The Beginning and the End

by Naguib Mahfouz

  “Yours!”

  “Yes, mine.”

  “Nonsense!” Nefisa cried.

  “But it’s the truth, pure and simple.”

  “Did you really ask for her hand?” his mother asked, studying his face.

  “Yes, I did,” the young man said, lowering his eyes. “I told him it would please me greatly if he would approve my request for her hand.”

  “Did you do this to repair the damage?” Hassanein asked with worry in his voice.

  Hussein hesitated briefly. “Partly so. But I have a deep appreciation for the girl, and since marriage is inevitable, I believe she is the right wife for me.”

  “Who told you that marriage is inevitable?” Nefisa asked sarcastically.

  “What did Farid Effendi say?” the mother interrupted.

  Answering on Hussein’s behalf, Nefisa said, “He said, ‘You’re most welcome.’ ”

  Indifferent to her, Hussein replied, “He thanked me but said he was sorry he couldn’t approach the girl at this moment. So he asked me to give him time.”

  “Did you mean to do this when you left us?” Hassanein asked.

  “No,” Hussein said.

  “I’m afraid,” the other young man said, “that you may discover later on that you don’t really want to marry her.”

  “May this come true!” Nefisa said with a sigh.

  “Nefisa!” her mother shouted at her angrily.

  Speaking to his brother, Hussein said, “By temperament, I’m inclined to the stable life.”

  “I wish happiness to you both,” Hassanein said with relief. After a pause, he added in a low voice, “I have my hopes, too; that is, to marry the daughter of Ahmad Bey Yousri. Brother, do you think that’s foolish?”

  “Why not?” Hussein said with a smile. “You’re her equal.”

  Somewhat excited, Nefisa said with a laugh, “May God help us. We wanted to get back one of you two, but most probably we shall lose you both. What is happening to us is the mischief of an evil eye.”

  “May God bless you,” the mother murmured calmly. “I’m confident my sons will not forget me.”

  “Then you’re quite ignorant of marriage and its secret distractions,” Nefisa said to her mother. “I know all about it.”

  “Mother knows more about it than you do,” Hassanein said, laughing.

  Silence fell upon them. Glancing surreptitiously at his brother, Hassanein suspected that his engagement had been planned beforehand.

  EIGHTY-TWO

  Perhaps it was wise to wait. Yet Hassanein wondered angrily what use there was in waiting. Suppose his bird flew away and he missed the chance to catch it? For nearly a month, his mind dwelled on this matter. All his family, especially Hussein, advised him to wait until he could amass a small fortune before asking for the girl’s hand. Hassanein thought they were probably right. But afraid that the girl might not wait for him that long, he was persuaded to renounce this wiser course of action. Eminent as Ahmad Bey Yousri was, the fact that old ties had always linked him to the Kamel family encouraged Hassanein to hope the Bey would be patient and tolerant with him and lend a sympathetic ear. Hassanein realized that if he missed this wonderful opportunity he might wait a long time before another appeared. Why not ask for the girl’s hand, and then ask the Bey to give him time to complete his preparations for marriage? This was quite possible, but even if impossible, his rejection should not stop him from persisting. He was too bold to let anything stand in his way, for whatever reason. Moreover, he found the so-called virtue of patience intolerable. Come what may, now and without fear he would pursue his objective.

  Approaching Ahmad Bey Yousri’s villa in Taher Street, the young man was absorbed in these thoughts. Having decided upon a definite course of action, Hassanein proceeded to carry it out with no second thoughts. This was the life for which his soul yearned. Now that Hassan had disappeared, Nefisa had become a respectable lady, and the past had almost vanished, he felt secure. He hoped that he and his family would lead a happy, decent, and comfortable life. He was especially careful about his appearance, for in him, youthfulness was combined with manly virility. When he reached the villa, he was shown into the sitting room, where he sat thinking with an anxious, beating heart. Curious, isn’t it, that I, who have nothing but what’s left of my salary, should propose to a girl who owns such a villa as this! Besides, there’s the useless, fictitious story of the entailed Wafd property case which I told the Bey about. Why Mother isn’t actually in possession of the property is another question. Had we been property owners, our past and present would have been entirely different! Come what may, I won’t retreat. Anyhow, I won’t be beheaded for this proposal. At best I’ve everything to win and at worst almost nothing to lose. In the latter event, the worst that can happen is that the Bey will say to me, “I’m sorry, my son,” and bidding him farewell, I’ll answer, “Goodbye, Your Excellency.” I’m sure I’m her equal. What does she want from me that I don’t have? Money? She already possesses a fabulous amount of money! How foolish it would be of her to reject my proposal! Here in this place I saw her for the first time riding her bicycle. How beautiful her leg, how lovely her thigh! Poor Nefisa.

  I wonder where Hassan is now! I hope he’s escaped to some other place and disappeared from my life for good. The memory of him disturbs and haunts me. When will I be reprieved from all this awful past?

  I won’t retreat. Right over there, she was about to fall off her bicycle.

  I hear the Bey’s approaching footsteps!

  Hassanein sprang to his feet respectfully when he saw the Bey drawing near. He shook his hands with reverence.

  “Welcome to our respected officer,” the Bey said. “How are you and your family?”

  Keeping his purpose firmly in mind, the young man replied, “Thank you, Your Excellency.”

  Laughing, the Bey inquired, “Is your brother still in Tanta?”

  Welcoming any conversation that would allow more time for preparation, Hassanein said with ostensible interest, “Yes, sir.”

  They sat down. “It isn’t possible to get him transferred during this vacation,” the Bey said. “But I’ve been given a definite promise that he’ll be transferred during the next vacation.”

  Although Hassanein already knew about it, he expressed his gratitude. “This is another favor, after all your previous kindness.”

  As silence fell upon them, the young man realized that he was approaching an extremely critical moment in his life and that there was no room for wavering or retreat. He summoned up his courage, and said in some confusion, “Your Excellency, I’ve come to you about a personal matter.”

  The Bey raised his eyes. “What can I do for you?”

  The young man sat erect, as if he found strength in a formal posture. “I beg Your Excellency to help me attain a difficult objective, which is above my ambition.”

  The Bey stroked his coarse, dyed mustache with his fingers. “Do you want to be promoted to the rank of field marshal?”

  The young man gave a nervous laugh, which soon died out. Then he said in a low voice, “Dearer than that. I want to have the honor of being your son-in-law.”

  The Bey’s smile disappeared in a contemplative stare. Despite his assumed solemnity and self-control, he seemed to be overcome with astonishment. Why? Hassanein wondered. Was it surprise or annoyance? His heart beat violently as he sensed the profound gravity of the moment. After a period of silence and contemplation the man said, “I must thank you for your confidence.”

  Hassanein was touched by the man’s gentle words. Yet he experienced a vague pain. “I hope I’ve not stepped out of line,” he said.

  “God forbid,” the Bey said with a smile. “Thank you again. But I’ll postpone my answer until I consult with those directly concerned.”

  Hassanein was relieved by this proposed respite, which he welcomed as a fighter on the defensive welcomes the advent of a truce.

  “Naturally, Your Excellency. But I sincerely hope that I’m
not out of order.”

  “I don’t want to hear you say this again,” the Bey said with a smile.

  Hassanein took his leave and left the villa. On the way home he recalled every word of his conversation with the Bey, all the gestures, the signs, the intimations, the motives behind them all. While he interpreted everything with optimism and a bold and ambitious imagination, yet he felt anxious and depressed. Ultimately shrugging his shoulders indifferently, he thought: I’ve got everything to win and almost nothing to lose.

  EIGHTY-THREE

  As though he wanted to give Farid Effendi time enough to think the matter over and come to a final decision, Hussein desisted from paying another visit until his vacation was about to end. During this period Hussein never stopped consulting his mother. While she did not object to his marriage, she advised him to postpone it for one more year until he could complete his marriage preparations. Curiously enough, the hasty Hassanein lent deaf ears to similar advice. Hussein did not approve of his brother’s haste, which he described as rash; for it was obvious that if Hassanein succeeded in his fantastic plan to marry Ahmad Bey Yousri’s daughter, and if he himself got married after one year, both his mother and his sister would find themselves alone without support. Consequently, he brought peace to his mother’s mind by reassuring her that he was determined to keep his wife under the same roof with her mother-in-law and Nefisa. Satisfied with the proposal, he went to Farid Effendi’s house. The man’s welcome revived his hopes. Although the visit had just one meaning that was clear to everybody, yet Hussein said to him, a bit confused, “I came to say goodbye before returning to Tanta tomorrow.”

  Farid Effendi smiled in his characteristically gentle fashion. “May God give you safety, and by God’s will we’ll very soon hear of your transfer to Cairo.”

  “I hope this will take place during the next vacation,” Hussein said.

  He wondered whether he should bring up the subject or wait until Farid Effendi broached it. Having consulted his mother, Hussein took his marriage for granted. Yet how could he possibly know what Farid Effendi’s family really thought? Waiting for their approval, he became increasingly worried. When Bahia’s mother entered, he rose to receive her courteously, warmly pressing her hand. He considered her coming a good omen. Taking a seat, she said, “I’m delighted to see you, my son. How is your mother?”

  “All right, madam,” Hussein said warmly. “She sends her regards.”

  Glancing toward his wife, Farid Effendi said to her, “Hussein Effendi has come to say goodbye to us before leaving tomorrow, and I think now is the proper time to tell him of our decision.”

  He turned to the young man. “As for your proposal, it gives me pleasure, Hussein Effendi, to tell you that we agree to it.”

  Hussein followed the man’s words with a rapidly beating heart that gave him a sharp ache at the utterance of certain words. When Farid Effendi had finished speaking, Hussein leapt to his feet with joy.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said with a sob in his voice. “One thousand thanks. I’m tremendously happy.”

  “He’ll be transferred to Cairo during the next vacation,” the man said, smiling, to his wife.

  “This is good news,” the woman said, laughing.

  “Naturally, we want all of you to be near us.”

  Flushing, the young man said in a voice expressing pleasure, “By God’s will, so it shall be!”

  “We’d better wait a reasonable period of time before announcing the engagement,” Farid Effendi suggested, then added with a confused laugh, “So that there will be a decent period of time between the two engagements.”

  Lowering his eyes, Hussein murmured, “I entirely agree.”

  Farid Effendi rose and left the room, to return minutes later followed by Bahia. Though Hussein knew instinctively that she would appear, yet her actual arrival came as such a shocking surprise that he sprang to his feet, exerting his utmost in self-control. Silently he stretched out his hand to her. As their hands met, he felt the softness, the cool delicacy of hers. His breast was heaving, his heart overflowing with grateful tenderness. He felt strongly that he must say something, but his mind was a blank. Mentally paralyzed by her presence, he was speechless. But soon his senses were submerged in happiness and satisfaction; he had no regrets for his speechlessness; he felt the kind of gentle peacefulness that follows therapy after a bout of pain. How lovely, he thought. How could anybody be blind to her accomplishments? She has been an embodiment of virtue and meekness that quenches my burning thirst for a happy domestic life. She doesn’t excite, but infuses the heart with peace and serenity. He said that they agreed and he brought the girl in person as tangible evidence of this agreement.

  Hussein wanted to probe Bahia’s thoughts. Had she already recovered from the shock? Was her heart cured? Had she really begun to develop an interest in him? As they resumed their conversation, which he now considered intrusive and unnecessary, the girl’s parents put an end to his self-absorption. Might they, Hussein wondered, possibly, by a miracle, leave them alone? He remembered, when his eyes had once met hers, how he had become ecstatically absorbed in their pure blue serenity. Surely, he had so many things to say to her. Anyhow, he had ample time ahead of him to reveal his thoughts and feelings to her, no matter how insignificant they were. During pauses in the conversation, there came to him a tender sensation that there was enough pure, sublime happiness in this world to obliterate its misery. He wished this happiness would last, and that he could remain sitting with her forever in the same room. He wanted these sentiments of the moment to be life-embracing and continue as long as he lived.

  The conversation went on, but a gesture or a murmur was her only contribution to it. It was time for him to leave. Excusing himself, he shook hands with her and left the flat, feeling for the first time that the luscious fruits of life were awaiting him, ready to be plucked.

  EIGHTY-FOUR

  Hussein had departed. Part of the period of waiting for the Bey’s answer, which Hassanein called the probationary period, had passed. Wavering between hope and despair, he was forced to endure it stoically. Hassanein was unhappy that his brother was gone. He wished to have him by his side for advice when he received Ahmad Bey Yousri’s answer. Willful and tyrannical though Hussein was, Hassanein always listened to his advice. The fact that Hussein had embarked on his marriage project was a source of relief to Hassanein, who was actually uneasy about marrying before his neglected brother, who had denied himself all the pleasures of life and borne the brunt of it. This did not mean that he was uninterested in the future of his family. In fact, he expected much good, both for himself and for his family, to emerge from his prosperous marriage. With this logic, he dismissed his family’s troubles; now he was free to seek his own fortune with an easy conscience. This was his state of mind when a friend and colleague asked him to meet him at Luna Park Casino in Heliopolis. Ali al-Bardisi was his favorite friend. Their friendship started and flourished while they were cadets at the College and it was continued in spite of the fact that Hassanein joined the cavalry and Ali al-Bardisi the air force.

  Hassanein found his friend waiting for him, and they sat in the Casino garden. His friend ordered two glasses of beer. From the first moment, Hassanein sensed that his friend had a serious matter to discuss with him. Despite his apparent joviality, al-Bardisi struck him as unusually grave and pensive. After a while he asked Hassanein, “Do you remember Lieutenant Ahmad Rafat?”

  “Of course,” Hassanein said with indifference. “He graduated with us in the same year. An artillery officer, isn’t he?”

  His friend nodded affirmatively, then proceeded with bitterness and annoyance, “Yesterday I heard him speak about you to a group of friends in a way that angered and offended me.”

  Astonished, Hassanein stared at him. This was most unexpected. “What are you saying?” he inquired.

  “Some friends and I were playing cards in his house in Ma’adi,” Ali al-Bardisi said somberly.

  “S
o?”

  “I don’t remember how the subject came up. We were drunk, and I heard him say things that were offensive to you personally. First of all, tell me, did you really ask for the hand of the daughter of a man called Ahmad Bey Yousri?”

  The name shook the young man like an earthquake and his heart beat violently. He suddenly remembered that Ahmad Rafat was closely connected with some of Ahmad Bey Yousri’s relatives. He tried hard to compose himself. A coarse feeling of fear and pessimism came over him.

  “Perhaps,” he answered curtly.

  “Do you know that Ahmad Rafat is a friend of this family?”

  “Possibly. But tell me what he said.”

  For a while, al-Bardisi hesitated and kept silent. “I understood, from his conversation,” he murmured in a low, obviously embarrassed voice, “that the family did not approve. I’m sorry to tell you.”

  This piece of news weighed heavily upon him, making him feel small, shattering his sense of dignity and manhood. Boiling with anger, he was about to surrender to his flaming fury, but at the last moment he managed to subdue his passion. He pretended indifference.

  “Was this what you found offensive, my friend?” he asked with a laugh.

  “No, this sort of thing happens every day,” his friend said, gloomy and disconcerted. “But he indiscreetly mentioned the reasons for the family’s disapproval. Though they are trivial reasons that don’t degrade a man, yet I was very much offended to hear them repeated in a crowd of drunkards.”

  Hassanein had always felt that his past constituted a constant threat, like a heavy hammer suspended over his head. Now it fell with full force on his brain, smashing it into scattered pieces. This was strikingly obvious. But could he possibly ignore it? He raised his eyes to the gloomy face of his friend.

  “Tell me what he said,” Hassanein asked mechanically.

  His friend made a wry face. “It was something negligible,” he went on, annoyed and irritated. “But to be fair, you should know about it. I don’t need to tell you that I was so angry that I silenced their wagging tongues.”