The Beginning and the End

TWENTY-SIX

Soliman Gaber Soliman spoke. “Don’t have any doubts about it. We shall marry as I have told you. I make this promise before God.”

Nefisa listened to him attentively, her heart beating hard. There was no longer anything new in her taking his arm and walking by his side in one of the back streets of Shubra, where darkness prevailed and the passersby were few. Ugly and of mean appearance though he was, she always looked upon him as a wonderful beau because of his warm emotion and great interest in her. Thus she developed a profound, even mad love for him.

She believed that he was her first and last lover. Hope and despair made her cling to him passionately, and love him with her nerves and flesh and blood. Her turbulent instincts saw him as her savior from despair and frustration.

He was the first man to restore her self-confidence. He reassured her that she was a woman like other women. She was born anew each time he confessed his love for her; and in spite of the engulfing gloom of the world, she perceived its illuminating splendor. However, words of love were not enough for her. She was eager for something more that was no less important than love itself; or, perhaps, to her, the two were identical. She kept urging him until he promised to marry her. Encouraged by the enveloping darkness, she asked him, “So what do you intend to do?”

He answered without hesitation, “It would be natural for me to tell my father and then we would go together to your mother to ask for your hand.”

“I think so, too.”

He sighed audibly and said, “I wish it could be. But right now, it’s a remote hope.”

She became depressed. “Why?” she inquired anxiously.

“My father,” he said angrily, “damn him. He’s a foolish, obstinate old man. He wants me to marry the daughter of Amm Gobran el-Tuni, the grocer, whose shop is located on the corner of Shubra Street and Al Walid Street. I don’t need to tell you that I refused and will continue to refuse. But I can’t suggest to him at present that I have proposed to another girl. If I do, he will dismiss me.”

She felt her throat becoming dry. Looking at him with disdain, she inquired worriedly, “What is to be done, then?”

“We have to be very patient. No force in the whole world could deflect me from my goal. But we must be on our guard lest he become aware of our relationship.”

“Till when must we remain patient?”

He hesitated, perplexed. “Until he dies,” he murmured.

“Until he dies!” she exclaimed with anxiety. “Suppose we die before him?”

Confused, he gave a dry laugh. “Leave this matter to me and to time,” he said. “We are not completely helpless.”

His words struck her as equivocal and most ungratifying. I can’t tell him that I am afraid that in the interval of waiting someone else may step in and propose to marry me, she thought. This would be a good tactic for a girl of wealth and beauty. But as for me, who will ask for my hand in such hard times as these, when men are avoiding marriage? I have degraded myself by accepting the worst, but the worst does not accept me. He is just a son of a grocer! Even the suit on his body appears odd and ill-fitting. She felt an oppressive hand pressing her neck. Her fear made her cling to him more and more. At that moment, he was worth all the world to her. It was not clear to her how she could marry him, even if he removed the obstacles standing in their way. Her mother could not possibly offer her anything by way of help. Besides, her family could not do without the few piasters she earned. But she desired him; desired him from the depths of her soul, at whatever cost.

Her face grew grim, and she opened her mouth to speak. Suddenly, she saw someone coming along the road, and the blood congealed in her veins. She uttered a terrified groan and was about to take to her heels. But she stopped when she distinguished the face of the newcomer as he passed under the light of a lamppost. Her terror disappeared, and she gave a sigh of relief. Wondering, Soliman inquired, “What is wrong with you?”

She answered breathlessly, “I thought it was my brother Hassan.”

The young man seized this opportunity to express a long-cherished desire. “We shall always be subject to fear,” he said to her, “as long as we roam about in the streets. Listen to me. Why don’t we go to my home and stay for a while, where no one could see us?”

“Your home!” she exclaimed in astonishment.

“Yes. My father spends Friday evening with the Sheikh of the Al Shazliah sect, and he remains there until midnight. My mother is also away in Zagazig on a visit to my sister, who is expecting a baby. So there is no one at home.”

Astounded by his suggestion, she said with a palpitating heart, “How can I possibly go home with you? Are you mad?”

“We need a safe place,” he entreated her. “My home is safe, and my invitation to you is innocent. I want to be safely alone with you so we can discuss our troubles quietly, far away from fears and watchful eyes.”

As he spoke, she listened with a frown on her face. In spite of herself, fearfully and anxiously she was forming a mental picture of his empty home. To no avail, she tried to use anger to obliterate this mental picture; but it persisted in her mind’s eye. She said sharply, “No, not at your home!”

Pressing the palm of her hand, he said beseechingly, “Why not? I thought you would welcome my invitation. I want to be alone with you so that I can talk to you about my love for you, my hopes and plans. There is nothing wrong with what I am asking you to do, and nobody will ever know about us.”

She obstinately shook her head, and her heart kept throbbing violently. She wished to be left alone, to have time to think this matter over. She felt a desire to escape, but she remained motionless. She walked on by his side, with the palm of her hand in his. She tried in vain to banish the picture of the presumably empty house from her imagination. Then she felt her insides turning upside down, as if she was sinking into a bottomless abyss. Overcome by more worry and confusion, she said, her tension obvious in her voice, “Not at your home.”

His quivering hand pressed hers.

“Yes, in my home,” he said. “Think it over a little. What are you afraid of? I love you and you love me. We want to talk in a safe place, away from watchful eyes, about our love and our future. It is a rare opportunity to have the whole house to ourselves and we should not miss it. I’m surprised at your hesitation!”

She also wondered why she was hesitant, but for different reasons. Had she really wanted to refuse his invitation categorically, she would have done so quite easily and clearly. But it seemed to her that she was persisting in her hesitant refusal so as not to frighten him away. Probably she was afraid and shy, but she could not ignore the radical transformation that had occurred inside her. She was overcome by confusion, anxiety, and tension. She said feebly, “It’s better to continue walking.”

Temptingly, he pulled her to him, saying, “You never can tell. Your brother Hassan might appear at any moment.”

She found herself responding to his fears and surrendering to him, saying, “I’m afraid of what would happen if he did.”

Sighing with relief, he exhaled a fiery breath. “Let’s go home.”

She resisted his hand feebly. “No, I won’t go.”

“Just for a few minutes. Our alley is dark and nobody will see us.” He walked on, and she followed him with heavy steps, saying, “No.”

Her heart was throbbing so violently that her ribs seemed to crack.