The Beginning and the End

FORTY-NINE

His room at the hotel was small, containing a single bed, a wardrobe, a wooden chair, and a peg. There was only one window, overlooking a narrow back alley and facing the wall of an old house that shut out the sun. The room’s atmosphere betrayed a latent humidity. Other rooms in the hotel overlooked Al Amir Farouk Street, but since the price was exorbitant, he had chosen to live in this modest room.

It’s only right that I should live at the same standard as my family in Nasr Allah alley, he thought, with old houses on both sides.

In his new lodging, the first thing he did was open the window. Driven by curiosity, he looked out. He saw a mean blind alley with old houses on both sides. He wondered at the vast difference between this and the street from which it branched off. Glancing at the wall of the house which shut out the open air, he felt annoyed. He was certain that his life, lonely as it was, would be devoid of entertainment, too. Turning from the window to the mirror in the wardrobe, he saw a bizarre reflection of his image. His face appeared long and his features distorted in the mirror’s pale flyspecked surface. Laughing, he said to his own image, “With God’s mercy and grace, I’m handsomer than you are.”

He proceeded to take off his clothes and put on his gallabiya. Then he put his few clothes in order inside the wardrobe, which, small as it was, still looked nearly empty. In fact, he owned only one suit, two gallabiyas, and two pairs of flannels and pants. These were not only old but also darned and patched. For reassurance, he thrust his hand into the jacket pocket, taking out a packet of pound notes. After counting them, he returned the money to its place with painful memories.

He squatted on the bed, not knowing how to spend the rest of the day. With no one to talk to and nothing to do, he became totally absorbed in his thoughts and dreams. He felt lonely and surprised, realizing that he would suffer bitterly from the boredom of ample leisure time. He loved reading, but even if he were able to buy whatever books he liked, he would still find leisure time oppressive. He was not accustomed to heavy silence. In his mute loneliness he felt like a lost, trivial person for whom nobody cared or had the slightest consideration.

Where is Hassanein’s sharp, hysterical voice, always bursting out laughing or complaining? he thought. Where is Nefisa’s thin one, and her daily satirical comments on neighbors and events?

He refused to surrender to his feelings, and decided to work out his budget and calculate his expenses. His salary was only seven pounds. In his precarious circumstances, this sum would not have been inadequate. He would spend one pound and fifty piasters on the room, and not more than two pounds, under any circumstances, on his daily meals of beans for breakfast, a plateful of vegetables with meat, a plateful of rice and a loaf of bread for dinner, and Tahania sweets or cheese for supper. In emergencies, he could even forgo his supper, as he and his family often did during the past two years. Whatever his circumstances, he would never allow his stomach to give him trouble or play havoc with his budget. He should rise above such mundane matters. Now, immune from Hassanein’s opposition, he could resolve this question. This austerity was not only tolerable but more satisfying than gluttony. He would also give two pounds to his mother. He was well aware that this was far too little and wished he could give her double the sum. But he could not help it, for after deducting the taxes due, only one pound and fifty piasters would remain of his salary to meet incidental and clothing expenses. Bewildered, he thought of saving up even a tiny sum. To him, life was unbearable without economizing, no matter how little. Reared by a mother such as his, he could not possibly conceive of living without economizing. In fact, in political terms, his mother’s position was analogous to that of Germany in relation to the other countries, in her ability to turn even garbage into grist for her mill. She would patch trousers; then despairing of patching them any more, she would turn them. Despairing again of turning, she would cut them up and use one part of the cloth as a skullcap and the rest as a cleaning cloth. Any remaining cloth was thrown away only when it was reduced to frayed tatters. And so he felt the need to economize. The cruelty of life, assaulting his family mercilessly, made these thoughts a sort of creed. At this stage of his thinking, he became prey to the same poverty-generated fears that had hounded his family. Since occasions for extra expenses were innumerable, they always dreaded that they might exceed the limits of their income if one of them fell ill, or the school authorities asked them to pay fees for one reason or another, or if Nefisa should stop earning money for a period of time; the list of potential disasters was endless. In these ruminations, he experienced a gnawing pain, as he remembered his mother’s dry face with its bulging veins, an incarnation of patience and sorrow. Miserable and ugly though it was, hers was of all faces the dearest to his heart. Curiously enough, now that he was conscious of his ability to relieve his mother’s burden, he felt a breeze blowing upon him. As of tomorrow he would be a government employee. Sooner or later Hassanein, too, would become an employee of higher rank. All his life he would say with pride that he had been content with an intermediate certificate to help his brother obtain a higher one. Would Hassanein remember this sacrifice? Hassanein seemed to be self-engrossed, though undoubtedly intelligent and industrious. But he…! Away from home, Hussein felt he should not be critical of his brother. How great was his longing to see Hassanein! And how much greater was his longing to engage in argument with him.

The whistle of a train shattered the prevailing silence and interrupted his thoughts. His heart quivered. The hotel was not far from the railroad station, so every now and then the bustle of the trains was bound to remind him of Cairo and its people. Memories of the last farewells returned to him, and his aching heart overflowed with an intense yearning to see his family. A cloud of loneliness and melancholy darkened his heart.

Perhaps this is the price I have to pay for my first day of separation. However, gradually I shall get accustomed to it, he consoled himself. He was at a loss as to what to do. Should he spend most of the day in this room, or should he go out and have a look around this new town? The idea of writing a letter to his brother rescued him from these conflicting thoughts. He began writing, describing his journey, the hotel, Kustandi its owner, his room, and his longing for the family. He sent his regards to his mother and Nefisa. Then he paused, wondering whether it was good form to send his regards to Bahia, too. Here he felt uncertain. Should he mention her by name or refer to her as his brother’s fiancée, or should he be content to send his general greetings to Farid Effendi’s family. Finally, after much hesitation, he chose the latter course.