's not only lust. Perhaps it's not lust at all. Though it shames me to appear with Bahia in public, yet she is more attractive than this girl. To lie on top of this girl is not a sexual act, but a triumph, a conquest. That's it.

He became aware of the external world when Ahmad Bey asked him, “How is the family?”

An idea occurred to him, inflating his conceit. It was his nature to lie sometimes. “Thanks be to God,” he said without hesitation. “Our troubles came to an end after winning the lawsuit.”

“What lawsuit?” the Bey inquired.

“An old lawsuit between my mother and uncles over some entailed property,” Hassanein said with steady confidence. “The court handed down a decision giving Mother her full share!”

“Congratulations! Congratulations!” the man replied.

Proud and relieved, Hassanein rose to his feet. “Your Excellency,” he said, smiling, “I'm sorry I've delayed you.”

They all rose and went down the stairs to the parked car. Hassanein hoped they might offer him a lift. But the Bey merely gave him his hand, bidding him goodbye. The young man
bowed to the two ladies and hurried off. Apparently the visit was a failure since he hadn't accomplished his purpose. But he considered himself lucky for this unexpected meeting with the girl, and he thought that his spontaneous happy lie was more significant. The real purpose could wait for a few days.

Before leaving Taher Street, Hassanein lifted his face to the sky. Looking at the pale sunset, he wondered whether he would find his brother Hassan at home if he ventured to pay him a visit. Though Hassanein had faint hopes of reforming his brother, he was determined to confront him. He was engrossed in thoughts about his own and his family's future, and his meeting with Hassan was his main preoccupation. Though he proceeded with unbending determination, his heart was heavily laden with worry and doubt. He took the tram to Al Khazindar Square, then walked toward Clot Bey Street.

Now Hassanein's attention was diverted to his uniform. He reflected that it had been purchased, in part, with the money his mother received from selling his old clothes. He was concerned that circumstances forced him to appear in a suspect area. But he had no alternative. He saw in Hassan the family's most serious, thorny problem. Nefisa had abandoned her dressmaking business, and soon he would be leaving Nasr Allah alley, even the entire district of Shubra. Probably a curtain of oblivion would fall on his family's whole detestable past. Yet the problem of Hassan would remain unsolved. And as long as this brother continued his evil life, security would be impossible. Approaching Gandab alley, he headed for his brother's house, avoiding the people's astonished and searching glances, hurriedly crossing the alley like a fugitive.

His nostrils offended by the putrefying smell, he disgustedly climbed the spiral stairs, remembering with both annoyance and embarrassment his first visit to this house a year ago. Halting on the darkened threshold of his brother's flat, he knocked. A strange man opened the door, one of the disfigured faces indelibly
imprinted on his memory from his first visit. No sooner did he see Hassanein than the man slammed the door shut with a loud cry: “The Police!”

Surmising what had happened, ashamed, pained, and disturbed, Hassanein thought of withdrawing. But filled with an obstinate determination to carry out his objective at whatever cost, he stood his ground. To him, this was no insignificant question but a matter of life or death; he would be unable to make progress in the world as long as this house haunted him. He knocked on the door again and waited, realizing how useless it was. He knocked again, violently. Perhaps, he wondered, they might have escaped from the flat through one of the windows. Perhaps his brother would recognize his voice if he called his name aloud. But he was too ashamed to reveal his identity; to reassure his frightened companions, Hassan might tell them of their relationship—which Hassanein would rather bury forever. Yet how could he be sure that Hassan, to show off, had not already told someone or other who his brother was? As he gnashed his teeth, shame and despair made him all the more obstinate, and he violently hammered on the door with his fist, shouting, “Hassan, Hassan, it's Hassanein!” Soon the door was opened. Appearing behind it, Hassan stared at him in amazement. As though recovering from shock, Hassan, motionless, fixed his eyes for a while upon him. Finally, he came alive, smiling. “Hassanein an officer!” he exclaimed. “I can't believe my eyes!”

Pressing Hassanein's hand with one of his and patting his arm with the other, he pulled him inside the flat with a loud, nervous laugh. Hassan walked by his side to the bedroom. “An officer! What a surprise! Congratulations! Congratulations! This is a happy day!”

Hassanein sat on the sofa. Hassan closed the door and sat by his side. Trying hard to overcome his confusion and excitement, the young officer smiled at his brother. “I deserve to be congratulated,” he said, “but you deserve to be thanked.”

Hassan laughed with pleasure, pleasure doubled by a sense of relief following the flurry. “Why should I deserve thanks?” he asked. “I've only given part of what's due to you. But forget about that and tell me about our family. How are Mother and Nefisa? And how is Hussein?”

Pretending to be interested, Hassanein kept the conversation going. Their rambling talk brought Hassanein to the point of asking Hassan why he had stopped coming to see the family. But then he remembered that the ending of his brother's visits afforded an unintended benefit; under the present circumstances, any continued relations would be most disastrous. Thus at the last moment he refrained from asking him.

“In fact,” Hassan said, “I miss the family very much. But my kind of life no longer allows me to satisfy my longing for them. True, we live in the same city. Yet I feel, indeed, that I'm the inhabitant of a remote place cut off from the rest of the world. Perhaps I worry less about them since I know that they no longer need my help and that I've performed part of my duty to them. Besides, I'm not always prosperous. Though my pockets may bulge with cash for several days, they soon become empty for several weeks. And when my pockets are full, I'm compelled to spend extravagantly whatever money I have. But never mind. Now that you've become an officer, I should congratulate you on your good fortune and keep my happiness for it pure. Congratulations to our respected officer!”

As he listened attentively to his brother, Hassanein studied his face. He was appalled at the disfigurement and the strange changes in it; it was as though Hassan in one year of his precarious life had gone through what would normally have been many years. Hassan had already stopped talking. Depressed and pessimistic, Hassanein realized the heavy weight of the task he had come to perform, but not for a moment did it occur to him to abandon what seemed to be his sense of duty. Determined to approach the purpose of his visit gently, he said, “I'm afraid my visit may have upset you.”

“Spit those words out of your mouth! What's that I'm hearing from our respected officer?”

Pretending astonishment, Hassanein pointed to the exterior of the flat. “A strange man opened the door for me. Horrified, he cried, ‘The Police!' and shut the door in my face!”

“An unfortunate misunderstanding,” Hassan said, laughing aloud. “But when I recognized your voice, everything ended up all right.”

Finding himself in difficulty, Hassanein hesitated before asking him, “But why was he so scared?”

Hassan looked at his brother inquisitively. Was he really ignorant or just playing the fool? “There are people, you know,” he replied indifferently, “who have a phobia about the police.”

“Isn't it dangerous for you,” Hassanein asked, “to shelter such people under your roof?”

“Yes, it is,” Hassan said after a pause. “But a man isn't free to choose his companions.”

“How is this, brother?” Hassanein inquired with astonishment. “Certainly a man is free to choose his companions!”

“Forget about it. Let's change the subject.”

“I can't, until I'm reassured about you.”

“Then be reassured and don't worry about me,” Hassan answered with a laugh.

“I wonder what makes you befriend such evil people. You're a respectable artist and you can choose your friends from your fellow artists.”

Hassan lowered his eyes to hide the grim look that appeared in them. He was infuriated, and had his anger been aroused by anyone other than Hassanein, he would have exploded. He was hurt that Hassanein knew more than he pretended to know about him and that he treated him like a child. Had Hassanein spoken his mind, had he described him as being as evil as his companions, he would not have felt angry as he did now. Determined to tear off the mask which concealed the true drift of their conversation, Hassan, still restraining his anger, spoke
curtly in a tone different from before. “I'm one of these evil people!”

Hassanein was astounded.

“Hassanein! Stop pretending to be astonished,” Hassan said roughly. “You're not a fool. Neither am I. You'd better speak to me as frankly as you always used to. What's so strange about my being a black sheep? Haven't I always been one, all my life?”

Sullen and ashamed, Hassanein lowered his eyes. His thoughts shattered, he fell speechless. Relieved by his brother's confusion, Hassan's merriment returned. Desiring to put an end to this painful conversation, he said, “Let's forget about the whole thing. Damn the coward! But for his childish panic, our conversation wouldn't have taken this foolish course. Now let's discuss more important matters. I've no doubt,” he said, laughing, “that you've come to talk to me about a more important subject!”

Hassanein collected his thoughts. “I have, in fact,” he said with a sigh, “come only to discuss this matter with you.”

Hassan's face clouded with resentment. “I thought,” he said ironically, “you'd come to ask for money.”

Although he knew how angry his brother was, Hassanein did not waver. Ingratiating himself with his brother, he said gently, “Thank you for your previous kindness. But I'm no longer in need of money. I've come to discuss a matter much more serious than money. I want to reassure myself about you.”

Hassan cast a piercing look at his brother. “I still demand that you be more frank with me!” he said in an ironical tone. “My respected officer, you want to get reassured about yourself and not about me!”

In defeat and indignation, Hassanein answered, “They are one and the same.”

“Really? I see things differently. Why didn't you give me this piece of advice before? A year ago, for example?”

Having inadvertently said that he had come only to discuss
this matter, it was impossible for him to pretend that he had known nothing about it. Annoyed, he posed this question to avoid answering his brother: “Don't you see that I'm interested in your own good?”

Hassan ignored the question. “A year ago,” he continued in the same ironical tone, “you were in desperate need of money. So you didn't care then to give me advice. Now that you've become an officer, your sole concern is to protect this shining star on your shoulder.”

Hassanein's face remained unchanged, but his heart palpitated with anger and irritation. He seemed shaken by the fact that Hassan was able to penetrate the depths of his soul with such ease and accuracy. “Brother,” he said softly. Hassan motioned to him to keep silent.

“I'll be entirely frank with you,” Hassan added recklessly. “If you really want to know what my work is, I'll tell you that I'm a bouncer for a coffeehouse in Darb Tiab.” He pointed to the photograph above his head. “I also keep this mistress and deal in narcotics.”

“I don't believe you,” Hassanein exclaimed, worried.

“Yes, you'd better believe me. Perhaps you guessed it earlier and now you're sure of it. Now what do you think?”

In silent pain and compassion, the young man looked at Hassan. But as the silence weighed heavily upon him, he said sadly, “Nothing would make me happier than to see you start a new, honorable life.”

With a loud laugh, Hassan said sarcastically, “By virtue of my dishonorable life, I was able to protect our family from starvation, provide your brother Hussein with the money he needed to start his government job, and to provide you as well with the installment of the College fee which, thank God, has made you an officer.”

Hassan's words, as sharp as a needle, pierced Hassanein to the marrow. Life seemed about to suffocate him. But a strong desire to defend himself prevented him from accepting defeat.
“All of this has come about,” he said, “only by virtue of your nobility of character, not because of such a dangerous life as this!”

“Don't deceive yourself. They call me Mr. Head, not Mr. Noble. Besides, what do you mean by a dishonorable life? Or an honorable one? There's only one life, in which we all strive to make a living, each in his or her own way.”

“But there is a secure life and another kind of life that flies into panic at the mere mention of the police.”

“This is due to the arbitrary actions of the police and we're not to blame. For heaven's sake, what do you want me to do?”

Hassanein's enthusiasm returned in what he thought might be a ray of hope. “Abandon this life and take an honest job as before.”

Bursting into laughter, the man said with astonishment, “A mechanic's apprentice? Asking me this is like asking a man to resign from the army to start school life at Tawfikiyah.”

Once more the blood in Hassanein's veins boiled with anger. Composing himself, he asked with a smile, “Don't you realize how such a life must inevitably end?”

“Either I'm imprisoned or killed!” Hassan answered in ironic simplicity. “And if it's my fate to be killed, then, naturally, I'll be saved from imprisonment.”

Hassanein pretended to laugh, but his anger increased, especially at his brother's recklessness. Almost desperate though he was to change Hassan, he replied gently, “Obviously, you realize the danger, so you don't need me to remind you of the disastrous consequences of your kind of life. For God's sake, be wise enough to take care of yourself.”

Hassan cast a prolonged, smiling glance at his brother, as if saying to him, “Don't try to deceive me with your softness.”

“Don't worry about me,” he said. “May God forgive me; but I should rather say, don't be worried about yourself and your reputation. My advice to you is, don't burden yourself with unnecessary worries and shut me entirely out of your life. Don't
worry about what people may say about you because of me. Despite what people say, you can lead the life that appeals to you.”

Desperate and exasperated, Hassanein sighed. He was filled at this moment with black anger toward his brother, and actually wished he didn't exist. But the fact remained that he did exist and his existence, hanging like a sword over his head, was a perpetual threat to him. What should he do? Sighing again, he inquired, “Isn't there a gleam of hope that you'll return to an honorable life? Is this your final word?”

Hassan became furious. As if afraid of what he might do to his brother in his fury, he leapt to his feet and walked back and forth across the room, thus giving vent to his pent-up anger in his violent strides. He leaned on the edge of the bed, his arms crossed against his chest. “An honorable life!” he shouted impatiently. “An honorable life! Don't let me hear such words from you again. You make me sick. A mechanic earning a few piasters a day. Is this the honorable life you're talking about? I'd rather spend my life in prison. If I'd followed your honorable life all along, that star would not be decorating your shoulder. Is it only my life that isn't honorable? Young officer, you're laboring under a delusion. Your life is no more honorable, since mine is its origin.” He pointed again to the photograph. “I've made an officer of you with illegal money obtained from this woman and from traffic in narcotics. So you're indebted for your uniform to narcotics and this prostitute. Fair enough; if you really want me to abandon my tainted life, then you, too, must abandon yours. Go ahead, take off your uniform and let's start a new honorable life together.”