Naguib Mahfouz - The Beginning and the End

They went back to their conversation, and the man and his wife left at about nine o’clock.

Nefisa hurried to her brothers’ room with this happy piece of news. Regaining some of her former disposition, she told them merrily, “There’s a surprise for you!”

They raised their heads inquiringly.

“Farid Effendi,” she continued, “wants to choose a tutor for Salem.”

“What has this got to do with us?”

“He will choose from you.”

“For what subject?”

“English.”

“He will choose me, of course,” Hassanein cried.

“And arithmetic, too,” she said with a smile.

“Me.” Hussein heaved a sigh.

“He wants to employ both of you, gratis, of course,” she added slyly.

Understanding her insinuations, both shouted with delight, “Of course!”

Since they felt no need to put on their suits when they visited a flat in the same building, they merely pulled on their coats over their pajamas and went out. Furthermore, to avoid unnecessary wear, their mother forbade them to dress in their suits except in cases of extreme emergency. The shining forenoon sun tempered the cold weather. Filled with hope and delight, the two young men climbed up the stairs. On their way, they passed the door of their old flat, casting silent looks at it, then continued to climb until they reached the top flat. Finding its door partly open, they hesitated for a few moments. Hassanein approached and raised his hand to knock on the door, but it stopped in midair as, in spite of himself, he stared inside the house. There he saw a girl, her back to the door, her head bent over something she held in her hands; perhaps she was looking for something in a drawer of the sideboard. Her shapely buttocks protruded and her dress, slightly raised, exposed her naked legs and the backs of her knees. The color of her legs was sparkling white, and the eye could almost sense their softness. The sight so attracted Hassanein that he stood entranced, and Hussein began to wonder at the cause. He came near his brother, craned his neck to cast a look over his shoulder, and was overcome with astonishment. But like an escaping fugitive, he quickly retreated, pulling his brother by the arm away from the door and looking sharply at him, as if to say: Are you mad? They stood for a while, overcome by a vague sense of guilt, for the spectacle made their blood run hot. Hassanein leaned toward Hussein and whispered, “Bahia!” in his ear.

His brother pretended to be indifferent. “Perhaps,” he murmured.

Hassanein hesitated, a diabolic smile in his eyes. “Shouldn’t we steal another glance?” he said.

Striking him on the shoulder, his brother pushed him aside, then knocked on the door. They heard footsteps approaching, and when the door opened, a beautiful round face appeared, chubby, white and slightly pale, adorned with eyes of pure blue. As soon as she saw the two newcomers, she retreated shyly. Then from afar came the voice of Farid Effendi, shouting, “Please come in, great masters!”

They entered the hall, which also served as a dining room. Farid Effendi sat on a sofa facing the sideboard; his loose garment made him look like a balloon. As they shook hands, he welcomed them warmly and closely studied their faces. Then he called Salem. The boy came in to stand before them, embarrassed and uncertain. “Shake hands with your masters,” Farid Effendi told him. “You know them, of course. But from now on, they are different people. They are your masters. So you must behave in their presence as you would with your teachers in school.”

The boy approached politely, doing his best to conceal a smile at the two young men, for whom he had not yet developed the habit of respect. His father pointed to a room to the left of the entrance.

“The sitting room,” he said, “is the most suitable place for your lessons. There is a balcony, too, if you want to be in the sun.”

The two instructors proceeded to the room, with their pupil leading the way. The boy hurried to the balcony and opened its French windows, then closed the door. Since Farid Effendi had no son of their own age with whom they might have exchanged visits, this was the first time the pair had entered the flat. They discovered that the sitting room was much like their own. It contained an old set of seats, two European sofas, half a dozen chairs, and a huge mirror whose lower section was a basin filled with artificial flowers. But whereas their own sitting room had looked much the same for years, here the carpenter’s hand had renovated the interior and its coverings for Farid Effendi.

Hussein sat on the sofa, and Salem brought a chair to sit facing him across a table lined with texts and notebooks. Meanwhile, Hassanein went out onto the balcony to await his turn. Hussein went through the boy’s books. “I shall repeat the lessons from the beginning,” he told him, “and explain whatever is not clear to you. And when we start the next lesson, I shall check to see that you’ve studied the first one.”

They then got down to serious work.

Hassanein leaned on his elbow on the edge of the balcony, as he had when they had had a balcony themselves. The exciting scene was still vivid in his mind: her superb legs, her full, shining face, her blue eyes, her solemn, quiet glance suggesting steadfastness, no frivolity. Although there was something disagreeable about her enchanting beauty, her impression upon him had lost none of its force. His blood was still running hot in his veins, and his heart continued to flutter from the excitement of the scene. His mind churned up images and dreams. His heated imagination made him see everything behind a feverish veil: the roofs of the surrounding houses, Nasr Allah below, multitudes of people coming and going. When would his peace of mind be restored? He remembered Bahia as he used to see her often when she was a young girl hopping about in the yard of the house. At the age of twelve, she had disappeared from the yard and for some time stopped going to school, before entering secondary school. Perhaps now she was fifteen years old. He felt as if he were seeing her for the first time.

I need such a girl, he thought, to accompany me to the cinema, to play and talk with me. There’d be no harm in kissing and embracing her. My barren life has no pretty face to attract me. I have had enough of the boys’ friendships at school and the Shubra Club. I want a girl. I want this girl! In Europe and America boys and girls grow up together, as we see in films. This is true life. But this girl, no sooner did she set her eyes on us than she fled from us as though we were monsters who would devour her. Our forefathers kept concubines. Had I grown up in a house full of concubines, I would have experienced another life, in spite of my mother’s admonitions. Even the servant we employed was dismissed because we are poor. What does the future hold in store for us? The greatest sin we shall answer for in the hereafter is that we have left this world without enjoying it.

Really, the most beautiful sight was the back of her knee, in the center a tense, delicate muscle, and blue veins beneath the whiteness of her skin. If her dress had revealed just a little more, we could have seen the beginning of her thigh…the most beautiful sight in the whole world is that of a woman undressing. It is more fascinating than the sight of a naked woman.

They say our history teacher is a great lover of women. When shall I become a free man? Tomorrow, we have a history period, and this evening I have to study the Germanic tribes. God bids us to marry as many women as we please. But this country no longer respects the ordinances of Islam. He absorbed himself in his reverie until the voice of Hussein reached him, asking him to start the English lesson.