The Beginning and the End (20 page)

“There is Ahmad Bey Yousri, your late father's friend,” Samira said to her son. “He can find a job for you overnight.”

She remained for a while absorbed in her thoughts. “My overcoat is too shabby for me to put in an appearance before respectable people,” she continued. “I can't go in person to him. So you go to him and take your brother along to give you courage. Only mention to the porter that you're the late Kamel Effendi's sons.”

In the afternoon the two brothers went to Taher Street. Arriving at the villa, as instructed by their mother they told the porter they wished to see the Bey. After a few minutes, the porter returned to lead them to the sitting room. Walking along a path through the center of the garden, they cast astonished glances at the variety of flowers, their delightful colors enlivening the place. They climbed a flight of stairs leading to a grand reception hall. Confused, the two brothers sat close to the door in the same place their mother had chosen on her visit to the Bey two years earlier. They glanced quickly at the thick carpet covering the vast floor of the room, the many elegant seats, cushions, rich hanging rugs, gigantic curtains on the walls, and a chandelier with electric lamps suspended in a halo of dazzling light from a high ceiling.

Pointing to the chandelier, Hassanein said, “It's like the chandelier in the mosque of Saidna al-Hussein.”

Hussein was preoccupied with other matters. “Yes,” he said. “But forget about the chandelier. What should we say to him? You must use your tongue to help me!”

“Do you think that you'll be addressing the devil?” Hassanein said sarcastically. “Speak boldly, and I'll speak too. Damn him!”

His curse, free from resentment, was intended to encourage his brother as well as himself. He was stunned by the luxurious surroundings.

“Do you think Ahmad Bey's heirs will be sorry when he dies?” he asked in a low voice.

“Wouldn't we be sorry for our father's death if he were rich?” Hussein said.

Pondering, Hassanein knit his eyebrows. “I think we would,” he said. “But perhaps sorrow has different shades and gradations. Oh! Why wasn't our father a rich man?”

“This is another question.”

“But it's an all-important one. Tell me, how did this Bey get rich?”

“Perhaps he was born wealthy.”

Hassanein's hazel eyes glistened. “We must all be rich,” he said.

“And if this is impossible?”

“Then we must all be poor.”

“And if this is impossible, too?”

“In that case we must revolt, murder, and steal,” he replied angrily.

“This is exactly what mankind has been doing for thousands of years,” Hussein remarked with a smile.

“It pains me to think of spending our lives in toil and squalor until we die.”

“God forbid.” Hussein smiled.

Before Hassanein could open his mouth again, they heard footsteps approaching from the veranda. Then the Bey entered, his tall, broad body garbed in a white silk suit. As he shook their hands in welcome, his laughing eyes scrutinized their faces. He said to them as he sat down, “Welcome to the sons of the dear departed. How is your mother?”

The two young men thanked him simultaneously. The man's warm welcome thawed Hassanein's resentment, but Hussein's confusion returned. Ahmad Bey was afraid this meeting might
involve demands for his assistance. He took it for granted that, if a request was made, he would have to comply with it. Though he was not a miser, his generosity was not voluntary. He would be upset and annoyed to be asked for help but would act generously, unable to turn down any such request.

Overcoming his confusion, Hussein spoke in a soft, courteous voice, so full of supplication and entreaty that his words seemed superfluous. “Sir, I have obtained the baccalaureate. Our family circumstances force me to look for a job. My mother has sent me to Your Excellency, and we all have great hope that you would kindly extend a helping hand to us.”

The Bey ran his fingers through his thick dyed mustache.

“A job?!” he said. “Chances of government employment are very slim nowadays. But I shall do my best, my son. I don't think I'll be able to find a job for you at the Ministry of Interior, but the Under Secretary of State for Education is my friend, and so is that of the Ministry of War. Fill out an application form, and I'll write a strong letter of recommendation for you.”

Thanking him for his kind generosity, they made their farewells and departed. As they moved away, Hassanein gave the villa a last glance. Turning his eyes to his brother's face, he found him absorbed in a contented reverie. Hassanein wondered if today his brother was rejoicing over what he had considered sacrifice the day before.

“After breathing the fragrant breeze of the full life which blows from this villa, I'm sure we can hardly count ourselves among the living,” he said.

Hussein was too preoccupied with thoughts of his employment application and the letter of recommendation to pay attention to his brother, who resentfully said, “I wonder at your calm contentment! But the pretense doesn't deceive me.”

“What use is discontent?! It won't change the world,” Hussein replied with a smile.

“But the world must change. There can be no doubt that we
have a right to live in a clean house, eat healthy food, and enjoy a proper social status. As I look back over our life, I see that it has been no good at all.”

Hussein gazed curiously at his brother, who failed to comprehend the significance of his glance.

“Yet you enjoy love and will continue your education. Isn't this good enough for you?” Hussein asked.

Hassanein cast a glance at his brother. He wondered what Hussein had meant by these words. He felt ill at ease and his annoyance redoubled. He gave vent to his pent-up feelings. “Hasn't our misery driven you to sacrifice yourself?” he inquired. “We've elementary rights, none of which should be put aside. But where are we? How do we live? Through what sufferings our mother goes! What is Hassan's status? And how is it possible that our sister has become a dressmaker?”

His peace of mind disturbed, Hussein frowned. Ignoring the essential point of his brother's argument, he cried reproachfully in his brother's face, “A dressmaker!”

Filled with excitement and agitation, Hassanein replied, “Yes. A dressmaker! Do you sincerely hate this? Do you really wish she was married like other girls?! That's a lie. If she had married, or even if she hadn't worked as a dressmaker, both of us would have stopped going to school and been forced to take any menial jobs we could find. This is the truth.”

Hussein's anger increased, not because his brother's words had failed to convince him, but because, in his heart, he believed them to be true. He knew that he wouldn't have welcomed his sister's marriage and consequent happiness.
We devour one another,
he thought.
We should be pleased with Hassan's buffoonery and frivolity as long as he visits us every month and brings along a leg of mutton. We should also be pleased with our sister the dressmaker as long as she provides us with our dry morsels of bread. And this rebellious young man should be pleased that I am discontinuing my education so that he can continue his own. We devour one another. What a brutal
life this is! Perhaps my only consolation is that a superior power grinds and devours us all. But we struggle and fight back.
This last thought brought him calm and peace.

No. We do not devour one another,
he told his brother silently.
Say no such thing
(he was unaware that his brother had not, in fact, said any such thing).
Never say such a thing. We're a miserable family and countless other families are in the same boat. It's the duty of each one of us to make every sacrifice.

Then, as they reached the doorstep, in a firm voice he asked his brother to stop arguing.

Hussein realized that his job, for which he was willing to sacrifice so much, was not easily obtainable. He had already spent three whole months in anguish and despair, paying frequent visits to Ahmad Bey Yousri's villa and to the Ministries of War and Education. At length the Bey informed him that he had managed to appoint him as a clerk at the secondary school in Tanta, and persuaded him to appear before the Medical Commission and prepare himself to leave for Tanta to start work on the first of October.

The young man was pleased, as was his family, but their pleasure was tinged with bitterness. Samira had been looking forward impatiently to this appointment, hoping that it would rescue the family from its misery. But his appointment in a distant town frustrated these hopes. As she wavered between joy and regret, Samira realized in her perplexity that the job would offer the family very little relief. Her son's travel and living expenses in Cairo and Tanta were bound to exhaust his income from the job. Besides, on the horizon there appeared the dreadful shadow of a new separation, for which the family was not yet prepared and which was a source of pain to them. Samira wondered at her luck, grim even while it smiled at her, which caused her to be separated from the only son who never gave her trouble, and in whom she saw an image of herself, her calm and her patience. From Hussein's company she derived comfort and solace which she could not find in any of her other children. He was not her favorite son; the naughty Hassanein was her darling. But at this particular moment Hussein seemed the most precious element in her existence. He had never been away from his family for a single day, and so his sorrow at the parting was
great. His feeling was accentuated both by his deep attachment to his family and by his crushed hope that, living among them, he would bring some relief. He had frequently looked forward to restoring Nefisa to her former station, a respectable mistress in the house, as soon as he cashed his first salary check from the government. But he saw his dream vanishing into thin air. Tomorrow he would leave his dear family, leaving them in almost the same unfortunate condition.

This, perhaps, was the reason why he went once more to Ahmad Bey Yousri, begging him to use his influence to keep him in Cairo. But now the Bey was fed up with him; he told him that his wish was too difficult to fulfill at present. With no money to live on in Tanta until he cashed his first salary check at the beginning of the month, Hussein was confronted by a new problem. How could he obtain these initial funds? He turned to his sister, Nefisa, but she always gave her mother the bulk of her limited earnings, keeping almost nothing for herself except some money for essential clothes. Even if the rest of the furniture was sold, the proceeds would be too meager to meet his requirements.

Thus he thought of Hassan as the only possible source. He confided his thoughts to his mother, who agreed. She had no doubt that her eldest son would come to their rescue if it was at all possible for him to do so. She gave Hussein his brother's address. He set out at once for Clot Bey Street, and there started to search for Gandab alley. At the beginning of his journey, his heart was filled with great hopes. Gradually hope gave way to anxiety, until he finally wondered whether Hassan would really give him what he needed, and whether he might lose the job just because of his inability to obtain a few pounds.

By the time he had found his way to the alley at last, his mood was one of painful pessimism. It was a narrow, zigzagging alley, with dilapidated houses on both sides, its polluted air permeated by the smell of fried fish, crowded with people and cluttering handcarts, and the echoes of hawkers advertising
their wares was interspersed with abusive language, rattling coughs, and the sound of people gathering spittle in their throats and spewing it into the street. The ground, covered with dust, vegetable litter, and animal dung, was a gradual incline, so that the alley appeared to be constructed on top of a hill. Hussein went to number seventeen, an ancient two-story house. So strikingly narrow was it that it seemed more like a huge pillar than a dwelling. Not far from its entrance sat a woman selling pips, peanuts, and
dome,
the fruit of palm trees. Hesitantly he entered the house. As he climbed the spiral stairs, which had no banister, his nostrils were filled with a putrefying odor. When he reached the second floor, he knocked at the door. He was extremely afraid he might not find his brother at home, and his fear was intensified when nobody opened the door for him. Violently and desperately, he kept knocking until his hands ached. In his despondency he stood there, not knowing what to do. He was about to move away when he heard a rough voice inside, shouting angrily, “Who is this son of a bitch knocking at the door at such an early hour?”

Hussein's heart pounded with delight. Answering the voice, which he well recognized as that of his brother, he said, “Hassan! It's me, Hussein.”

“Hussein!” The voice sounded astonished. Then Hussein heard the rattle of the bolt being lifted. As the door was opened, he saw Hassan, his hair unruly and disorderly, his eyes swollen and bloodshot. Extending a hand to greet his brother, Hassan shouted in surprise, “Hussein! You're welcome. Come in. I hope no calamity has brought you here. What's the matter?”

Rather confused, Hussein entered. Soon his nose was filled with the odor of incense, its sweet fragrance sharply contrasting with the horrible smell emerging from the staircase. He found himself in a darkened corridor with two rooms, one on the right of the entrance, the other facing it to the left. Smiling apologetically at his brother, Hussein said, “Have I come early? It's eleven o'clock.”

Hassan yawned. “I usually get up in the afternoon. Singers work by night and sleep by day,” he said, laughing. “But before anything else, tell me, how is our family?”

“Thanks to God, they are well. How is everything?”

Accompanying his brother to the room on the right, Hassan said, “Thanks to God, everything is all right.”

They entered a small room, nearly partitioned into two halves, one containing a bed, the other a wardrobe, with a sofa between them next to the inside wall. Hanging above the sofa was a big photograph of Hassan with a very dark-skinned, fleshy woman leaning on his shoulder, her arms around his neck. As Hussein fixed his eyes on her, his astonishment caught his brother's attention.

“What are you thinking about?” Hassan asked, laughing.

“Have you married, my brother?” Hussein asked naively.

Asking Hussein to sit on the sofa, Hassan jumped on the bed and squatted there. “Almost,” he answered.

“Are you engaged?”

“Neither married nor engaged.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the third state!”

Dumbfounded, the young man raised his astonished eyes to Hassan. He smiled mechanically in spite of himself. A feeling akin to shyness appeared on his face. Hassan laughed aloud.

“Even without a marriage contract, she's my wife in every possible sense,” he said lightly.

“Aren't you alone now?” Hussein asked fearfully.

Nodding his head affirmatively, he yawned aloud like a braying donkey. “Of course, you won't tell anybody about it,” he cautioned.

“Of course.”

“I don't want to hurt the family's feelings, that's all. By the way, have you had any experience with the female sex?” Hassan asked with a laugh.

Shyly, the young man shook his head no.

“Nor Hassanein?” Hassan continued.

Hussein's heart pounded with fear and pain for no obvious reason. “Nor Hassanein,” he said.

Hassan became thoughtful. “That's better for you,” he remarked. “If one day you intend to marry,” he adding, laughing, “come to me and I'll supply you with wonderful bits of advice.”

“I'm not thinking of marriage, as you know,” Hussein said calmly.

“Is it possible that Hassanein will get married before you?”

His heart shook, but he said quietly, “This is certain, since he is bound by an old promise.”

“Anyhow, when Hassanein finishes his studies, no obstacle will get in his way!” Hassan was moved. “Oh! By the way, what's the latest news about the job you are searching for?”

Hussein was delighted by the opportunity Hassan was affording him to bring up the subject.

“I've come to tell you that I've been appointed a clerk at the secondary school in Tanta, and I'll be starting my work on the first of October,” he said.

“Will you travel to Tanta?” Hassan asked with astonishment. “What use, then, will it be to Mother if you live in Tanta?”

“Little use. But what's to be done?”

“This is really bad luck. This is the result of school education!”

To overcome his confusion, Hussein smiled. Summoning up his courage, he said, “I should be leaving by the end of September. As you know, government salaries are paid at the end of the month.”

Hassan realized what his brother was driving at before Hussein finished speaking, and as he pondered it, he allowed no trace of his thoughts to appear on his face.

“How much of a salary do you expect?” he asked.

“Seven pounds.”

“How foolish of Mother to have sent you to school! And, of course, you have not a millieme of the money needed to cover your travel and living expenses for the month of October?”

Hussein smiled resignedly, wondering at the embarrassment and confusion the situation had caused him; it was as if he were asking a stranger for help. His mind active, Hassan silently continued to stare at him.
Hussein comes to me at an inappropriate time. I'm expecting some money. But I'm not sure when it will come. Right now I'm empty-handed, entirely empty-handed. Damn him! I can't tell him the truth. Let hell destroy us all before I ever do. He has a pressing need for the money and he must obtain it. The future of the family depends on these few pounds. In fact, he doesn't need much, just the price of a few pounds of hashish. In one week's time, a reckless young man would spend such a sum of money on the women of Darb Tiab. Sana'a herself is hard up. I don't keep anything for her. I must help him. But how? Why did he wait until today to come see me? How long will my family remain a source of pain to me?
Silently, he continued to gaze at his brother, until the latter's heart was stricken with worry and fear. Suddenly Hassan moved away from the bed. Reaching the wardrobe, he opened a drawer. After fumbling in it for a few minutes, he returned to his place on the bed. Holding four gold bracelets in his hand, he stretched it out to his brother.

“Take these bracelets and sell them at once, for whatever you can get for them,” he said hurriedly.

Hussein's hand failed to move as his eyes opened wide, disturbed and disapproving. “What's this? Whose bracelets are these?” he shouted in spite of himself.

Annoyed by his brother's disquiet, Hassan said simply, “They are Sana'a my wife bracelets!”

“By what right should I take them?”

“Your brother is giving them to you. You've nothing to do with their owner.”

Deeply disturbed, Hussein wondered what sort of life his
brother lived. “I don't feel comfortable about taking them. Isn't there some other solution?”

This show of dignity made Hassan angry. “If you're this scrupulous, just leave them. I've nothing else to give you,” he said dryly.

At first Hussein was skeptical. But after examining Hassan's face and realizing the genuineness of his expression, he felt annoyed and degraded.
A woman's bracelets! And what a woman!
he thought.
This is both impossible and unbelievable. I wouldn't have conceived of it, nor would I have believed this could happen to me even in a nightmare. How could I possibly respect myself afterward?! Should I refuse the bracelets? What's to be done if I do? He doesn't have any other money. I should believe him. I can't lose the job either! What would I do if I lost it? I can't refuse. Nor can I accept! I must refuse! But I cannot.
He kept wavering back and forth, unable to decide.
Only one thing deserves to be cursed,
he thought.
That's life. Yes, life and luck, and the two parents that have brought me into this world. Not caring a damn, my father used to play on his lute strings!
He started with alarm.
May I be destroyed! How dare I think so! The image of his corpse is indelibly imprinted on my memory. May God's mercy fall upon him. He was not the one to blame. We are all like chickens, scratching our food from the dirt. And Hassanein and Bahia meet in the chicken coop on the roof. How disgusting! Let me then refuse. But in order to survive we have to submit. Nobody would know anything about it. Still, I'll remember it as long as I live, and my shame will last for the rest of my life! He is waiting for me to decide. Either I submit or perish! I'll take them as a debt to be paid off when I have enough. No, I'm deceiving myself. No, I'm honest and I'll pay off my debt. If I don't refuse, I'll never be able to claim that I'm an honest man. I'm hungry. Honest but hungry. And I'll not refuse. Damn this life! Now I realize what drove my brother to live in this lair. Our family is lost and life is cruel. I must come to a decision before my head bursts. Like chickens…

“What do you think?” came Hassan's voice.

Stunned, Hussein raised his eyes to him, his brother's voice fearful in its effect. Hassan was still holding the bracelets in his hand. Lowering his eyes, Hussein shyly said, “Thank you for your generosity, which I accept willingly. I beg you to consider this a debt, which I'll pay off when, by God's will, I have enough.”

“Accept it as a present, if you like. And tell Mother that I borrowed the money from Mr. Ali Sabri.”

Hassan's mention of his mother aroused his resentment and gave him acute pain. As he took the bracelets and put them in his pocket, his resentment doubled.

“Sorry to have disturbed you. I think I should be leaving so that you can get back to your nap,” Hussein said.