Naguib Mahfouz - The Beginning and the End

As he thought, his features contracted with agony and resentment. Deeply moved, his mother turned to him.

“Get over it,” she said gently. “Your brother is all right. May God preserve him and us!”

Astonished, he looked at her curiously.

The next morning the doctor left the house, declaring himself reassured about his patient. Although now he was safe from impending danger, worries continued to torture Hassanein’s mind day and night. Yet for a brief period, the family enjoyed relative peace. Gradually the wounded man recovered his consciousness and vitality and, with his restoration to life, became preoccupied with certain thoughts of the past which soon infected the rest of the family. At first he smiled sadly with unusual resignation. “I’ve given you a lot of trouble,” he said somewhat apologetically. “It seems that God has created me for trouble. May God forgive me!”

The pleasant and affectionate smiles of his family flashed about him, but he was not deceived. “Sure, you’re angry,” he said, turning his eyes to Hassanein. “Perhaps you’d like to remind me of your previous sermons.”

“I only want to see you safe,” Hassanein murmured.

At first a mysterious smile crossed the wounded face, but soon it grew grim, overpowered by his thoughts. The calmness disappeared from his voice. “They robbed me of my money. I’ll get even with them. I intend to escape, and I must escape.”

He felt his head with his hand, and closed his eyes. As if speaking to himself, he murmured, “What has God done to Sana’a? Will they leave her alone? She won’t surrender to any of my enemies. But she can’t escape with me. It’s too late now. Besides, we’ve lost our money.”

Hassanein listened in silence to his brother’s delirium. Looking furtively at his mother and sister, Hassanein saw them exchanging anxious glances.

“I must disappear,” Hassan continued, with the same agitation. “The man who brought me here is a faithful friend. But he’s not smart enough to keep a secret. He’ll get a lot of satisfaction out of telling his mistress all about his kindness. Then she’ll have to tell it to someone else, until it finally reaches those who wish me ill. Then without warning the police will come sweeping into this house.”

Hassanein sighed in despair. Turning to his mother, his eyes met hers briefly before she lowered them. Fired with indignation, he mentally placed the blame on her. Why did you bring us into this world? he thought. Why did you commit this heinous crime? Then he heard his brother shouting violently.

“I must disappear. I’ll leave this house as soon as I’m able to walk. Perhaps I’ll leave the country entirely.”

For the first time since this man of evil destiny had been carried into the house, a glimmer of hope struck Hassanein, as refreshing as a soft breeze. Could this possibly happen, before the catastrophe occurs? he thought. Could he really disappear into some unknown land without leaving a single trace behind? In that case, let him stay here and get well. Then my life will be secure.

As time passed, they became used to the melancholy atmosphere of the house. Almost recovered, Hassan began to think seriously of leaving the flat and escaping from the country. In continuous, silent meditation, he worked out plans to achieve his purpose. Nefisa no longer stayed at home; she resumed her regular daily visits. Returning to normal life, Hassanein spent his time in his office, his home, and his club. But he continued to worry about his brother’s presence and its threat to their reputation. He hesitated to discuss this delicate point with his mother. He said to her one day with concern, “It’s a divine miracle that the police haven’t yet discovered where he is, and the miracle can’t last forever!”

In response she threw him a glance which, at first, he couldn’t interpret. Was it mute reproach? Or was it helpless resignation to fate? Or was it a sort of disapproval which she couldn’t express? Perhaps it was all of these combined. But the mystery was unraveled when he saw a slow, shy tear that painfully wavered before it glistened in her eyes. This was disturbing in the extreme, for in spite of all their frequent predicaments and misfortunes, he found it difficult to remember ever having seen his mother in tears. The thought vanished as in pain and astonishment a stream of images of her stoicism and self-control passed through his mind. Now, he thought, she’s like a ferocious lioness in the pangs of death. But once alone, Hassanein was concerned only for his own pains and fears; the others didn’t matter. As his anger increased, he cursed both himself and his mother.

The following afternoon he received a further shock. He was sitting on the bed conversing with his mother and brother. Nefisa was out. Suddenly the bell rang and the servant went to the door. Returning in obvious confusion, she addressed Hassanein.

“Master, a policeman wants to speak to you!”

At the sound of the word “policeman,” their souls burst apart like shrapnel. Hassanein leapt to his feet, staring at the servant. Hassan flung one of his feet from the bed to the floor. With a gruesome glance at the window, he muttered, “Escape!” Their mother looked dazedly from one son to the other, her throat so dry that she was unable to utter a word. Hassanein remained momentarily immobile. Realizing how stupid it was just to stand there doing nothing, he shrugged his shoulders in despair and went to the policeman at the door. They exchanged salutes.

“Yes?” Hassanein inquired.

“Am I addressing the respected officer Hassanein Kamel Ali?” the man asked gruffly.

“You are.”

“The respected officer of Al Sakakini police station wants to see you at once.”

Looking beyond the policeman as far as the road, Hassanein was reassured when he saw none of the faces he might have expected. Uncertain, he inquired, “What does he want me for?”

“He ordered me only to inform you that he wanted to see you.”

Hassanein hesitated a little. Then he went to the room to put on his clothes. He found his brother eavesdropping behind the door. At once Hassan asked anxiously, “Have they come?” In a sickly, feeble voice his mother repeated the question. As he dressed, Hassanein recounted the conversation with the policeman.

“Perhaps,” Hassan spoke up immediately, “this officer is one of your acquaintances. Maybe he wants to alert you before they ambush the house. This is clear enough. Listen to me. If he asks you about me, tell him you haven’t seen me for ages. Don’t hesitate and don’t be afraid about lying to them, for they’ll never be able to trace me. As soon as you leave, I’ll disappear. So have no scruples about what you tell them. May God protect you!”

Hassanein hid his eyes from his brother lest they reveal the gleam of an emerging hope. “Are you strong enough to make your escape?” he asked.

Hassan snatched his suit from the peg. “I’m all right,” he said. “Goodbye!”

Hassanein went off with the policeman. The first thing to occur to him was to ask the officer’s name. Maybe he actually was one of his acquaintances. But he was once more in the dark when the policeman gave him a name he had never heard before. Now matters were complicated indeed. However, Hassanein was relieved and reassured at Hassan’s decision to disappear. They reached the police station a little before sunset, and the policeman led him to the officer, stopped, and saluted.

“Lieutenant Hassanein Kamel Ali,” he said.

At arm’s length from the officer as he sat at his desk stood two lower-class men and a woman, the marks of a recent fight on their faces. The officer rose, stretched out his hand.