The Beginning and the End by Naguib Mahfouz
Yet Hassanein’s depressing thoughts had little opportunity to flourish under the rigorous discipline of military life, which made him forget these thoughts most of the time. As the days passed, he adapted himself to the rigor of this stifling atmosphere, and he found life much more tolerable than before. Moreover, new friendships relieved his loneliness. Thus, in spite of everything, he could once again laugh. And so passed forty days.
SIXTY-THREE
As he departed from the College in his military uniform, it occurred to him that facing the world in this colorful garb was in itself a splendid achievement. He started off as erect as a pillar, self-admiring as a peacock, glancing foppishly at his own image reflected in the windows of shops and coffeehouses. Pleased with the red stripe on his uniform, the long tarbush, and the glistening shoes, he waved his short baton with its silver handle and held his gloves as if to defy the whole world. As he approached Nasr Allah from a distance, he was moved by mixed feelings of sympathy and revulsion. Since he had not revealed his home address to any of his classmates, he was sure that no one whom he did not desire to see the place would encounter him. At the same time, he hoped that only those he wanted to would set eyes upon him. All of them, the shoemaker, the blacksmith, the tobacconist, and Gaber Soliman the grocer, greeted him, waving their hands and staring at him. He raised his eyes to Farid Effendi’s balcony. Noting that it was closed, he was pleased at the happy surprise his unexpected appearance would afford him. Crossing the courtyard, he knocked at the door, and waited with a smile on his face. Nefisa’s voice struck his ears, shouting, “Who is it?” She opened the door. She had barely seen him when she exclaimed, “Hassanein!”
Excited, she pressed his hand, shaking it with force and pleasure. At the sound of her daughter’s voice, Samira came hurrying. He let her embrace him with her emaciated hands and take him to her breast. He kissed her forehead in happiness mixed with concern for his jacket as her arms encircled it. Surrounded by his mother and sister, he walked to his old room, which, strange though it seemed now, stirred nostalgic memories.
The three stood together, the two women looking at him with love and admiration. Samira prayed to God to make her son prosperous, briefly expressed her delight, then took refuge in silence. But the talkative Nefisa said, “We missed you very much. Without you the house is like a tomb. Since you were away, I’ve had to answer Hussein’s letters, and my handwriting is uglier than my face. Hussein couldn’t take his vacation this year because of his colleague’s illness; it made us almost mad with grief. Did you really exchange letters? He told me about it ten days ago. What did you learn at the College? Can you now fire a gun?” Jokingly he answered her questions as he took off his tarbush and put his baton and gloves on the desk. He remained standing, carefully examining his jacket for any damage from the embraces. His mother sat on the bed. “Sit down, my son,” she said.
“I’m afraid my trousers might get wrinkled,” he replied after a moment of hesitation.
“Will you keep standing as long as you have your uniform on?” the woman inquired with astonishment.
Confused, he smiled, then sat down warily on the chair, stretching out his legs and carefully inspecting his trousers. “A wrinkle in my trousers,” he said, “means strict punishment, no less than a month’s detention at College.”
Watching his mother’s countenance to observe the effect of these remarks, he realized that she was disturbed. “Our life is terribly hard,” he continued in a bored voice. “We spend all day and part of the night in the open amidst guns, bombs, and bullets. The slightest mistake might cost a man his life.”
Terrified, Nefisa’s eyes opened wide. Worried, his mother queried, “How can they endanger the lives of our dear sons?”
“Why did you choose the College?” Nefisa exclaimed passionately.
“Have no fears for me,” he replied, shaking his head with confidence. “I can manage the firearms skillfully, and I’ve won the praise of all the officers.”
“What good is praise if, God forbid, you’re injured?” Samira sighed.
“Then what will you do if tomorrow we’re called upon to fight?” Hassanein spoke with inward pleasure. “Haven’t you heard that Hitler is preparing for war? If war breaks out, Mussolini will attack Egypt, and all of us will be recruited to fight.”
Horror-stricken, Samira stared at him. “Is it true, my son?” she asked earnestly.
“This is what some people say,” he said, retreating a bit.
“But what do you yourself think?”
Before he could reply, Nefisa cried, “If it’s true, leave the College at once!”
The young man burst out laughing. Afraid he might spoil their pleasant reunion, he said, “Don’t take what I said seriously; I just wanted to scare you.” Then, changing his tone, he added, “Let’s put joking aside. Tell me, Lady Nefisa, what will you prepare for my dinner tomorrow?”
Smiling, the girl realized that her brother would be her guest Thursday afternoon and during the day on Friday, and that she was obligated to treat him most generously.
“I’ll buy two chickens for you,” she said, “and Mother will cook them, and make green soup.”
“Splendid! And the desserts?!”
“Oranges?”
“How about some sweets—some kunafa? I’ve seen those Friday presents to my colleagues so often that I drool at the thought!”
Nefisa was concerned less for the kunafa than for the shortening required for this kind of dessert, but overcome with generosity, she did not balk at the request.
“And you’ll have kunafa,” she said, “for dessert, as you wish.”
“I could have been greedy and asked you to stuff it with nuts and pistachios,” the young man said hesitantly. She dismissed the question with a joke. Realizing that this was the limit of her generosity, Hassanein laughed. “If you’d only seen the presents my colleagues received! Once, a friend of mine offered me something called pudding.”
“Pudding?”
“Yes, pudding.”
“Don’t blame me, but I might have said pudding was a firearm!” Nefisa said with a laugh.
“Why don’t you take off your uniform?” his mother asked.
“No, I’m going to the cinema,” he said shyly.
Noting the resentment in his mother’s eyes, he hurried to say, “I’ll come back early so that we can sit up together tonight. We’ll spend tomorrow together, too.”
They resumed their conversation and reminiscences at length. Unable to restrain his fancies longer, his heart was attracted to the flat upstairs. It was difficult to interrupt the conversation to say that he wanted to visit their neighbor Farid Effendi.
“It’s time to go to the cinema,” he said indifferently. “Perhaps I can take a few moments to visit Farid Effendi.”
SIXTY-FOUR
He wished he could, somehow, be alone with his girl. But how? Her parents had received him in the sitting room. Joining in the customary lengthy conversation, he waited impatiently for her to come. Shyly she entered the room, wearing a long pink dressing gown that revealed only her limbs. She greeted Hassanein formally, her father looking at her with laughing and admiring eyes. She sat beside her mother. The conversation dragged on. But her presence absorbed all of his attention, and he found it difficult to follow their chatter, and even more so to take part in it. Overcome with boredom, he looked at her furtively, forming a mental picture of her plump, naked body. The blood boiled in his veins, and he felt resentment against the group for restricting his liberty. He noted the confidence and serenity in Bahia’s eyes, her statuesque appearance, her reassurance as she sat at home under the comforting protection of her parents, listening to their conversation, safe in this refuge from Hassanein’s caprices. Although sometimes her attitude angered him, he could not ignore the sense of confidence and trust which she managed to inspire in him, lending an unshakable sense of security and constancy to his profound feeling for her. The conversation went on. Lacking sufficient courage
Bahia’s face flushed and she lowered her eyes, while her parents exchanged glances.
“I think in these modern times, this should be permissible for an engaged couple,” Farid Effendi replied. But his wife disagreed. “I’m afraid this might not appeal to Madam, your mother,” she said to Hassanein.
To prevent his stratagem from being wrecked, Hassanein lied unscrupulously. “I’ve already asked her permission,” he said, “and she agreed with pleasure.”
A smile appeared on the woman’s face. She looked at her husband. “I’ve no objection,” she said, “since her father agrees.”
Farid Effendi asked his daughter to get ready to accompany the young man to the cinema, and shyly she stumbled out of the room. A few minutes later, the couple left. Approaching his flat, Bahia noticed Hassanein’s cautious steps, as if he feared they might attract his family’s attention. She was worried.
“You lied to my mother,” she whispered, “pretending that you had your mother’s permission. And Nefisa will get angry because you didn’t invite her to go with us to the cinema!”
He motioned to her to keep silent, took her hand, and led her across the courtyard to the alley. They walked side by side, Bahia’s parents watching them from the balcony. Her red overcoat brought her pure, white complexion into relief; she was as pretty as a kitten. But in her lingering worry she said accusingly, “Sooner or later your family will know about our outing.”
His pleasurable sense of triumph dismissed all concern. “We’ve committed no sin,” he said with a laugh, “nor will the world fall apart!”
“Wouldn’t it have been better to invite Nefisa to come with us?”
“But I want to be alone with you!”
She feared Nefisa more than anyone else. “You don’t care about anything at all,” she said with concern, “and it’s a pity.”
He reacted with frank, sometimes even offensive words, attacking her reserve and frigidity. “I wish I had committed a sin with you,” he said, “to deserve your accusations!”
Her face turned red, and she frowned with resentment. She kept silent now as they mingled with the people standing on the platform of the tram stop. With inward satisfaction he gazed upon her angry face. “I mean a minor sin,” he whispered with a smile.
She turned her face away until the tram arrived. They climbed into a first-class compartment. Finding it occupied by a foreign lady, Hassanein felt relieved. Sitting close to Bahia, he said teasingly, “Did you miss me much while I was away?”
“I never thought of you,” she said, as if in anger.
Pretending to be sad, he shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, “hurt me more than my feeling that you were anxious to see me.”
“To be frank with you, your new college has made you more unpleasant than before,” she said coldly, hiding a smile.
Involuntarily he recalled Nefisa’s indictment of Bahia as not being sweet-tempered, and he looked closely at the girl. He found her superbly beautiful, yet his sister had described her as not having a sweet temper. He was aware that being head over heels in love with her made him adore even this defect in his beloved’s character. He decided to stop teasing her.
“While I was away,” he said warmly, “I never forgot you for a single moment. Eventually I realized that while it’s torture to be near one you love and she won’t give in, it’s heaven on earth not to be tragically separated from her.”
Lowering her eyes, she remained speechless. Yet, scenting the fragrance of mute passion in her absentminded surrender, he was profoundly relieved. He spoke ramblingly until the tram reached Station Square; they got off the tramcar and walked toward Imad al-Din Street. He asked her to take his arm, and she did so hesitantly.
Walking for the first time beside a person other than her mother, she was overwhelmed with shyness and confusion. Feeling his elbow touch her breast, deliberately or accidentally, she withdrew her arm from his.
“What have I done?” he protested.
“I like it better this way.”
He was indignant at missing this opportunity. “It’ll take a miracle to change you into a real wife,” he said. “I mean a wife who embraces and hugs her husband and…”
Soon afterward, they were seated side by side in the cinema. His feeling of conceit and arrogance returned. This time he had two assets, his uniform and his beloved. When some of his classmates, passing by, cast appraising glances at his girl, this made his heart swell with further pleasure. Leaning toward her, he whispered, “Have you noticed that your beauty attracts attention?”
Noting a shy smile on her lips, he continued to be merry. “My heart tells me,” he whispered again, “that tonight I’ll get the kiss I’ve long desired.”
She threw him a threatening glance, then looked straight ahead. In the dark he tried to touch her with his elbow or foot, but she did not encourage him. Finally, under his persistent pressure, she allowed him to take the palm of her hand into his, both resting on the chair arm separating their two seats. Time passed in total happiness.
SIXTY-FIVE
On Friday evening, he stood in Queen Farida Square, waiting for the No. 10 bus to take him to the College. He had spent a happy day with his family and had a delicious dinner. Nefisa was merry as usual, but within hearing distance of her mother, she said to him sarcastically, “I wish I’d seen you escorting the ‘lady’ to the cinema!”
Realizing that his secret was known when his sister opened fire on him, he gave a loud laugh. He glanced at his mother; she was silent, with something like a smile on her face. He was grateful for his military uniform, which had rescued him from her blows forever.
“What a lovely couple you are!” Nefisa began again with sarcasm. “You with a figure like a lamppost, and your ‘lady’ only a few inches tall, her sour temper announcing the presence of both of you!”
“With your defects,” her mother scolded, “you’re in no position to find fault.”
“Anyhow, at least I’ve got a sweet temper,” the girl replied with a laugh. “But you’re excused, Master Hassanein, since my face isn’t made for the cinema!”
Now he experienced remorse, and Hassanein very warmly apologized to her. What harm would there have been if he had invited her to go with them to the cinema? While he stood waiting for the bus, the memories of the day passed through his mind. After a while many of his classmates appeared and the bus arrived. Jostling, they all rushed into it. Other classmates, some of whom he had seen the day before at the cinema, climbed aboard. Hassanein was pleased at the thought that, as was customary under such circumstances, they would probably comment on his girl. He eagerly awaited their observations on his adventures as a Don Juan. He had not long to wait, since more than one of his classmates seemed to be on the alert. Pointing to him, one of them said, “Guess what. Yesterday this hero was seen with a girl on his arm.”
Hassanein hoped that all his classmates heard this remark and would devote their conversation to him alone.
“What type was she?” another inquired.
“The homely type.”
“Beautiful?”
Focusing all his attention on their remarks, Hassanein’s awareness intensified.
“She had blue eyes,” the first one said, “but she had a crudely native look.”
The blood rushed to Hassanein’s face. His high elation vanished; his ecstatic enthusiasm was extinguished. The others continued their commentary in boisterous hilarity.
“Too short and too plump.”
“As sour-tempered as a field marshal.”
“Old-fashioned, on the whole. Where did you find her?”
Returning to his senses, Hassanein realized that this last qu
Almost unaware of what he was saying, Hassanein exclaimed, “Of course not!” “A mistress?”
Feelings of pain and frustration upsurging within him, he answered, “It’s only for fun!”
“In that case, she’s good enough. A virgin?”
“Yes,” he said, extremely perturbed.
“May God disappoint your hopes! Why do you waste your time with virgins? Don’t you understand that it’s our College tradition to spend Thursday night with a mistress and Friday with a fiancée, or a substitute for one?”