The Beginning and the End

by Naguib Mahfouz

  Instead of the money, he sent her false excuses. He told her that he had fallen ill and that the price of the medicines he had bought was beyond his limited means. He wrote the letter with a lifeless hand and depressed heart, convinced at the bottom of his soul that he was making a series of blunders and that they had deprived him of mental balance and sound judgment; so much so that he failed to fabricate a more adequate excuse.

  FIFTY-THREE

  It was Thursday. Hussein was lying in bed reading the morning paper, which he usually laid aside until the afternoon. Hearing a knock on the door, he thought it was Hassan Effendi’s servant. Going to the door to open it, he found himself face to face with his mother! His mouth agape, he took her hand between his.

  “Mother, in Tanta! I can hardly believe my eyes!” he exclaimed.

  Pressing his mother’s hands, he kissed her cheeks; or rather, they exchanged a kiss. Turning back into the room, he asked her with surprise, “Why didn’t Hassanein tell me you were coming so that I could meet you at the station?”

  She took the chair he offered her.

  “I found little difficulty finding where you live,” the mother said with a smile. “It’s much more difficult to find the way to a house in Shubra itself! Hassanein suggested that I wait until he could write and tell you of my coming. But I saw no reason to disturb you in your illness. In the meantime, I couldn’t stay in Cairo knowing that you are here both lonely and ill.”

  At the sound of the word “ill,” he awoke from the ecstasy of their meeting, a depressing fear gripping his heart. But with his potent fear came a similarly potent power to combat it.

  “Mother,” he said, “I’m sorry I’ve disturbed you. But I didn’t expect this happy result, your coming in person.”

  Her face overflowing with kindness and compassion, she examined him carefully. “What’s wrong with you, my son?” she asked. “How are you now? Tell me about your illness.”

  He exerted his utmost to hide his confusion so that it would leave no traces on his face. He was sure he didn’t look like a sick man. In fact, with a better diet, his health had improved since his appointment to government service.

  “Nothing serious,” he said simply. “I had a bad intestinal upset. It only lasted one day and part of another.”

  “We were all very worried about you, especially as you had reassured us about your health in your previous letter,” she said, fixing her eyes on him. She paused. “Good God!” she continued. “We thought there must be something seriously wrong with you if you weren’t able to send us any money this month.”

  He felt her words pricking him like a sharp needle. With a faint smile on his face, he hurried to say, “I had to spend more than two pounds for a doctor and some medicines. And as you know, I don’t have any reserve for such emergencies!”

  “Never mind. I’m delighted to see you in good health. Now you must send a letter at once to your brother to reassure him and Nefisa, who were extremely worried when I left.”

  Then she cast a scrutinizing glance about his room. In fear and anxiety, his attention fixed on the new suit hanging on the peg. He was mentally preparing himself to invent a new lie. But she only commented. “Your room is clean and its furniture is good. Come on and show me your flat.”

  “My flat only consists of this room,” Hussein said, laughing. “There’s an extra room which I lock up because I don’t need it.”

  “This means that for one room you pay the rent on a whole flat? Wasn’t the hotel cheaper?”

  “On the contrary, the flat’s rent is fifty piasters less than the hotel.”

  “You’ve told us that you don’t need a servant to clean the flat. Doesn’t the cleaning give you trouble?”

  “No. It’s easy for me, as you know.”

  She smiled gently. “My son, you seem happy and comfortable, which pleases me.”

  The crisis now apparently over, he said with genuine relief, “It’s I who am happy, Mother. I’ll have your company for a whole month.”

  She could not help laughing. “Only this night,” she said. “There is no room for me to sleep in. Besides, I shall be too much of a burden to you, since you buy your food from the market.”

  Before he could open his mouth, there was a knock on the door. He went to open it. Samira heard a voice speaking with a countryside accent: “My master Hassan is asking why you’re late today.”

  Then she heard Hussein excusing himself, telling of his mother’s arrival from Cairo. Closing the door and returning to sit on the bed, he saw his mother looking at him with inquiring eyes.

  “That was the servant of my neighbor Hassan Effendi, the chief clerk of the school,” he said.

  She knew from her son’s letters that this was the man who had persuaded him to rent a flat and served as guarantor so that he could buy his new furniture.

  “From what the servant said, it seems to me that you spend your leisure time at his place,” she remarked.

  Imagining for a moment that she could read all his secret thoughts, he avoided her eyes; he felt the sting of fear creeping into his mouth and obstructing his throat.

  “I often do,” he said. “He’s a good-natured man, and besides, he’s my boss. I’ve found his company a substitute for coffeehouses and their corruptions. One has to entertain oneself in one’s leisure time.”

  Samira rose. She went to the bathroom to wash her face. Removing her overcoat, Hussein took it and brushed it with his own brush, praying to God that her visit would end peaceably. He was worried and afraid his secret might be discovered. His mother’s presence here where his secret lay agitated him. He cursed the stupid circumstances which made him fail to send her the money. Returning to her place, the woman began inquiring about his life. But their conversation was soon interrupted by a second knock on the door. Rather indignantly Hussein went to open it. The same servant had returned.

  “My elder mistress,” she said aloud, “wishes to greet Madam, your mother.”

  Samira hurried into the hall to speak to the servant.

  “There’s no room here to receive her. I shall visit her myself.”

  The servant went away. Samira and her son returned to the room.

  “There’s no need for this visit,” Hussein said. “Since you can’t stay here very long, we shouldn’t part even for one minute.”

  “These are customary courtesies,” she sighed. “Obviously, I’m concerned about courtesy to your boss’s family.”

  They resumed their conversation until the brightness of the daylight faded away. When twilight came, Samira rose and put on her overcoat.

  “It’s time for me to visit your neighbor’s wife,” she said.

  With gloomy eyes, the young man watched her until she left the flat. Heaving a deep sigh, he wondered if she had any doubts about him and how this trip would end!

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Worried and depressed, he remained alone; his worry increased as time went by. He no longer entertained any doubt that his secret had been discovered. In his attempt at reassuring himself, he wondered why his imagination was running wild. He hoped that his mother’s visit would end in peace. Surely they would not hint at anything. Yet would she fail to discover the truth if she saw Ihsan? In the gathering darkness, he rose and lit a kerosene lamp. Then, hearing a knock on the door, his heart beat violently. He opened it for his mother to enter.

  “I don’t think I was away for long,” she said.

  They both entered the room. He stood leaning on the windowsill. Silently she started to take off her overcoat and shoes.

  I know it, he thought. Her face is hiding something, many things. I’ll bet she didn’t go to the trouble of traveling to Tanta just to be reassured about my health. My mother is not that weak. She is kind indeed, but unquestionably strong. When will this dreadful silence end?

  “How did you find them?” he asked with pretended indifference.

  Climbing onto his bed, she sat cross-legged.

  “I don’t know why, but my he
art didn’t feel at home with them,” she said curtly.

  But he knew the reason. His secret had been discovered, much to his dismay.

  “The truth is that Hassan Effendi is a good-hearted man,” he said.

  “Perhaps! I haven’t met him, of course.”

  He would not inquire what caused her uneasiness with them. Better ignore it. But he couldn’t ignore it for long. He saw her looking at her hands, lying clasped in her lap. She was thinking of what she should say. What a serious blunder he’d made! He should not have yielded to the circumstances that tempted him not to send any money to them this month. He, the head of the family, and how far he’d gone astray! He saw his mother looking sullenly at him.

  “Now that I’m reassured about your health,” he heard her say, “I don’t think it shameful to tell you frankly that we were frightened when you stopped sending us the money. Excuse me, my son, if I confess to you that I had some doubts that your illness might be a mere pretext!”

  “Mother!” he cried in spite of himself.

  “Forgive me, my son; sometimes it’s sinful to doubt. But for a long time I’ve been pondering the temptations that beset a lonely young man like you in a strange town. Yes, I trust your wisdom. But Satan is clever, and I was afraid that he might have led you astray. Since you know that my dependence on you is next to my dependence on God, you can easily imagine the extent of my grief. Your brother Hassan is no longer a member of our family. Nefisa is an unfortunate girl. And Hassanein is only a student and will remain so for a long time to come. You know him better than we do. We lead a starving, miserable life to overcome our bad luck. Besides, we’ve lost your share of your late father’s pension, and shortly we’ll lose that of your brother.”

  “I need no reminder, Mother,” Hussein said passionately. “It was a mistake. I was forced not to send you the money. I’m really sorry, Mother.”

  She spoke tenderly as if in a soliloquy. “It’s I who am sorry.” Then, after a pause, she added, “I’m sorry that I often give the impression of getting in the way of my sons’ happiness.”

  “You’re doing yourself great injustice,” he said with concern. “As a mother, you’re the model of clemency.”

  “I’m glad you understand me.” Looking into his eyes, she sighed. “Nothing preoccupies my mind so much as the future of your sister, Nefisa. I wish to see her married. But how? We don’t possess a single millieme for her trousseau. It disturbs me deeply to think that I may die before getting her married. You’re men, but she’s a helpless woman with no support.”

  “As long as we’re alive, she won’t be without support,” Hussein replied disapprovingly.

  “May God prolong your life,” she said, sighing again. “But a girl finds no happiness under a married brother’s roof!”

  A knowing look appeared in his eyes. He understood the implication of his mother’s words. Since a girl found no happiness in her married brother’s house, and since Hassanein was almost married, it followed that Hussein should remain single! Sound logic! And compassionate, too! Yet it entailed his death sentence. What could he say? Now he was no longer afraid of her blows, such as she sometimes used to deal to him. But he could not take advantage of this sense of safety to anger her. On the contrary, he would turn it into an innocent incentive to treat her with exaggerated generosity.

  “Rest assured, Mother! I hope Nefisa won’t find herself one day in this impasse!”

  Intimating that he should put equivocation aside and speak frankly, she shook her head. “In fact, certain lingering thoughts still preoccupy me,” she said. “Despite the trouble and expense of travel, I couldn’t rest until I came to you.”

  He smiled. “This means that you didn’t come just to reassure yourself about my health?” The words came forth almost unconsciously, and no sooner had he uttered them than be regretted that they had escaped his lips.

  She smiled at him sadly. “Listen to me, Hussein. Do you want to marry?” she asked.

  To hide his agitation, he pretended to be upset. “I wonder what makes you think so!” he said.

  “Nothing would be dearer to me than to see my sons happily married, but do you want to rush into marriage before your family is able to get on its feet?”

  “I’ve never thought of this.”

  “Are you annoyed by my intrusion?”

  “Never.”

  “If I suggested that you postpone any thoughts of marriage, wouldn’t you consider it unfair?”

  “This would be fairness and charity in themselves.”

  She lowered her eyes. “My real misery,” she said sadly, “doesn’t lie in the catastrophe that has befallen us, but in what I see to be our duty, which might seem cruel and selfish to any person who has only a superficial view of our situation.”

  “I’m not such a person, anyhow.”

  After a moment of hesitation, she said, “Seeing that you are sympathetic with what I say encourages me to advise you to leave this flat and go back to your room at the hotel.”

  His secret was now unearthed. He was stunned.

  “The hotel?” he inquired with a murmur.

  “You’re ignorant of people,” she said firmly. “Perhaps your neighbors are good folk. But they care only for their own interests. Your neighborly relations with them will turn you against us without your realizing it.”

  FIFTY-FIVE

  They did not speak of this subject again. Unlike many of her sex, Samira was not a chatterbox. They had spent Friday morning in complete happiness, partly in Hussein’s flat before setting out for the town on a visit to the tomb of the saintly al-Sayed al-Badawi. But as she was determined to go to the railway station that morning, he was forced to acquiesce. On reaching the station, he bought a ticket for his mother. While they waited for the train, he said to her, “I’ll remain in the flat until the end of this month, because, as you know, I’ve already paid the rent.”

  In answer, she prayed for him to do the right thing. When the train arrived, she said goodbye. Boarding a third-class carriage, she was squeezed in with a throng of villagers of both sexes. At this first experience in his life of seeing her off, a heavy depression came over him. The sight of the departing train and the lonely figure of his mother, surrounded by misery in a mean third-class carriage, cut him to the heart. Depressed and absorbed in thought, he returned home.

  I’m to blame, he thought. I’m paying the price of my folly. What devil is singling me out for his temptation? This is the second time for me. Failure always chooses me. No escape.

  Hassan Effendi’s servant came to invite his mother to dinner, and Hussein told him she had left for Cairo. Later, when the servant returned to invite him as usual to spend the evening in Hassan Effendi’s house, he accepted at once.

  The balcony window being tightly closed because it was winter, the two men sat around the backgammon table inside the room.

  “Why did your mother return so quickly?” Hassan Effendi asked.

  “Our home can’t spare her for more than a day,” Hussein answered, smiling.

  “She arrived on Thursday and departed on Friday. It’s a journey that’s not worth the trouble of traveling by train.”

  “But this journey accomplished what she wanted. She reassured herself about me, and she paid a visit to al-Sayed’s tomb and invoked his blessings!”

  The man pointed toward the interior of the flat. “They’ve told me she is a very good-natured lady,” he said. “Your good-naturedness outweighs hers.” His bleary eyes blinking, the man added, “We hoped she would visit us before she left!”

  “She was in such a hurry,” Hussein said. “I tried to persuade her to postpone her departure till the afternoon. But she excused herself, saying that her family needed her.”

  “We had prepared a good dinner for her, for which I myself had selected three fat chickens,” the man said with regret.

  Confused, Hussein smiled. “I hope you enjoyed eating them,” he muttered.

  The man laughed, and opened the ba
ckgammon table. But instead of arranging the counters to start the game, he inquired with interest, “Didn’t you tell her of our agreement?”

  Hussein felt embarrassed. “No,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “How is it possible for me to broach this subject with her while she considers me responsible for the family?”

  The man seized the die in his hand, rattled and cast it. Then he added, “You’re too apprehensive. Your mother would have been happy to hear this piece of news.”

  “It would make her happy only if it came at the right time.”

  The man laughed aloud. “I’ve my own special philosophy, which is to throw oneself fearlessly into the surge of life. Have you ever heard of anyone starving in Egypt?” he said slowly.

  “That’s because our people are accustomed to hunger!”

  Laughing, Hassan Effendi continued. “All people survive. In the twinkling of an eye, people change. Children grow up, the pupils become employees, and the celibate get to be married men. The only losers are those who are full of fear as you are. This is life.”

  Full of fear? Annoyed at the words, he revolted inwardly against them. This was not fear, but an adequate awareness of the situation. Would he be courageous if he let this woman down, left her in the lurch?! This was not fear. Only foolish men misunderstood him. Disappointed in his hopes, he found no one who would show him mercy or understand him. As his thoughts reached this stage, he suddenly detected in them a strange flavor. Though people might misunderstand him, the feeling that he was in the right delighted him. Moreover, his delight resulted from a sense of being always misunderstood although always in the right. It was a mysterious delight similar to that which people experience when they resign themselves to the harsh verdict of fate.

  “Hassan Effendi,” he said with a smile, “since your family was a large one, it’s impossible for you to understand the troubles of a family like ours.”

  The man hid an arrogant smile under a façade of pretended grimness. “Deal with your problems as you like,” he said. “But don’t forget yourself. God said, ‘Don’t forget your share of this world.’ Things are destined to ripen. In another few months, your brother will obtain the baccalaureate, which will change the situation. Throw the die and see who will begin the game.”