“How’d she drown?” another inquired.
“She jumped from the bridge,” a boy exclaimed. “The boatman’s wife saw it and urged her husband to save her.”
Hassanein’s dazed, uncertain eyes followed them. He found it difficult to persuade himself that this was actually his sister; since no one else knew about it, he merely stood in the crowd like any curious stranger. When they reached the pavement, the men immediately attempted to revive her and emptied the water from her lungs. The officer ordered the policemen to disperse the crowd. But since none of them attempted to dismiss him, Hassanein remained standing in his place, staring fixedly at the hunchbacked body handled indelicately by these coarse men. Aware of his presence, the officer approached and greeted him with a nod.
“Did you witness the accident?”
Deeply disturbed, the young man came to his senses. “No,” he hurriedly answered.
The men laid the girl’s body on the ground. Kneeling down by her side, one of them felt for her pulse. He put his ear to her chest, listened for a heartbeat, then raised his head.
“The divine secret,” he said, “has risen to its Creator. It’s the will of God.”
An overpowering feeling of alienation, neither sadness nor relief, returned to Hassanein. His mind became stagnant, his dreadful feeling of emptiness intolerable. He stared again at the girl’s prostrate corpse not far from his feet, her hair scattered, a few plaits sticking to her cheek and forehead, her face mute and terrifyingly blue with no signs of recovering consciousness. Deep furrows around her gaping mouth and eyes suggested her last tortured convulsions in this world. Soaking wet, her dress clung to her body, the hem muddy and soiled with the dust from the ground. Her shoes had disappeared; one foot still retained a stocking. As he continued to look at her face, his chest, turbulent with agitation, swelled with emotion.
Why am I so agitated? he thought. Wasn’t I really convinced this was the best end? Didn’t I drive her to kill herself? My soul must find rest. What were her thoughts when she fell into the water? What shock to her emaciated body? What went through her mind while she was tossed by the waves? What a struggle when the mud choked off her breathing! What terrible torture when, fighting her instinctive desire for survival, the river dragged her floating body down into the depths! The desperate attempts of a drowning woman to rescue herself are as futile as a poor man’s dream of happiness. Can she see me now from the other world? Is she content, angry, or sardonic? What does she think of my situation now? Why did all this happen?
As his thoughts suddenly flashed back to his mother, the image blanked out his view of the corpse. He shook his head, determined to banish the picture of his mother from his mind. His feverish attention returned to the corpse. In spite of himself, he remembered the girl’s kindness to him, how she loved him, how generously she treated him. She would never have imagined losing her life at his hands. Desperately tired, he wondered again, fearfully: Why did all this happen? Unable to bear the sight of the corpse any longer, he closed his eyes. His head was feverish. Sorrow crushed his interest in life. The world seemed as void as her blue face. God, I’m finished! he thought with a deep sigh.
He heard the officer instructing the witnesses to accompany him to the police station, as the corpse was carried to the other side of the street. His eyes followed the group until they disappeared in the darkness. Less than two minutes later, he found himself alone, amid the rustling trees whose twisted, coarse branches almost covered the whole area. His limbs hanging loose, he staggered backward. Leaning against a tree trunk, he fell into a kind of somnolence, as if he were falling into a dim, hopeless abyss. I’m finished, he thought. Since misery plagues us all, none of us has the right to make his brother miserable. What have I done? In despair, I did what I did, imposed my stern punishment upon her. What right did I have to do it? Was I really avenging the honor of our family? But I’m the worst of them all, as everybody knows. And if this world is ugly, I’m the ugliest part of it. I’ve always wished to destroy those around me. How then, as the worst of the culprits, could I appoint myself a judge to pass verdicts on others? I’m finished!
He looked around in fear and perplexity. Where can I go? Can I survive this ordeal as I’ve survived so many others? Hopes and delusions be damned! What do I care! Well, how can I help it? Rather, being what I am, I should go away, seek happiness in oblivion. He laughed bitterly. How mercilessly I torture myself. But the dreadful past has devoured the present, and the past was nothing but myself Burdened as I am, can I carry on with life? I can’t. I could have loved life until the very end, regardless of the circumstances. But I don’t understand what it is that is so essentially wrong with our nature. I’m done for.
He stood erect, tired of leaning against the trunk, perhaps impelled by a fresh motive. Sick at heart and wanting only to escape, he walked off with a farewell glance at the spot where she had drowned herself. He remembered their words: “I don’t want any harm to come to you because of me.” “This is God’s will.” “The decree of Satan.” “The Nile.” “All right.” “And if you get scared—” “No, life to me is more dreadful than death.” “Are you ready?”
What was the officer thinking about him now? Where was Lieutenant Hassanein when it happened? Did he send an apology, make any excuses? I saw his face immediately after we took the corpse out of the water. I asked him if he saw the accident, but he was too astounded to reply.
Hassanein reached the same place on the bridge. He climbed the rail, looking down into the turbulent waters. Driving all other thoughts from his mind, he made his decision.
If this is what you want, so be it! I won’t scream. For once, let me be courageous. May God have mercy upon us.
Naguib Mahfouz
The Beginning & The End
Naguib Mahfouz was one of the most prominent writers of Arabic fiction in the twentieth century. Born in Cairo in 1911, he began writing when he was seventeen. Over his long career, he wrote nearly forty novel-length works and hundreds of short stories, ranging from re-imaginings of ancient myths to subtle commentaries on contemporary Egyptian politics and culture. His most famous work is The Cairo Trilogy (consisting of Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, and Sugar Street), which focuses on a Cairo family through three generations, from 1917 until 1952. In 1988, Mahfouz became the first writer in Arabic to be awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. He died in August 2006.
BOOKS BY NAGUIB MAHFOUZ
The Beggar, The Thief and the Dogs, Autumn Quail (omnibus edition)
Respected Sir, Wedding Song, The Search (omnibus edition)
The Beginning and the End
The Time and the Place and Other Stories
Midaq Alley
The Journey o f Ibn Fattouma
Miramar
Adrift on the Nile
The Harafish
Arabian Nights and Days
Children of the Alley
Echoes of an Autobiography
The Day the Leader Was Killed
Akhenaten, Dweller in Truth
Voices from the Other World
Khufu’s Wisdom
Rhadopis of Nubia
Thebes at War
Seventh Heaven
The Thief and the Dogs
Karnak Café
Morning and Evening Talk
The Dreams
Cairo Modern
Khan al-Khalili
The Mirage
THE CAIRO TRILOGY
Palace Walk
Palace of Desire
Sugar Street
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