The Beginning and the End (10 page)

Nefisa returned to Nasr Allah at sunset, as was her habit in those days. She seemed to have started paying attention to her appearance, which she had neglected for so long in mourning the death of her father. She applied kohl to her eyes, and colored her cheeks and lips with light lipstick. Something is better than nothing. His persistence in flirting with her and treating her nicely gave her a measure of self-confidence, reassurance, and hope. She no longer cared that he was the son of a grocer, and she the daughter of an official. That he was interested in her made her think very highly of him. Motivated by her inhibited impulses and passions, her suffocating despair and the zest for life which only death can extinguish, she responded and continued to encourage him. As time went on, his image became familiar, even lovable, and in the midst of the barrenness of life, it cultivated a fragrant flower of hope. She no longer lived her days in listlessness, waiting for something to break the monotony. Now, walking in Nasr Allah after a full day's work, she quivered with a warm delight that overflowed her heart, her nerves, her whole body. Once he said to her, “You want sweets. You are nothing but sweets.” His words invaded her heart, and she smiled with happiness and delight. She felt an urge to say to him, “Don't tell lies. There is nothing sweet about me!” But, doubtful and perplexed, she kept silent. She reminded herself of the proverb that says, “After all, every girl will find her admirer.” Who knows? Perhaps she was not as ugly as she thought. She continued to walk along the road with her eyes turned to the shop, until she stood before him face to face. Delight shone in Soliman's face.

“You're welcome,” he said. “I was wondering when you would come.”

Casting a look at his father's seat, she found it empty. She could see him praying behind the column, laden with cans and pots, in the middle of the shop. Reassured, she said coyly, “Why do you wonder?”

He screwed up his narrow eyes. “Guess. Ask my heart,” he replied with a smile.

She raised her painted eyebrows. “Ask your heart? Oh! His heart! What are you keeping inside?”

The young man whispered, “My heart says it is delighted to see you, and it most eagerly waits for you!”

“Really?”

“And it also says that it desires to meet you now in the street to confide to you something of importance.”

He turned toward his father and heard him uttering the Salutations marking the end of his prayers. So he said in a hurry, “I can leave the shop for a few minutes. Go on out ahead of me to the main street!”

Baffled, she looked at him with excitement. She felt an urge to meet him. But she refused to acquiesce so easily, without persistence on his part and professed objection on her own.

“I am afraid of being late,” she said.

Nodding warningly toward his father, he said anxiously, “A few minutes. Go on out ahead before he finishes his prayers.”

Realizing that there was no time to be coy or coquettish, she changed her mind. After a moment of hesitation, she turned with a beating heart toward Shubra Street. She was overpowered by excitement, anxiety, and fear. But she continued to walk, with no thought of retreat. Her long-cherished dreams lightened the weight of the new step she was taking. Soon she overcame her fears, thinking only of the sweet hope that she could see at the end of the road. When she reached the street, she looked behind her, to see him approaching at a quick pace, wearing a
jacket over his gown. She turned to the right and walked quickly away from her quarter. In long strides, he caught up with her. Pleased, he said, “I excused myself from my father for a few minutes.”

She cast a significant glance at his apparel, and he understood. “I cannot put on my suit except in my free hours,” he said apologetically.

He looked merry and delighted. His amorous eyes were not so blind as to see her as beautiful. But deprived and oppressed as he was by his tyrannical father, he welcomed this opportunity to enjoy whatever love was available to him, even from a girl so ugly, helpless, and deep in despair. In any case, she was a member of the beloved female sex, otherwise beyond his reach. He was afraid to let the minutes pass without saying what he wanted to say. So he spoke hurriedly.

“The shop is usually closed on Friday in the afternoon. Meet me then. We could go together to Rod el-Farag.”

“Go together? I don't like the idea. I'm not one of those girls.”

“What if we do? What is wrong in it?”

“God forbid!”

“We'll find a place safe for conversation.”

“I am afraid one of my brothers may see us.”

“We can avoid that easily.”

She shook her head and said, a bit bewildered, “I don't like this life, so full of fears.”

“But we must meet!”

She pondered. “Why?”

He looked at her in astonishment. “So as to meet,” he said.

Worried, she answered, “No. No, I'm not that type.”

“Don't we have anything to say to each other?”

“I don't know.”

“I have much to say.”

“What is it you want to say?”

“You will know it in due time. There is no time to say it now.”

As doubts assailed her, her face reddened. “I've told you, I am not one of those girls!”

The young man exclaimed in a sorrowful tone, “How could I possibly think so, Miss Nefisa! I'm a man of the world, and I can judge people.”

She felt relieved. But she wondered why he failed to ease her heart by uttering the very words she was yearning to hear. Once more he asked, “Shall we meet, then, next Friday?”

She hesitated a bit, then murmured, “By God's will.”

Deeply preoccupied, she returned home. This was the beginning of the love she was so eager to experience. Her heart shook off the dust of frustration, and it became full of life, ecstasy, warmth, and hope. That was true. Yet she was at once baffled and worried, not knowing how the affair would end, and how her family would react to it.

Hassanein reached the door of the roof and sighed audibly. She heard him, but, ignoring him, she walked slowly toward the chicken house. He coughed. The sun was emitting its last rays as he boldly rushed toward her. She turned on her heels, confronting him with a stony face, revealing neither anger nor pleasure.

“Is there no end to this?”

He said with a short laugh, “You're giving me an unforgettable lesson.”

Preserving the reticence in her face, she replied, “I wish you would learn a lesson.”

He cracked his fingers, shouting, “Never!”

He sighed aloud. He was extremely jubilant in the discovery that she wanted to converse with him.

“Never shall I stop loving you,” he continued.

Her face flushed. “Don't utter those words again,” she said, frowning.

He spoke obstinately, quietly, and emphatically. “I love you!”

“You want to tease me?”

“I want nothing but your love.”

“I shall deafen my ears,” she said sharply.

Slightly raising his voice, he repeated, “I love you. I love you. I love you!”

She kept silent with longing and conflicting emotions; he continued to devour her with his eyes. Unable to bear the weight of his glances, she turned her back and walked away. He rushed after her. She turned to him with a frown. “Please. Leave me and go away.”

He said in astonishment, “There is no reason to say that now. It's past history. We are now in the stage of ‘I love you.' ”

“And what do you want?”

“To love you.”

She was about to scold him, but she was overcome by a smile she had long been suppressing. Then she gave a short stifled laugh that came out of her nose as a pleasant snort. She couldn't help lowering her head in shyness. So moved was he by her gesture that his overpowering passions rose still higher; encouraged and desiring more, he went up to her, stretching his hand to hold hers. But she looked almost horrified, and withdrew.

“Don't touch me,” she said with serious finality.

The smile of triumph appearing on his lips faded away. But she did not care. In the same serious tone, she went on, “Never try to touch me. I won't allow it. I won't even think of it.”

He was dumbfounded. “I am sorry,” he said in astonishment. “I didn't mean any harm. I love you, truly and honestly.”

She looked at her feet. Her appearance showed the gravity of what she was about to utter. “Thank you for saying it,” she said seriously. “But this matter is not for me to decide.”

He was astonished at her words. So swept away by emotion was he that he had never paused to think of anything beyond it. He loved and saw nothing but love. Yet what she said brought him back to his senses. Now he understood what he had overlooked; he realized that the matter was serious, that it was no trifle. He was not sorry about that and his delight increased, but he was pervaded by a feeling of fear and anxiety, and unaware of the reasons for it. In an attempt to overcome his perplexity, he said, “I see your point of view and approve of it. But this is not everything. I ask your heart first.”

Her features softened, but without losing control of her will, she replied, “Please, don't entrap me in talk which I don't like.”

“Talk which you don't like!”

She did not mean exactly what she said. But she found herself forced to mutter a feeble “Yes.”

“This is a bleeding stab into my heart,” Hassanein said fearfully.

Shy, perplexed, and confused, she replied, “I don't like to be secretive about what I do and say.”

He couldn't help smiling, saying, “But this is inevitably part of the whole thing, and there is nothing wrong in it.”

His words and his smile made her ill at ease. The redness in her face increased, and she said rather sharply, “No! I don't like flirtation!”

“But my love for you is genuine.”

“Oh! Don't force me to hear what is unbearable to me!”

Smiling, he inquired, “Should I kill myself, then?”

She smiled inwardly, but no sign of that appeared on her face. “There is no need whatsoever to kill yourself,” she said. “I have told you everything.”

The last sentence brought him back to fear and perplexity. “I am just a young man of seventeen,” he said, after some hesitation, “and a pupil in the third year of secondary school. How, then, can I broach this subject?”

She turned her face away.

“Wait until you become a man!” she replied coldly.

“Bahia,” he said in astonishment mixed with resentment.

“There is no other way,” she answered quietly.

He was irritated and upset by the firmness of her attitude. But meanwhile, he felt his love overpowering him, obliterating his fears and worries. Surrendering, he said, “Have things your own way. I shall talk to those who have a say in the matter.”

She raised her eyes to him for a moment, then lowered them. For a while she seemed about to speak but she kept silent.

“I shall speak to Farid Effendi,” he said.

“You!”

“Yes.”

A silent objection appeared on her face.

“Is it necessary that my mother should do it?” he asked.

She hesitated briefly. Blushing, she said with difficulty, “I think so!”

He was upset by the frankness of her reply, which deepened his worry. He imagined his sad mother sitting with her head bent in the dark hall, unlighted to save expenses. He became agitated. “I shall talk to him,” he said in a low voice, “and convince him to approach my mother about it.”

The girl asked, surprised, “Why don't you talk to her yourself?”

He was about to say “I can't,” but then he closed his lips. He ignored her question.

“I am very much afraid that he might scoff at me,” he said, “or that he would keep you waiting until I finish all the long years of education which lie ahead of me.”

Impatiently and almost unconsciously, she replied, “He will approve waiting, as long as I consent to it.”

She bit her lips in shyness and pain. Very eagerly, he looked at her, and with a heart quaking with love, he stretched out his arms to reach her. But she withdrew, frowning to hide her emotion.

“No, no,” she said. “Have you forgotten what I told you?”

Hussein and Hassanein were sitting at the desk in the evening as usual. Hassanein, supporting his face with his hand, was absorbed in his thoughts. His looks, and the fact that he kept biting his fingernails from time to time, indicated that he was worried and tense. Hussein himself did not seem to be attracted much by the book that lay open before him. He could not help smiling, and his heart was swayed by different, alternating emotions. Annoyed by the silence, he said, “They have been negotiating for a long time.”

Fearfully, Hassanein became attentive. Then, sighing, he said, “An hour has passed. Even more. I wish I knew what is going on out there.”

“The order of things is now reversed,” Hussein replied sarcastically. “The ordinary procedure is for the young man to ask for the hand of his girl. But in your case the girl's father comes to ask for the hand of the young man!”

Indignantly and irritably, Hassanein said, “As long as you are not involved, you have the right to mock me. I wish I knew what is being said in the sitting room. What is Mother saying?”

“Soon,” Hussein said calmly, “you'll know everything.”

“Do you think she will turn down the petition of a man like Farid Effendi?”

“Who knows? What I am sure of is that we shall lose our heaven-sent monthly pay if she rejects it.”

Hassanein eyed him in perplexity. “How long will this painful waiting last?” he asked.

Having thoroughly thought the matter over, they returned to silence. They had discussed it intermittently over a long period
of time, ever since Hassanein had told his brother about his conversation with Farid Effendi. To Hassanein's surprise, the man had warmly welcomed his proposal. Farid Effendi promised to broach the subject to his mother and to remove whatever obstacles stood in the way. In explanation of the man's attitude, Hussein slyly suggested that the good nature of Farid Effendi and his known attachment to their family were the cause. The two young men could do nothing but await the outcome of the present negotiations. As time went on, Hassanein's worry increased.
I shall know everything after a few minutes,
he thought.
Will Bahia be mine? Or shall I burn this newborn hope? This is the only means of having the girl. I want her and I can't do without her. What is she thinking of right now? Isn't she worried about our fate? There is no doubt that she loves me. For all the world, that is enough for me. Damn Hussein. He just keeps reading so calmly, and since he has no love or anxiety at the mercy of this meeting, he enjoys observing the battle with detachment. What a torture tyrannical passion is. Who says that it resides in the heart? Is it not more likely that it nestles in the mind? This is the secret of insanity.

He was awakened from his reverie by Hussein saying, “They are coming out.”

Hassanein pricked up his ears and overheard his mother exchanging compliments with Farid Effendi and his wife. They proceeded to the door, while Nefisa came to her brothers' room and stood looking curiously at Hassanein.

Then she said, “Sometimes malice is hidden under apparently innocent silence! Do you really want to get married?!”

Hussein murmured, “This is the first drop of the oncoming shower.”

In instinctive self-defense, Hassanein moved from his chair to the bed in a remote corner of the room, close to the window, whose broken glass had been replaced with sheets of newspaper. Then they heard their mother approaching. Her features hard and stern, she walked heavily into the room. Searching for Hassanein, her eyes wandered until they rested on him at the
farthest end of the room. She stared at him for some time, then proceeded to the chair he had left vacant and sat down, somewhat exhausted. An intense silence, which no one dared to interrupt, prevailed until she looked at Hussein and asked him calmly, “Don't you know what Farid Effendi and his wife came to discuss with me?”

The question was totally unexpected, and Hussein was confused. Considering himself no more than a spectator to the whole business, he kept silent. “Answer!” she demanded.

Perplexed, he turned his eyes to Hassanein, seeking help. Regarding the movement as an answer, Samira proceeded to question him further.

“When did you know?”

Frightened, he answered, “The day before yesterday.”

“Why did you hide it from me?”

He took refuge in silence, cursing both his bad luck and his brother; the two had combined, despite his innocence, to get him into this mess. Then she sighed sorrowfully. “I am resigned to God's will. The misery you have caused me surpasses my suffering at the hands of my dark fate.”

Nefisa, who detested this quarrelsome atmosphere, felt she had to fight its hold over them. However, she had no intention of encouraging her brother to persist in his desires. She was perhaps even angrier with him than her mother was. She even considered the whole matter a mean plot aimed at kidnapping her brother. But she still hoped to avoid useless friction, and so she said to her mother, “Don't excite yourself. What's done can't be undone. Have mercy upon us and stop giving us all a headache.”

Her mother scolded her sharply. “Shut up!” she said.

Then she turned to Hassanein and spoke to him contemptuously. “Perhaps you are eager to know the outcome of your underhanded planning.”

Sorrowfully, she shook her head. “One may well envy the
heart you possess, for despite our catastrophe and misery, it can love, and in pursuit of its happiness it is indifferent to us all. I was actually amazed when Farid Effendi spoke to me about your great hopes and curious love. But in my turn I spoke to him about our struggle and misery. I spoke to him about our furniture, which we are selling piece by piece to provide for our basic needs, and about the misery of your sister, who must work as a dressmaker, spending her days moving from one house to another. Then I told him frankly that none of my sons would marry until he helped his collapsing family to get back on its feet.”

The woman was silent. She fixed her eyes on the hopeless and depressed face of her son, who could not look his mother in the face. Then she added bitterly, “However, I have to congratulate you on your affection and human feelings!”

The woman departed from the room, leaving a heavy silence behind her. She was so furious and sad that she could hardly see her way. Nefisa was so disturbed that she forgot her deep anger. She spoke to Hassanein, feigning merriment.

“Mother didn't tell you everything,” she said. “I assure you that, really, there is no reason for you to be so despondent. She couldn't possibly ignore Farid Effendi's friendship or his affection for us. Who could ever forget his help and magnanimity? Mother told him that she considered his approval of your proposal a great honor. But she did tell him about our condition, which he knows quite well, and requested him to wait until our stumbling family could get back on its feet. She asked him to be content for the time being with her verbal agreement to the engagement until it is officially announced, when you become a responsible man. She also told him that she would be delighted to have Bahia as her daughter-in-law. So there is absolutely no need for you to be sad.”

The girl looked at her brother's face, which started to shine once more. A sudden indignation seized her, but she managed
to conceal it and said, with a touch of sharpness in her voice, “Forgive Mother. She is poor and sad. Certainly, it consoles her to share her troubles. But if she finds that we…well, I don't want to return to the subject. It's enough for me to tell you that things will go the way you like.” Then she added laughingly, “Damn both you and your love.”