The Beginning and the End (34 page)

Hussein did not go directly to his destination, but went first to a coffeehouse in Heliopolis, where he sat for an hour thinking the matter over. His thoughts wandered from the memories of the past to the events of the present. For a long time, he probed his mind and heart, then came to a decision. Putting aside all doubts and fears that caused him to waver, he became unusually bold, firm, and decisive, so much so that he marveled at his speed in reaching the decision. Did he arrive at this decision on the spur of the moment or did it result from an accumulation of his own deep sentiments over a period of three years? Somewhat confused, he reviewed all the various perspectives. Now, nothing could deter him from his determined course. He rose and left his place with mixed feelings, vacillating from an expansive kind of pleasure to a gripping worry to a bountiful spirit of adventure. Proceeding to the alley, he easily reached it by the evening. Now, as he approached their old house, he realized how difficult and embarrassing his mission was. Yet he advanced with steady steps and an unflinching determination. With a beating heart, he knocked on the door. The astonished glance of the servant who opened it for him irritated him. She showed him to the sitting room. Farid Effendi entered, his body sagging, his face sad for the first time, his eyes burning with anger. No sooner did the host finish with the customary complimentary salutations on receiving a guest than he exclaimed in a paroxysm of passion, “Our lifelong friendship, our lifelong neighborliness, and our lifelong companionship! In one moment you've torn all these to shreds!”

Confounded, Hussein looked at the table in front of him. “Our old mutual feelings of affection can never change,” he
murmured in a low voice. “Nor can we forget as long as we live your splendid character and your assistance to us.”

Paying no attention, Farid Effendi continued, striking one palm against the other. “When they told me about it, I couldn't believe my ears. My heart refuses to believe that such disgraceful treachery is possible.”

“Sir, what you say is justified. But believe me, we found it just as hard to believe as you. My mother is deeply upset.”

Still paying no heed, Farid Effendi went on. “I noticed that he didn't visit us as frequently as before. And to explain this change of attitude, they put forward childish excuses, which made me more pessimistic. This evening I learned that he had openly breached his promise. How amazing! Does he imagine that girls of good families are mere toys in his hands, to be disposed of any way he likes? So he gets engaged as he pleases and breaks engagements as he pleases! I have always treated him like a son, and it never occurred to me that he could be so wicked and so treacherous!”

Acutely embarrassed, Hussein began to advance whatever came to his mind in defense of his brother: “My brother is a rash young man, and this business of Hassan made him go out of his mind.”

“But are we at fault?” the man asked. “This is an incomprehensible excuse!”

“What I mean is, the disaster so shook his nerves and impaired his judgment that he was sick of the whole world.”

Violently waving his hand, the man said indignantly, “What you say is unconvincing. I'm a man of some experience, and I know that a man does not desert his fiancée for such a reason. Tell me a different story if you want me to believe you. Say now that he's an officer he wants to marry a different sort of girl.”

“With all my heart I wish I could repair the damage,” Hussein said sadly.

“The damage is beyond repair. What has happened doesn't
become honorable people. Had I been a different man I would have chastised him. But thank God that, after his deceiving me for so long, I've discovered what kind of person he is. He's only a mean and cowardly young man. Excuse me for blurting out the truth so bluntly.”

Pained by the man's words, Hussein kept his eyes lowered for a long time. “I'm extremely sorry,” he said in a feeble voice. “We're all sorry. Our only wish is to preserve our old affections.”

Silence prevailed, until Farid Effendi murmured coolly, “You were never deceptive in your dealings with us.”

Still tense and worried, Hussein recalled with an agitated heart the decision he had made before his arrival. He wondered whether now was the right time to declare it. Although Farid Effendi's attitude was not encouraging, Hussein refused to put it off any longer. Looking at the man with searching eyes, he inquired, “May I see Miss Bahia?”

The man violently waved his hand. “What for?” he queried. “Leave her alone. Under the circumstances, this is the only thing to do.”

Moved, Hussein wondered what the poor girl might be doing and how her tender nature would receive the shock. What should he do himself? Should he proceed or withdraw? Wouldn't his words sound ridiculous in this electrified atmosphere? But he had a deep-seated feeling that if, at this particular moment, he allowed himself to retreat, he would never carry out his plan. Dispelling his hesitation with a deep sigh, he attempted to conceal his confusion.

“Sir,” he said with apparent calm, “I don't know how to express my feelings. Nor do I pretend that I've chosen a suitable time for expressing them. But I can't help saying a final word in this matter; that is, I hope one day you'll bless my honest desire to ask for your daughter Bahia's hand.”

Astonished, the man's eyes opened wide. He appeared to have expected anything but this proposal. He seemed anxious,
but unable to speak, whereas Hussein, having survived the climax of his confusion, recovered a degree of his calm.

“Don't imagine,” he said, “that my request results from a feeling of guilt over my brother's behavior. Nor is it from pity for Miss Bahia. No. I swear this isn't the case. My own, my independent, unconditional desire grows out of my esteem for your daughter and yourself.”

Farid Effendi's astonishment continued. Hussein found courage and warmth in his silence as well as in his own volubility.

“Only one thing disturbs me about this request,” Hussein went on. “Perhaps I'm not her equal.”

Breaking his silence for the first time, the man murmured, “Don't belittle yourself, Hussein Effendi. You're like a son to me.”

“Thank you,” Hussein said, flushing.

Perplexed, the man pondered for a while. “I should thank you for this request,” he said. “God only knows how much it would please me to see it fulfilled. But, you know, this isn't the proper time to discuss it.”

“Sir, this is quite natural,” Hussein said with enthusiasm. “I can wait until the proper time comes.”

With this remark, their conversation came to an end.

Deeply absorbed in his thoughts, Hussein returned to Heliopolis. On his journey from Farid Effendi's flat, he reviewed once more a long stretch of his forgotten past as he had in the coffeehouse. Despite his perplexity, Hussein experienced hope and pleasure he had never known before. Formerly, he had been in love with Bahia. But this love was nipped in the bud and nothing remained of it in his prudent, faithful heart except an image of her as the ideal of the good wife. He remembered how much he had patiently suffered. From his frustrated love, he had learned that, with a measure of wisdom, it was possible to derive lofty, sublime pleasures even from pain itself. He came out of this experience with a tranquil heart and a serene smile on his face. He was consoled and his suffering relieved by the thought that confronting the misfortunes of life with patience and forbearance was a golden road to good fortune. Now his old, buried love had revived in his heart as if it had never died out for a single moment. Thus he set out in a kind of ecstasy, and finally reached home. He found them all waiting for him. At once they exclaimed, “What happened?”

To prepare them for his strange piece of news, he thought it best to exaggerate the gravity of the situation. Sorrowfully wringing his hands, he said, “They were so distressed that, in shame, I kept to myself. And for the first time in my life I saw the peaceful, meek Farid Effendi in a rage of blind fury.”

“Tell me everything that happened,” the mother said sorrowfully. “Did you meet Bahia's mother?”

“No, I only met the man. Before I opened my mouth, he lashed out at me with a storm of reproofs.”

Hussein repeated the man's words, omitting his biting accusations
but adding all the paraphernalia of pathos to stir their sorrow and sympathy. Except for Nefisa, all were moved, sullen, and ashamed. “You shouldn't have gone to see them tonight,” Nefisa said. “Anyhow, the responsibility for the first mistake lies with the man who accepted a schoolboy as his daughter's fiancée. Then all his guile in bringing the engagement about. As I see it, Hassanein isn't to blame. As I said, he was only an inexperienced schoolboy, ignorant of the ways of the world.”

Determined to finish what he had to say, Hussein spoke calmly to his sister. “Please speak kindly of the girl. She might be your other brother's fiancée.”

Astounded, they all stared at him. Nefisa gave a quick sigh and Hassanein inquired, “What are you talking about?”

Exerting all his willpower to control his confusion, Hussein said, “She may be my fiancée.”

“Yours!”

“Yes, mine.”

“Nonsense!” Nefisa cried.

“But it's the truth, pure and simple.”

“Did you really ask for her hand?” his mother asked, studying his face.

“Yes, I did,” the young man said, lowering his eyes. “I told him it would please me greatly if he would approve my request for her hand.”

“Did you do this to repair the damage?” Hassanein asked with worry in his voice.

Hussein hesitated briefly. “Partly so. But I have a deep appreciation for the girl, and since marriage is inevitable, I believe she is the right wife for me.”

“Who told you that marriage is inevitable?” Nefisa asked sarcastically.

“What did Farid Effendi say?” the mother interrupted.

Answering on Hussein's behalf, Nefisa said, “He said, ‘You're most welcome.' ”

Indifferent to her, Hussein replied, “He thanked me but said
he was sorry he couldn't approach the girl at this moment. So he asked me to give him time.”

“Did you mean to do this when you left us?” Hassanein asked.

“No,” Hussein said.

“I'm afraid,” the other young man said, “that you may discover later on that you don't really want to marry her.”

“May this come true!” Nefisa said with a sigh.

“Nefisa!” her mother shouted at her angrily.

Speaking to his brother, Hussein said, “By temperament, I'm inclined to the stable life.”

“I wish happiness to you both,” Hassanein said with relief. After a pause, he added in a low voice, “I have my hopes, too; that is, to marry the daughter of Ahmad Bey Yousri. Brother, do you think that's foolish?”

“Why not?” Hussein said with a smile. “You're her equal.”

Somewhat excited, Nefisa said with a laugh, “May God help us. We wanted to get back one of you two, but most probably we shall lose you both. What is happening to us is the mischief of an evil eye.”

“May God bless you,” the mother murmured calmly. “I'm confident my sons will not forget me.”

“Then you're quite ignorant of marriage and its secret distractions,” Nefisa said to her mother. “I know all about it.”

“Mother knows more about it than you do,” Hassanein said, laughing.

Silence fell upon them. Glancing surreptitiously at his brother, Hassanein suspected that his engagement had been planned beforehand.

Perhaps it was wise to wait. Yet Hassanein wondered angrily what use there was in waiting. Suppose his bird flew away and he missed the chance to catch it? For nearly a month, his mind dwelled on this matter. All his family, especially Hussein, advised him to wait until he could amass a small fortune before asking for the girl's hand. Hassanein thought they were probably right. But afraid that the girl might not wait for him that long, he was persuaded to renounce this wiser course of action. Eminent as Ahmad Bey Yousri was, the fact that old ties had always linked him to the Kamel family encouraged Hassanein to hope the Bey would be patient and tolerant with him and lend a sympathetic ear. Hassanein realized that if he missed this wonderful opportunity he might wait a long time before another appeared. Why not ask for the girl's hand, and then ask the Bey to give him time to complete his preparations for marriage? This was quite possible, but even if impossible, his rejection should not stop him from persisting. He was too bold to let anything stand in his way, for whatever reason. Moreover, he found the so-called virtue of patience intolerable. Come what may, now and without fear he would pursue his objective.

Approaching Ahmad Bey Yousri's villa in Taher Street, the young man was absorbed in these thoughts. Having decided upon a definite course of action, Hassanein proceeded to carry it out with no second thoughts. This was the life for which his soul yearned. Now that Hassan had disappeared, Nefisa had become a respectable lady, and the past had almost vanished, he felt secure. He hoped that he and his family would lead a happy, decent, and comfortable life. He was especially careful about his
appearance, for in him, youthfulness was combined with manly virility. When he reached the villa, he was shown into the sitting room, where he sat thinking with an anxious, beating heart.
Curious, isn't it, that I, who have nothing but what's left of my salary, should propose to a girl who owns such a villa as this! Besides, there's the useless, fictitious story of the entailed Wafd property case which I told the Bey about. Why Mother isn't actually in possession of the property is another question. Had we been property owners, our past and present would have been entirely different! Come what may, I won't retreat. Anyhow, I won't be beheaded for this proposal. At best I've everything to win and at worst almost nothing to lose. In the latter event, the worst that can happen is that the Bey will say to me, “I'm sorry, my son,” and bidding him farewell, I'll answer, “Goodbye, Your Excellency.” I'm sure I'm her equal. What does she want from me that I don't have? Money? She already possesses a fabulous amount of money! How foolish it would be of her to reject my proposal! Here in this place I saw her for the first time riding her bicycle. How beautiful her leg, how lovely her thigh! Poor Nefisa.

I wonder where Hassan is now! I hope he's escaped to some other place and disappeared from my life for good. The memory of him disturbs and haunts me. When will I be reprieved from all this awful past?

I won't retreat. Right over there, she was about to fall off her bicycle.

I hear the Bey's approaching footsteps!

Hassanein sprang to his feet respectfully when he saw the Bey drawing near. He shook his hands with reverence.

“Welcome to our respected officer,” the Bey said. “How are you and your family?”

Keeping his purpose firmly in mind, the young man replied, “Thank you, Your Excellency.”

Laughing, the Bey inquired, “Is your brother still in Tanta?”

Welcoming any conversation that would allow more time for preparation, Hassanein said with ostensible interest, “Yes, sir.”

They sat down. “It isn't possible to get him transferred during this vacation,” the Bey said. “But I've been given a definite promise that he'll be transferred during the next vacation.”

Although Hassanein already knew about it, he expressed his gratitude. “This is another favor, after all your previous kindness.”

As silence fell upon them, the young man realized that he was approaching an extremely critical moment in his life and that there was no room for wavering or retreat. He summoned up his courage, and said in some confusion, “Your Excellency, I've come to you about a personal matter.”

The Bey raised his eyes. “What can I do for you?”

The young man sat erect, as if he found strength in a formal posture. “I beg Your Excellency to help me attain a difficult objective, which is above my ambition.”

The Bey stroked his coarse, dyed mustache with his fingers. “Do you want to be promoted to the rank of field marshal?”

The young man gave a nervous laugh, which soon died out. Then he said in a low voice, “Dearer than that. I want to have the honor of being your son-in-law.”

The Bey's smile disappeared in a contemplative stare. Despite his assumed solemnity and self-control, he seemed to be overcome with astonishment.
Why?
Hassanein wondered.
Was it surprise or annoyance?
His heart beat violently as he sensed the profound gravity of the moment. After a period of silence and contemplation the man said, “I must thank you for your confidence.”

Hassanein was touched by the man's gentle words. Yet he experienced a vague pain. “I hope I've not stepped out of line,” he said.

“God forbid,” the Bey said with a smile. “Thank you again. But I'll postpone my answer until I consult with those directly concerned.”

Hassanein was relieved by this proposed respite, which he welcomed as a fighter on the defensive welcomes the advent of a truce.

“Naturally, Your Excellency. But I sincerely hope that I'm not out of order.”

“I don't want to hear you say this again,” the Bey said with a smile.

Hassanein took his leave and left the villa. On the way home he recalled every word of his conversation with the Bey, all the gestures, the signs, the intimations, the motives behind them all. While he interpreted everything with optimism and a bold and ambitious imagination, yet he felt anxious and depressed. Ultimately shrugging his shoulders indifferently, he thought:
I've got everything to win and almost nothing to lose.