Naguib Mahfouz - The Beginning and the End

Hassanein studied his brother. The bloodstained bandage covered his head, his forehead, and parts of his cheeks; beneath it nothing appeared except his wan, tired eyes and an unshaven chin. His mouth was agape, his breathing heavy and rattling. His necktie and jacket pocket were torn. He moaned from time to time, and his right hand kept opening and closing. Stunned at the sight, Hassanein forgot his fears in a powerful upsurge of pain and compassion. For a moment he forgot everything; he had to do something for his prostrate brother, something to save him at whatever cost. But the feeling of fear and anxiety which had pursued him in recent days emerged from his depths and floated on his consciousness, threatening his career and reputation. Shame for such sentiments and remorse for entertaining them now cut him to the heart. Talking offered an escape from this heavy weight upon his conscience, and Hassanein spoke gently to the wounded man. “Let me get you a doctor. Your life is much more important than anything else.”

“Yes, Hassan,” Samira and Nefisa entreated him. “Let’s get a doctor.”

Raising his heavy eyelids, Hassan said in a tired, muffled tone, “No. Don’t be scared. This is a trifling wound.”

When he tried to take a deep breath, he had to rest for a while. With his eyes closed, he said, “They betrayed me and I’ll punish them. If I survive, I’ll punish them. But don’t call a doctor; a doctor will inform the police.”

Conflict still stirring within him, Hassanein replied, “We must get a doctor. It won’t be difficult to persuade him to keep quiet.”

“Hassan, have mercy upon me and allow us to get a doctor,” his mother begged him.

Snorting, Hassan murmured impatiently, “Have mercy upon me and leave me in peace! Oh!”

Their mother kept turning her eyes from Hassan to Hassanein in his inner struggle. All ambivalence resolved, Hassanein became aware of his true feelings. He realized that his sympathy for his brother was nothing compared with the fear that weighed heavily upon him. We’re done for, he thought. My heart tells me no lies, at least not when I expect evil to occur. Now we’re done for in Heliopolis as we were done for in Shubra. The police will pursue us all like criminals. I can almost see the officer searching the rooms and arresting this fleeing culprit. Is there no way out? But should I deny my brother? Despite everything, he’s still my brother. But he is trampling down my life while he moves on his own thorny way. Oh! How sick I am of this!

He heard his mother shouting at him, “Help me, Hassanein! Can’t you see that he’s dying?”

No, he won’t die, Hassanein thought. It is I who will die a slow, cruel death. My dignity is mortally wounded. Now, if he dies here, a doctor will come to examine his body. Soon the police and prosecutor will follow. While they can’t hurt him after he’s dead, the rotten stench from his decaying corpse spreading throughout the place will be scandalous in itself.

Suddenly he turned to his mother; her frightened, distracted eyes moved from the prostrate man to Hassanein. Silent though she was, her glances seemed to him as vocal as heartrending screams. He wondered about himself. At first he had hated his mother; then, attacked by quick, vague flashes of memory, he softened and his attitude changed abruptly. As once more he focused his attention on the bloodstained bandage, he recovered his vigor of mind. A bright idea dawned on him. “Why didn’t I think of this before?” he murmured. He spoke hurriedly to his mother. “I’ll go get a friend of mine,” he said, “a doctor at the Army Hospital. Wait, I won’t be long.”

He rushed to his clothes, dressed quickly, and having determined on a course of action, left the house.

Hassanein leaned on the windowsill, watching the doctor as he carefully went about his delicate work. Samira and Nefisa had left the room, their breathing almost audible from behind the closed door. At first frightened and deeply agitated, Hassanein gradually calmed and became self-absorbed. In a fight with a member of the family, he had told the doctor, his brother received an injury in the head. He begged him to aid his wounded brother and keep silent about the incident so as to spare the family a public scandal. With some reservations, the doctor accompanied him. After a preliminary examination of Hassan’s injured head, he said, “It’s a deep fracture with profuse bleeding. I don’t understand why you refuse to inform the police.”

“We’ve got to avoid that,” Hassanein entreated.

“You don’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation,” the doctor replied as he prepared himself for the operation. “However, for the time being, let’s postpone any discussion.”

During the surgical operation Hassanein was neither calm nor reassured. The doctor’s last words had uprooted all his tender emotions. This mission of mercy when he went to the hospital to get the doctor aroused in him deep feelings of compassion for his brother, stirring up memories of the days when Hassan had been their sole haven from misery and their only resort in time of need. But fear and anxiety soon hardened his heart toward Hassan, driving out all compassion. Now, in the image of the wounded man he saw instead an evil portent that threatened both his career and his reputation. Here Hassan lay, completely unconscious, unaware of the delicate surgical tools that cut into his flesh. All his life he had been insensitive to pain; a deep cut that would have shattered the nerves of others, bothered him far less. Hassanein remembered his own tears and entreaties, begging Hassan to change his way of life. And Hassan’s only response had been bitter sarcasm. If only he had died in a foreign land!

Fixing his eyes on the face as it began to disappear under the bandages, Hassanein shuddered in gloom and despair. At last he heard the doctor address him: “I’ve done all that I can possibly do now. Come out with me.”

He waited for the doctor to wash his hands and put on his jacket before showing him to the sitting room. In deep thought the men remained standing.

“I don’t think his case is very serious,” he said with unexpected calm. “But he’ll need treatment for a long time. What a brutal attack! Why don’t you inform the police?”

Though the doctor’s words helped to restore some of his power to reason, Hassanein remained stricken with fear. “To avoid a scandal. After all, we’re members of the same family.”

Disapprovingly, the doctor shook his head. “Tomorrow morning I’ll come to see him,” he said firmly. “If he’s O.K., I’ll forget about it. But if he isn’t, I’ll be compelled to inform the police.”

“I hope this won’t happen,” Hassanein replied as if, overcome with worry, he was talking to himself. Then addressing the doctor, he added, “Thank you for your help and all the trouble you’ve taken.”

Hassanein accompanied the doctor to the door and gratefully shook his hand. But before departing, the doctor repeated emphatically, “I’ll be back in the morning.”

Hassanein watched him get into his car and zoom off with a roar. He sighed as if to clear away an immovable weight from his chest, and then, with heavy, melancholy steps, he returned to the room. At once his worried mother rushed up to him.

“What did the doctor say?” she asked him anxiously.

He loathed her worry and anxiety, but he answered her calmly. “He’s optimistic about the case and will be back in the morning. How is Hassan now?”

“He hasn’t recovered consciousness yet,” Nefisa replied.

Flinging himself into the only chair in the room, he closed his eyes. I’m the one who’s really injured, he thought. As for him, he’s sound asleep in a happy state of unconsciousness, which I wish would overtake me. “I don’t think the case is very serious.” That’s what the stupid doctor says. No, it’s very serious; recovery would be more serious than death. If his condition becomes worse, the police will be informed. And if it improves, his existence will continue to weigh heavily upon me until his enemies inform the police. So scandal is inevitable. Is there no escape? I loathe this wounded man, I loathe myself and even life itself. Isn’t there a better life, aren’t there better creatures?