The Beginning and the End

by Naguib Mahfouz

  “I have seen certain things that offend me very much,” he said. “How dare you chase the girl in this rude manner? Your behavior is disgraceful and is not becoming of a neighbor, who respects the obligations of neighborliness!”

  Hassanein found relief in his brother’s cruel tone, as it saved him from shyness and confusion. He answered angrily, “I have not committed anything shameful. Perhaps you heard what I said.”

  Ignoring this last remark, Hussein said, more angrily than before, “You think there is nothing shameful in blocking the girl’s way in that disgraceful manner?”

  “I do not think she considers it so.”

  “She will tell her father,” Hussein said.

  “She won’t.”

  Overcome by his anger, Hussein retorted sharply, “I was very much afraid you would attack her. Had you done so, I would have punished you cruelly.”

  Hassanein was surprised at this belated threat. Anger was about to make him lose his head. Cruel words jumped to the tip of his tongue. But, miraculously, he managed to keep them under control. He fell into deep silence until the intensity of anger diminished.

  “You shouldn’t be afraid that I would do anything of that sort,” he said.

  Hussein thought a little. Then he retracted. “Anyhow, I am delighted to hear you say so. And if I have the right to give you counsel, I advise you always to maintain honor.”

  Coldly, Hassanein replied, “I don’t need such advice.”

  He left his place. Hussein followed him. They went down together in silence. Hussein did not go to Farid Effendi’s flat. Hassanein noticed that, but he did not comment.

  “What made you come back so quickly?” Samira asked Hussein.

  “Salem has not studied his last lesson, and I shall see him tomorrow,” Hussein answered.

  They went to their room. Hussein sat on his chair at the desk. Hassanein went on to the window, opened it, and sat on the edge of the bed. He thought: The worst end for the best beginning. How foolish of him! How did he allow himself to spy on me. He spoiled the poetry of this happy situation. No. Nothing could ever spoil it. Everything will disappear; but she will remain shining, happy, and fascinating. Never shall I forget the moment of her silence, which said far more than words. She said everything without uttering a word.

  “Close the window. Are you mad?”

  He was frightened by Hussein’s cry. Then anger and obstinacy filled his heart.

  “The weather is gentle and comfortable,” he said.

  “Don’t be stubborn; close the window!” Hussein shouted at him.

  His brother’s tone only made him more obstinate. “Move to the other chair to keep away from the draft, if you think there is one!”

  Hussein snorted angrily. He went to the window and violently slammed it shut with a disturbing bang that ripped the silence to shreds, and broke a windowpane. Fear and a dreadful silence prevailed. Soon Hussein became blinded by fury and, slapping Hassanein, he shouted, “It’s your fault!”

  Hassanein went out of his mind and struck his brother’s head with his fist. They started to fight; Samira and Nefisa rushed into the room. In their mother’s presence, each muttering and mumbling, the boys stopped railing at each other. The mother, standing between them, eyed both angrily; then her eyes fixed on the broken glass. She inquired in a quietness that portended an approaching tempest, “What is the matter with you?”

  Hassanein said hurriedly, “He slammed the window closed and broke the windowpane. Then he slapped me.”

  “He opened the window in this cold weather,” Hussein said with a sob. “I asked him to close it but he was rude and refused. I got up to close it myself, and here is the result.”

  Samira sighed and said, “Oh, God, your mercy be upon me. Don’t I have trouble enough?”

  She gripped both of them by the shoulders and pushed them to the middle of the room. She shouted in Hussein’s face, “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? You’re supposed to be an adult!” and punched him twice in the chest, then slapped him.

  She also fell upon Hassanein, who withdrew, crying, “It was he who started beating me, and it was he who broke the windowpane.”

  But she slapped him hard on the mouth and kept hitting his head and face until Nefisa intervened.

  “I don’t want to hear another sound from you,” Samira shouted. “As for the window, it will remain broken until you repair it yourselves.”

  Downcast and filled with unhappiness, she left the room. Nefisa stood between them for a while in distress.

  “The time for quarreling is over,” she said. “You are men now!”

  Then, smiling, she said to Hussein, “You couldn’t bear the draft for a little while. What are you going to do now that it is permanently open? Fill the hole with a newspaper. If you don’t, you are both good for nothing.”

  Finding that her words did not have the effect she expected, she left the room. Hussein silently went back to his chair. Meanwhile, Hassanein excitedly threw himself on the bed. Often the quarrels between them ended with such intervention on their mother’s part. Despite their close friendship, their life was not free from arguments and quarrels and occasional jealousy. Yet they always remained loving and brotherly companions, indispensable to each other. Of the two, Hussein was the wiser, Hassanein the stronger. Hussein undertook the task of guiding and directing in whatever problems presented themselves; the bulk of these being related to play and minor questions about money. Hassanein bore the larger burden of defense in any fight they had with outsiders. In fights with other schoolboys, they never asked their elder brother Hassan for help when they felt they might be overcome by their adversaries, or even if a quarrel threatened to become a really bloody scrap. Anyhow, the two brothers had seldom quarreled in recent years, and consequently their mother rarely punished them with a beating. A long period of peace, about a year, had preceded this latest quarrel. However, no quarrel estranged them from each other for more than a day, and thereafter they always became reconciled. Then the aggressor, a little confused, began to speak to his brother, and both soon forgot all about their scrap. Their mother suffered from it more than they did. Their quarrels distressed her and left a piercing and profound pain in her heart. To punish them, she found no means better than beating, hoping that it would rectify the ill effects of their father’s tendency to spoil his children. Nothing was more repulsive to her than seeing one of her sons trespass beyond the limits and show any sign of transgression against the sacred unity of the family. She saw in Hassan’s life a bad example; she would rather die than see it repeated in the others. Hassan himself was not exempt from her blows, but these came too late. She never ceased to blame herself and her husband for spoiling him, and she was bitterly tortured by the fact that her son was a victim of lenience as well as poverty.

  A part of the night passed, but the two brothers were still silent and alienated. The silence became more oppressive after Samira and Nefisa went to sleep. Hussein started to read a book, in an attempt to concentrate his scattered thoughts. Hassanein was secretly watching him, wondering how he should feel toward his brother. Hassanein cherished happy, consoling, and reassuring memories. Soon a smile appeared on his lips, and he thought: All is well. Bahia kept silent, which means that she loves me. Really! How I yearn to hear it uttered by her luscious lips. Be patient. All this will come in time. Silence is only a beginning. But the end…? Suddenly, he turned to his brother and the smile returned to his lips. What harm would I have suffered if I had closed the window? He seems unable to follow what he is reading. Had he been endowed with my good fortune, he would not have found it difficult to forget all that happened. He felt a kind of sympathy for his brother.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Nefisa returned to Nasr Allah at sunset, as was her habit in those days. She seemed to have started paying attention to her appearance, which she had neglected for so long in mourning the death of her father. She applied kohl to her eyes, and colored her cheeks and lips with light lipstick. So
mething is better than nothing. His persistence in flirting with her and treating her nicely gave her a measure of self-confidence, reassurance, and hope. She no longer cared that he was the son of a grocer, and she the daughter of an official. That he was interested in her made her think very highly of him. Motivated by her inhibited impulses and passions, her suffocating despair and the zest for life which only death can extinguish, she responded and continued to encourage him. As time went on, his image became familiar, even lovable, and in the midst of the barrenness of life, it cultivated a fragrant flower of hope. She no longer lived her days in listlessness, waiting for something to break the monotony. Now, walking in Nasr Allah after a full day’s work, she quivered with a warm delight that overflowed her heart, her nerves, her whole body. Once he said to her, “You want sweets. You are nothing but sweets.” His words invaded her heart, and she smiled with happiness and delight. She felt an urge to say to him, “Don’t tell lies. There is nothing sweet about me!” But, doubtful and perplexed, she kept silent. She reminded herself of the proverb that says, “After all, every girl will find her admirer.” Who knows? Perhaps she was not as ugly as she thought. She continued to walk along the road with her eyes turned to the shop, until she stood before him face to face. Delight shone in Soliman’s face.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “I was wondering when you would come.”

  Casting a look at his father’s seat, she found it empty. She could see him praying behind the column, laden with cans and pots, in the middle of the shop. Reassured, she said coyly, “Why do you wonder?”

  He screwed up his narrow eyes. “Guess. Ask my heart,” he replied with a smile.

  She raised her painted eyebrows. “Ask your heart? Oh! His heart! What are you keeping inside?”

  The young man whispered, “My heart says it is delighted to see you, and it most eagerly waits for you!”

  “Really?”

  “And it also says that it desires to meet you now in the street to confide to you something of importance.”

  He turned toward his father and heard him uttering the Salutations marking the end of his prayers. So he said in a hurry, “I can leave the shop for a few minutes. Go on out ahead of me to the main street!”

  Baffled, she looked at him with excitement. She felt an urge to meet him. But she refused to acquiesce so easily, without persistence on his part and professed objection on her own.

  “I am afraid of being late,” she said.

  Nodding warningly toward his father, he said anxiously, “A few minutes. Go on out ahead before he finishes his prayers.”

  Realizing that there was no time to be coy or coquettish, she changed her mind. After a moment of hesitation, she turned with a beating heart toward Shubra Street. She was overpowered by excitement, anxiety, and fear. But she continued to walk, with no thought of retreat. Her long-cherished dreams lightened the weight of the new step she was taking. Soon she overcame her fears, thinking only of the sweet hope that she could see at the end of the road. When she reached the street, she looked behind her, to see him approaching at a quick pace, wearing a jacket over his gown. She turned to the right and walked quickly away from her quarter. In long strides, he caught up with her. Pleased, he said, “I excused myself from my father for a few minutes.”

  She cast a significant glance at his apparel, and he understood. “I cannot put on my suit except in my free hours,” he said apologetically.

  He looked merry and delighted. His amorous eyes were not so blind as to see her as beautiful. But deprived and oppressed as he was by his tyrannical father, he welcomed this opportunity to enjoy whatever love was available to him, even from a girl so ugly, helpless, and deep in despair. In any case, she was a member of the beloved female sex, otherwise beyond his reach. He was afraid to let the minutes pass without saying what he wanted to say. So he spoke hurriedly.

  “The shop is usually closed on Friday in the afternoon. Meet me then. We could go together to Rod el-Farag.”

  “Go together? I don’t like the idea. I’m not one of those girls.”

  “What if we do? What is wrong in it?”

  “God forbid!”

  “We’ll find a place safe for conversation.”

  “I am afraid one of my brothers may see us.”

  “We can avoid that easily.”

  She shook her head and said, a bit bewildered, “I don’t like this life, so full of fears.”

  “But we must meet!”

  She pondered. “Why?”

  He looked at her in astonishment. “So as to meet,” he said.

  Worried, she answered, “No. No, I’m not that type.”

  “Don’t we have anything to say to each other?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I have much to say.”

  “What is it you want to say?”

  “You will know it in due time. There is no time to say it now.”

  As doubts assailed her, her face reddened. “I’ve told you, I am not one of those girls!”

  The young man exclaimed in a sorrowful tone, “How could I possibly think so, Miss Nefisa! I’m a man of the world, and I can judge people.”

  She felt relieved. But she wondered why he failed to ease her heart by uttering the very words she was yearning to hear. Once more he asked, “Shall we meet, then, next Friday?”

  She hesitated a bit, then murmured, “By God’s will.”

  Deeply preoccupied, she returned home. This was the beginning of the love she was so eager to experience. Her heart shook off the dust of frustration, and it became full of life, ecstasy, warmth, and hope. That was true. Yet she was at once baffled and worried, not knowing how the affair would end, and how her family would react to it.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Hassanein reached the door of the roof and sighed audibly. She heard him, but, ignoring him, she walked slowly toward the chicken house. He coughed. The sun was emitting its last rays as he boldly rushed toward her. She turned on her heels, confronting him with a stony face, revealing neither anger nor pleasure.

  “Is there no end to this?”

  He said with a short laugh, “You’re giving me an unforgettable lesson.”

  Preserving the reticence in her face, she replied, “I wish you would learn a lesson.”

  He cracked his fingers, shouting, “Never!”

  He sighed aloud. He was extremely jubilant in the discovery that she wanted to converse with him.

  “Never shall I stop loving you,” he continued.

  Her face flushed. “Don’t utter those words again,” she said, frowning.

  He spoke obstinately, quietly, and emphatically. “I love you!”

  “You want to tease me?”

  “I want nothing but your love.”

  “I shall deafen my ears,” she said sharply.

  Slightly raising his voice, he repeated, “I love you. I love you. I love you!”

  She kept silent with longing and conflicting emotions; he continued to devour her with his eyes. Unable to bear the weight of his glances, she turned her back and walked away. He rushed after her. She turned to him with a frown. “Please. Leave me and go away.”

  He said in astonishment, “There is no reason to say that now. It’s past history. We are now in the stage of ‘I love you.’ ”

  “And what do you want?”

  “To love you.”

  She was about to scold him, but she was overcome by a smile she had long been suppressing. Then she gave a short stifled laugh that came out of her nose as a pleasant snort. She couldn’t help lowering her head in shyness. So moved was he by her gesture that his overpowering passions rose still higher; encouraged and desiring more, he went up to her, stretching his hand to hold hers. But she looked almost horrified, and withdrew.

  “Don’t touch me,” she said with serious finality.

  The smile of triumph appearing on his lips faded away. But she did not care. In the same serious tone, she went on, “Never try to touch me. I won’t allow it. I won’t
even think of it.”

  He was dumbfounded. “I am sorry,” he said in astonishment. “I didn’t mean any harm. I love you, truly and honestly.”

  She looked at her feet. Her appearance showed the gravity of what she was about to utter. “Thank you for saying it,” she said seriously. “But this matter is not for me to decide.”

  He was astonished at her words. So swept away by emotion was he that he had never paused to think of anything beyond it. He loved and saw nothing but love. Yet what she said brought him back to his senses. Now he understood what he had overlooked; he realized that the matter was serious, that it was no trifle. He was not sorry about that and his delight increased, but he was pervaded by a feeling of fear and anxiety, and unaware of the reasons for it. In an attempt to overcome his perplexity, he said, “I see your point of view and approve of it. But this is not everything. I ask your heart first.”

  Her features softened, but without losing control of her will, she replied, “Please, don’t entrap me in talk which I don’t like.”

  “Talk which you don’t like!”

  She did not mean exactly what she said. But she found herself forced to mutter a feeble “Yes.”

  “This is a bleeding stab into my heart,” Hassanein said fearfully.

  Shy, perplexed, and confused, she replied, “I don’t like to be secretive about what I do and say.”

  He couldn’t help smiling, saying, “But this is inevitably part of the whole thing, and there is nothing wrong in it.”

  His words and his smile made her ill at ease. The redness in her face increased, and she said rather sharply, “No! I don’t like flirtation!”

  “But my love for you is genuine.”

  “Oh! Don’t force me to hear what is unbearable to me!”