Naguib Mahfouz - The Beginning and the End

How, he wondered, could she have the courage to speak? How devilish! Her feeble voice stirred up in his breast a blind tyrannical storm of agitation that poured anger into his limbs and caused him to stop in his tracks. Turning to her with surprising swiftness, he raised his hand and with full force slapped her on the face. Mutely she staggered backward and fell, the back of her head crashing to the ground. Momentarily speechless, she quickly sat up. Summoning all her strength, she rose to her feet, withdrawing from him, until her back touched the wall of a house. She leaned against it. As he approached her, she could see the determination in his glances, despite the darkness which engulfed his face. She motioned with her hand as if pleading with him to stop.

“Stop!” she begged him hurriedly. “Don’t! I’m not afraid for myself but for you. I don’t want any harm to come to you because of me.”

Increasingly infuriated by her gentle words, he bellowed, “You don’t want any harm to come to me because of you! You filthy prostitute! You’ve already done me incalculable harm!”

“But,” she passionately entreated him again, “if anything should happen to me, I can’t bear the thought of their harming you.”

“This kind of sly deceit won’t help you to save your rotten life. No harm will come to me for killing you.”

“I don’t want you to be punished in any way,” she exclaimed with the same passion. “What will you say when they ask you why you killed me? Let me do the job myself so that no harm will come to you and nobody will know anything about it.”

“You’d kill yourself?” he inquired, astounded.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly.

As he sought to control himself, suddenly a heavy weight seemed to lift from his chest. Burning with anger and tormented by his sense of duty, he had constantly considered the consequences of the spread of the scandal and the punishment involved. But now that she had cast the verdict on herself, his breath came more easily and he began to distinguish a ray of light in the suffocating darkness.

“How?” he asked, still absorbed.

“By any means whatever,” she answered, hardly able to swallow.

He thought about it for a while, then cast a cruel glance at her. “Drown yourself in the Nile,” he said bluntly.

“All right,” she agreed calmly.

Snorting with fury, he withdrew. “Come on!” he muttered. He walked off. She left the wall with heavy steps and continued to follow him as before. He experienced a momentary feeling of relief which was as suddenly spoiled by the realization that he had lost his sense of personal dignity, of which he had been so proud as long as he was determined to kill her himself. Now he had changed from a man who prized his personal dignity to one who wanted only to save his own skin. Her proposed suicide choked him with a sense of defeat. But he was not strong enough to sacrifice safety on the altar of dignity, or weak enough to submit entirely to his urge for safety.

“How could you do such a thing?” he said roughly to give vent to his feelings. “You! Who would have imagined it!”

“It’s God’s decree,” she sighed, surrendering to despair.

“No! Satan’s!” he roared.

“True,” she sighed as before.

“Who is it?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation.

“Don’t torture yourself and me,” she said, shuddering. “Everything will be over in a few moments.”

“Did he know me?”

“No,” was her quick, emphatic answer.

Further hesitation doubled his torture. “Was it the first time?” he inquired.

She quaked again. “Yes,” she said in the same voice.

Stamping his foot on the ground, he cried, “How could you surrender to temptation?”

“This is the decree of Satan,” she murmured.

“You’re Satan incarnate. We’re destroyed.”

“No. No,” she exclaimed hopefully. “Now everything will be over, and nobody will ever know.”

“Do you mean what you say?”

“Of course.”

“And if you get scared?”

“No. My life is more dreadful than death itself.”

Exhausted, both fell silent again. Confused, he looked ahead, along the tram rails.

“Where are we going?” he asked her sarcastically. “Probably you know this quarter better than I do.”

She made no reply, her features contracting with pain. Now Daher Square came into view, teeming with life, buildings, and human voices. Absently he focused his eyes on a row of waiting taxis, headed for the first one, and opened the door for her. He followed her inside, temporarily absorbed in his thoughts while the driver waited for his instructions.

“The Imbaba Bridge, please,” Hassanein said in a low voice.

The taxi sped swiftly to Farouk Street, Ataba Square, then Imbaba.

Like strangers they sat inside the taxi. Half of his back to her, he looked out of the window at the road; Nefisa, her head bowed, was dazed and self-absorbed. Nothing significant passed through her mind. She was quietly immobile, like the silence in the wake of a storm, the motionlessness of death after the last painful breath. Before she fainted in the street, she had already reached the apex of insane paroxysm. As she returned to consciousness she was assaulted anew by her train of fearful thoughts. In infernal horror, her life passed before her, until the weight of her sorrows caused her to bow her head over her chest, as if desperately doomed under the weight of a collapsing wall. Now, she realized, it was all over, after her complete collapse, the appearance of Hassanein, and their conversation in the street. Horror left her mind in a mute vacuum, save for some distant memory of the days of her childhood, or some trifling aspect of the taxi floor. Yet she was undergoing an experience hitherto unknown to her. Life was worthless; death would rescue her from its painful humiliation. True, she had long resented her past life and sometimes dreamt of death. But she had not considered suicide, for always a gleam of hope lay hidden at the bottom of her heart. Now all connections with her life had been severed. Gone were the roots tying her to existence. Profound despair gave way to relief from the burden of living.

Now in her resignation, the death she hurried to meet became a soothing drug. As the speeding taxi suddenly swerved at a corner, Nefisa almost fell off the seat and became fearfully aware of her surroundings. Though her head was bowed, she felt his presence by her side. At the glimpse of his suffocating shape enveloped in a mysterious mist, her heart ached with pain and shame. What could he be thinking of? she wondered. When will he feel anything but anger? When will it all be over? This will only be the end. Will Mother guess the truth? I shouldn’t think of it. I’m doomed to die.

Hassanein was strained and agitated, overcome with awe, anger, and despair. How will this ordeal end? he wondered. And how will I come out of it? Will the curtain really fall on this affair, will no rank smell rise from it to make all this labor futile? I feel as if I’m being choked. One can never wipe out the past; it goes on with the future. Why can’t we be different? Everything is finished and there is no need to think about it, no need at all. Such torment! How to overcome my misery? Wait. I’m driving her to her death, and she knows it. Will she have enough courage to do it? Sure, she’s absorbed in her thoughts. But what is she thinking about? I shouldn’t think of her. Death is the right end for her. Our eyes shouldn’t meet; it would be too intolerable for both of us.

“This has to do with your sister.” Oh! Damn the officer. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but she was arrested in a certain house in Al Sakakini.”