Naguib Mahfouz - The Beginning and the End

Carrying the platter with a cloth, she entered the room and placed it on the desk. As if she had forgotten her fearful thoughts, she said merrily to Hassanein, “I offer you this kunafa by the sweat of my brow. From now on, it’s your turn to provide our tongues with sweets.”

Putting their worries aside, the family devoured the kunafa. “I wish Hussein were with us,” Samira said as she took a piece from the platter. Waving his finger at her, Hassanein swallowed a mouthful. “It’s high time,” he said, “that we get him transferred to Cairo. Ahmad Bey Yousri had promised to transfer him after a year or so. And now almost two years have passed since his appointment at Tanta.”

He wished to enjoy the company of his brother as he had in the past, and hoped to appeal to Hussein for help in overcoming his troubles. Moreover, he had his personal reasons for paying a visit to Ahmad Bey’s villa.

At sunset the next day he went to the villa of Ahmad Bey Yousri to thank him on the occasion of his graduation from the College and to beg him to intercede to get his brother transferred to a school in Cairo. The porter stood up respectfully for the visiting officer, led him to the sitting room, then disappeared to inform the Bey of his presence. Hassanein sat on the same chair he had occupied more than once before, under different circumstances. Looking out over the garden, his eyes traced the long zigzagging path on which the girl had ridden her bicycle slowly and warily more than a year earlier. He wondered whether she was still interested in this exercise. For a while, his memories made him smile. Once more he wondered whether he had come, really, for the sake of thanking the Bey and begging him to intercede on behalf of his brother. He smiled again, still perplexed, uncertain of his goals and uneasy about his motives. He felt reluctant to offend his fiancée. He recalled his latest visit to Farid Effendi’s flat immediately after graduation and how, spending his time there in tedious conversations, he was overcome with painful feelings of deprivation, for he couldn’t be alone with his girl even for a short while. The memory left him with a fuming resentment that submerged the guilt he felt about these other pleasurable memories, which Ahmad Bey’s villa revived. Shunning his remorse, he was swayed by ambition which the surrounding magnificence of the villa set aglow in his heart. His imagination was kindled by dreams of eradicating his past, of having a new house, a new tomb, new relatives, prosperity, and a dazzling life. Though he had attained the enviable position of an officer, yet he was conscious of a burning desire for a clean, luxurious life. His heart’s innermost feelings made him miserable and discontented. He was still immersed in his dreams when the porter returned from the interior of the villa, courteously bowed, and whispered, “His Excellency the Bey is coming.” Hassanein rose when the Bey appeared in a white suit, a red rose in his lapel. Casting an all-encompassing glance at the young man’s uniform, the Bey said with a laugh, “Welcome to the officer.”

Bowing, Hassanein shook hands with him. But before he could open his mouth to speak, the young man saw the Bey’s wife coming from the inside, followed by the girl. Since the family was obviously preparing to go out, he realized he had come at the wrong moment, particularly when he noticed the car turn on the wide path and stop at the entrance hall. Hassanein shook hands with the two ladies, retreated two steps, and said, “Your Excellency, I’ve come to thank you on the occasion of my graduation. Excuse me for leaving now. I’m afraid I may delay you.”

“No,” the Bey answered. “We’ll sit down for a drink of lemonade. We still have enough time.”

When the members of the family took their seats, Hassanein also found a chair, trying his utmost to control his nerves, for he loathed the thought of panicking in the presence of the Bey and these ladies of the upper class. The porter went off to get the lemonade.

“Where have you been appointed?” the Bey gently inquired.

“To the cavalry in Cairo,” Hassanein answered with barely concealed pride.

“You seem to have been high up on the list of the graduates?”

“I came in eighth.”

The man congratulated him. A silence prevailed. Had he met the Bey alone, he would, as intended, have gratefully enumerated this man’s favors to his family, his kindly intercessions for himself and his brother, and then proceeded to request Hussein’s transfer. But determined to preserve his dignity in front of the two women, especially the girl, he changed his mind. He saw no harm in postponing discussion of his brother’s problem until some time the next day or the day after, when he could raise it with the Bey in his office at the Ministry.

A Nubian servant entered with the lemonade and served it to them. As he lifted his glass to his lips, Hassanein glanced furtively across the rim at the girl. He watched her gently and quietly sipping the lemonade, too much the true lady to take the drink in noisy, vulgar gulps. Relishing the taste slowly and delicately, she took the drink softly and shyly into her mouth, her face wreathed in splendid quietude and dreamy relaxation as if she were surrendering to the numbing touches of slumber. He replaced his glass on the tray, his head turning at the fascinating sight of her grace, elegance, and obvious aristocratic breeding. Suddenly he started as he imagined the girl lying meekly and submissively in his arms. What madness comes over me! he wondered. It’s not only lust. Perhaps it’s not lust at all. Though it shames me to appear with Bahia in public, yet she is more attractive than this girl. To lie on top of this girl is not a sexual act, but a triumph, a conquest. That’s it.

He became aware of the external world when Ahmad Bey asked him, “How is the family?”

An idea occurred to him, inflating his conceit. It was his nature to lie sometimes. “Thanks be to God,” he said without hesitation. “Our troubles came to an end after winning the lawsuit.”

“What lawsuit?” the Bey inquired.

“An old lawsuit between my mother and uncles over some entailed property,” Hassanein said with steady confidence. “The court handed down a decision giving Mother her full share!”

“Congratulations! Congratulations!” the man replied.

Proud and relieved, Hassanein rose to his feet. “Your Excellency,” he said, smiling, “I’m sorry I’ve delayed you.”

They all rose and went down the stairs to the parked car. Hassanein hoped they might offer him a lift. But the Bey merely gave him his hand, bidding him goodbye. The young man bowed to the two ladies and hurried off. Apparently the visit was a failure since he hadn’t accomplished his purpose. But he considered himself lucky for this unexpected meeting with the girl, and he thought that his spontaneous happy lie was more significant. The real purpose could wait for a few days.

Before leaving Taher Street, Hassanein lifted his face to the sky. Looking at the pale sunset, he wondered whether he would find his brother Hassan at home if he ventured to pay him a visit. Though Hassanein had faint hopes of reforming his brother, he was determined to confront him. He was engrossed in thoughts about his own and his family’s future, and his meeting with Hassan was his main preoccupation. Though he proceeded with unbending determination, his heart was heavily laden with worry and doubt. He took the tram to Al Khazindar Square, then walked toward Clot Bey Street.

Now Hassanein’s attention was diverted to his uniform. He reflected that it had been purchased, in part, with the money his mother received from selling his old clothes. He was concerned that circumstances forced him to appear in a suspect area. But he had no alternative. He saw in Hassan the family’s most serious, thorny problem. Nefisa had abandoned her dressmaking business, and soon he would be leaving Nasr Allah alley, even the entire district of Shubra. Probably a curtain of oblivion would fall on his family’s whole detestable past. Yet the problem of Hassan would remain unsolved. And as long as this brother continued his evil life, security would be impossible. Approaching Gandab alley, he headed for his brother’s house, avoiding the people’s astonished and searching glances, hurriedly crossing the alley like a fugitive.