Naguib Mahfouz - The Beginning and the End

She raised her painted eyebrows. “Ask your heart? Oh! His heart! What are you keeping inside?”

The young man whispered, “My heart says it is delighted to see you, and it most eagerly waits for you!”

“Really?”

“And it also says that it desires to meet you now in the street to confide to you something of importance.”

He turned toward his father and heard him uttering the Salutations marking the end of his prayers. So he said in a hurry, “I can leave the shop for a few minutes. Go on out ahead of me to the main street!”

Baffled, she looked at him with excitement. She felt an urge to meet him. But she refused to acquiesce so easily, without persistence on his part and professed objection on her own.

“I am afraid of being late,” she said.

Nodding warningly toward his father, he said anxiously, “A few minutes. Go on out ahead before he finishes his prayers.”

Realizing that there was no time to be coy or coquettish, she changed her mind. After a moment of hesitation, she turned with a beating heart toward Shubra Street. She was overpowered by excitement, anxiety, and fear. But she continued to walk, with no thought of retreat. Her long-cherished dreams lightened the weight of the new step she was taking. Soon she overcame her fears, thinking only of the sweet hope that she could see at the end of the road. When she reached the street, she looked behind her, to see him approaching at a quick pace, wearing a jacket over his gown. She turned to the right and walked quickly away from her quarter. In long strides, he caught up with her. Pleased, he said, “I excused myself from my father for a few minutes.”

She cast a significant glance at his apparel, and he understood. “I cannot put on my suit except in my free hours,” he said apologetically.

He looked merry and delighted. His amorous eyes were not so blind as to see her as beautiful. But deprived and oppressed as he was by his tyrannical father, he welcomed this opportunity to enjoy whatever love was available to him, even from a girl so ugly, helpless, and deep in despair. In any case, she was a member of the beloved female sex, otherwise beyond his reach. He was afraid to let the minutes pass without saying what he wanted to say. So he spoke hurriedly.

“The shop is usually closed on Friday in the afternoon. Meet me then. We could go together to Rod el-Farag.”

“Go together? I don’t like the idea. I’m not one of those girls.”

“What if we do? What is wrong in it?”

“God forbid!”

“We’ll find a place safe for conversation.”

“I am afraid one of my brothers may see us.”

“We can avoid that easily.”

She shook her head and said, a bit bewildered, “I don’t like this life, so full of fears.”

“But we must meet!”

She pondered. “Why?”

He looked at her in astonishment. “So as to meet,” he said.

Worried, she answered, “No. No, I’m not that type.”

“Don’t we have anything to say to each other?”

“I don’t know.”

“I have much to say.”

“What is it you want to say?”

“You will know it in due time. There is no time to say it now.”

As doubts assailed her, her face reddened. “I’ve told you, I am not one of those girls!”

The young man exclaimed in a sorrowful tone, “How could I possibly think so, Miss Nefisa! I’m a man of the world, and I can judge people.”

She felt relieved. But she wondered why he failed to ease her heart by uttering the very words she was yearning to hear. Once more he asked, “Shall we meet, then, next Friday?”

She hesitated a bit, then murmured, “By God’s will.”

Deeply preoccupied, she returned home. This was the beginning of the love she was so eager to experience. Her heart shook off the dust of frustration, and it became full of life, ecstasy, warmth, and hope. That was true. Yet she was at once baffled and worried, not knowing how the affair would end, and how her family would react to it.

Hassanein reached the door of the roof and sighed audibly. She heard him, but, ignoring him, she walked slowly toward the chicken house. He coughed. The sun was emitting its last rays as he boldly rushed toward her. She turned on her heels, confronting him with a stony face, revealing neither anger nor pleasure.

“Is there no end to this?”

He said with a short laugh, “You’re giving me an unforgettable lesson.”

Preserving the reticence in her face, she replied, “I wish you would learn a lesson.”

He cracked his fingers, shouting, “Never!”

He sighed aloud. He was extremely jubilant in the discovery that she wanted to converse with him.

“Never shall I stop loving you,” he continued.

Her face flushed. “Don’t utter those words again,” she said, frowning.

He spoke obstinately, quietly, and emphatically. “I love you!”

“You want to tease me?”

“I want nothing but your love.”

“I shall deafen my ears,” she said sharply.

Slightly raising his voice, he repeated, “I love you. I love you. I love you!”

She kept silent with longing and conflicting emotions; he continued to devour her with his eyes. Unable to bear the weight of his glances, she turned her back and walked away. He rushed after her. She turned to him with a frown. “Please. Leave me and go away.”

He said in astonishment, “There is no reason to say that now. It’s past history. We are now in the stage of ‘I love you.’ ”

“And what do you want?”

“To love you.”

She was about to scold him, but she was overcome by a smile she had long been suppressing. Then she gave a short stifled laugh that came out of her nose as a pleasant snort. She couldn’t help lowering her head in shyness. So moved was he by her gesture that his overpowering passions rose still higher; encouraged and desiring more, he went up to her, stretching his hand to hold hers. But she looked almost horrified, and withdrew.

“Don’t touch me,” she said with serious finality.

The smile of triumph appearing on his lips faded away. But she did not care. In the same serious tone, she went on, “Never try to touch me. I won’t allow it. I won’t even think of it.”

He was dumbfounded. “I am sorry,” he said in astonishment. “I didn’t mean any harm. I love you, truly and honestly.”

She looked at her feet. Her appearance showed the gravity of what she was about to utter. “Thank you for saying it,” she said seriously. “But this matter is not for me to decide.”

He was astonished at her words. So swept away by emotion was he that he had never paused to think of anything beyond it. He loved and saw nothing but love. Yet what she said brought him back to his senses. Now he understood what he had overlooked; he realized that the matter was serious, that it was no trifle. He was not sorry about that and his delight increased, but he was pervaded by a feeling of fear and anxiety, and unaware of the reasons for it. In an attempt to overcome his perplexity, he said, “I see your point of view and approve of it. But this is not everything. I ask your heart first.”

Her features softened, but without losing control of her will, she replied, “Please, don’t entrap me in talk which I don’t like.”

“Talk which you don’t like!”

She did not mean exactly what she said. But she found herself forced to mutter a feeble “Yes.”

“This is a bleeding stab into my heart,” Hassanein said fearfully.

Shy, perplexed, and confused, she replied, “I don’t like to be secretive about what I do and say.”

He couldn’t help smiling, saying, “But this is inevitably part of the whole thing, and there is nothing wrong in it.”