The Beginning and the End

NINE

They were embarrassed as they entered the school yard for the first time after their father’s death. They could never resume their old life and everything would be changed. Nothing could be hidden from the rest of the students. That was so obviously painful to both of them. Only a few friends knew what had happened but soon the news spread around and their friends came to express their condolences. One of the students warned them: “Your family should choose the right guardian for you, for I never realized what a catastrophe my father’s death was until my uncle’s guardianship was inflicted upon me!”

A guardian! Hussein pretended to be listening to some pupils talking about the last demonstrations and the endeavors to present a united front, but he heard Hassanein’s answer to his friend: “We are quite sure of our guardian.”

“How lucky you are,” said his friend. “But it all depends on the sort of inheritance you got. In the case of land, it will be easy to cheat you. But if it is buildings, it wouldn’t be that easy for the guardian. That’s what my mother says.”

“Fortunately, our inheritance consists only of buildings,” Hassanein calmly replied.

Hussein listened, infuriated. He was not only vexed by these lies, but also feared their consequences. How could we face our new situation if the boys thought that we were wealthy? he wondered. What are we going to do, and what are we going to say? He is lying irresponsibly. Damn him! He gave a warning look to his brother, but, annoyed, the boy avoided his eyes. One of the pupils asked how their father had died. Hassanein replied, deeply moved, “We are told that he died suddenly. Amazingly enough, on the day of his death, in the morning when he saw me going out to school, just one hour before his death, he patted my shoulder tenderly and said, for no obvious reason, ‘Goodbye. Goodbye.’ How could I have known that he was bidding me farewell?” Nothing of that sort had really taken place and he did not know why he said it. It was still more curious that his words rang with true emotion, as though all of this had actually happened. What he said was impromptu, motivated by a mysterious urge to venerate his father. So surprised was Hussein by his brother’s description and show of emotion that he almost smiled. Averting his face, he saw the captain of the football team standing some distance away. He wanted to give vent to his pent-up feelings. He walked up to the captain and greeted him.

“Please,” he said, “release my brother and me from membership in the Shubra Club.”

The captain looked astonished. He was particularly troubled because Hassanein was the right wing on the team. “What’s troubling you?” he protested.

Hussein was touched. “Our father is dead,” he said.

The captain fell into deep silence, then gently expressed his sorrow. After several speechless moments, he inquired, “Need this really mean that the club should be deprived of two skillful members like you?”

“Mourning dictates it,” Hussein quickly replied.

“Mourning is not incompatible with sports,” said the captain with compassion.

“Our circumstances warrant this. I’m sorry,” said Hussein amiably.

He made his farewells and walked away, avoiding his eyes. Joining his friends, he found them discussing politics. One was saying, “God be merciful to the martyrs of the Faculties of Art, Agriculture, and Dar el-Ulum!”

“Sacrifices must be made,” said another, “for blood is the only language the British understand.”

“The pure blood of the martyrs has never been shed in vain.”

“Don’t you hear the call for unity now?” said a third.

“And here is The Times hinting at negotiations.”

The bell rang and, still arguing, they went to their classes.