The Beginning and the End

SIXTEEN

“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.