The Beginning and the End

TWENTY-EIGHT

“To me, the splendor of Bahia and the splendor of the sunset are the same,” Hassanein told her as he pointed to the setting sun, and gazed upon her shining, moonlike face.

Opening her mouth, with her teeth sparkling in the sun like gems, she said, “You’ll keep following me to this roof until someone sees us together.”

“I’m your fiancé and have my rights!” he said proudly.

“No. You have no rights at all.”

Incredulous, he laughed cheerfully from the bottom of his heart. He feasted his amorous eyes on her body, wrapped in a red overcoat, its opening at the neck revealing a gray dress underneath, and two thick plaits of hair flowing down the back. The intense red color of the overcoat made her white complexion and blue eyes appear still purer and increased their splendor. She is so small, he thought. If I came very close to her, the crown of her head would touch my chin. But she is fresh and plump and her skin is delicate. Damn this overcoat; it hides her exquisite body, all its outlines and features. She is careful and conservative, and she appeals to me as much as she irritates me.

“I have no rights at all!” he said, surprised.

“Of course not,” she answered with a calm that showed strength.

Does she really mean what she says? he wondered. How beautiful she looks! When she stands on this roof it lifts her above the whole world, and turns the horizon into a mere frame for her own beautiful image. Nothing becomes her more than this frame, so serene, pure, and remote. Nefisa says her disposition is unattractive. It’s true she doesn’t have a sweet temper. But that doesn’t detract from her beauty. I love her with both my heart and my mind. Perhaps I am overpowered by my senses. Does she really mean that I have no rights? How strange. I thought my engagement to her would entitle me to so many rights!

“Sometimes it seems to me that you are heartless,” he said with astonishment.

Her face flushed, and she lowered her eyes shyly. Then, raising them again, she challenged him, “What should I do to prove to you that I have a heart?”

“Declare that you love me,” he said enthusiastically, “and—”

“And?”

“Let’s exchange a kiss.”

“Then I really don’t have a heart,” she said sharply.

“I wonder! Don’t you love me, Bahia?”

Confused and annoyed, she took refuge in silence. “If not, why did I agree to the proposal?” she finally said with a sigh.

His burning chest was relieved. “I want to hear it with my own ears,” he cried hopefully.

“Don’t ask me to do what I cannot.”

Half desperate, he sighed in his turn. “If you can’t bring yourself to speak of it, a kiss won’t bother you.”

“How horrible!”

“How rosy and honey-sweet. Without this kiss, I shall die in misery.”

“Then may God have mercy on your soul.”

“You can’t even bear a kiss? It will be no trouble to you. Stay where you are. Then I’ll take a step toward you and put my lips on yours. It will animate my soul!”

“Or cause our final separation!”

“Bahia!”

“Yes,” she said firmly.

“You don’t mean what you say.”

“I mean every word of it.”

“But it’s a kiss, not a crime!”

“It’s a crime to me.”

“I’ve never heard such a thing!”

She pondered a little. “But I’ve heard it frequently,” she said.

“Where?”

She pondered again. Clearly hesitating, she proceeded to speak with candor and naiveté. “Don’t you read what Al Sabah magazine publishes about girls who are deserted because of their recklessness? Don’t you listen to the wireless?”

His mouth fell open. “Who says that a kiss is recklessness? Haven’t you read what Al Manfaluti, though he was a turban-headed sheikh, said about a kiss?! You forbid what pure love licenses. Al Sabah, the wireless! What nonsense!” he shouted, laughing.

She watched him warily and suspiciously. “Don’t laugh at me. It’s true. My mother told me once that any girl who imitates lovers in films is a hopeless prostitute.”

That bitch, that daughter of a bitch, he fumed, silently cursing her mother. Then it was she who told you this. That short, cunning woman. She is turning the girl against me and spoiling our life. The anger almost suffocated him. What use is this engagement for which I was bitterly scolded?! No use at all! My fiancée is hopelessly obstinate, and all because of this woman, this daughter of a bitch, this contemptible carrier of dry sticks!

“Are you really so puritanical?” he asked her in desperation.

“Of course.”

“Then your love is only a name.”

“Let it be so.”

Casting a long scrutinizing look at her, he saw that she was as obstinate and unyielding as ever. His eyes roved up and down her delicate neck, imagining how it looked beneath her dress. He went further, and imagined her naked shoulders and blossoming bosom. Overcome by his heated, uncontrollable passion, he leapt upon her, stretching his mouth toward her lips. Surprised by his sudden assault, she retreated in terror, stopping him with the palms of her hands.

“Hassanein, stop it!” she shouted breathlessly.

As he saw the burning anger in her eyes, his passion subsided, and he withdrew in shame and confusion.

“Be careful. I might change my opinion of you,” she said, and added, “I think it is time for you to leave.”

“All right, on condition that you won’t be angry,” he murmured, hiding his confusion with a short laugh.

She remained silent for a while.

“And also on condition that you don’t do that again,” she said gently.

He turned away in heavy steps, obviously desperate and confused. Her heart softened and, without thinking, she said to him, “My happiness lies in preserving for you—”

Catching the word before it slipped from her tongue, she bit her lips and fell silent.