Naguib Mahfouz - The Beginning and the End

Hassanein’s heart shook violently. He gave the boy a long look. “When did they go out?” he asked.

“In the afternoon.”

Anxiously, he sought to learn whether the girl had gone with them. “How could you stay alone in the house?”

“My sister Bahia is staying with me,” the boy replied.

This answer gave Hassanein relief, delight, and hope. Thoughts came to his mind: Tea and sugar, especially sugar. Not sugar, but the sugar bowl. I shall find out today whether she deliberately appeared that other time. He asked the boy to read, and the lesson was in progress. He listened to his pupil for a few minutes, but then his thoughts again rambled off. Should I ask for tea? That would be too forward. But if they are late in bringing the tea, I must ask for it. I am too agitated. She and I are alone in the flat. Neither Salem’s presence nor that of the servant will make any difference. She and I are alone. Let me enjoy being alone with her for a while, in my imagination. If life were as lusciously simple as it used to be in early times, I would take her in my arms and ask her with no hesitation to uncover her legs. What stops me from doing so? It is the folly of the world, which killed my father and caused the sufferings we have been undergoing. He became aware of Salem only when the boy asked him the meaning of a word. He explained it to him and ordered him to proceed with his reading. Before the youngster’s voice faded away, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He turned his eyes in the direction of the open door. He saw the tea tray before he could distinguish who was carrying it. His eyes fell on her arms holding the tray. His heart beat violently and he rose like a man obsessed. While he was moving toward the door, he heard her soft voice, speaking almost in a whisper: “Salem.”

Hassanein appeared before her, his eyes ravaging her.

“Thanks a lot,” he whispered.

Her almost pale complexion flushed. Perhaps she did not expect to see him. She lowered her eyes in confusion. Hassanein stretched his hands to take the tray from her. In so doing, his right hand clutched the fingers of her left hand. At once, something akin to an electric current flowed through his hand, arm, body, and soul. His daring had no limit. He pressed her fingers in a manner that could not be mistaken. Resentfully she withdrew her hand, and a frown darkened her face. Very angrily, she walked away from the door. He was extremely perturbed when he returned to the table carrying the tray. Confused, he addressed the boy. “Continue,” he said.

His thoughts rambled: Was I too hasty, not waiting for things to develop naturally? How impatient I am! I am always like that. What a frown came upon her face! She frowned and went away. If shyness is the reason, nothing will be dearer to my heart. But if its indignation, then it is the end of everything. Never shall I retreat. Never shall I know hesitation. Why did she come in person? Why didn’t she ask the servant to carry the tray? She came particularly for me. This is obvious. There is nothing to fear.

He was intermittently aware of Salem, asked him some questions, then fell into worry and distraction, wavering between apprehension and pleasure. When the lesson was over, an idea occurred to him. He rose up, determined and unflinching, to put it into effect. Salem left the room to make way for his teacher. In this interval he took a handkerchief from the pocket of his coat, dropped it on the seat, and left the flat. But he did not budge after the door had been closed. Before knocking at the door, he listened attentively until the boy’s footsteps died away. His heart was pounding with extreme agitation. If the servant opens the door for me, my plan will be foiled. But probably she will come. I have to be resigned to whatever happens. The light in the hall was turned on, approaching footsteps were heard, and the door was opened. It was she. He did not like the astonishment that appeared on her face. But he wasted no time.

“I am afraid I have angered you,” he said tenderly and sympathetically. She withdrew a step without uttering a word, and he said hurriedly, “I can never bear to see you angry.”

As though she could not endure being spoken to, she whispered resentfully, “No, no, no. That is too much!”

He could not answer, because Salem appeared on the threshold of the room on the left to inquire, “Is Mummy back?”

“I forgot my handkerchief in the room,” Hassanein said aloud.

Salem ran into the room, and the girl hastened inside the house. The boy brought him the handkerchief. He took it and went away. He forgot to thank him.

Hussein raised his head from the desk. Scrutinizing his brother’s face, he said, “What is the matter with you?”

Hassanein answered with only a short laugh. In a meaningful tone, his brother asked, “Did you give your lesson?”

Hassanein threw himself on the bed. “Do I look changed?” he inquired.

“Certainly.”

Hassanein sighed. “I have to thank God that our mother is sitting in semi-darkness,” he said.

“What happened?”

Would he tell him what happened? But what would he get from him but reproof? “Nothing happened,” he replied.

“But you look confused! And when you are confused, your nostrils twitch like a donkey’s.”

After saying this, Hussein paused to ask himself if the nostrils of a donkey actually twitched. How did such a smile come to his mind? His brother laughed.

“Just a bit of excitement. That is all,” he said.

“So what?”

“Nothing.”

Then Hussein said in earnest, “I want to understand your intentions.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t feign ignorance. You understand everything. Why don’t you leave her alone? Aren’t you afraid that Farid Effendi will discover your forwardness, or that the girl herself will tell him about it? That will put us in a difficult situation.”

“My brother,” Hassanein said, smiling, “if they place the sun on my right hand and the moon on my left and ask me to leave her, I won’t. I’d rather perish.”

Hussein laughed in spite of himself. Reassuming his seriousness and solemnity, he inquired, “What do you want from her?”

What a question. Too simple, yet unanswerable. Had he asked himself that question, he would have found no answer. He was motivated by his impulses and instincts, without need for thinking. He said in bewilderment, “In my case there is no distinction between cause and effect.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Neither do I.”

“So leave her alone, as I told you.”

“I shall keep chasing her until…”

Hussein pressed on. “Until what?”

“Until she falls in love with me as I have with her.”

“Then?”

The young man replied, perplexed, “That’s enough.”

Hussein shook his head angrily. “You are mistaken,” he said. “She is a decent girl of a good family, and your conduct will displease her.”

“She is that and even more; but I shall never give up hope.”

He stood up and went to the desk. He put his books on the sill of the closed window immediately adjacent to his bed. He sat cross-legged before the sill, as though he were sitting at a desk.

“Why don’t you sit at the desk?” his brother asked.

“I want to sit cross-legged to warm my legs.”

He was preoccupied with an important matter. He opened a copybook, cut out a page from it, and took up a pen. Intense with love and deep distress, he thought: I shall write to her. There is no alternative. I shall not have another opportunity to speak to her again. But what should I write?

The silence in the room, punctuated only by the sound of Hussein turning pages in his copybook, helped Hassanein to concentrate. His ears began to distinguish the sound of a wireless stealthily murmuring through the closed window from one of the houses in the alley. He knit his brows, pretending to be annoyed, but he actually felt relieved to hear it since this helped him to escape his perplexity. He listened to the melody of “Happy Nights Are Here Again,” which completely swept him away. Tenderness gushed into his breast. His heart overflowed with affection, yearning, ecstasy, love, and life. Engulfed in his enthusiasm, he was filled with energy, he wanted to go free into the open air, concealed by the dark. He gradually became oblivious to the song, once it had opened up before his soul the gates of a paradise full of visions and dreams. I must write a few words, he thought, just two sentences on a small piece of paper that nobody will detect if I throw it at her feet. He started to write: “Dear Bahia, I am extremely sorry for making you angry.” Is it not better to say, “Do not be angry, my dear”? Both are the same. What, then? I should confess my love to her? I want to write a decent sentence. Oh, God! Help me.