The Beginning and the End

FORTY-THREE

Another year passed, and life continued its usual course. The members of the family followed their normal routines of everyday life. Had their dead father come back to life, he would have been shocked by the tremendous change which had come over the souls, bodies, health, even the looks of his family. But he would certainly have recognized them. His wife and children had not changed that much. But his house had become so completely transformed that, no matter how hard he tried, he would have failed to remember it. The furniture had almost disappeared. The sitting room contained only a sofa and a pale thin carpet which had formerly covered the floor of Samira’s bedroom. Now it replaced the sitting-room carpet, which had been sold. Most of the furniture had been bartered away, and nothing remained in Samira’s bedroom but two sofas, used as seats during the day and as beds at night. Once the sideboard, table, and chairs were sold, the hall, which served in former times as a dining room, became bare. Hassan’s bed had been sold. So degraded was the family’s condition that they took their meals from a tray laid on the floor. Hussein and Hassanein’s beds would have been sold, too, were they not indispensable. The family’s life was hard and arduous. Without Samira’s determination and frugality, the father’s pension and Nefisa’s meager earnings would together have been insufficient to meet the essential expenses of food and shelter. As for Hassan’s assistance, it was scanty and unreliable, extended only on his rare visits, when he brought them hope and delicious food. From time to time he bought his mother a garment, a handkerchief, or some pieces of underwear. Apart from these rare visits, nobody know where he was. Apologetically, he spoke to his mother about his strenuous struggles and slim earnings. This being usually the case, he was not always exaggerating. In fact, he had found life harder than he had expected.

He sang with Ali Sabri’s band, took part in brawls whenever occasion arose, trafficked in narcotics on a small scale, and possessed the body and money of a rather beautiful woman. But his earnings fell short of his aspirations. Furthermore, his mode of life made it necessary to be extravagant and spend money lavishly, to keep up a dignified appearance and hold his assistants. He was constantly torn by a conflict between his personal needs and selfishness on one hand and love for his family on the other. Sometimes love for family gained the ascendant. But self-love being almost always predominant, he allowed himself to be carried away by the strong current of his reckless life. Then, remembering his family, he would act generously toward them as far as his means would allow. Under this generous impulse, he would wish very much to restore his family to the relative prosperity of the past. But, again, his adventurous life would make him oblivious to it; then, once more overcome with remorse and pain, he would remember, and the cycle would continue indefinitely. Though Hassan’s visits afforded the family relief and entertainment, they could not look upon him as the man of the house whose substantial assistance would help them stand on their feet. Samira alone was the cornerstone of the family. Sacrificing herself for the sake of the others, she almost went to pieces; two years of this life had aged her quickly, telling on her more than the previous fifty. She became thin and pale, a mere skeleton. Yet she did not surrender to the ordeal. Never complaining, she steadfastly adhered to her ingrained virtues of fortitude, determination, and strength. She worked throughout the day cooking, washing, cleaning up, sweeping, patching, darning, and attending particularly to her two sons, watching their play, urging them to study, settling their trifling disputes, and checking their impulses, especially those of the whimsical Hassanein. Busy though she was, she kept thinking of the family’s present and future, absorbed in her pain at seeing her daughter, Nefisa, moving incessantly from one house to another, working hard but earning little, in her laborious and desperate endeavors. With supreme stoicism she endured her pains, drawing upon an unshakable faith and clinging to a firm hope, which she believed was bound to be rewarded no matter how long it might remain unfulfilled. By her efforts, her two sons were able to make steady progress without swerving from their goal, and despite their austerity and deprivation, to continue their progress with admirable persistence.

Hassanein was more pained by his deprivation in love than by life’s humiliation. His beloved was no less stubbornly adamant than his mother. She forced him to be content with an ascetic, platonic relationship that was unsuitable to his passionate temper. Engrossed in the troubles of their private lives, the two brothers were almost oblivious to the drastic changes their country was undergoing at this time. In fact, Hussein paid very little attention to politics and public affairs. Perhaps Hassanein was more interested in politics than his brother, but not sufficiently so to be considered a political-minded student. His interest was confined almost entirely to partisan discussions or participation in peaceful demonstrations.

Their mother objected to their participation in political life. Entirely ignorant of politics, she was so absorbed in her feelings for her family that she had no room for national sentiment. Hearing the distressing news of student deaths and injuries in demonstrations, she became alarmed.

“Poor boys!” she was saying to her sons. “What use are demonstrations and politics when these boys have lost their lives?! Their families are afflicted, their homes are ruined, and their death serves no purpose.”

Conscious that he lagged behind his fellow revolutionaries, Hassanein gave vent to his suppressed feelings.

“Countries live by the death of their heroes,” he said.

She gave him a stern look. Lowering his eyes, he changed his mind and desisted from his inflammatory speech. Later, when the Home Front was formed and the nationalists entered into negotiations with the British which led to the conclusion of an agreement, a general sense of relief pervaded the whole country. Hassanein resumed his political conversations, with more daring than his brother when speaking to their mother.

“Now do you realize,” he said, “that the sacrifices made by the martyrs have not been in vain?”

This time she did not get angry, feeling that the danger was now past and that peace had returned. But she did not give up her former opinions.

“Nothing in the world can make up for the death of a young soul,” she said.

“Mother, you’ve lived for half a century under occupation,” Hassanein said. “Let’s pray to God”—he laughed—“that you’ll live for another half century under independence!”

“Occupation! Independence!” the mother replied, in disapproval. “I don’t see the difference between them. It’s better for us to pray to God to relieve our distress and make life easier for us.”

Hassanein spoke with enthusiasm and faith. “But for the occupation, our family would never have been left in the lurch after Father’s death. Isn’t it so?” he asked, turning to Hussein.

“I believe so,” Hussein said hopefully.

Very skeptical, the mother looked from one to the other. She did not care for general conversations such as these which occasionally cropped up, whence God only knew. For only one purpose was she ready to forget the external world, and it weighed heavily upon her mind. This was to steer these two young men, whom she loved more than her own life, out of troubled waters to secure harbors, and to see them become two happy, successful men, immune from the evils of life, providing the family serenity and peace.