The Beginning and the End

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 keeping with the man’s gentle, kindly character. “Hussein and Hassanein are your sons, and both are at your disposal,” she said softly and shyly.

“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!”