The Beginning and the End

TWENTY-THREE

Nefisa returned to Nasr Allah at sunset, as was her habit in those days. She seemed to have started paying attention to her appearance, which she had neglected for so long in mourning the death of her father. She applied kohl to her eyes, and colored her cheeks and lips with light lipstick. Something is better than nothing. His persistence in flirting with her and treating her nicely gave her a measure of self-confidence, reassurance, and hope. She no longer cared that he was the son of a grocer, and she the daughter of an official. That he was interested in her made her think very highly of him. Motivated by her inhibited impulses and passions, her suffocating despair and the zest for life which only death can extinguish, she responded and continued to encourage him. As time went on, his image became familiar, even lovable, and in the midst of the barrenness of life, it cultivated a fragrant flower of hope. She no longer lived her days in listlessness, waiting for something to break the monotony. Now, walking in Nasr Allah after a full day’s work, she quivered with a warm delight that overflowed her heart, her nerves, her whole body. Once he said to her, “You want sweets. You are nothing but sweets.” His words invaded her heart, and she smiled with happiness and delight. She felt an urge to say to him, “Don’t tell lies. There is nothing sweet about me!” But, doubtful and perplexed, she kept silent. She reminded herself of the proverb that says, “After all, every girl will find her admirer.” Who knows? Perhaps she was not as ugly as she thought. She continued to walk along the road with her eyes turned to the shop, until she stood before him face to face. Delight shone in Soliman’s face.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I was wondering when you would come.”

Casting a look at his father’s seat, she found it empty. She could see him praying behind the column, laden with cans and pots, in the middle of the shop. Reassured, she said coyly, “Why do you wonder?”

He screwed up his narrow eyes. “Guess. Ask my heart,” he replied with a smile.

She raised her painted eyebrows. “Ask your heart? Oh! His heart! What are you keeping inside?”

The young man whispered, “My heart says it is delighted to see you, and it most eagerly waits for you!”

“Really?”

“And it also says that it desires to meet you now in the street to confide to you something of importance.”

He turned toward his father and heard him uttering the Salutations marking the end of his prayers. So he said in a hurry, “I can leave the shop for a few minutes. Go on out ahead of me to the main street!”

Baffled, she looked at him with excitement. She felt an urge to meet him. But she refused to acquiesce so easily, without persistence on his part and professed objection on her own.

“I am afraid of being late,” she said.

Nodding warningly toward his father, he said anxiously, “A few minutes. Go on out ahead before he finishes his prayers.”

Realizing that there was no time to be coy or coquettish, she changed her mind. After a moment of hesitation, she turned with a beating heart toward Shubra Street. She was overpowered by excitement, anxiety, and fear. But she continued to walk, with no thought of retreat. Her long-cherished dreams lightened the weight of the new step she was taking. Soon she overcame her fears, thinking only of the sweet hope that she could see at the end of the road. When she reached the street, she looked behind her, to see him approaching at a quick pace, wearing a jacket over his gown. She turned to the right and walked quickly away from her quarter. In long strides, he caught up with her. Pleased, he said, “I excused myself from my father for a few minutes.”

She cast a significant glance at his apparel, and he understood. “I cannot put on my suit except in my free hours,” he said apologetically.

He looked merry and delighted. His amorous eyes were not so blind as to see her as beautiful. But deprived and oppressed as he was by his tyrannical father, he welcomed this opportunity to enjoy whatever love was available to him, even from a girl so ugly, helpless, and deep in despair. In any case, she was a member of the beloved female sex, otherwise beyond his reach. He was afraid to let the minutes pass without saying what he wanted to say. So he spoke hurriedly.

“The shop is usually closed on Friday in the afternoon. Meet me then. We could go together to Rod el-Farag.”

“Go together? I don’t like the idea. I’m not one of those girls.”

“What if we do? What is wrong in it?”

“God forbid!”

“We’ll find a place safe for conversation.”

“I am afraid one of my brothers may see us.”

“We can avoid that easily.”

She shook her head and said, a bit bewildered, “I don’t like this life, so full of fears.”

“But we must meet!”

She pondered. “Why?”

He looked at her in astonishment. “So as to meet,” he said.

Worried, she answered, “No. No, I’m not that type.”

“Don’t we have anything to say to each other?”

“I don’t know.”

“I have much to say.”

“What is it you want to say?”

“You will know it in due time. There is no time to say it now.”

As doubts assailed her, her face reddened. “I’ve told you, I am not one of those girls!”

The young man exclaimed in a sorrowful tone, “How could I possibly think so, Miss Nefisa! I’m a man of the world, and I can judge people.”

She felt relieved. But she wondered why he failed to ease her heart by uttering the very words she was yearning to hear. Once more he asked, “Shall we meet, then, next Friday?”

She hesitated a bit, then murmured, “By God’s will.”

Deeply preoccupied, she returned home. This was the beginning of the love she was so eager to experience. Her heart shook off the dust of frustration, and it became full of life, ecstasy, warmth, and hope. That was true. Yet she was at once baffled and worried, not knowing how the affair would end, and how her family would react to it.