The Beginning and the End

TWENTY-FOUR

Hassanein reached the door of the roof and sighed audibly. She heard him, but, ignoring him, she walked slowly toward the chicken house. He coughed. The sun was emitting its last rays as he boldly rushed toward her. She turned on her heels, confronting him with a stony face, revealing neither anger nor pleasure.

“Is there no end to this?”

He said with a short laugh, “You’re giving me an unforgettable lesson.”

Preserving the reticence in her face, she replied, “I wish you would learn a lesson.”

He cracked his fingers, shouting, “Never!”

He sighed aloud. He was extremely jubilant in the discovery that she wanted to converse with him.

“Never shall I stop loving you,” he continued.

Her face flushed. “Don’t utter those words again,” she said, frowning.

He spoke obstinately, quietly, and emphatically. “I love you!”

“You want to tease me?”

“I want nothing but your love.”

“I shall deafen my ears,” she said sharply.

Slightly raising his voice, he repeated, “I love you. I love you. I love you!”

She kept silent with longing and conflicting emotions; he continued to devour her with his eyes. Unable to bear the weight of his glances, she turned her back and walked away. He rushed after her. She turned to him with a frown. “Please. Leave me and go away.”

He said in astonishment, “There is no reason to say that now. It’s past history. We are now in the stage of ‘I love you.’ ”

“And what do you want?”

“To love you.”

She was about to scold him, but she was overcome by a smile she had long been suppressing. Then she gave a short stifled laugh that came out of her nose as a pleasant snort. She couldn’t help lowering her head in shyness. So moved was he by her gesture that his overpowering passions rose still higher; encouraged and desiring more, he went up to her, stretching his hand to hold hers. But she looked almost horrified, and withdrew.

“Don’t touch me,” she said with serious finality.

The smile of triumph appearing on his lips faded away. But she did not care. In the same serious tone, she went on, “Never try to touch me. I won’t allow it. I won’t even think of it.”

He was dumbfounded. “I am sorry,” he said in astonishment. “I didn’t mean any harm. I love you, truly and honestly.”

She looked at her feet. Her appearance showed the gravity of what she was about to utter. “Thank you for saying it,” she said seriously. “But this matter is not for me to decide.”

He was astonished at her words. So swept away by emotion was he that he had never paused to think of anything beyond it. He loved and saw nothing but love. Yet what she said brought him back to his senses. Now he understood what he had overlooked; he realized that the matter was serious, that it was no trifle. He was not sorry about that and his delight increased, but he was pervaded by a feeling of fear and anxiety, and unaware of the reasons for it. In an attempt to overcome his perplexity, he said, “I see your point of view and approve of it. But this is not everything. I ask your heart first.”

Her features softened, but without losing control of her will, she replied, “Please, don’t entrap me in talk which I don’t like.”

“Talk which you don’t like!”

She did not mean exactly what she said. But she found herself forced to mutter a feeble “Yes.”

“This is a bleeding stab into my heart,” Hassanein said fearfully.

Shy, perplexed, and confused, she replied, “I don’t like to be secretive about what I do and say.”

He couldn’t help smiling, saying, “But this is inevitably part of the whole thing, and there is nothing wrong in it.”

His words and his smile made her ill at ease. The redness in her face increased, and she said rather sharply, “No! I don’t like flirtation!”

“But my love for you is genuine.”

“Oh! Don’t force me to hear what is unbearable to me!”

Smiling, he inquired, “Should I kill myself, then?”

She smiled inwardly, but no sign of that appeared on her face. “There is no need whatsoever to kill yourself,” she said. “I have told you everything.”

The last sentence brought him back to fear and perplexity. “I am just a young man of seventeen,” he said, after some hesitation, “and a pupil in the third year of secondary school. How, then, can I broach this subject?”

She turned her face away.

“Wait until you become a man!” she replied coldly.

“Bahia,” he said in astonishment mixed with resentment.

“There is no other way,” she answered quietly.

He was irritated and upset by the firmness of her attitude. But meanwhile, he felt his love overpowering him, obliterating his fears and worries. Surrendering, he said, “Have things your own way. I shall talk to those who have a say in the matter.”

She raised her eyes to him for a moment, then lowered them. For a while she seemed about to speak but she kept silent.

“I shall speak to Farid Effendi,” he said.

“You!”

“Yes.”

A silent objection appeared on her face.

“Is it necessary that my mother should do it?” he asked.

She hesitated briefly. Blushing, she said with difficulty, “I think so!”

He was upset by the frankness of her reply, which deepened his worry. He imagined his sad mother sitting with her head bent in the dark hall, unlighted to save expenses. He became agitated. “I shall talk to him,” he said in a low voice, “and convince him to approach my mother about it.”

The girl asked, surprised, “Why don’t you talk to her yourself?”

He was about to say “I can’t,” but then he closed his lips. He ignored her question.

“I am very much afraid that he might scoff at me,” he said, “or that he would keep you waiting until I finish all the long years of education which lie ahead of me.”

Impatiently and almost unconsciously, she replied, “He will approve waiting, as long as I consent to it.”

She bit her lips in shyness and pain. Very eagerly, he looked at her, and with a heart quaking with love, he stretched out his arms to reach her. But she withdrew, frowning to hide her emotion.

“No, no,” she said. “Have you forgotten what I told you?”