Naguib Mahfouz - The Beginning and the End

“This is enough for one time,” he said.

As she stood motionless before him, he threw the silver coin at her feet and drove off in a trail of choking smoke, the car roaring and gurgling. Blind with fury, she remained transfixed, her body shaking all over. Biting her teeth, she continued to quake. She kept sucking in her breath rapidly as if from a bursting chest. He did not care to ask her for another appointment. Just a transient relationship as though she were…Oh, God! Just a transient relationship! Then she remembered how he threw the ten-piaster piece at her! An idea occurred to her, extinguishing her anger and replacing it with embarrassment and a sense of failure. No. Wasn’t it possible that she failed to appeal to him and satisfy him? This was quite possible, even probable. It was certain! She was overwhelmed with a profound feeling of sorrow and degradation. She suddenly realized that she was still standing on the pavement. On the point of leaving, she remembered the coin lying at her feet. Not knowing what to do, she gave it a furious glance. Memories rushed to her mind. She immediately recalled the five-piaster piece which Soliman had borrowed one day at the tram stop, the day he had taken her to his home, the total darkness of the place, her quarrel with him in the street, and her dead father’s words about her sweet temper. Then once more she focused her attention on the silver coin at her feet. She gazed at it for a long time. Seeing no reason to leave it there, she picked it up.

After a rather long absence, Hassan paid his family an unexpected visit. The members of the family were gathered in the two brothers’ room, their favorite sitting room during the summer months. This time he arrived with a basket in his hand. Putting it behind the door, he stepped forward with laughter in his greeting. They welcomed him as usual. His sister and brothers’ reception was unreserved while the mother cast an inquisitive glance at the basket.

“What on earth may a mother expect from a worthless son?” she murmured sarcastically.

Taking a seat in their midst, he assured her with a laugh, “Don’t be in a hurry. Patience has its rewards.”

But none of them paid any attention to the basket, for they were not accustomed to expect anything good from him.

“You come to see us only as a visitor!” Nefisa remarked.

“I roam God’s vast land, arduously making my living. Don’t be surprised if you see me only as a visitor. The reason is that I’ve found myself a dwelling!”

All eyes focused on him with interest.

“Has God guided you? And have you found a job at last?”

“With Ali Sabri’s band and nobody else. But now God has provided us with earnings enough.”

“I shall never be convinced that this is a job in the true sense of the word,” the mother remarked.

“Why not, Mother? With the band I sing, while in other occupations I quarrel, as you know,” Hassan replied.

“Have you really found a dwelling of your own? Where?” Hussein asked.

For a while, Hassan kept his thoughts to himself.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked.

“So we can return your visits.”

“Don’t. My dwelling is not properly furnished to receive people. Besides, it isn’t a private place; it’s occupied by all the members of the band. Let’s forget about it. Tell me, when did you last eat meat?”

“To tell you the truth, we’ve forgotten. Give me a moment to try to remember,” Hussein said sarcastically. “If I draw on obscure memories, I’m able to visualize the last slice of meat I’ve eaten. But I don’t remember when or where. We’re a philosophical family. Following the principles of Al Maarri,” he added with a laugh.

“Who is this Maarri? One of our forefathers?” Hassan inquired.

“A merciful philosopher. So merciful toward animals that he abstained from eating their flesh.”

“Now I understand why the government opens schools. It does this to make you hate eating meat so as to have all the meat for itself.”

Hassan rose and went to get the basket. Returning, he placed it before his mother and removed the paper cover. Underneath was a fleshy leg of mutton, the red surface of the meat blending with the white fat. Beside it lay a medium-size tin box.

“I can’t believe my eyes,” Hassanein exclaimed. “What’s inside the box?”

“Shortening.”

The spirits of Hassan’s brothers and sister rose high and their eyes glistened. Their mother’s heart was touched by the atmosphere of contagious merriment.

“Now we’re sure of a sumptuous dinner for tomorrow,” she muttered, smiling.

“No! You mean a sumptuous supper right now!” shouted many voices.

“Have you any idea of how long it will take to prepare this supper?”

“Never mind. We’re ready to wait until the break of dawn!”

Nefisa rose and carried the basket into the kitchen.

Without further objection Samira rose, too, nodding to Hassan to follow her as she left the room. With a knowing smile, Hassan traipsed after her. She took him aside in a corner of the hall.

“Is it true,” she asked eagerly, “that you’re really making enough money?”

“To some extent! But my future is uncertain.”

“Can I trust you to help us?”

“Yes, whenever I’ve enough. I hope so.”

“Where do you live?” she inquired after a moment’s silence.

Knowing that she understood him inside out, he realized the futility of telling her lies. “Number seventeen Gandab alley in Clot Bey,” he answered.

“With a woman?” she asked, hesitantly.

“Yes,” he said, giving a short laugh.

“Is it marriage?”

“No,” he muttered, laughing again.

In the darkness, he could not see the signs of disapproval in her face. Having long since despaired of reforming him, she did not take the trouble now to scold him or give him advice. Yet she asked him with interest and warmth, “I suppose you get your earnings by decent means?”

“Yes,” he reassured her. “Have no doubt about this. We are requested to give so many marriage feasts, and we sing in coffeehouses and music halls,” he added emphatically.

Another year passed, and life continued its usual course. The members of the family followed their normal routines of everyday life. Had their dead father come back to life, he would have been shocked by the tremendous change which had come over the souls, bodies, health, even the looks of his family. But he would certainly have recognized them. His wife and children had not changed that much. But his house had become so completely transformed that, no matter how hard he tried, he would have failed to remember it. The furniture had almost disappeared. The sitting room contained only a sofa and a pale thin carpet which had formerly covered the floor of Samira’s bedroom. Now it replaced the sitting-room carpet, which had been sold. Most of the furniture had been bartered away, and nothing remained in Samira’s bedroom but two sofas, used as seats during the day and as beds at night. Once the sideboard, table, and chairs were sold, the hall, which served in former times as a dining room, became bare. Hassan’s bed had been sold. So degraded was the family’s condition that they took their meals from a tray laid on the floor. Hussein and Hassanein’s beds would have been sold, too, were they not indispensable. The family’s life was hard and arduous. Without Samira’s determination and frugality, the father’s pension and Nefisa’s meager earnings would together have been insufficient to meet the essential expenses of food and shelter. As for Hassan’s assistance, it was scanty and unreliable, extended only on his rare visits, when he brought them hope and delicious food. From time to time he bought his mother a garment, a handkerchief, or some pieces of underwear. Apart from these rare visits, nobody know where he was. Apologetically, he spoke to his mother about his strenuous struggles and slim earnings. This being usually the case, he was not always exaggerating. In fact, he had found life harder than he had expected.