The Beginning and the End (32 page)

The two brothers returned together to Cairo a few days later for an unforgettable day in the life of the family. Samira gave Hussein a long kiss and Nefisa embraced him warmly. In the afternoon Hussein talked for an hour about Tanta and his life there as the two women listened attentively. Gazing at his mustache and his growing obesity, Nefisa was surprised by the changes that had taken place in him.

“Why do you imitate men while you're still a child?” she said disapprovingly.

“I'm no longer a child.” Hussein grinned.

“We're men and you're our elder sister,” Hassanein said, laughing.

“In the past,” the girl said sharply, “I was your elder sister but from now on you look older. Do you understand?”

Turning to her mother, she inquired, “How do you like his mustache, which makes him appear older than he actually is and, for no reason, makes us age, too.”

It was noon. Hussein took off his clothes. Strange though the house appeared to him, it aroused feelings of deep attachment to home and family, his heart overflowing with tenderness and total relief: shelter at last in a safe harbor after sailing on uncharted seas. His eyes searched the study: the same old desk, the same few chairs, the same windowpane, the sheet of newspaper replacing the broken glass, all stirred dear memories. His bed had disappeared; evidently it had been sold, as if, like Hassan, he had ceased to be a member of the family. He understood, yet he could not help feeling melancholy and depressed. At this moment he was awakened from his thoughts when Nefisa said,
as she left the room, “Give me two hours to prepare a good meal for you.”

Hussein smiled with satisfaction. He had not tasted sumptuous food for a long time, probably since his father's death. While it was obvious from his physical appearance that, compared with his days as a pupil, his diet had improved, the mere act of eating failed to excite him. His happiness in returning to the scenes of his early life far outweighed any joy in food itself. His longing for the atmosphere of his early boyhood days pervaded his senses with a strange sweetness—even the familiar, unhygienic air of the alley now seemed invigorating. As he conversed with his mother, his eyes wandered about the small room, resting finally on the star fixed on Hassanein's jacket, which hung on a peg. Year after year Hassanein would be promoted to a higher rank, while throughout his own period of service, he would remain a mere clerk in the seventh or, at best, the sixth grade. Yet he was entirely free of rancor and jealousy toward Hassanein; on the contrary, his brother's success filled his heart with great happiness. But in silent sadness, as he contemplated the vast distinction that segregated the different categories of employees, unconsciously he began to think of distinction in society at large. Once he was transferred to Cairo, he wondered if he could enroll in an evening institute so as to improve his social status. Inwardly smiling at this happy thought, he cherished it as a recourse to rescue himself from the fate of Hassan Effendi Hassan, who would not have been promoted to the sixth grade but for the minister of the Wafds! Recalling conversations in Tanta, he asked his brother, “Is it true what we hear of a cabinet change?”

“Officers aren't allowed to mix in politics,” Hassanein said with a laugh.

“Why should there be a cabinet change,” Hussein replied good-humoredly, “since the British have stopped interfering with our internal politics?”

“Will we have demonstrations again?” their mother asked.

“Who knows?”

“Doesn't the army have something to do with demonstrations?” she inquired again, this time with concern.

“If a revolution breaks out,” Hassanein said quietly, “the army must take action.”

Hussein laughed. Understanding the insinuation in this laughter, their mother looked askance at Hassanein, and shrugged her shoulders indifferently. Nefisa returned to report that a delicious dinner was in preparation and to ask them what they wanted for a salad. Then, her forehead covered with perspiration and her sleeves rolled up, she left the room. In the ensuing silence Hussein became absorbed in thoughts about how he would spend his vacation. His colleagues in Tanta called him the Jew because he neither gambled, drank, nor spent more than one piaster in a coffeehouse. But they were ignorant of his circumstances. True, he was frugal by temperament, but his many responsibilities left him with nothing.

His mother soon brought him out of his reverie as she revived the conversation. It struck him that she looked at him with an unusual tenderness which she rarely showed. Did she remember, he wondered, how cruel she had been to him one day? True, she had been cruel, but certainly fate itself had treated them all with even greater cruelty. How would she deal with Hassanein and his lack of enthusiasm about his marriage? Why did Hassanein avoid speaking about it?

At two o'clock, Nefisa brought in the dinner tray and put it on the desk. “Today,” she said, “we'll take our meal at the desk, as it does not become government employees to have their dinner on the floor!”

For the first time in two years the family was reassembled for dinner; later they would retire to their seats on the bed and resume their conversation. At about half past three there was a knock on the door, and Nefisa went to open it. A strange idea occurred to Hussein: was Farid Effendi's family paying
them a visit on the occasion of his return from Tanta? But wasn't this unusual at this time of day? Nefisa returned on the run, stopping to stare at them with wide, worried, and astonished eyes.

“An officer and policemen!” she exclaimed.

Astonished, the two brothers rose to their feet. Hurriedly, Hassanein put on his jacket.

“What do they want?” he inquired.

Nefisa turned her eyes from the members of her family to the newcomers. Fear-stricken, she blurted out, “Oh, God! They've entered the hall.”

Rushing out of the room, the two young men encountered an officer, two policemen, and another man, apparently an informer. Hassanein advanced to the officer.

“May I respectfully ask what you want?” he inquired.

“Excuse me,” the officer said. “We've orders to search this flat.”

The officer produced a search warrant. Hassanein looked at it with unbelieving eyes.

“Perhaps there's a mistake about the flat,” Hussein asked. “Why our flat?”

“We're searching,” the officer answered, “for a man by the name of Hassan Kamel, commonly known as Mr. Head.”

Dumbfounded, the two young men cast desperate, worried glances at the officer; terror-stricken, they stood transfixed at the entrance of the room.

“We've already arrested some of his accomplices,” the officer continued, “but he disappeared before we could catch him. Certain persons informed us of his former residence, and this information was confirmed by Sheikh al-Hara. He's well informed about every quarter, and operates as a link between the residents and the government.”

“But he doesn't live here,” Hassanein said in an agitated
voice. “He left our house many years ago, and we know nothing of his whereabouts.”

“At any rate,” the officer replied, shaking his head, “I'll carry out my orders and search the flat.”

The search began. One of the two policemen withdrew to the door, while the officer and the two other men swept into the rooms.
Never in my life,
Hassanein thought,
shall I forget this moment!
He mentally followed the officer as he searched one bare room after another, turning their contemptible, decaying furniture inside out. It was not merely a search for Hassan, since he could not possibly conceal himself in the drawer of a desk or inside the intestines of the bedclothes. The scandal seemed hideous beyond description. The officer's searching eyes exposed the humbleness and destitution of the flat, which in this terrifying moment gave Hassanein a profound sense of social shame and degradation. Stunned though he was, Nefisa's sobs struck his ears. He raised his head. “Shut up!” he shouted madly at her in a shrill voice.

The search was over and the officer ordered his men to leave the flat. Approaching Hassanein, he said gently, “Again, I'm sorry. I'm glad we've found nothing that could cause you trouble.”

Raising his hand in salutation, the officer departed, leaving a depressing silence behind him. In the silence of the room, the brothers looked absently at each other. Pale as death, the two women approached them. Suddenly recovering from the shock, with a sigh Hassanein leaped to the door and, craning his neck, glanced around the courtyard of the house: at the farthest end, the policemen were carving their way with difficulty through a crowd of men and children, including the grocer, the blacksmith, and the tobacconist. Beating his chest with his fist, he exclaimed, “The whole neighborhood is witnessing our scandal. We've been exposed, and now we're finished!”

Nefisa continued to weep. Their mother turned to Hussein as
if for help. But he did not know what to say and seemed shattered by the blow. Still violently beating his chest, Hassanein stamped back and forth across the hall. “I feel like murdering somebody,” he exclaimed. “Nothing less than murder would get this out of my system!”

His mother was disturbed at her son's violent self-torture. “Calm down, my son,” she muttered. “What good is it to beat your chest?”

“Let me kill myself since I can't find anyone else to kill,” he cried with fury.

Hussein broke his silence. “Let's think this over calmly,” he said in a strange voice.

With feverish eyes, Hassanein cast a fiery glance at his brother. “What is there to be thought over?” he demanded. “We've been exposed, and now we're finished.”

“This disaster is beyond our power,” Hussein replied, “but we're not finished. Let's think the matter over.”

Finding this conversation intolerable, Hassanein retired to his room and flung himself on the bed. Choked by shame and burnt by fury, he loathed his guilty brother from the darkest recesses of his heart. He wished Hassan were dead. His mind wild with hallucinations, he surrendered to his thoughts. Hussein followed him into the bedroom and sat silently on the chair, waiting for his brother to respond. For his own part, Hussein was in a pitiable condition. Never before in his whole life had he felt so saddened. He was fully aware of the seriousness of this blow to their reputation, the troubles awaiting them now and in the future, and the consequences of this final blow to Hassan, his elder brother. What had his family done to deserve this fate? Accumulated memories of past sorrows were linked in his mind to those of the present; together they suddenly assumed the appearance of a poisonous abscess, developing serious complications at the very time he thought it was cured. As usual, associating his family's misfortunes with those of other people, he found himself contemplating the universality of human sorrow.
Sad though his contemplation was, it frequently inspired him with a measure of patience and consolation. Searching for a gleam of hope in the surrounding darkness, he looked furtively at the angry face of his brother, waiting for an opportunity to speak to him.

Samira and her daughter remained motionless. Nefisa's tears continued to flow. Overcome by a sense of defeat, despite her long experience, the mother felt at a loss as to what to do. Crushed by sorrow, her heart carried all the misfortunes life had piled up for her children, and in addition a personal, deep-buried, terrifying grief that frightened her as much as it tormented her—her compassionate sorrow over Hassan himself, which she feared most to reveal.

Where had he gone? What would they do to him if they arrested him? What did fate hold in store for him? In spite of everything, she must not forget his good nature and kindness; she must not forget that he had given them generously whatever he could, and that he was their refuge in time of distress. What a miserable, friendless outcast he was! This must have been the work of somebody's envious, evil eye. They envied her for her son who had become a government employee and for the other who had become an officer, and in their envy they had forgotten that her painful struggles had reduced her to an absolute wreck. Unable to bear Nefisa's weeping, she sighed nervously and scolded her. “Stop weeping,” she said. “Nobody has pity for me. I beg you, have mercy upon me.”

But Nefisa could not help weeping. In her hysterical state, she had no idea how very painful their situation was. She was overwhelmed with a curious fear that made her limbs shudder. Her tears were stirred by neither pity nor sorrow nor anger; they were hysterical tears, an attempt to overcome an unconquerable fear that grew out of her and made her identify herself with the hunted. Her heart was filled with sinister forebodings, more dreadful than the present. She turned around in fright, as if she feared someone might suddenly attack her. “Let's go to
them,” she heard her mother say in a feeble voice. She welcomed this opportunity to escape from her tortured feelings, and with heavy steps she followed her mother to the room. But as she crossed the threshold, her heart quivered in dread at meeting her brothers.

Hassanein turned to Hussein. “Where do you think he escaped to?” he asked with ferocity.

Sufficient time had passed to restore Hussein to something like his normal condition. But he was disturbed by the harshness of his brother's tone. “How could I possibly know?” he replied reproachfully. “Don't forget that after all he's our brother.”

“Even after all that's happened.”

“Yes, even after all that's happened.”

These words were uttered from his very depths, as consolation to his mutely suffering heart, which he knew was badly in need of consolation. But Hassanein, bursting out in anger, shouted at him, “We're as good as lost!”

“Now the whole quarter is talking about our scandal.”

“We can leave the whole quarter,” Hussein said calmly.

Hassanein stared at him, a gleam of hope appearing in his eyes as he sat there gloomy and perplexed. Hussein's suggestion struck a chord in his heart.

“What did you say?” he responded at once.

“Why not? Cairo is vast and boundless, and in less than a week our shame will be forgotten.”

Somewhat relieved, Hassanein sighed. “We'll never wipe out the past,” he said.

“Let's think of the future.”

“But the past will pursue the future forever.”

“Let's think seriously of moving to another place,” Hussein said. “Let's get it over with before the end of my vacation.”

“We should seriously think about it,” Samira said hopefully.

Baffled, Hassanein looked from the one to the other. The police might or might not arrest his brother, but in either case,
Hassan would pursue and threaten them. Their lives would be in danger as long as he remained alive.

“Where do you suggest we go?” he queried, dispirited.

“Away from here…to Shubra Street.” There was hope in their mother's voice.

He made a gesture expressing fright and dissatisfaction. “Farther away than that,” he said. “We'll go to Heliopolis.”

“As you like.” Hussein was rather relieved.

For a moment, Hassanein appeared to waver. He said with a sigh, “But we're badly in need of new furniture!”

“Don't complicate matters,” Samira said, annoyed. “How important is furniture if nobody else sees it?”

“I can't hide our home from my friends forever!”

“That's another question,” Hussein said. “You can buy a sofa, two big chairs, and an Assiut carpet to serve as sitting-room furniture. We can go out today, if you like, and look for a new flat.”

The tension relaxed slightly, but they all surrendered in silence to the melancholy that engulfed the place. There was a knock on the door: Farid Effendi, accompanied by his family, paying an unexpected visit at the most inopportune time. How was it, Hussein wondered, that a few hours ago he had dreamt of Bahia's visit, while now he received her with an uninterested heart. For no apparent reason, Hassanein was filled with anger. If Farid Effendi had not seen him when Nefisa showed the way to the sitting room, he would have taken to his heels. They all assembled in the sitting room. Farid Effendi's family warmly welcomed Hussein back to Cairo, and the conversation rambled from past to present. Apparently, the visitors were ignorant of the arrival of the police and the search; but perhaps they deliberately did not mention it. Their apparent disregard for the matter failed to diminish Hassanein's anger; rather, it intensified his inner revolt and deeply injured his pride. As his eyes occasionally met Bahia's she seemed sorrowful and perplexed, wearing the same worrisome look she had borne ever since his sudden
departure to Tanta. Let her feel the way she did. He had grown sick of it all. Now, in his state of fuming anger and irritation, he would face up to his innermost thoughts with candor and courage. This woman would never become his mother-in-law, nor this man his father-in-law, nor this girl his wife! All of them painfully reminded him of Nasr Allah alley. Like all the other neighbors, Farid Effendi's family knew that the police had come. But they wanted to give the impression of being too magnanimous to refer to it. Perhaps this was another act of charity added to their previous ones. Damn it all! How sick he had grown of their favors, past and present! He looked forward to new people who had done him no favors that would strain his relations with them, new people who were in no way connected with his sordid past.
Look as sad and confused as you wish,
he thought.
But I'll never be your husband! Never! Everything must change. What was so attractive about her body? Was it her soft flesh? The markets were full of soft flesh. How hideous this atmosphere is! If I stay here any longer, I'll come to hate my family itself.

The visit was protracted and he had to endure it patiently until the visitors left, a short while before sunset. As she shook hands with him, the girl slipped a folded paper into his hand. Once he was alone, he unfolded it. “Meet me on the roof,” it said, the first message she had ever sent him. Carefully examining her handwriting, he was surprised to find that it was like a child's, but at once he remembered that she had only a primary school education! Brief as the message was, it sounded profoundly like a cry for help. Undoubtedly, before their visit she had secretly written the message in her flat, all of which suggested a foreboding in her heart that he would continue his flight from her, already begun with his journey to Tanta. His heart ached with pain. He was disturbed, discontented with everything around him. But why discontented? Wasn't it better to acquaint her with the changes that had come over him? Could he possibly imagine that she hadn't begun to suspect him after his sudden departure? Come what may, he would never yield
to the pressure of circumstances, even if it involved his self-destruction. Moreover, he would never sacrifice his career and happiness for the sake of an old, infantile passion or promise. He could stand loneliness no longer and went to his room. “Let's get out,” he suggested to his brother.

Hussein agreed and they left the room. But now Hassanein began to regret his proposal; he wished Hussein hadn't responded so readily, for he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Although he could still change his mind, he continued to walk along in silence with his brother. At the thought that Bahia might now be waiting for him in front of the chicken coop, his heart beat violently. How curious that he should keep her waiting hopelessly at the very spot that had witnessed his plaintive passion and confession of love! With firm determination, he tried to dismiss the picture from his mind. The voice of his brother reached him, saying, “We'll waste no time. Before the end of this month, we'll move to a new house.”