The Beginning and the End

FIFTY-TWO

She was pretty enough to stir his emotions. Later on he saw her in the street accompanied by her mother, and he observed her in her home more than once. Fortunately, she inherited only her father’s protruding cheeks, which, however, instead of making her ugly, gave her a special attractiveness. He readily recognized that Hassan Effendi’s flat was becoming a source of strong attraction to him, not to be explained merely by his desire for entertainment. He was full of youthful vigor and vitality. His heart seemed to be waiting to admit the first girl who would knock at its door. Soon a passion combining desire, admiration, and affection flared up in his breast. In her he sought a solace for his lonely life and a quenching of his thirst for companionship. From the very beginning, he was clearly aware of how critical his situation was. He understood his dilemma, and it never occurred to him to relax in carrying out his obligations to his family. Yet he was not firm enough with himself. This was beyond his control. He had to choose one of two alternatives: either to disregard his circumstances or to live a parched, lonely, and secluded life, cheerless and barren. As his perplexity increased, he thought several times of inventing some pretext or other to return to the hotel. But he remained where he was. Surrendering to fate, he allowed matters to take their natural course. Life continued its march without producing any novelty. Though he seldom saw the girl, her image was indelibly imprinted on his mind. Hassan Effendi kept on chattering as usual, ignoring the whole matter.

In the meantime, Hassanein’s meticulously detailed letters kept Hussein as well informed about his family as if he were still living among them and sharing all their feelings. Hassanein told him that their mother had decided to use the money he was sending them to buy clothes, that he himself had managed to wring a new jacket from her to wear over his old trousers, and that their mother, so that she could do without woolen clothes and still keep warm, had bought herself a new dressing gown to wear over her light dresses. The allocation of Hussein’s money to clothing, though necessary, made it impossible for the family to make use of it to improve their diet, which continued to be bad. As for Nefisa, Hassanein said that she was making only little progress and that their mother had ceased to take the bulk of her earnings as she had done before Hussein began sending them money. Thus Nefisa spent what little money she could spare on her clothes to keep up an appearance appropriate to the family’s reputation. It seemed that there was no room in Hassan’s mind for his family, since his new life absorbed him totally. Or perhaps he thought that with Hussein’s appointment to the government service they were no longer in need of him. In any case, he had completely ceased paying visits to his family. Hassanein informed his brother about his own preparation for the baccalaureate exams at the end of the year, telling him how he was striving to pass them, knowing what it meant to fail.

Seeking in his last letter to ingratiate himself more firmly with his brother, Hassanein mentioned at the close that his new jacket lost its attractiveness when worn with his thin, shabby trousers. Would it be possible, he inquired, for Hussein to come up with the price of new trousers over the next three months? Hussein paused thoughtfully, uncertain as to whether he could comply with his brother’s request without jeopardizing his own savings. Yet he already knew that hesitation was futile, for he could not fail to respond to any appeal from Hassanein. Had he been at home with his brother he might have scolded him. But the distance separating them softened his heart and made his longing for his family irresistible. His devotion to careful economizing made him dislike squandering his money. But in the interest of sacrifices for his family, he found it only a little difficult to relax his carefulness. To please Hassanein, it would do him no serious harm if he tightened his belt for another three months. Knowing his brother well, Hussein realized that Hassanein thought that the others had an obligation to be kind and helpful to him, and that if Hussein failed to buy him the trousers, he would indignantly forget the real favor of buying him the jacket. Furthermore, he was driven by a mysterious urge to shower his brother with favors and good turns, for he believed there was a dazzling future in store for this young man. He had sacrificed his own career for the sake of Hassanein and his sacrifice should be complete. Again, with a mixture of sadness and delight, he saw himself as a sacrificial goat, patient and stoical in facing the grim fate of his family, shielding them from its blows. This feeling gave him strength and pleasure and lent a superb moral significance to his life.

Then the unexpected happened, or so he thought, since he was not quite frank with himself. One day as he sat conversing with Hassan Effendi, the man asked him, “Haven’t you thought of marriage?”

The young man became confused and a bit frightened. “No,” he muttered.

The man raised his eyebrows in disapproval. “Then what are you thinking of?” he asked. “Why do you live? Do you think that a man, especially after securing a job, has any end in life other than marriage?”

Hussein hesitated for a moment. “I have other responsibilities which demand priority,” he said.

He proceeded to confide to the man the difficult circumstances of his family, sometimes exaggerating them to strengthen his position. The man listened with interest until he finished, but he did not appear to be convinced. He was not prepared to be convinced of anything that got in the way of realizing his hopes. He shook his bald head with indifference.

“I see that you are exaggerating the seriousness of the situation,” he said. “Just be patient until your brother obtains the baccalaureate. Then you’ll be free from your obligations, and he, in turn, will have to find a job for himself. Nahas Pasha himself got married. Do you think that your responsibilities outweigh his?”

Confused, Hussein laughed. “But my brother is determined to continue his education,” he said.

“Listen,” the man continued. “If you have goals in life such as the restoration of the 1923 Constitution, for example, it would be better for you to put off your marriage! You must marry at the end of this year, as soon as your brother finds a job. But if he insists on completing his education, your mother, who approves his plan, has no right to object to your marriage. She has no right to pamper one son if it means depriving the other of his elemental rights in life.”

Hussein was affected but not convinced by the man’s remarks. Because he wanted to maintain their friendly relations, Hussein did not contradict him. “I believe it should be possible to realize my hopes without destroying those of my brother,” he said.

On the surface, this conversation about marriage appeared to be rambling and haphazard. Yet there was a tacit agreement between them about its purpose, for it had been preceded by earlier hints in their conversations every evening. As if dissatisfied with this implicit degree of agreement, Hussein, with much shyness, said frankly, “I think Miss Ihsan is still young.”

The man laughed aloud. “Ihsan is young, of course,” he said. “But marriage isn’t meant just for adults.”

Hussein’s situation remained unchanged in the days that followed, until Hassan Effendi offered to introduce him to some of his relatives at a family party, and he readily accepted. He was ashamed to appear in his shabby clothes before the girl’s relatives. Something akin to madness, as he would call it later, seized him. Driven by this capricious passion, he ordered a new tailored suit, to be paid for in installments, and bought a new pair of shoes and a tarbush. On the first day of the month, he realized that it was impossible to send any money to his mother.

Instead of the money, he sent her false excuses. He told her that he had fallen ill and that the price of the medicines he had bought was beyond his limited means. He wrote the letter with a lifeless hand and depressed heart, convinced at the bottom of his soul that he was making a series of blunders and that they had deprived him of mental balance and sound judgment; so much so that he failed to fabricate a more adequate excuse.