Naguib Mahfouz - The Beginning and the End

Hassan pretended to be angry. “I swear by the majesty of God, if you had not been the cause of the present, I would have broken your head. However,” he added, “they should have presented us with a whole sheep, and not just half a one.” Then he turned to Nefisa and said, “Be careful not to accept the present unless it contains half the sheep’s liver, too.”

They stood face to face waiting for the tram to arrive. She was dressed in her old overcoat, which she wanted to replace with a better one, even if she had to get it secondhand. He was wearing a suit which obviously didn’t fit him very well, and he was visibly nervous as he tried to screw up the courage to say something that had been weighing heavily on him. He was afraid the tramcar might come before he was able to speak his mind.

“Nefisa, I am very ashamed to tell you something,” he said.

“What is it?” she asked.

“My father ordered me to accompany him today on his visit to the Sheikh of the Al Shazliah sect. I refused, and he got angry,” he whispered.

She felt inexplicably fearful, perhaps because of the mention of his father. Expecting to hear unpleasant news, she looked at him, silent and inquiring.

“He got angry at my obstinacy and refused to pay me my wages for the day.” He was whispering again.

Astonishment overcame her fear, and she asked him, “Don’t you have any money?”

“No. My father is a tyrant. May God take his life.”

She said “Amen” to herself. “I have some money.”

Anxiously, he remained silent for a few moments.

“Are you going to pay the tram fare for both of us in front of the other passengers?” he asked her in embarrassment.

She understood what he was hinting at, and, her heart softening, she opened her handbag and took out five piasters for him. Carefully watching the people standing nearby, he took the money.

“Thank you. I will pay it back the next time we meet,” he said. “Or,” he added after some hesitation, “you can take the equivalent in sweets or cheese.”

“Aren’t you afraid your father might notice that I’m not paying for what I’m buying?” she inquired.

“He doesn’t see further than his nose,” he said, laughing.

The tramcar to Rod el-Farag arrived. They got on board and sat near each other.

How can I squander money like this, she thought, when our home is badly in need of every millieme that I earn? My mother is still selling some of the furniture. Even my brother Hassan needs these piasters more than this hard-up young man. What am I doing with myself? I also squander my money on powders and lipstick. Oh! He is not a man. If he were, he would never be tied to his father’s apron strings in this ridiculous fashion, and he would not fear him so much. The old man is treating him like a child, depriving him of his pocket money. But I love and want him. I am body and soul to him. I have no one else in this world. Why should I have such a self-torturing soul?

She heard him whisper in her ear, “It’s a real pity that my mother has returned from her visit to my sister. So the flat is no longer empty.”

She knew this perfectly well, and needed no one to remind her of it. However, she felt pleased that he had brought up the subject. Her flesh experienced a wakefulness, and her imagination became active. She remembered their lovemaking, the total darkness and whispering voices. She remembered all this in a heat of passion mixed with fear. She did not like to comment on what he said, and so, shyly, she ignored it, but her face flushed, her makeup standing out. She remembered his words: “My mother returned and my father does not approve!” When will all this come to an end? she thought. When shall I have him without fear, and according to God’s law?! Sometimes she felt so stricken with fear that she yearned for the peace of death.

“But I shall find other opportunities, and once more we’ll have the flat to ourselves,” his whispering voice said to her.

“No. No. There is no need for that,” she said coldly.

“God forgive you. Have you forgotten? Have you really forgotten? We shouldn’t burn with unsatiated desire while we are waiting. I hate waiting.”

Wouldn’t it have been better for me to wait? Nefisa wondered, and she kept wavering back and forth, unable to decide, thinking first yes, then no, then reversing herself, over and over again. As she sighed, perplexed at it all, her familiar feelings of despair returned.

“I don’t like waiting, either,” she said. “But I also don’t like what we have done.”

“That’s a lie. You do like it. Have you forgotten? You couldn’t have,” he said slyly.

“I remember nothing.”

“I shall never forget it as long as I live. You were very passionate and lively, and I still feel your heat scorching me.”

“Hush. You must be mad.”

“However, we shall manage to find some empty dark back street.”

“Beware. Your sight is as weak as your father’s. You may think the road is empty, when the policeman is right before your eyes.”

“Then let us depend on your eyes.” He hesitated a moment, and sighed, “When will we be able to marry?”

She was at once pained, irritated, and embarrassed by his query, and her emotions cooled and her face remained sullen for the rest of the journey.

It was midnight. There were only a few customers at the Al Gamal café, which was now almost empty. Hassan’s companions had left and he was sitting alone at a table. The piasters he had managed to gain from them were safely tucked in his pocket. As though deep in thought, he cast a languid look about the café with his tired eyes. The owner of the café began to check his daily accounts, heaping the metal counters on a large tin plate, while the waiter stood leaning against one of the door panels, his hand in the pocket of his apron, temptingly jingling the coins inside it. Hassan’s thoughts rambled off. My father, may the mercy of God be on you. How much I have suffered since your death! We never ceased to quarrel and sometimes I felt I hated you. But your days are gone! Since your death, I haven’t taken a meal at home except on the feast days. And what do they eat at home? I eat nothing but beans. Beans. Always beans. Even donkeys get a change in diet. Maybe I really should seriously search for a job.

He remembered that he had tried his luck twice and that each time had ended in a quarrel that almost sent him to jail. No. Such trivial jobs were not his aim. He still preferred the life of a vagabond and mean gambler. In fact, he lived by stealing. He and his coterie knew this perfectly well. They would ensnare the new customers at the café and give them the illusion that they were playing a fair game of cards. But the truth was that they were stealing from them. It was a hard, risky life for the sake of a few piasters. How could he be satisfied with this kind of life? He was neither happy nor contented. He seemed to be waiting for a miracle to save him from the depths his life had reached and take him to a land of dreams. On the whole, his life was as violent and as savage as the murderous drug he was taking. Jobless though he was, he remained a leader among his company, because he could strike awe and fear in their hearts. Thus, he found it unbearable to start a new life as a simple and obedient worker, even though he was fully aware of how much his mother needed him to develop a serious attitude toward life. He still heard her afflicted and complaining voice humming in his ears, never ceasing to chase him whenever he came out of the stupor of drugs. He loved his mother and family. But he did not exert the slightest effort; he kept waiting inertly for something to happen, and remained at the bottom of the ladder, doing this donkey work for the sake of a few piasters. To him, this seemed a folly even worse than…