The Beginning and the End by Naguib Mahfouz
“I hope so, by God’s will. I just wanted to give you an idea about myself. That’s all. Many a time I curse myself, too! Cursing is often a relief. But for that, many people would have suffocated to death in anger. Soon you’ll learn what it means to work at a school.” He sighed. “The ministerial letter concerning your appointment has arrived.” He ruffled through his papers until he found it. “It’s Number 1,175, dated September 26, 1936. You’ve come at the time when we need you most. For now, we shall start revising the lists of names and fees. The former clerk married the daughter of an inspector at the Ministry and all of a sudden was transferred to Cairo. Are you married, Hussein Effendi?”
“I was only a pupil last spring,” Hussein answered with a smile.
“Do you think that being a pupil prevents one from getting married? I was married when I was a secondary school pupil. This is another custom in our family, like calling the elder son by his father’s name. We also had other great customs, but they were uprooted by Sidki Pasha, may God forgive him.”
Hussein glanced at him inquisitively.
“My father, Hassan Bey, was an outstanding Wafdist and a member of the higher circles of the Wafd party,” the man added sorrowfully. “When Sidki Pasha came to his ill-omened office, he asked him to sever his relations with the Wafd. When he refused, as expected, Sidki Pasha deprived him of the assistance of the Loan Bank during the crisis. As a result, he was forced to sell his land and so lost his wealth.”
“But Nahas was returned to office?” Hussein inquired.
“Yet the land was lost. Most ironically, Sidki went over to the patriots’ side. At the beginning of this year, he gave an address at Disouk in which he conveyed the greetings of ‘my leader Nahas,’ as he then called him. Hassan Hassan Hassan, what a pity you have lost everything!”
Pretending to be moved, Hussein muttered, “May God compensate you for what you’ve lost!”
Shaking his head, the man remained silent for a while.
“You’re lucky to be appointed at the school after the period of strikes was over. They almost burned us up inside the school during the latest demonstrations. May God curse the demonstrators, the students and Sidki Pasha. Hussein Effendi, where do you live?”
“In the Britannia Hotel.”
“Hotel! May God disappoint you! Sorry. I mean may God forgive you. The hotel isn’t a suitable place for a long stay. You must search for a small flat immediately.”
“But I’ve no furniture.”
With a sudden interest, Hassan Effendi thought the matter over, biting his fingernails.
“Furniture for a single room doesn’t cost you much. With my guarantee, if you like, you can buy it in installment payments,” he said.
He became thoughtful again, examining the young man’s face. “There’s a two-room flat on the roof of the house where I live,” he added. “The rent won’t be more than a pound. What do you think?”
After hearing the amount of the rent, Hussein’s interest was piqued for the first time.
“I’ll think it over seriously,” he said.
“It’s plain and axiomatic, just as one plus one equals two. Now let’s start work. There are piles of papers left over since that son of a bitch got married and was transferred to Cairo.”
FIFTY-ONE
Hussein decided to stay at the hotel until he received his salary. As time passed, he became convinced of the need to move into a private flat that would give him a greater sense of security and stability. Hassan Effendi was always underlining the advantages of living in a flat of his own. At the beginning of the month, Hussein bought a bed, a small wardrobe, and a chair for about two pounds, for which he agreed to pay in four installments, with Hassan as a guarantor. The flat rental being only one pound, moving in involved no extra expense. The new flat occupied half the roof of the house, on the middle story of which Hassan Effendi lived. In addition to the lavatory and kitchen, there were two rooms. Since one of these was superfluous, the young man locked it up, furnishing the other with new furniture. The one window in the room overlooked Walei al-Din Street, where the entrance to the house was situated. The rooftop flat was higher than the surrounding buildings, and the unrestricted open air in front of its only window gave the young man a sense of freshness and relief which he had been denied at the hotel, and he was thus very pleased. The day he moved in was a happy one indeed. For the first time in his life, he found himself the master of his own house and proud possessor of a salary and furniture. His sense of relief and delight when he had received his salary that morning still lingered in his memory. Nor did he forget how he shyly hid the smile on his lips, reflecting the delight in his heart, lest it be detected by the cashier. But this happiness dwindled to insignificance when compared with his joy in sending two pounds to his mother.
In this great moment he realized that his long patience was at last rewarded. As soon as he was settled in at his new quarters, Hassan Effendi visited him to congratulate him. He assured Hussein that he would feel at home among his family. Thanking him, Hussein, always disposed to acknowledge the kindness of others, felt grateful to him. He forgave Hassan’s sharp temper and his maladministration and confusion in carrying out his functions at the school. In fact, he became accustomed to his eccentricity, consoled by his good-heartedness and sense of humor. Refusing to leave him alone, Hassan invited him to spend the evening on his balcony. Delighted at the invitation, Hussein accompanied the man to his quarters. As he sat with his guest, Hassan said, “You seem to dislike coffeehouses, so you can use this balcony as a nightclub.”
The balcony was adequately equipped. On the right were two big chairs made of cane with a table between them; on the other side was a big couch with a cushion at its back. On another table in the corner was a tray with two water jugs and a ewer, with several big lemons floating between them on the water gathered inside the tray. Hassan Effendi’s tongue started to ramble almost incessantly. In his loose garment, he appeared very tiny, much smaller than in his suit, his tongue the only organ in his body worth reckoning with. Bored with his leisure hours in the past weeks, Hussein welcomed Hassan’s company, for he did not know how to spend his time. Reading was not the answer, not because it bored him, but because with little money to spare he could afford to buy only those books which appealed to him most. Thus, in addition to his daily paper, he was compelled to confine himself to one book. He tried to frequent coffeehouses, but he found no pleasure in them and he was afraid they might lead him to squander his money. Frugal by temperament, he welcomed Hassan Effendi’s invitation to spend his leisure time at his home. Hussein was resolved, under whatever circumstances, to find pleasure in this man’s company. Their conversation turned to the new flat.
“Don’t worry about cleaning your flat,” Hassan Effendi said. “I’ve already instructed the servant to clean it every morning. I shall also recommend a washerwoman, known to my family, to go to your place every Friday.”
Touched, Hussein thanked him shyly. Yet he was somewhat annoyed because he could manage cleaning his room with his own hands and the servant’s daily services would involve additional expenses which he would rather save.
“I’ve prepared a wonderful surprise for you,” he said. “Here is a backgammon board. Do you play it well?”
“Somewhat.” Hussein was pleased.
The man bounced up and left the balcony. Returning with a backgammon board, he put it on the table.
“Thanks be to God,” he said, filled with childish pride, “I’m the best player in Lower Egypt, and perhaps in Upper Egypt, too.”
Delighted with this unexpected entertainment, Hussein inquired, “Do you play it the usual way or the more restricted way?”
They started to play. It soon became obvious to Hussein that in talking Hassan Effendi tended to spray the face of a close listener with his saliva. He hoped to absorb this man in the game so as to divert him from conversation. But he continued to play and talk simultaneously. Since the game itself provided him wi
“Curse your bad luck that has made you fall into my hands,” he cried. “You’ll never enjoy the taste of victory as long as I live!”
Zealously they resumed the game. So absorbed was Hussein that he became aware of his surroundings only when he heard the sound of soft footsteps approaching the balcony. Turning his head back toward the door, he saw a girl carrying a tea tray. Realizing from the first glance that she could not be a servant, he immediately withdrew his eyes in shyness and confusion. As she bent down a bit to put the tray on a bamboo chair, he had a mysterious sense first of her presence and then of her departure. Though he had turned his eyes away, the image of her plump face, with its whitish complexion and two sweet-looking dark eyes—or maybe they were hazel, he was not quite sure—stuck in his memory. Confused, Hussein felt his face flush. All of a sudden Hassan stopped chattering.
“This is my daughter Ihsan. Since I consider you one of my children, I saw no harm in her bringing the tea to us,” he said in a low voice.
Hussein moved his lips as if speaking, but did not utter a single word. Hassan Effendi poured the tea.
“A girl is a great blessing to the home,” he said. “Her sisters are married, one in Cairo and two in Damanhour. She’s the only one not yet married.”
“May God give you joy in her marriage,” Hussein muttered in confusion.
They continued to sip their tea in silence. Hussein’s confusion was beginning to disappear, leaving behind it a sense of embarrassment which he could not clearly account for. Perhaps he was escaping the cause and deliberately ignoring it. Furthermore, he was conscious that he was still affected by the memory, vague though it was, of the girl’s image. He knew this was typical of the effect a female presence had upon him. It had no particular significance; it was the usual reaction of chaste young men. This time, his excitement, occurring not as usual in the street or on a tramcar but in a home, had put him into a deep mood of perplexed delight. Away from Cairo, it was inevitable that he should think of matters more remote. Fear and weariness filled his heart. Hassan Effendi was watching him quietly, growing fed up with the young man’s silence.
“Drink your tea,” he ordered, “and get ready for the next round. You’ve fallen into my clutches and you have no chance of escaping.”
FIFTY-TWO
She was pretty enough to stir his emotions. Later on he saw her in the street accompanied by her mother, and he observed her in her home more than once. Fortunately, she inherited only her father’s protruding cheeks, which, however, instead of making her ugly, gave her a special attractiveness. He readily recognized that Hassan Effendi’s flat was becoming a source of strong attraction to him, not to be explained merely by his desire for entertainment. He was full of youthful vigor and vitality. His heart seemed to be waiting to admit the first girl who would knock at its door. Soon a passion combining desire, admiration, and affection flared up in his breast. In her he sought a solace for his lonely life and a quenching of his thirst for companionship. From the very beginning, he was clearly aware of how critical his situation was. He understood his dilemma, and it never occurred to him to relax in carrying out his obligations to his family. Yet he was not firm enough with himself. This was beyond his control. He had to choose one of two alternatives: either to disregard his circumstances or to live a parched, lonely, and secluded life, cheerless and barren. As his perplexity increased, he thought several times of inventing some pretext or other to return to the hotel. But he remained where he was. Surrendering to fate, he allowed matters to take their natural course. Life continued its march without producing any novelty. Though he seldom saw the girl, her image was indelibly imprinted on his mind. Hassan Effendi kept on chattering as usual, ignoring the whole matter.
In the meantime, Hassanein’s meticulously detailed letters kept Hussein as well informed about his family as if he were still living among them and sharing all their feelings. Hassanein told him that their mother had decided to use the money he was sending them to buy clothes, that he himself had managed to wring a new jacket from her to wear over his old trousers, and that their mother, so that she could do without woolen clothes and still keep warm, had bought herself a new dressing gown to wear over her light dresses. The allocation of Hussein’s money to clothing, though necessary, made it impossible for the family to make use of it to improve their diet, which continued to be bad. As for Nefisa, Hassanein said that she was making only little progress and that their mother had ceased to take the bulk of her earnings as she had done before Hussein began sending them money. Thus Nefisa spent what little money she could spare on her clothes to keep up an appearance appropriate to the family’s reputation. It seemed that there was no room in Hassan’s mind for his family, since his new life absorbed him totally. Or perhaps he thought that with Hussein’s appointment to the government service they were no longer in need of him. In any case, he had completely ceased paying visits to his family. Hassanein informed his brother about his own preparation for the baccalaureate exams at the end of the year, telling him how he was striving to pass them, knowing what it meant to fail.
Seeking in his last letter to ingratiate himself more firmly with his brother, Hassanein mentioned at the close that his new jacket lost its attractiveness when worn with his thin, shabby trousers. Would it be possible, he inquired, for Hussein to come up with the price of new trousers over the next three months? Hussein paused thoughtfully, uncertain as to whether he could comply with his brother’s request without jeopardizing his own savings. Yet he already knew that hesitation was futile, for he could not fail to respond to any appeal from Hassanein. Had he been at home with his brother he might have scolded him. But the distance separating them softened his heart and made his longing for his family irresistible. His devotion to careful economizing made him dislike squandering his money. But in the interest of sacrifices for his family, he found it only a little difficult to relax his carefulness. To please Hassanein, it would do him no serious harm if he tightened his belt for another three months. Knowing his brother well, Hussein realized that Hassanein thought that the others had an obligation to be kind and helpful to him, and that if Hussein failed to buy him the trousers, he would indignantly forget the real favor of buying him the jacket. Furthermore, he was driven by a mysterious urge to shower his brother with favors and good turns, for he believed there was a dazzling future in store for this young man. He had sacrificed his own career for the sake of Hassanein and his sacrifice should be complete. Again, with a mixture of sadness and delight, he saw himself as a sacrificial goat, patient and stoical in facing the grim fate of his family, shielding them from its blows. This feeling gave him strength and pleasure and lent a superb moral significance to his life.
Then the unexpected happened, or so he thought, since he was not quite frank with himself. One day as he sat conversing with Hassan Effendi, the man asked him, “Haven’t you thought of marriage?”
The young man became confused and a bit frightened. “No,” he muttered.
The man raised his eyebrows in disapproval. “Then what are you thinking of?” he asked. “Why do you live? Do you think that a man, especially after securing a job, has any end in life other than marriage?”
Hussein hesitated for a moment. “I have other responsibilities which demand priority,” he said.
He proceeded to confide to the man the difficult circumstances of his family, sometimes exaggerating them to strengthen his position. The man listened with interest until he finished, but he did not appear to be convinced. He was not prepared to be convinced of anything that got in the way of realizing his hopes. He shook his bald head with indifference.
“I see that you are exaggerating the seriousness of the situation,” he said. “Just be patient until your brother obtains the baccalaureate. Then you’ll be free from your obligations, and he, in turn, will hav
Confused, Hussein laughed. “But my brother is determined to continue his education,” he said.
“Listen,” the man continued. “If you have goals in life such as the restoration of the 1923 Constitution, for example, it would be better for you to put off your marriage! You must marry at the end of this year, as soon as your brother finds a job. But if he insists on completing his education, your mother, who approves his plan, has no right to object to your marriage. She has no right to pamper one son if it means depriving the other of his elemental rights in life.”
Hussein was affected but not convinced by the man’s remarks. Because he wanted to maintain their friendly relations, Hussein did not contradict him. “I believe it should be possible to realize my hopes without destroying those of my brother,” he said.
On the surface, this conversation about marriage appeared to be rambling and haphazard. Yet there was a tacit agreement between them about its purpose, for it had been preceded by earlier hints in their conversations every evening. As if dissatisfied with this implicit degree of agreement, Hussein, with much shyness, said frankly, “I think Miss Ihsan is still young.”
The man laughed aloud. “Ihsan is young, of course,” he said. “But marriage isn’t meant just for adults.”
Hussein’s situation remained unchanged in the days that followed, until Hassan Effendi offered to introduce him to some of his relatives at a family party, and he readily accepted. He was ashamed to appear in his shabby clothes before the girl’s relatives. Something akin to madness, as he would call it later, seized him. Driven by this capricious passion, he ordered a new tailored suit, to be paid for in installments, and bought a new pair of shoes and a tarbush. On the first day of the month, he realized that it was impossible to send any money to his mother.