Naguib Mahfouz - The Beginning and the End

“Close the window. Are you mad?”

He was frightened by Hussein’s cry. Then anger and obstinacy filled his heart.

“The weather is gentle and comfortable,” he said.

“Don’t be stubborn; close the window!” Hussein shouted at him.

His brother’s tone only made him more obstinate. “Move to the other chair to keep away from the draft, if you think there is one!”

Hussein snorted angrily. He went to the window and violently slammed it shut with a disturbing bang that ripped the silence to shreds, and broke a windowpane. Fear and a dreadful silence prevailed. Soon Hussein became blinded by fury and, slapping Hassanein, he shouted, “It’s your fault!”

Hassanein went out of his mind and struck his brother’s head with his fist. They started to fight; Samira and Nefisa rushed into the room. In their mother’s presence, each muttering and mumbling, the boys stopped railing at each other. The mother, standing between them, eyed both angrily; then her eyes fixed on the broken glass. She inquired in a quietness that portended an approaching tempest, “What is the matter with you?”

Hassanein said hurriedly, “He slammed the window closed and broke the windowpane. Then he slapped me.”

“He opened the window in this cold weather,” Hussein said with a sob. “I asked him to close it but he was rude and refused. I got up to close it myself, and here is the result.”

Samira sighed and said, “Oh, God, your mercy be upon me. Don’t I have trouble enough?”

She gripped both of them by the shoulders and pushed them to the middle of the room. She shouted in Hussein’s face, “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? You’re supposed to be an adult!” and punched him twice in the chest, then slapped him.

She also fell upon Hassanein, who withdrew, crying, “It was he who started beating me, and it was he who broke the windowpane.”

But she slapped him hard on the mouth and kept hitting his head and face until Nefisa intervened.

“I don’t want to hear another sound from you,” Samira shouted. “As for the window, it will remain broken until you repair it yourselves.”

Downcast and filled with unhappiness, she left the room. Nefisa stood between them for a while in distress.

“The time for quarreling is over,” she said. “You are men now!”

Then, smiling, she said to Hussein, “You couldn’t bear the draft for a little while. What are you going to do now that it is permanently open? Fill the hole with a newspaper. If you don’t, you are both good for nothing.”

Finding that her words did not have the effect she expected, she left the room. Hussein silently went back to his chair. Meanwhile, Hassanein excitedly threw himself on the bed. Often the quarrels between them ended with such intervention on their mother’s part. Despite their close friendship, their life was not free from arguments and quarrels and occasional jealousy. Yet they always remained loving and brotherly companions, indispensable to each other. Of the two, Hussein was the wiser, Hassanein the stronger. Hussein undertook the task of guiding and directing in whatever problems presented themselves; the bulk of these being related to play and minor questions about money. Hassanein bore the larger burden of defense in any fight they had with outsiders. In fights with other schoolboys, they never asked their elder brother Hassan for help when they felt they might be overcome by their adversaries, or even if a quarrel threatened to become a really bloody scrap. Anyhow, the two brothers had seldom quarreled in recent years, and consequently their mother rarely punished them with a beating. A long period of peace, about a year, had preceded this latest quarrel. However, no quarrel estranged them from each other for more than a day, and thereafter they always became reconciled. Then the aggressor, a little confused, began to speak to his brother, and both soon forgot all about their scrap. Their mother suffered from it more than they did. Their quarrels distressed her and left a piercing and profound pain in her heart. To punish them, she found no means better than beating, hoping that it would rectify the ill effects of their father’s tendency to spoil his children. Nothing was more repulsive to her than seeing one of her sons trespass beyond the limits and show any sign of transgression against the sacred unity of the family. She saw in Hassan’s life a bad example; she would rather die than see it repeated in the others. Hassan himself was not exempt from her blows, but these came too late. She never ceased to blame herself and her husband for spoiling him, and she was bitterly tortured by the fact that her son was a victim of lenience as well as poverty.

A part of the night passed, but the two brothers were still silent and alienated. The silence became more oppressive after Samira and Nefisa went to sleep. Hussein started to read a book, in an attempt to concentrate his scattered thoughts. Hassanein was secretly watching him, wondering how he should feel toward his brother. Hassanein cherished happy, consoling, and reassuring memories. Soon a smile appeared on his lips, and he thought: All is well. Bahia kept silent, which means that she loves me. Really! How I yearn to hear it uttered by her luscious lips. Be patient. All this will come in time. Silence is only a beginning. But the end…? Suddenly, he turned to his brother and the smile returned to his lips. What harm would I have suffered if I had closed the window? He seems unable to follow what he is reading. Had he been endowed with my good fortune, he would not have found it difficult to forget all that happened. He felt a kind of sympathy for his brother.

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.