The Beginning and the End (7 page)

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.

“What fees will we be paid?”

Hussein pretended indifference. “Don't be a disgreeable beggar!” he replied.

“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.”

He gave his brother a meaningful look, which Hassanein received
with suppressed indignation. He felt so restless that he went out onto the balcony, forgetting that only a few moments earlier he had suggested closing the window. Facing the dark, he felt as melancholy as the murky clouds of the sky, which made the darkness outside more profound and desolate. Not a single star shone on the horizon. The light of the lamps was dimly perceptible under a thick envelope of mist. A silence, as heavy as lead, fell on the universe, and a mute coldness almost suffocated him.
A puritan. A puritan,
he thought.
He wishes prematurely to be a dignified man. He does not want to help me. Who knows! Perhaps if she had a sister, he might have behaved differently. He is as serious and as stern as our mother. I must solve this problem in my favor.
He kept pondering until he heard Salem calling him, then he entered the room.

“Have a cup of tea,” the boy said.

He saw two cups on the table, and as he took one of them, he felt his tension relax. Before a minute passed, they heard the doorknob grating. They looked toward the door. It opened a little and Bahia appeared. She was carrying the sugar bowl, which she gave to Salem. “Take this,” she said. “Perhaps there's not enough sugar in the tea.”

She wore a brown dress, the hem almost touching the upper part of her ankle. The length of the dress lent charm to her rather short figure. The two brothers stared at her face, but her eyes remained on the boy. Stunned, Hussein lowered his eyes, but Hassanein kept staring at her face, as though he had lost the power to turn his eyes away from it. He watched the boy bring the sugar bowl. His beating heart was filled with consternation when he saw the girl shut the door. It was painful for him to see her disappear while his astonishment was still unyielding, all-absorbing, and from his depths sprang an irresistible desire to express himself. “Thank you,” he said, hurriedly. “There is enough sugar in the tea.”

Her eyes turned to him in embarrassment, then she disappeared without uttering a word. Perhaps her eyes revealed a
suppressed smile. He avoided looking at his brother and fixed his eyes on the cup of tea.
This is a surprise which I did not expect,
he thought.
A happy dream. In spite of the closed door!

He took a big sip of the hot liquid. It burned his tongue and palate, and made him gasp. But temptation soon made him forget the burning effect of the hot tea, and his mind contemplated her again.
What a soft body, and what fascinating eyes. Even that long dress could not hide the image of her legs, particularly her knees. Neither the long dress, closed door, nor darkness can conceal such an image. Ones greatest duty in this world is to flirt with a beautiful girl whom one loves. I wonder how a shy girl, who dares not look into the face of her lover, can one day carelessly take off her clothes in his arms!

Such a girl is apt to infuse delightful hopes even in dead souls. Perhaps this is due to the force of habit. Yes. The force of habit, which has rendered supperless nights quite a familiar thing to us. What right do I have to think of love under the present circumstances of our life! “Thank you. There is enough sugar in the tea!” I did well when I thanked her! My disposition dislikes cowardice and hesitation. Thus I can seize upon the opportunities of love in the midst of the desolation of poverty. If poverty were a man, I would kill him. But poverty is a woman. It kills us all and we do not resent it. Does my father suffer for our condition? What shape does he assume now? Alas! My father! True, life is a big lie. But she came in person, carrying the sugar bowl. In fact, she came especially for me. I wish I were the Charlemagne of my age. If one day I returned to Nasr Allah in the full majesty of knighthood, she would unconditionally surrender to me.
He recovered from his reverie only when he heard Hussein speaking.

“Come. It is your turn.”

Ah yes. The English language.
He took his brother's place. He gave a lesson replete with kindness and affection for the boy in whose veins ran the same blood as that of his sister…the blood which he detected in the delicate back of her knee. At last he finished. But he was so absorbed that he was unaware of the passage of time. Then the two young men left the flat and
climbed down the dark stairs. He was no longer able to contain his feeling.

“Her appearance today was a wonderful surprise,” he said.

Hussein spoke in a suspiciously critical tone. “Take care. Don't be insolent. This is a respectable house.”

“What did I do to deserve that reproof?”

“Do not do anything you would not dare to do if Farid Effendi was with us.”

So delighted was Hassanein that he said as if to himself, “She came in person! Oh God! How nice she is!”

“She did nothing wrong by coming.”

“Do you think that her father asked her to bring the sugar bowl?”

“How could I possibly know?” Hussein answered, sounding bored.

“Did she come of her own accord?”

“What difference does it make?”

“If she came of her own accord, did her father know about it?”

There was no answer from his brother, who nevertheless paid close attention to his words.

“Did she come surreptitiously?” Hassanein persisted.

“Surreptitiously?!”

Hassanein pressed his brother's arm. “Do they not say in proverbs, ‘Between lovers there is discreet communion'?” he said as they reached the last stair.