Naguib Mahfouz - The Beginning and the End

His mother was disturbed at her son’s violent self-torture. “Calm down, my son,” she muttered. “What good is it to beat your chest?”

“Let me kill myself since I can’t find anyone else to kill,” he cried with fury.

Hussein broke his silence. “Let’s think this over calmly,” he said in a strange voice.

With feverish eyes, Hassanein cast a fiery glance at his brother. “What is there to be thought over?” he demanded. “We’ve been exposed, and now we’re finished.”

“This disaster is beyond our power,” Hussein replied, “but we’re not finished. Let’s think the matter over.”

Finding this conversation intolerable, Hassanein retired to his room and flung himself on the bed. Choked by shame and burnt by fury, he loathed his guilty brother from the darkest recesses of his heart. He wished Hassan were dead. His mind wild with hallucinations, he surrendered to his thoughts. Hussein followed him into the bedroom and sat silently on the chair, waiting for his brother to respond. For his own part, Hussein was in a pitiable condition. Never before in his whole life had he felt so saddened. He was fully aware of the seriousness of this blow to their reputation, the troubles awaiting them now and in the future, and the consequences of this final blow to Hassan, his elder brother. What had his family done to deserve this fate? Accumulated memories of past sorrows were linked in his mind to those of the present; together they suddenly assumed the appearance of a poisonous abscess, developing serious complications at the very time he thought it was cured. As usual, associating his family’s misfortunes with those of other people, he found himself contemplating the universality of human sorrow. Sad though his contemplation was, it frequently inspired him with a measure of patience and consolation. Searching for a gleam of hope in the surrounding darkness, he looked furtively at the angry face of his brother, waiting for an opportunity to speak to him.

Samira and her daughter remained motionless. Nefisa’s tears continued to flow. Overcome by a sense of defeat, despite her long experience, the mother felt at a loss as to what to do. Crushed by sorrow, her heart carried all the misfortunes life had piled up for her children, and in addition a personal, deep-buried, terrifying grief that frightened her as much as it tormented her — her compassionate sorrow over Hassan himself, which she feared most to reveal.

Where had he gone? What would they do to him if they arrested him? What did fate hold in store for him? In spite of everything, she must not forget his good nature and kindness; she must not forget that he had given them generously whatever he could, and that he was their refuge in time of distress. What a miserable, friendless outcast he was! This must have been the work of somebody’s envious, evil eye. They envied her for her son who had become a government employee and for the other who had become an officer, and in their envy they had forgotten that her painful struggles had reduced her to an absolute wreck. Unable to bear Nefisa’s weeping, she sighed nervously and scolded her. “Stop weeping,” she said. “Nobody has pity for me. I beg you, have mercy upon me.”

But Nefisa could not help weeping. In her hysterical state, she had no idea how very painful their situation was. She was overwhelmed with a curious fear that made her limbs shudder. Her tears were stirred by neither pity nor sorrow nor anger; they were hysterical tears, an attempt to overcome an unconquerable fear that grew out of her and made her identify herself with the hunted. Her heart was filled with sinister forebodings, more dreadful than the present. She turned around in fright, as if she feared someone might suddenly attack her. “Let’s go to them,” she heard her mother say in a feeble voice. She welcomed this opportunity to escape from her tortured feelings, and with heavy steps she followed her mother to the room. But as she crossed the threshold, her heart quivered in dread at meeting her brothers.

Hassanein turned to Hussein. “Where do you think he escaped to?” he asked with ferocity.

Sufficient time had passed to restore Hussein to something like his normal condition. But he was disturbed by the harshness of his brother’s tone. “How could I possibly know?” he replied reproachfully. “Don’t forget that after all he’s our brother.”

“Even after all that’s happened.”

“Yes, even after all that’s happened.”

These words were uttered from his very depths, as consolation to his mutely suffering heart, which he knew was badly in need of consolation. But Hassanein, bursting out in anger, shouted at him, “We’re as good as lost!”

“Now the whole quarter is talking about our scandal.”

“We can leave the whole quarter,” Hussein said calmly.

Hassanein stared at him, a gleam of hope appearing in his eyes as he sat there gloomy and perplexed. Hussein’s suggestion struck a chord in his heart.

“What did you say?” he responded at once.

“Why not? Cairo is vast and boundless, and in less than a week our shame will be forgotten.”

Somewhat relieved, Hassanein sighed. “We’ll never wipe out the past,” he said.

“Let’s think of the future.”

“But the past will pursue the future forever.”

“Let’s think seriously of moving to another place,” Hussein said. “Let’s get it over with before the end of my vacation.”

“We should seriously think about it,” Samira said hopefully.

Baffled, Hassanein looked from the one to the other. The police might or might not arrest his brother, but in either case, Hassan would pursue and threaten them. Their lives would be in danger as long as he remained alive.

“Where do you suggest we go?” he queried, dispirited.

“Away from here…to Shubra Street.” There was hope in their mother’s voice.

He made a gesture expressing fright and dissatisfaction. “Farther away than that,” he said. “We’ll go to Heliopolis.”

“As you like.” Hussein was rather relieved.

For a moment, Hassanein appeared to waver. He said with a sigh, “But we’re badly in need of new furniture!”

“Don’t complicate matters,” Samira said, annoyed. “How important is furniture if nobody else sees it?”

“I can’t hide our home from my friends forever!”

“That’s another question,” Hussein said. “You can buy a sofa, two big chairs, and an Assiut carpet to serve as sitting-room furniture. We can go out today, if you like, and look for a new flat.”

The tension relaxed slightly, but they all surrendered in silence to the melancholy that engulfed the place. There was a knock on the door: Farid Effendi, accompanied by his family, paying an unexpected visit at the most inopportune time. How was it, Hussein wondered, that a few hours ago he had dreamt of Bahia’s visit, while now he received her with an uninterested heart. For no apparent reason, Hassanein was filled with anger. If Farid Effendi had not seen him when Nefisa showed the way to the sitting room, he would have taken to his heels. They all assembled in the sitting room. Farid Effendi’s family warmly welcomed Hussein back to Cairo, and the conversation rambled from past to present. Apparently, the visitors were ignorant of the arrival of the police and the search; but perhaps they deliberately did not mention it. Their apparent disregard for the matter failed to diminish Hassanein’s anger; rather, it intensified his inner revolt and deeply injured his pride. As his eyes occasionally met Bahia’s she seemed sorrowful and perplexed, wearing the same worrisome look she had borne ever since his sudden departure to Tanta. Let her feel the way she did. He had grown sick of it all. Now, in his state of fuming anger and irritation, he would face up to his innermost thoughts with candor and courage. This woman would never become his mother-in-law, nor this man his father-in-law, nor this girl his wife! All of them painfully reminded him of Nasr Allah alley. Like all the other neighbors, Farid Effendi’s family knew that the police had come. But they wanted to give the impression of being too magnanimous to refer to it. Perhaps this was another act of charity added to their previous ones. Damn it all! How sick he had grown of their favors, past and present! He looked forward to new people who had done him no favors that would strain his relations with them, new people who were in no way connected with his sordid past. Look as sad and confused as you wish, he thought. But I’ll never be your husband! Never! Everything must change. What was so attractive about her body? Was it her soft flesh? The markets were full of soft flesh. How hideous this atmosphere is! If I stay here any longer, I’ll come to hate my family itself.