The Beginning and the End

by Naguib Mahfouz

“Unless you have faith in God, you’ll never know real happiness.”

  “I wish I could drop a heavy curtain on our past,” Hassanein sighed.

  “Have patience and it will happen.”

  Inflamed with anger, the young man grew impatient. “I fear nothing,” he said, “more than this patience you’re asking me to have. Look at this mean alley and this house, which is bare of furniture. Do you think I can hide them forever from my colleagues?”

  Feeling miserable, the woman realized that her life was doomed to anguish. “Do things gradually!” she said bitterly. “We had no food to eat, but look where we are now!”

  Shaking his head with sorrow, he said, “Mother, I didn’t mean to make you angry. But these days I think very much of the troubles that threaten us. I’ve only mentioned some of them, and perhaps those I’ve not mentioned are much graver. Look, for example, at my brother Hassan and his way of life. Surrounded by these troubles, how can we possibly lead a quiet life?!”

  She studied his face, astonished by his ability to fish for worries. Desperately, she murmured, “Leave God’s creatures to their Creator. We have always been so. Yet we neither perished nor were we destroyed.”

  “I wasn’t an officer then,” Hassanein protested. “But now that I’ve become one, my reputation is in jeopardy.”

  Frowning, the mother took refuge in anguished silence.

  “Everything must change,” Hassanein sighed. “Even my father’s grave, out in the open amidst charity burial places, must change. Imagine what my colleagues would think of me if they knew where he is buried!”

  She concealed her feelings beneath a smile. “I hope for these things as much as you do. But I advise you to be patient and I warn you against the sad consequences of your futile revolt. You desire to wipe out the past, change the house, build a tomb, and reform your brother. Yet it’s impossible for you to achieve these things for a long time to come. What will you do then? It was the hope of my life that you be happy with us as well as make us happy. But if you don’t acquire patience and resign yourself to reality, you’ll be miserable and will make us miserable, too.”

  He fell silent, fed up with the conversation and his own troubles. His rebellious nature refused to be persuaded by her arguments; to him, she seemed unsympathetic to his hopes and feelings and he felt alone in the battle of life and death. He yearned for a cleaner, more decent life, and he would never deviate from this goal. Let him then defend his hopes and happiness with whatever power and enthusiasm he could muster.

  He heard a knock on the door. Evening was spreading its wings. Surmising that it was Nefisa returning from her work, he hurried with fresh determination to open the door.

  SIXTY-NINE

  Smiling, Nefisa entered the flat. These days she seemed to be always smiling, always cheerful. Observing that her mother was absorbed in her thoughts, she approached her and said jokingly, “Mother, now that our troubles are over, you don’t need to worry anymore.”

  Depressed, Hassanein mentally echoed his sister’s words. But had their troubles really come to an end? It occurred to him that the entire budget of the army was not enough to resolve their problems. He raised his eyes toward Nefisa. He said to her, “It’s time that you took a rest!”

  “Do you mean that I should give up my work?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll give it up with absolutely no regrets. I’ll stay at home as ladies do. I’ll be the lady sister of an officer!”

  He could not help saying sarcastically, “And the sister of Master Hassan, too.”

  She looked in astonishment from him to her mother, wondering why he referred to his brother with such sarcasm.

  “Doesn’t this please you?” he continued.

  With tenderness and compassion, the girl replied, “Whatever Hassan may be, his kindness in undeniable.”

  “I don’t need to be reminded of that,” the young man added. “God knows that I love him. But I can’t help saying that his way of life is disgraceful.”

  This last sentence pierced her heart, and she averted her eyes. As she recalled her own loose behavior, her limbs went cold and she shuddered with horror. Obviously, she thought, he is referring to me and nobody else. The silence made her nervous, and she murmured, “It happens in every family!”

  “But not in respectable families,” Hassanein said resentfully.

  Overcome with suffocating anxiety, she would have liked to vanish into thin air. Pretending to laugh, she said with affected merriment, “It’s quite possible to have in the same family two brothers, one of them a minister and the other a thief. For God’s sake, don’t disturb our peace. Guess what—I’ve prepared a platterful of kunafa for you. Let’s warm it up and eat it in peace!”

  Leaving the room, she headed for the kitchen, her face troubled, her soul disturbed, and her heart fluttering with fear and worry. He had asked her to stay at home as respectable ladies do, and she certainly welcomed this. But what was done could not be undone. She could easily make excuses for her loose behavior, pretending that her object was to earn money to support her starving family. True enough, but only part of the truth. There was the tormenting mortal despair of resisting her sexual urge. How much she wanted to extinguish it, even if it involved her own extinction! Yet this sexual urge, flaring up more desperately and degenerately than before, had become almost uncontrollable. Her sense of guilt caused her great suffering. Her only consolation, if it was any consolation at all, was that fate held no better prospects for her. And she became torn between a wretched past and an irrepressible thirst for sexual gratification. Realizing how impossible it was to ignore this thirst, she was incapable of predicting whether she could adapt to her new way of life at home. Could she possibly be content to wait monotonously, indefinitely, for death to come upon her? She was not quite sure that she could accept this new life faithfully, or that, having lost everything, she could resolutely face up to the torture of sexual deprivation. She loathed and feared the past, but she was bound to it by a demonic force and would cleave to it desperately, stricken with guilt and horror, like a man falling from a mountaintop in a nightmare he was unable to shake off. Absently, she gazed at the slightly burnt surface of the rose-colored kunafa until she imagined her own skin burning black inside the platter. Life at the moment seemed so ruthless, so absurd; ruthlessly absurd. She wondered why God had created her. Yet she had an undeniable gusto for life, and her despair, torture, and fear were merely its manifestations. In spite of it all, she had an appointment with a man and did not want to miss it.

  Carrying the platter with a cloth, she entered the room and placed it on the desk. As if she had forgotten her fearful thoughts, she said merrily to Hassanein, “I offer you this kunafa by the sweat of my brow. From now on, it’s your turn to provide our tongues with sweets.”

  Putting their worries aside, the family devoured the kunafa. “I wish Hussein were with us,” Samira said as she took a piece from the platter. Waving his finger at her, Hassanein swallowed a mouthful. “It’s high time,” he said, “that we get him transferred to Cairo. Ahmad Bey Yousri had promised to transfer him after a year or so. And now almost two years have passed since his appointment at Tanta.”

  He wished to enjoy the company of his brother as he had in the past, and hoped to appeal to Hussein for help in overcoming his troubles. Moreover, he had his personal reasons for paying a visit to Ahmad Bey’s villa.

  SEVENTY

  At sunset the next day he went to the villa of Ahmad Bey Yousri to thank him on the occasion of his graduation from the College and to beg him to intercede to get his brother transferred to a school in Cairo. The porter stood up respectfully for the visiting officer, led him to the sitting room, then disappeared to inform the Bey of his presence. Hassanein sat on the same chair he had occupied more than once before, under different circumstances. Looking out over the garden, his eyes traced the long zigzagging path on which the girl had ridden her bicycle slowly and warily more than a year earlier. He wondered w
hether she was still interested in this exercise. For a while, his memories made him smile. Once more he wondered whether he had come, really, for the sake of thanking the Bey and begging him to intercede on behalf of his brother. He smiled again, still perplexed, uncertain of his goals and uneasy about his motives. He felt reluctant to offend his fiancée. He recalled his latest visit to Farid Effendi’s flat immediately after graduation and how, spending his time there in tedious conversations, he was overcome with painful feelings of deprivation, for he couldn’t be alone with his girl even for a short while. The memory left him with a fuming resentment that submerged the guilt he felt about these other pleasurable memories, which Ahmad Bey’s villa revived. Shunning his remorse, he was swayed by ambition which the surrounding magnificence of the villa set aglow in his heart. His imagination was kindled by dreams of eradicating his past, of having a new house, a new tomb, new relatives, prosperity, and a dazzling life. Though he had attained the enviable position of an officer, yet he was conscious of a burning desire for a clean, luxurious life. His heart’s innermost feelings made him miserable and discontented. He was still immersed in his dreams when the porter returned from the interior of the villa, courteously bowed, and whispered, “His Excellency the Bey is coming.” Hassanein rose when the Bey appeared in a white suit, a red rose in his lapel. Casting an all-encompassing glance at the young man’s uniform, the Bey said with a laugh, “Welcome to the officer.”

  Bowing, Hassanein shook hands with him. But before he could open his mouth to speak, the young man saw the Bey’s wife coming from the inside, followed by the girl. Since the family was obviously preparing to go out, he realized he had come at the wrong moment, particularly when he noticed the car turn on the wide path and stop at the entrance hall. Hassanein shook hands with the two ladies, retreated two steps, and said, “Your Excellency, I’ve come to thank you on the occasion of my graduation. Excuse me for leaving now. I’m afraid I may delay you.”

  “No,” the Bey answered. “We’ll sit down for a drink of lemonade. We still have enough time.”

  When the members of the family took their seats, Hassanein also found a chair, trying his utmost to control his nerves, for he loathed the thought of panicking in the presence of the Bey and these ladies of the upper class. The porter went off to get the lemonade.

  “Where have you been appointed?” the Bey gently inquired.

  “To the cavalry in Cairo,” Hassanein answered with barely concealed pride.

  “You seem to have been high up on the list of the graduates?”

  “I came in eighth.”

  The man congratulated him. A silence prevailed. Had he met the Bey alone, he would, as intended, have gratefully enumerated this man’s favors to his family, his kindly intercessions for himself and his brother, and then proceeded to request Hussein’s transfer. But determined to preserve his dignity in front of the two women, especially the girl, he changed his mind. He saw no harm in postponing discussion of his brother’s problem until some time the next day or the day after, when he could raise it with the Bey in his office at the Ministry.

  A Nubian servant entered with the lemonade and served it to them. As he lifted his glass to his lips, Hassanein glanced furtively across the rim at the girl. He watched her gently and quietly sipping the lemonade, too much the true lady to take the drink in noisy, vulgar gulps. Relishing the taste slowly and delicately, she took the drink softly and shyly into her mouth, her face wreathed in splendid quietude and dreamy relaxation as if she were surrendering to the numbing touches of slumber. He replaced his glass on the tray, his head turning at the fascinating sight of her grace, elegance, and obvious aristocratic breeding. Suddenly he started as he imagined the girl lying meekly and submissively in his arms. What madness comes over me! he wondered. It’s not only lust. Perhaps it’s not lust at all. Though it shames me to appear with Bahia in public, yet she is more attractive than this girl. To lie on top of this girl is not a sexual act, but a triumph, a conquest. That’s it.

  He became aware of the external world when Ahmad Bey asked him, “How is the family?”

  An idea occurred to him, inflating his conceit. It was his nature to lie sometimes. “Thanks be to God,” he said without hesitation. “Our troubles came to an end after winning the lawsuit.”

  “What lawsuit?” the Bey inquired.

  “An old lawsuit between my mother and uncles over some entailed property,” Hassanein said with steady confidence. “The court handed down a decision giving Mother her full share!”

  “Congratulations! Congratulations!” the man replied.

  Proud and relieved, Hassanein rose to his feet. “Your Excellency,” he said, smiling, “I’m sorry I’ve delayed you.”

  They all rose and went down the stairs to the parked car. Hassanein hoped they might offer him a lift. But the Bey merely gave him his hand, bidding him goodbye. The young man bowed to the two ladies and hurried off. Apparently the visit was a failure since he hadn’t accomplished his purpose. But he considered himself lucky for this unexpected meeting with the girl, and he thought that his spontaneous happy lie was more significant. The real purpose could wait for a few days.

  SEVENTY-ONE

  Before leaving Taher Street, Hassanein lifted his face to the sky. Looking at the pale sunset, he wondered whether he would find his brother Hassan at home if he ventured to pay him a visit. Though Hassanein had faint hopes of reforming his brother, he was determined to confront him. He was engrossed in thoughts about his own and his family’s future, and his meeting with Hassan was his main preoccupation. Though he proceeded with unbending determination, his heart was heavily laden with worry and doubt. He took the tram to Al Khazindar Square, then walked toward Clot Bey Street.

  Now Hassanein’s attention was diverted to his uniform. He reflected that it had been purchased, in part, with the money his mother received from selling his old clothes. He was concerned that circumstances forced him to appear in a suspect area. But he had no alternative. He saw in Hassan the family’s most serious, thorny problem. Nefisa had abandoned her dressmaking business, and soon he would be leaving Nasr Allah alley, even the entire district of Shubra. Probably a curtain of oblivion would fall on his family’s whole detestable past. Yet the problem of Hassan would remain unsolved. And as long as this brother continued his evil life, security would be impossible. Approaching Gandab alley, he headed for his brother’s house, avoiding the people’s astonished and searching glances, hurriedly crossing the alley like a fugitive.

  His nostrils offended by the putrefying smell, he disgustedly climbed the spiral stairs, remembering with both annoyance and embarrassment his first visit to this house a year ago. Halting on the darkened threshold of his brother’s flat, he knocked. A strange man opened the door, one of the disfigured faces indelibly imprinted on his memory from his first visit. No sooner did he see Hassanein than the man slammed the door shut with a loud cry: “The Police!”

  Surmising what had happened, ashamed, pained, and disturbed, Hassanein thought of withdrawing. But filled with an obstinate determination to carry out his objective at whatever cost, he stood his ground. To him, this was no insignificant question but a matter of life or death; he would be unable to make progress in the world as long as this house haunted him. He knocked on the door again and waited, realizing how useless it was. He knocked again, violently. Perhaps, he wondered, they might have escaped from the flat through one of the windows. Perhaps his brother would recognize his voice if he called his name aloud. But he was too ashamed to reveal his identity; to reassure his frightened companions, Hassan might tell them of their relationship—which Hassanein would rather bury forever. Yet how could he be sure that Hassan, to show off, had not already told someone or other who his brother was? As he gnashed his teeth, shame and despair made him all the more obstinate, and he violently hammered on the door with his fist, shouting, “Hassan, Hassan, it’s Hassanein!” Soon the door was opened. Appearing behind it, Hassan stared at him in amazement. As thou
gh recovering from shock, Hassan, motionless, fixed his eyes for a while upon him. Finally, he came alive, smiling. “Hassanein an officer!” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe my eyes!”

  Pressing Hassanein’s hand with one of his and patting his arm with the other, he pulled him inside the flat with a loud, nervous laugh. Hassan walked by his side to the bedroom. “An officer! What a surprise! Congratulations! Congratulations! This is a happy day!”

  Hassanein sat on the sofa. Hassan closed the door and sat by his side. Trying hard to overcome his confusion and excitement, the young officer smiled at his brother. “I deserve to be congratulated,” he said, “but you deserve to be thanked.”

  Hassan laughed with pleasure, pleasure doubled by a sense of relief following the flurry. “Why should I deserve thanks?” he asked. “I’ve only given part of what’s due to you. But forget about that and tell me about our family. How are Mother and Nefisa? And how is Hussein?”

  Pretending to be interested, Hassanein kept the conversation going. Their rambling talk brought Hassanein to the point of asking Hassan why he had stopped coming to see the family. But then he remembered that the ending of his brother’s visits afforded an unintended benefit; under the present circumstances, any continued relations would be most disastrous. Thus at the last moment he refrained from asking him.

  “In fact,” Hassan said, “I miss the family very much. But my kind of life no longer allows me to satisfy my longing for them. True, we live in the same city. Yet I feel, indeed, that I’m the inhabitant of a remote place cut off from the rest of the world. Perhaps I worry less about them since I know that they no longer need my help and that I’ve performed part of my duty to them. Besides, I’m not always prosperous. Though my pockets may bulge with cash for several days, they soon become empty for several weeks. And when my pockets are full, I’m compelled to spend extravagantly whatever money I have. But never mind. Now that you’ve become an officer, I should congratulate you on your good fortune and keep my happiness for it pure. Congratulations to our respected officer!”