The Beginning and the End (35 page)

As though he wanted to give Farid Effendi time enough to think the matter over and come to a final decision, Hussein desisted from paying another visit until his vacation was about to end. During this period Hussein never stopped consulting his mother. While she did not object to his marriage, she advised him to postpone it for one more year until he could complete his marriage preparations. Curiously enough, the hasty Hassanein lent deaf ears to similar advice. Hussein did not approve of his brother's haste, which he described as rash; for it was obvious that if Hassanein succeeded in his fantastic plan to marry Ahmad Bey Yousri's daughter, and if he himself got married after one year, both his mother and his sister would find themselves alone without support. Consequently, he brought peace to his mother's mind by reassuring her that he was determined to keep his wife under the same roof with her mother-in-law and Nefisa. Satisfied with the proposal, he went to Farid Effendi's house. The man's welcome revived his hopes. Although the visit had just one meaning that was clear to everybody, yet Hussein said to him, a bit confused, “I came to say goodbye before returning to Tanta tomorrow.”

Farid Effendi smiled in his characteristically gentle fashion. “May God give you safety, and by God's will we'll very soon hear of your transfer to Cairo.”

“I hope this will take place during the next vacation,” Hussein said.

He wondered whether he should bring up the subject or wait until Farid Effendi broached it. Having consulted his mother, Hussein took his marriage for granted. Yet how could he possibly know what Farid Effendi's family really thought? Waiting for
their approval, he became increasingly worried. When Bahia's mother entered, he rose to receive her courteously, warmly pressing her hand. He considered her coming a good omen. Taking a seat, she said, “I'm delighted to see you, my son. How is your mother?”

“All right, madam,” Hussein said warmly. “She sends her regards.”

Glancing toward his wife, Farid Effendi said to her, “Hussein Effendi has come to say goodbye to us before leaving tomorrow, and I think now is the proper time to tell him of our decision.”

He turned to the young man. “As for your proposal, it gives me pleasure, Hussein Effendi, to tell you that we agree to it.”

Hussein followed the man's words with a rapidly beating heart that gave him a sharp ache at the utterance of certain words. When Farid Effendi had finished speaking, Hussein leapt to his feet with joy.

“Thank you, sir,” he said with a sob in his voice. “One thousand thanks. I'm tremendously happy.”

“He'll be transferred to Cairo during the next vacation,” the man said, smiling, to his wife.

“This is good news,” the woman said, laughing.

“Naturally, we want all of you to be near us.”

Flushing, the young man said in a voice expressing pleasure, “By God's will, so it shall be!”

“We'd better wait a reasonable period of time before announcing the engagement,” Farid Effendi suggested, then added with a confused laugh, “So that there will be a decent period of time between the two engagements.”

Lowering his eyes, Hussein murmured, “I entirely agree.”

Farid Effendi rose and left the room, to return minutes later followed by Bahia. Though Hussein knew instinctively that she would appear, yet her actual arrival came as such a shocking surprise that he sprang to his feet, exerting his utmost in self-control. Silently he stretched out his hand to her. As their hands
met, he felt the softness, the cool delicacy of hers. His breast was heaving, his heart overflowing with grateful tenderness. He felt strongly that he must say something, but his mind was a blank. Mentally paralyzed by her presence, he was speechless. But soon his senses were submerged in happiness and satisfaction; he had no regrets for his speechlessness; he felt the kind of gentle peacefulness that follows therapy after a bout of pain.
How lovely,
he thought.
How could anybody be blind to her accomplishments? She has been an embodiment of virtue and meekness that quenches my burning thirst for a happy domestic life. She doesn't excite, but infuses the heart with peace and serenity. He said that they agreed and he brought the girl in person as tangible evidence of this agreement.

Hussein wanted to probe Bahia's thoughts. Had she already recovered from the shock? Was her heart cured? Had she really begun to develop an interest in him? As they resumed their conversation, which he now considered intrusive and unnecessary, the girl's parents put an end to his self-absorption. Might they, Hussein wondered, possibly, by a miracle, leave them alone? He remembered, when his eyes had once met hers, how he had become ecstatically absorbed in their pure blue serenity. Surely, he had so many things to say to her. Anyhow, he had ample time ahead of him to reveal his thoughts and feelings to her, no matter how insignificant they were. During pauses in the conversation, there came to him a tender sensation that there was enough pure, sublime happiness in this world to obliterate its misery. He wished this happiness would last, and that he could remain sitting with her forever in the same room. He wanted these sentiments of the moment to be life-embracing and continue as long as he lived.

The conversation went on, but a gesture or a murmur was her only contribution to it. It was time for him to leave. Excusing himself, he shook hands with her and left the flat, feeling for the first time that the luscious fruits of life were awaiting him, ready to be plucked.

Hussein had departed. Part of the period of waiting for the Bey's answer, which Hassanein called the probationary period, had passed. Wavering between hope and despair, he was forced to endure it stoically. Hassanein was unhappy that his brother was gone. He wished to have him by his side for advice when he received Ahmad Bey Yousri's answer. Willful and tyrannical though Hussein was, Hassanein always listened to his advice. The fact that Hussein had embarked on his marriage project was a source of relief to Hassanein, who was actually uneasy about marrying before his neglected brother, who had denied himself all the pleasures of life and borne the brunt of it. This did not mean that he was uninterested in the future of his family. In fact, he expected much good, both for himself and for his family, to emerge from his prosperous marriage. With this logic, he dismissed his family's troubles; now he was free to seek his own fortune with an easy conscience. This was his state of mind when a friend and colleague asked him to meet him at Luna Park Casino in Heliopolis. Ali al-Bardisi was his favorite friend. Their friendship started and flourished while they were cadets at the College and it was continued in spite of the fact that Hassanein joined the cavalry and Ali al-Bardisi the air force.

Hassanein found his friend waiting for him, and they sat in the Casino garden. His friend ordered two glasses of beer. From the first moment, Hassanein sensed that his friend had a serious matter to discuss with him. Despite his apparent joviality, al-Bardisi struck him as unusually grave and pensive. After a while he asked Hassanein, “Do you remember Lieutenant Ahmad Rafat?”

“Of course,” Hassanein said with indifference. “He graduated with us in the same year. An artillery officer, isn't he?”

His friend nodded affirmatively, then proceeded with bitterness and annoyance, “Yesterday I heard him speak about you to a group of friends in a way that angered and offended me.”

Astonished, Hassanein stared at him. This was most unexpected. “What are you saying?” he inquired.

“Some friends and I were playing cards in his house in Ma'adi,” Ali al-Bardisi said somberly.

“So?”

“I don't remember how the subject came up. We were drunk, and I heard him say things that were offensive to you personally. First of all, tell me, did you really ask for the hand of the daughter of a man called Ahmad Bey Yousri?”

The name shook the young man like an earthquake and his heart beat violently. He suddenly remembered that Ahmad Rafat was closely connected with some of Ahmad Bey Yousri's relatives. He tried hard to compose himself. A coarse feeling of fear and pessimism came over him.

“Perhaps,” he answered curtly.

“Do you know that Ahmad Rafat is a friend of this family?”

“Possibly. But tell me what he said.”

For a while, al-Bardisi hesitated and kept silent. “I understood, from his conversation,” he murmured in a low, obviously embarrassed voice, “that the family did not approve. I'm sorry to tell you.”

This piece of news weighed heavily upon him, making him feel small, shattering his sense of dignity and manhood. Boiling with anger, he was about to surrender to his flaming fury, but at the last moment he managed to subdue his passion. He pretended indifference.

“Was this what you found offensive, my friend?” he asked with a laugh.

“No, this sort of thing happens every day,” his friend said,
gloomy and disconcerted. “But he indiscreetly mentioned the reasons for the family's disapproval. Though they are trivial reasons that don't degrade a man, yet I was very much offended to hear them repeated in a crowd of drunkards.”

Hassanein had always felt that his past constituted a constant threat, like a heavy hammer suspended over his head. Now it fell with full force on his brain, smashing it into scattered pieces. This was strikingly obvious. But could he possibly ignore it? He raised his eyes to the gloomy face of his friend.

“Tell me what he said,” Hassanein asked mechanically.

His friend made a wry face. “It was something negligible,” he went on, annoyed and irritated. “But to be fair, you should know about it. I don't need to tell you that I was so angry that I silenced their wagging tongues.”

So he was the object of their drunken slanders! What did they say? He should have taken all this into consideration when he had proposed to the Bey's daughter. Smiling faintly at his friend, he said, “I believe you, and I appreciate your sincerity. But I beg you to repeat to me everything that was said, word for word.”

Ali al-Bardisi looked disgusted. With extreme distaste, he replied curtly, “He said many things about one of your brothers. I was so indignant that I told him about a highwayman in our village whose brother is a minister in Cairo!”

Hassanein's face turned pale. His friend's defense offended him as much as the charge itself. Yet he said with a desperate laugh, “Usually, a friendly eye sees the minister, while an unfriendly eye only sees…Anyhow, forget about it. What else?”

“Foolish talk of this sort,” the friend said evasively.

Hassanein was suddenly overcome with annoyance and impatience. “Please!” he exclaimed. “Don't hide anything from me, please!”

Embarrassed, Ali al-Bardisi said, “I loathe speaking about a lady's honor.”

“You mean my sister?”

“He said that she worked to earn her living. And I angrily gave him to understand that there's nothing to be ashamed of in any honorable work. Poverty isn't a crime.”

Shaking his head, Hassanein reiterated his friend's words with painful irony. “ ‘Poverty isn't a crime.' Splendid! What else did he say?”

“Nothing.”

That's enough!
Hassanein thought.
A brother who is a highwayman and a sister who is a dressmaker, a mere worker. How could I dare to propose to the daughter of an illustrious Bey?

“I believe,” al-Bardisi said, “you made a mistake in proposing to the daughter of such a faultfinding family.”

“You're right,” Hassanein murmured with a sickly smile.
I'm up to my ears in the mud,
he thought.
My only way out is to smash the head of Ahmad Rafat. But will it actually change my circumstances? No. It's useless to defend myself in this way. Yet I should always remember an important fact: that is, with a strong blow a man can compel people to respect him. Thank God, I lack neither courage nor strength, and I'm capable of dealing such a blow. Hassan was the lowest of our family but he was the most feared and respected: a useful lesson I should not forget.

Then he heard his friend consoling him: “You shouldn't care too much.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Hassanein pretended indifference. “This is well-reasoned advice,” he said. “There's nothing in our family to be ashamed of. One day we were rich. Then poverty struck us. We faced it with courage, and we managed to overcome it. There's nothing shameful in this.”

“On the contrary, one should be proud of it.”

Hassanein suddenly stamped the ground with his foot, his eyes bloodshot with anger. “But I know how to deal with anyone who insults me.”

“Of course you do.”

In the ensuing painful silence, for lack of anything better to do al-Bardisi ordered two more glasses of beer.

“You can find a better girl,” he murmured with a smile.

“Oh! Girls in this country are more plentiful than air and cheaper than dust.”

To quench his thirst, he swallowed gulps of beer, while his friend stared into his drink. Silence fell upon them again.

Ah!
Hassanein thought.
I wish I could be born all over again, in a new family and with a new past. But why should I torment myself with futile hopes? This is me and this is my life, and I won't allow anyone to destroy it. The battle is not over yet.

Al-Bardisi bade him goodbye. As he left the Casino, the combined effect of the shock and the beer almost unhinged Hassanein's mind. Above all, he desired, at whatever cost, to give vent to his pent-up feelings. Yet he knew that a confrontation with Ahmad Rafat would be foolish indeed. Anger made him think of more serious plans.
It's useless to be angry with this conceited young man,
Hassanein thought.
He heard something nasty and only repeated it. If in the future I have any opportunity to provoke him, I won't pass it by. But I shall put off the idea of punishing him until the opportunity arises. My real target is the Bey himself with his dyed mustache. I shall tell him that the least he should have done was to preserve the dignity of a man who asked for his daughter's hand, especially the son of an old friend. If he denies my charge I'll confront him with conclusive evidence, pointing out to him that poverty is no disgrace, while slandering people is mean and shameful. And if he becomes offended, which in his illustrious position he is bound to be, I won't be sparing in giving expression to my anger until I've got it out of my system.
Under the influence of beer and bitter feelings, he flung himself inside the first tram to arrive and rode as far as Station Square. There he boarded another which took him to Taher Street.

When he saw Ahmad Bey Yousri's villa, his footsteps became heavy, as if he desired to have more time to think over what he intended to do. From the depths of his mind, voices clamored for his withdrawal. But these were silenced by the heat of the passion that kept driving him to the villa until he found himself in front of the porter. The latter rose respectfully. Without asking permission, he forced his way toward the interior of the villa. Though he was aware of the foolishness of his behavior,
he did not stop. The rose and camomile bushes seemed to be slumbering in the slanting rays of the sun. In the middle path he saw the traces of the motorcar wheels in the form of two broad, curving lines. He advanced toward the entrance hall, the vacillation and uncertainty which punctuated his determination showing that he was not entirely convinced of the soundness of his motives. Nevertheless, he climbed the stairs with unexpected determination. On reaching the veranda, a sudden surprise, which his delirious mind had never anticipated, caused him to halt in his tracks. There he saw the Bey's daughter in flesh and blood sitting in a big chair. Lifting her eyes from a book, she looked inquiringly at the newcomer. Immobile in his amazement, he focused his eyes on her. A profoundly withering sense of shame struck him to his very roots. He realized that he faced a situation in which any shameful surrender to weakness would mean subjection to new humiliation, more degrading than all that had gone before. Encouraged anew by his fears, he got control of himself, determined to find a courageous and dignified way out of this dilemma. Bowing his head respectfully, he said with a gentle smile, “Good evening, miss. Excuse me for this unintended disturbance. May I see the Bey?”

It was the first time he heard her voice. With complete self-composure she said gently, “Sorry, my father is indisposed today.”

He bowed his head again, relieved by this unexpected way out. On the point of leaving, he said, “Farewell.” He had already turned on his heels and taken two steps away from her. Then he halted with sudden determination. His passivity had disappeared, giving way to irresponsible anger. The strange state of emotion that drove him from Heliopolis to the Bey's villa returned to him.

Turning around, he faced the girl once more with an audacity disrespectful to her proud eyes. He said in too loud a voice, which the situation did not require, “Sorry. It pains me to say farewell to this house without expressing my thoughts.”

Not uttering a single word, she looked at him inquiringly.

“I think you were told that I had asked for your hand?” he asked.

Lowering her eyes, she said, “I'm not accustomed to having my father's visitors speak to me.”

“I thought it quite normal in high-class society,” he said, rather surprised.

“Not always.”

“Nevertheless, allow me to speak,” he continued. “I wanted to see the Bey to speak to him about this very matter. I've been told that my proposal was considered unpardonable impertinence.”

“It's better to postpone discussing this subject until you meet the Bey,” she said, still casting down her eyes.

Fixing his eyes on the girl's face, Hassanein said, “But I must speak, since I've been lucky enough to meet you, who are primarily concerned. It's important for me to know your opinion. Is my proposal really an impertinence?”

“Please postpone discussing this matter until the right time,” she said with annoyance.

Although he had anticipated her annoyance, it pained and irritated him. “A man who proposes to a girl,” he went on, “usually offers the best of himself. Unfortunately, it happens sometimes that people only see the worst side of him, such as certain things connected with his family background.”

Frowning, she rose. “I must go,” she said.

She walked toward the entrance of the hall. He said in a loud voice that followed her in her flight, “I wanted your opinion. But that's enough. I'm sorry. Please convey my regards to the Bey.”

Hurriedly turning on his heels, he climbed down the stairs and walked toward the door. A jumble of distant, scattered scenes swiftly rushed to his mind. He remembered his treatment of Bahia in their new flat, al-Bardisi's conversation in the Casino, and this recent scene with the Bey's daughter.

Thanks be to God, I'm not a failure as a lover; I was about to be
one, but God has saved me. Yet I'm a failure as a man, which is even worse. I need to think about all these conversations. I feel I'm suffering from a new disease. What is it? What's wrong with me? And what's the remedy?

As he came out into the street, he was sure he had committed an absurd, foolish mistake.