The Beginning and the End

FIFTY-ONE

Hussein decided to stay at the hotel until he received his salary. As time passed, he became convinced of the need to move into a private flat that would give him a greater sense of security and stability. Hassan Effendi was always underlining the advantages of living in a flat of his own. At the beginning of the month, Hussein bought a bed, a small wardrobe, and a chair for about two pounds, for which he agreed to pay in four installments, with Hassan as a guarantor. The flat rental being only one pound, moving in involved no extra expense. The new flat occupied half the roof of the house, on the middle story of which Hassan Effendi lived. In addition to the lavatory and kitchen, there were two rooms. Since one of these was superfluous, the young man locked it up, furnishing the other with new furniture. The one window in the room overlooked Walei al-Din Street, where the entrance to the house was situated. The rooftop flat was higher than the surrounding buildings, and the unrestricted open air in front of its only window gave the young man a sense of freshness and relief which he had been denied at the hotel, and he was thus very pleased. The day he moved in was a happy one indeed. For the first time in his life, he found himself the master of his own house and proud possessor of a salary and furniture. His sense of relief and delight when he had received his salary that morning still lingered in his memory. Nor did he forget how he shyly hid the smile on his lips, reflecting the delight in his heart, lest it be detected by the cashier. But this happiness dwindled to insignificance when compared with his joy in sending two pounds to his mother.

In this great moment he realized that his long patience was at last rewarded. As soon as he was settled in at his new quarters, Hassan Effendi visited him to congratulate him. He assured Hussein that he would feel at home among his family. Thanking him, Hussein, always disposed to acknowledge the kindness of others, felt grateful to him. He forgave Hassan’s sharp temper and his maladministration and confusion in carrying out his functions at the school. In fact, he became accustomed to his eccentricity, consoled by his good-heartedness and sense of humor. Refusing to leave him alone, Hassan invited him to spend the evening on his balcony. Delighted at the invitation, Hussein accompanied the man to his quarters. As he sat with his guest, Hassan said, “You seem to dislike coffeehouses, so you can use this balcony as a nightclub.”

The balcony was adequately equipped. On the right were two big chairs made of cane with a table between them; on the other side was a big couch with a cushion at its back. On another table in the corner was a tray with two water jugs and a ewer, with several big lemons floating between them on the water gathered inside the tray. Hassan Effendi’s tongue started to ramble almost incessantly. In his loose garment, he appeared very tiny, much smaller than in his suit, his tongue the only organ in his body worth reckoning with. Bored with his leisure hours in the past weeks, Hussein welcomed Hassan’s company, for he did not know how to spend his time. Reading was not the answer, not because it bored him, but because with little money to spare he could afford to buy only those books which appealed to him most. Thus, in addition to his daily paper, he was compelled to confine himself to one book. He tried to frequent coffeehouses, but he found no pleasure in them and he was afraid they might lead him to squander his money. Frugal by temperament, he welcomed Hassan Effendi’s invitation to spend his leisure time at his home. Hussein was resolved, under whatever circumstances, to find pleasure in this man’s company. Their conversation turned to the new flat.

“Don’t worry about cleaning your flat,” Hassan Effendi said. “I’ve already instructed the servant to clean it every morning. I shall also recommend a washerwoman, known to my family, to go to your place every Friday.”

Touched, Hussein thanked him shyly. Yet he was somewhat annoyed because he could manage cleaning his room with his own hands and the servant’s daily services would involve additional expenses which he would rather save.

“I’ve prepared a wonderful surprise for you,” he said. “Here is a backgammon board. Do you play it well?”

“Somewhat.” Hussein was pleased.

The man bounced up and left the balcony. Returning with a backgammon board, he put it on the table.

“Thanks be to God,” he said, filled with childish pride, “I’m the best player in Lower Egypt, and perhaps in Upper Egypt, too.”

Delighted with this unexpected entertainment, Hussein inquired, “Do you play it the usual way or the more restricted way?”

They started to play. It soon became obvious to Hussein that in talking Hassan Effendi tended to spray the face of a close listener with his saliva. He hoped to absorb this man in the game so as to divert him from conversation. But he continued to play and talk simultaneously. Since the game itself provided him with endless opportunities to chatter, he commented on whatever move was taken, proud of his own and critical of Hussein’s. He beat the young man in the first round.

“Curse your bad luck that has made you fall into my hands,” he cried. “You’ll never enjoy the taste of victory as long as I live!”

Zealously they resumed the game. So absorbed was Hussein that he became aware of his surroundings only when he heard the sound of soft footsteps approaching the balcony. Turning his head back toward the door, he saw a girl carrying a tea tray. Realizing from the first glance that she could not be a servant, he immediately withdrew his eyes in shyness and confusion. As she bent down a bit to put the tray on a bamboo chair, he had a mysterious sense first of her presence and then of her departure. Though he had turned his eyes away, the image of her plump face, with its whitish complexion and two sweet-looking dark eyes — or maybe they were hazel, he was not quite sure — stuck in his memory. Confused, Hussein felt his face flush. All of a sudden Hassan stopped chattering.

“This is my daughter Ihsan. Since I consider you one of my children, I saw no harm in her bringing the tea to us,” he said in a low voice.

Hussein moved his lips as if speaking, but did not utter a single word. Hassan Effendi poured the tea.

“A girl is a great blessing to the home,” he said. “Her sisters are married, one in Cairo and two in Damanhour. She’s the only one not yet married.”

“May God give you joy in her marriage,” Hussein muttered in confusion.

They continued to sip their tea in silence. Hussein’s confusion was beginning to disappear, leaving behind it a sense of embarrassment which he could not clearly account for. Perhaps he was escaping the cause and deliberately ignoring it. Furthermore, he was conscious that he was still affected by the memory, vague though it was, of the girl’s image. He knew this was typical of the effect a female presence had upon him. It had no particular significance; it was the usual reaction of chaste young men. This time, his excitement, occurring not as usual in the street or on a tramcar but in a home, had put him into a deep mood of perplexed delight. Away from Cairo, it was inevitable that he should think of matters more remote. Fear and weariness filled his heart. Hassan Effendi was watching him quietly, growing fed up with the young man’s silence.

“Drink your tea,” he ordered, “and get ready for the next round. You’ve fallen into my clutches and you have no chance of escaping.”