The Beginning and the End by Naguib Mahfouz
She heard her mother speaking to someone in the hall. Her hand stopped working on the machine and she listened intently. The endless bargaining of the furniture dealer resounded roughly in her ears, while her mother, in a voice both solicitous and reproachful, was doing her best to defend herself against his haggling. Mother is not a fool, she thought. Nobody in any similar situation could have taken her in. But it is merciless need which weighs so heavily upon her. When will we get the pension? I don’t know. Nor does Ahmad Yousri know. How inadequate the pension is! Only five pounds! What a catastrophe! The man has come to carry away the big mirror in the sitting room. Only two weeks before, my beloved father’s bedclothes were sold. The man will come tomorrow and the day after tomorrow until he leaves the flat utterly bare. Why are we brought into this world only to become obsequious slaves of food, clothing, and shelter? This is the root of our trouble.
She hurried to the door of the room and opened it. Through the open door of the sitting room, she saw her mother standing at the threshold and the merchant with his men carrying the long mirror outside. The man carrying one end of the mirror was shorter than the other; thus the mirror was being carried in a slanting position. On the surface of it, she could see a reflection of a corner of the hall ceiling, swinging, as the legs of the carriers moved, as though the house were shaken by an earthquake. Unconsciously, the memory of her father’s bier struck her again. As she cast a last look on the mirror which she had known ever since her birth, she became even more depressed than before. She went back to her sitting place, thinking: The mirror should be the last thing I should feel sorry for. It will not reflect a pleasant face for me. “A sweet temper is more precious than beauty.” You are the only person to say so, Father. But for me, you would have never said it. I have no beauty, no money, and no father. There were only two hearts that were concerned over my future. One is dead and the other is engrossed in its worries, and I am terribly lonely, desperate, and suffering. I am twenty-three years old. How dreadful! When our circumstances were much better, no husband put in an appearance. How is it possible, then, that a husband will turn up today or tomorrow?! Suppose that such a husband agrees to be married to a dressmaker, who will pay my marriage expenses? Why should I think of a husband and marriage? No use. No use. I shall remain as I am as long as I live.
There was a knock on the door, and the landlady came in as merry as ever. She embraced Nefisa and kissed her. They sat side by side. The woman spoke to the girl tenderly and affectionately. Perhaps she made a point of being more tender and affectionate than was her custom. To hide her shyness and confusion, Nefisa pretended to be pleased and at ease, but actually the woman’s exaggerated show of affection not only hurt her deeply but also doubled her shyness and confusion. The woman tried on the dress and the underwear Nefisa had finished. Then she sat close to Nefisa and placed silver coins in her hand.
“It is impossible for me,” she said, “to pay off my past debts to you.”
After remaining with her for some time, the woman said goodbye and departed. Nefisa unfolded the palm of her hand to find two ten-piaster pieces. With storm and agitation in her heart, she stared at the coins. Overwhelmed by shame and humiliation, she thought: This is painful, but I should not think of it. What use is there in breaking my heart over it? I have to train myself to accept the inevitable. This is my life, and there is no alternative to it.
Her mother came in while she was still staring at the money and took it from Nefisa’s hand.
“Is this money for all the clothes or only for the dress?”
“I don’t know.”
The mother swallowed with difficulty. “They are good wages anyhow,” she said, taking care that the expression on her face should not betray her feelings.
FOURTEEN
Some weeks passed. The curtain of the night fell; melancholy and a kind of silence permeated the flat. The two brothers sat at the desk facing each other, busy studying their lessons. To economize, Nefisa and her mother sat in the hall in semi-darkness, seeing only with the aid of whatever light emerged from the boys’ room. Mother and daughter, as was their habit every evening, spoke quietly. Most of their conversation revolved about the troubles of life. Since poverty was still their major preoccupation, the older woman was fear-stricken. She viewed the future with profound worry and sadness. However, they were getting accustomed to their circumstances. Austerity in food was no longer as disturbing as it had been at the beginning. Nefisa began to adapt herself to her new occupation, yearning, with some humiliation and a great deal of hope, for new customers. Hussein and Hassanein had gotten used to relying on the school meal as a substitute for dinner and, stoically, went to bed as a substitute for supper. The force of habit overcame their initial humiliation, and Samira’s dominating firmness helped to keep the nerves of her afflicted family in check.
That evening Farid Effendi and his wife came to visit them. Samira and Nefisa welcomed the visitors and led them to the sitting room. The two felt quite at home as they entered, Farid Effendi wearing an overcoat over his gown, and his wife a dressing gown. To accommodate his obesity, the man sat on the sofa. He spoke softly, affectionately, and entertainingly. Um Bahia, his wife, was rather short and as plump as he; yet because of her blue eyes and pale complexion, she was considered the most beautiful woman in the building. Gently reproaching Samira, she asked her, “Why do you stay at home the way you do? Why don’t you get some relief by visiting us as you used to?”
“The cold of the winter assails us,” the mother replied. “In the evening, we grow lazy, and in the course of the day the burdens of managing the house never leave us an hour’s rest.”
“We are one family,” said Farid Effendi, “so we ought to spend most of our leisure time together.”
Farid Effendi was the type of man who never left his home except in cases of emergency. He spent his leisure time squatting on the sofa, surrounded by his wife, his daughter Bahia, and his younger son Salem. They told stories, chewed sugarcane, and roasted chestnuts. Samira felt genuine affection for his kind and generous heart. She never forgot his care and thoughtful assistance on the day of her husband’s death. In addition, he had lent her some money until she received her husband’s pension. He never failed to go to the Ministry of Finance to inquire about the pension and give the papers a push. But contrary to her flattering notion of his position, he was just a minor official, promoted only recently to the sixth grade when he reached the age of fifty. His neighborly relations with the dead man’s family went far back, and ties of friendship between the two families were strengthened by their mutual good-naturedness and similar standards of living. Theirs was not a bad life, nor was it devoid of entertainment. The family of the late Kamel Effendi had enjoyed new prosperity when he had been promoted to the sixth grade, five years before his death. Farid Effendi had entered on a new era two years earlier when he inherited a house in El Saida Zeinab, which brought a monthly rental of ten pounds. Thus his income had amounted to twenty-eight pounds a month, which was considered very substantial in 1933. Farid Effendi became master of Nasr Allah alley, grew fatter than ever, and if not for his wife’s insistence on saving for the future of their daughter and young son, he would have satisfied his desire to move into a flat on Shubra Street.
Their conversation ranged widely, and then Farid Effendi expressed a wish which was probably the chief reason for his visit.
“Madam, I ask you to do me a favor.”
“Anything you wish, sir,” Samira replied.
“My son Salem, who is in the third year of primary school, is weak in English and arithmetic. Teachers being greedy, as you know, I have thought, with a view to economizing, of asking Hussein and Hassanein to undertake the job of tutoring him for an hour a day or every other day. This is the favor I am asking, Um Hassan.”
Samira realized what the man was offering: a face-saving means of assisting her sons by providing them with a monthly supply of pocket money. This was as clear as broad daylight, and in k
“They will really be helping me out. I hope they can start next Friday,” he replied happily.
They went back to their conversation, and the man and his wife left at about nine o’clock.
Nefisa hurried to her brothers’ room with this happy piece of news. Regaining some of her former disposition, she told them merrily, “There’s a surprise for you!”
They raised their heads inquiringly.
“Farid Effendi,” she continued, “wants to choose a tutor for Salem.”
“What has this got to do with us?”
“He will choose from you.”
“For what subject?”
“English.”
“He will choose me, of course,” Hassanein cried.
“And arithmetic, too,” she said with a smile.
“Me.” Hussein heaved a sigh.
“He wants to employ both of you, gratis, of course,” she added slyly.
Understanding her insinuations, both shouted with delight, “Of course!”
FIFTEEN
Since they felt no need to put on their suits when they visited a flat in the same building, they merely pulled on their coats over their pajamas and went out. Furthermore, to avoid unnecessary wear, their mother forbade them to dress in their suits except in cases of extreme emergency. The shining forenoon sun tempered the cold weather. Filled with hope and delight, the two young men climbed up the stairs. On their way, they passed the door of their old flat, casting silent looks at it, then continued to climb until they reached the top flat. Finding its door partly open, they hesitated for a few moments. Hassanein approached and raised his hand to knock on the door, but it stopped in midair as, in spite of himself, he stared inside the house. There he saw a girl, her back to the door, her head bent over something she held in her hands; perhaps she was looking for something in a drawer of the sideboard. Her shapely buttocks protruded and her dress, slightly raised, exposed her naked legs and the backs of her knees. The color of her legs was sparkling white, and the eye could almost sense their softness. The sight so attracted Hassanein that he stood entranced, and Hussein began to wonder at the cause. He came near his brother, craned his neck to cast a look over his shoulder, and was overcome with astonishment. But like an escaping fugitive, he quickly retreated, pulling his brother by the arm away from the door and looking sharply at him, as if to say: Are you mad? They stood for a while, overcome by a vague sense of guilt, for the spectacle made their blood run hot. Hassanein leaned toward Hussein and whispered, “Bahia!” in his ear.
His brother pretended to be indifferent. “Perhaps,” he murmured.
Hassanein hesitated, a diabolic smile in his eyes. “Shouldn’t we steal another glance?” he said.
Striking him on the shoulder, his brother pushed him aside, then knocked on the door. They heard footsteps approaching, and when the door opened, a beautiful round face appeared, chubby, white and slightly pale, adorned with eyes of pure blue. As soon as she saw the two newcomers, she retreated shyly. Then from afar came the voice of Farid Effendi, shouting, “Please come in, great masters!”
They entered the hall, which also served as a dining room. Farid Effendi sat on a sofa facing the sideboard; his loose garment made him look like a balloon. As they shook hands, he welcomed them warmly and closely studied their faces. Then he called Salem. The boy came in to stand before them, embarrassed and uncertain. “Shake hands with your masters,” Farid Effendi told him. “You know them, of course. But from now on, they are different people. They are your masters. So you must behave in their presence as you would with your teachers in school.”
The boy approached politely, doing his best to conceal a smile at the two young men, for whom he had not yet developed the habit of respect. His father pointed to a room to the left of the entrance.
“The sitting room,” he said, “is the most suitable place for your lessons. There is a balcony, too, if you want to be in the sun.”
The two instructors proceeded to the room, with their pupil leading the way. The boy hurried to the balcony and opened its French windows, then closed the door. Since Farid Effendi had no son of their own age with whom they might have exchanged visits, this was the first time the pair had entered the flat. They discovered that the sitting room was much like their own. It contained an old set of seats, two European sofas, half a dozen chairs, and a huge mirror whose lower section was a basin filled with artificial flowers. But whereas their own sitting room had looked much the same for years, here the carpenter’s hand had renovated the interior and its coverings for Farid Effendi.
Hussein sat on the sofa, and Salem brought a chair to sit facing him across a table lined with texts and notebooks. Meanwhile, Hassanein went out onto the balcony to await his turn. Hussein went through the boy’s books. “I shall repeat the lessons from the beginning,” he told him, “and explain whatever is not clear to you. And when we start the next lesson, I shall check to see that you’ve studied the first one.”
They then got down to serious work.
Hassanein leaned on his elbow on the edge of the balcony, as he had when they had had a balcony themselves. The exciting scene was still vivid in his mind: her superb legs, her full, shining face, her blue eyes, her solemn, quiet glance suggesting steadfastness, no frivolity. Although there was something disagreeable about her enchanting beauty, her impression upon him had lost none of its force. His blood was still running hot in his veins, and his heart continued to flutter from the excitement of the scene. His mind churned up images and dreams. His heated imagination made him see everything behind a feverish veil: the roofs of the surrounding houses, Nasr Allah below, multitudes of people coming and going. When would his peace of mind be restored? He remembered Bahia as he used to see her often when she was a young girl hopping about in the yard of the house. At the age of twelve, she had disappeared from the yard and for some time stopped going to school, before entering secondary school. Perhaps now she was fifteen years old. He felt as if he were seeing her for the first time.
I need such a girl, he thought, to accompany me to the cinema, to play and talk with me. There’d be no harm in kissing and embracing her. My barren life has no pretty face to attract me. I have had enough of the boys’ friendships at school and the Shubra Club. I want a girl. I want this girl! In Europe and America boys and girls grow up together, as we see in films. This is true life. But this girl, no sooner did she set her eyes on us than she fled from us as though we were monsters who would devour her. Our forefathers kept concubines. Had I grown up in a house full of concubines, I would have experienced another life, in spite of my mother’s admonitions. Even the servant we employed was dismissed because we are poor. What does the future hold in store for us? The greatest sin we shall answer for in the hereafter is that we have left this world without enjoying it.
Really, the most beautiful sight was the back of her knee, in the center a tense, delicate muscle, and blue veins beneath the whiteness of her skin. If her dress had revealed just a little more, we could have seen the beginning of her thigh…the most beautiful sight in the whole world is that of a woman undressing. It is more fascinating than the sight of a naked woman.
They say our history teacher is a great lover of women. When shall I become a free man? Tomorrow, we have a history period, and this evening I have to study the Germanic tribes. God bids us to marry as many women as we please. But this country no longer respects the ordinances of Islam. He absorbed himself in his reverie until the voice of Hussein reached him, asking him to start the English lesson.
On their way out, they saw the girl sitting in the room facing theirs. Hussein, with his usual dignity, lowered his eyes, while his brother cast a penetrating glance. Shyly, she lowered her eyes.
SIXTEEN
“What fees will we be paid?”
Hussein pretended indifference. “Don’t be a di
“We have been teaching Salem day in and day out,” Hassanein said hopefully, “and a long time has passed. Perhaps we’ll be paid at the beginning of the month. Mother thinks each of us might receive fifty piasters. That would be wonderful! We’ll be able to play ball, go to the movies, and buy chocolate from the canteen during breaks again.”
The two brothers climbed up the stairs. The short winter day disappeared into the early darkness of evening. Cherishing the hope that revived in their breasts every evening but which had so far been unfulfilled, they knocked at the door as usual and waited for someone to come and open it for them. The servant came and led them to the sitting room. The hall was empty, and a light, at its end, emerged from the parents’ bedroom. Hassanein walked ahead, searching the place from the corners of his eyes; Salem came and closed the door behind him, sat in front of Hussein, and began his lesson. Disappointed and bored, Hassanein took out a book he had brought with him to study while he awaited his turn. He looked at it distractedly, indignantly raising his eyes at the closed door. Cunningly, he inquired, “Wouldn’t it be better to close the balcony window to protect ourselves from the cold, and open the door instead?”
Salem was on the point of rising from his place, but Hussein signaled him to stay where he was.
“Close the French window of the balcony if you like,” he said, “but the door of that room must remain closed.”