Naguib Mahfouz - The Beginning and the End

The Bey ran his fingers through his thick dyed mustache.

“A job?!” he said. “Chances of government employment are very slim nowadays. But I shall do my best, my son. I don’t think I’ll be able to find a job for you at the Ministry of Interior, but the Under Secretary of State for Education is my friend, and so is that of the Ministry of War. Fill out an application form, and I’ll write a strong letter of recommendation for you.”

Thanking him for his kind generosity, they made their farewells and departed. As they moved away, Hassanein gave the villa a last glance. Turning his eyes to his brother’s face, he found him absorbed in a contented reverie. Hassanein wondered if today his brother was rejoicing over what he had considered sacrifice the day before.

“After breathing the fragrant breeze of the full life which blows from this villa, I’m sure we can hardly count ourselves among the living,” he said.

Hussein was too preoccupied with thoughts of his employment application and the letter of recommendation to pay attention to his brother, who resentfully said, “I wonder at your calm contentment! But the pretense doesn’t deceive me.”

“What use is discontent?! It won’t change the world,” Hussein replied with a smile.

“But the world must change. There can be no doubt that we have a right to live in a clean house, eat healthy food, and enjoy a proper social status. As I look back over our life, I see that it has been no good at all.”

Hussein gazed curiously at his brother, who failed to comprehend the significance of his glance.

“Yet you enjoy love and will continue your education. Isn’t this good enough for you?” Hussein asked.

Hassanein cast a glance at his brother. He wondered what Hussein had meant by these words. He felt ill at ease and his annoyance redoubled. He gave vent to his pent-up feelings. “Hasn’t our misery driven you to sacrifice yourself?” he inquired. “We’ve elementary rights, none of which should be put aside. But where are we? How do we live? Through what sufferings our mother goes! What is Hassan’s status? And how is it possible that our sister has become a dressmaker?”

His peace of mind disturbed, Hussein frowned. Ignoring the essential point of his brother’s argument, he cried reproachfully in his brother’s face, “A dressmaker!”

Filled with excitement and agitation, Hassanein replied, “Yes. A dressmaker! Do you sincerely hate this? Do you really wish she was married like other girls?! That’s a lie. If she had married, or even if she hadn’t worked as a dressmaker, both of us would have stopped going to school and been forced to take any menial jobs we could find. This is the truth.”

Hussein’s anger increased, not because his brother’s words had failed to convince him, but because, in his heart, he believed them to be true. He knew that he wouldn’t have welcomed his sister’s marriage and consequent happiness. We devour one another, he thought. We should be pleased with Hassan’s buffoonery and frivolity as long as he visits us every month and brings along a leg of mutton. We should also be pleased with our sister the dressmaker as long as she provides us with our dry morsels of bread. And this rebellious young man should be pleased that I am discontinuing my education so that he can continue his own. We devour one another. What a brutal life this is! Perhaps my only consolation is that a superior power grinds and devours us all. But we struggle and fight back. This last thought brought him calm and peace.

No. We do not devour one another, he told his brother silently. Say no such thing (he was unaware that his brother had not, in fact, said any such thing). Never say such a thing. We’re a miserable family and countless other families are in the same boat. It’s the duty of each one of us to make every sacrifice.

Then, as they reached the doorstep, in a firm voice he asked his brother to stop arguing.

Hussein realized that his job, for which he was willing to sacrifice so much, was not easily obtainable. He had already spent three whole months in anguish and despair, paying frequent visits to Ahmad Bey Yousri’s villa and to the Ministries of War and Education. At length the Bey informed him that he had managed to appoint him as a clerk at the secondary school in Tanta, and persuaded him to appear before the Medical Commission and prepare himself to leave for Tanta to start work on the first of October.

The young man was pleased, as was his family, but their pleasure was tinged with bitterness. Samira had been looking forward impatiently to this appointment, hoping that it would rescue the family from its misery. But his appointment in a distant town frustrated these hopes. As she wavered between joy and regret, Samira realized in her perplexity that the job would offer the family very little relief. Her son’s travel and living expenses in Cairo and Tanta were bound to exhaust his income from the job. Besides, on the horizon there appeared the dreadful shadow of a new separation, for which the family was not yet prepared and which was a source of pain to them. Samira wondered at her luck, grim even while it smiled at her, which caused her to be separated from the only son who never gave her trouble, and in whom she saw an image of herself, her calm and her patience. From Hussein’s company she derived comfort and solace which she could not find in any of her other children. He was not her favorite son; the naughty Hassanein was her darling. But at this particular moment Hussein seemed the most precious element in her existence. He had never been away from his family for a single day, and so his sorrow at the parting was great. His feeling was accentuated both by his deep attachment to his family and by his crushed hope that, living among them, he would bring some relief. He had frequently looked forward to restoring Nefisa to her former station, a respectable mistress in the house, as soon as he cashed his first salary check from the government. But he saw his dream vanishing into thin air. Tomorrow he would leave his dear family, leaving them in almost the same unfortunate condition.

This, perhaps, was the reason why he went once more to Ahmad Bey Yousri, begging him to use his influence to keep him in Cairo. But now the Bey was fed up with him; he told him that his wish was too difficult to fulfill at present. With no money to live on in Tanta until he cashed his first salary check at the beginning of the month, Hussein was confronted by a new problem. How could he obtain these initial funds? He turned to his sister, Nefisa, but she always gave her mother the bulk of her limited earnings, keeping almost nothing for herself except some money for essential clothes. Even if the rest of the furniture was sold, the proceeds would be too meager to meet his requirements.

Thus he thought of Hassan as the only possible source. He confided his thoughts to his mother, who agreed. She had no doubt that her eldest son would come to their rescue if it was at all possible for him to do so. She gave Hussein his brother’s address. He set out at once for Clot Bey Street, and there started to search for Gandab alley. At the beginning of his journey, his heart was filled with great hopes. Gradually hope gave way to anxiety, until he finally wondered whether Hassan would really give him what he needed, and whether he might lose the job just because of his inability to obtain a few pounds.

By the time he had found his way to the alley at last, his mood was one of painful pessimism. It was a narrow, zigzagging alley, with dilapidated houses on both sides, its polluted air permeated by the smell of fried fish, crowded with people and cluttering handcarts, and the echoes of hawkers advertising their wares was interspersed with abusive language, rattling coughs, and the sound of people gathering spittle in their throats and spewing it into the street. The ground, covered with dust, vegetable litter, and animal dung, was a gradual incline, so that the alley appeared to be constructed on top of a hill. Hussein went to number seventeen, an ancient two-story house. So strikingly narrow was it that it seemed more like a huge pillar than a dwelling. Not far from its entrance sat a woman selling pips, peanuts, and dome, the fruit of palm trees. Hesitantly he entered the house. As he climbed the spiral stairs, which had no banister, his nostrils were filled with a putrefying odor. When he reached the second floor, he knocked at the door. He was extremely afraid he might not find his brother at home, and his fear was intensified when nobody opened the door for him. Violently and desperately, he kept knocking until his hands ached. In his despondency he stood there, not knowing what to do. He was about to move away when he heard a rough voice inside, shouting angrily, “Who is this son of a bitch knocking at the door at such an early hour?”