Naguib Mahfouz - The Beginning and the End

In defeat and indignation, Hassanein answered, “They are one and the same.”

“Really? I see things differently. Why didn’t you give me this piece of advice before? A year ago, for example?”

Having inadvertently said that he had come only to discuss this matter, it was impossible for him to pretend that he had known nothing about it. Annoyed, he posed this question to avoid answering his brother: “Don’t you see that I’m interested in your own good?”

Hassan ignored the question. “A year ago,” he continued in the same ironical tone, “you were in desperate need of money. So you didn’t care then to give me advice. Now that you’ve become an officer, your sole concern is to protect this shining star on your shoulder.”

Hassanein’s face remained unchanged, but his heart palpitated with anger and irritation. He seemed shaken by the fact that Hassan was able to penetrate the depths of his soul with such ease and accuracy. “Brother,” he said softly. Hassan motioned to him to keep silent.

“I’ll be entirely frank with you,” Hassan added recklessly. “If you really want to know what my work is, I’ll tell you that I’m a bouncer for a coffeehouse in Darb Tiab.” He pointed to the photograph above his head. “I also keep this mistress and deal in narcotics.”

“I don’t believe you,” Hassanein exclaimed, worried.

“Yes, you’d better believe me. Perhaps you guessed it earlier and now you’re sure of it. Now what do you think?”

In silent pain and compassion, the young man looked at Hassan. But as the silence weighed heavily upon him, he said sadly, “Nothing would make me happier than to see you start a new, honorable life.”

With a loud laugh, Hassan said sarcastically, “By virtue of my dishonorable life, I was able to protect our family from starvation, provide your brother Hussein with the money he needed to start his government job, and to provide you as well with the installment of the College fee which, thank God, has made you an officer.”

Hassan’s words, as sharp as a needle, pierced Hassanein to the marrow. Life seemed about to suffocate him. But a strong desire to defend himself prevented him from accepting defeat. “All of this has come about,” he said, “only by virtue of your nobility of character, not because of such a dangerous life as this!”

“Don’t deceive yourself. They call me Mr. Head, not Mr. Noble. Besides, what do you mean by a dishonorable life? Or an honorable one? There’s only one life, in which we all strive to make a living, each in his or her own way.”

“But there is a secure life and another kind of life that flies into panic at the mere mention of the police.”

“This is due to the arbitrary actions of the police and we’re not to blame. For heaven’s sake, what do you want me to do?”

Hassanein’s enthusiasm returned in what he thought might be a ray of hope. “Abandon this life and take an honest job as before.”

Bursting into laughter, the man said with astonishment, “A mechanic’s apprentice? Asking me this is like asking a man to resign from the army to start school life at Tawfikiyah.”

Once more the blood in Hassanein’s veins boiled with anger. Composing himself, he asked with a smile, “Don’t you realize how such a life must inevitably end?”

“Either I’m imprisoned or killed!” Hassan answered in ironic simplicity. “And if it’s my fate to be killed, then, naturally, I’ll be saved from imprisonment.”

Hassanein pretended to laugh, but his anger increased, especially at his brother’s recklessness. Almost desperate though he was to change Hassan, he replied gently, “Obviously, you realize the danger, so you don’t need me to remind you of the disastrous consequences of your kind of life. For God’s sake, be wise enough to take care of yourself.”

Hassan cast a prolonged, smiling glance at his brother, as if saying to him, “Don’t try to deceive me with your softness.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “May God forgive me; but I should rather say, don’t be worried about yourself and your reputation. My advice to you is, don’t burden yourself with unnecessary worries and shut me entirely out of your life. Don’t worry about what people may say about you because of me. Despite what people say, you can lead the life that appeals to you.”

Desperate and exasperated, Hassanein sighed. He was filled at this moment with black anger toward his brother, and actually wished he didn’t exist. But the fact remained that he did exist and his existence, hanging like a sword over his head, was a perpetual threat to him. What should he do? Sighing again, he inquired, “Isn’t there a gleam of hope that you’ll return to an honorable life? Is this your final word?”

Hassan became furious. As if afraid of what he might do to his brother in his fury, he leapt to his feet and walked back and forth across the room, thus giving vent to his pent-up anger in his violent strides. He leaned on the edge of the bed, his arms crossed against his chest. “An honorable life!” he shouted impatiently. “An honorable life! Don’t let me hear such words from you again. You make me sick. A mechanic earning a few piasters a day. Is this the honorable life you’re talking about? I’d rather spend my life in prison. If I’d followed your honorable life all along, that star would not be decorating your shoulder. Is it only my life that isn’t honorable? Young officer, you’re laboring under a delusion. Your life is no more honorable, since mine is its origin.” He pointed again to the photograph. “I’ve made an officer of you with illegal money obtained from this woman and from traffic in narcotics. So you’re indebted for your uniform to narcotics and this prostitute. Fair enough; if you really want me to abandon my tainted life, then you, too, must abandon yours. Go ahead, take off your uniform and let’s start a new honorable life together.”

Hassanein’s face turned pale. Dumbfounded and desperate, he cast down his eyes, his heart seething with anger. Again and again, his lips twitched as if he would speak, but overwhelmed with mounting despair, he soon closed them. Sullen and miserable as Hassanein was, Hassan had no mercy.

“Don’t you see,” he persisted, “that you prefer the star on your uniform to an honorable life? I don’t blame you. Like you, I prefer my earnings to an honorable life.” He laughed. “We’re brothers and the same blood runs in our veins.”

Frowning, Hassanein stood up. “Don’t mock me for the advice I’ve given you. Farewell,” he added as he walked to the door. But he paused, his hand on the knob.

Hassan spoke to him with unexpected tenderness. “Before you go, don’t you want to shake hands with me?”

Hassanein turned, stretched out his hand. Hassan pressed it for a while in his. “I’m sorry I’ve made you angry,” he said with a laugh. “Forget what has happened and let’s keep, even at a distance, the same old mutual feelings. You’ll always find me the same Mr. Head you know quite well. And please convey my regards to Mother and Nefisa. Goodbye.”

Intolerably miserable and preoccupied, Hassanein gave his mother a clear picture of Hassan’s life. Heavy in heart, sullen, rancorous, and hopeless, he listened to her advice and consolation. With still a few days left before he had to join his regiment, he thought of leaving for Tanta to visit Hussein. The same old urge to consult with his brother in time of distress! He hesitated, but did not carry out his plan. Instead, it was consolation, not longing for the girl, that drove him to visit Farid Effendi. Conscious of this change, Hassanein attributed it to his melancholy, although he realized it was more than casual or temporary. On the third morning after his visit to Hassan, he wondered, baffled, if he had stopped loving Bahia. He sat alone with her in the sitting room, while her mother was busy in the kitchen, and continued to wonder if he was still in love with her. She was his girl, body and soul, and sure enough, she stimulated his desire. Yet he felt inclined to break with her as part of the process of breaking with his past. Yes, he desired her, but he was torn by a perplexing conflict between desire and uncertainty whether he still loved her! How was it possible, he wondered, to desire her and stop loving her at the same time? But despite the strong physical attraction, he wished to break their engagement as much as he wished to break with the alley and his brother’s life. She was no longer his ideal girl. He came to think of his attachment to her as a symptom of a kind of lunacy of which he must be cured. As he gazed at her fine, quiet face, an incarnate torment, his heart pinched in pain. Undecided, he tried to dismiss his thoughts.