The Beginning and the End

FIFTY-FIVE

They did not speak of this subject again. Unlike many of her sex, Samira was not a chatterbox. They had spent Friday morning in complete happiness, partly in Hussein’s flat before setting out for the town on a visit to the tomb of the saintly al-Sayed al-Badawi. But as she was determined to go to the railway station that morning, he was forced to acquiesce. On reaching the station, he bought a ticket for his mother. While they waited for the train, he said to her, “I’ll remain in the flat until the end of this month, because, as you know, I’ve already paid the rent.”

In answer, she prayed for him to do the right thing. When the train arrived, she said goodbye. Boarding a third-class carriage, she was squeezed in with a throng of villagers of both sexes. At this first experience in his life of seeing her off, a heavy depression came over him. The sight of the departing train and the lonely figure of his mother, surrounded by misery in a mean third-class carriage, cut him to the heart. Depressed and absorbed in thought, he returned home.

I’m to blame, he thought. I’m paying the price of my folly. What devil is singling me out for his temptation? This is the second time for me. Failure always chooses me. No escape.

Hassan Effendi’s servant came to invite his mother to dinner, and Hussein told him she had left for Cairo. Later, when the servant returned to invite him as usual to spend the evening in Hassan Effendi’s house, he accepted at once.

The balcony window being tightly closed because it was winter, the two men sat around the backgammon table inside the room.

“Why did your mother return so quickly?” Hassan Effendi asked.

“Our home can’t spare her for more than a day,” Hussein answered, smiling.

“She arrived on Thursday and departed on Friday. It’s a journey that’s not worth the trouble of traveling by train.”

“But this journey accomplished what she wanted. She reassured herself about me, and she paid a visit to al-Sayed’s tomb and invoked his blessings!”

The man pointed toward the interior of the flat. “They’ve told me she is a very good-natured lady,” he said. “Your good-naturedness outweighs hers.” His bleary eyes blinking, the man added, “We hoped she would visit us before she left!”

“She was in such a hurry,” Hussein said. “I tried to persuade her to postpone her departure till the afternoon. But she excused herself, saying that her family needed her.”

“We had prepared a good dinner for her, for which I myself had selected three fat chickens,” the man said with regret.

Confused, Hussein smiled. “I hope you enjoyed eating them,” he muttered.

The man laughed, and opened the backgammon table. But instead of arranging the counters to start the game, he inquired with interest, “Didn’t you tell her of our agreement?”

Hussein felt embarrassed. “No,” he said.

“Why not?”

“How is it possible for me to broach this subject with her while she considers me responsible for the family?”

The man seized the die in his hand, rattled and cast it. Then he added, “You’re too apprehensive. Your mother would have been happy to hear this piece of news.”

“It would make her happy only if it came at the right time.”

The man laughed aloud. “I’ve my own special philosophy, which is to throw oneself fearlessly into the surge of life. Have you ever heard of anyone starving in Egypt?” he said slowly.

“That’s because our people are accustomed to hunger!”

Laughing, Hassan Effendi continued. “All people survive. In the twinkling of an eye, people change. Children grow up, the pupils become employees, and the celibate get to be married men. The only losers are those who are full of fear as you are. This is life.”

Full of fear? Annoyed at the words, he revolted inwardly against them. This was not fear, but an adequate awareness of the situation. Would he be courageous if he let this woman down, left her in the lurch?! This was not fear. Only foolish men misunderstood him. Disappointed in his hopes, he found no one who would show him mercy or understand him. As his thoughts reached this stage, he suddenly detected in them a strange flavor. Though people might misunderstand him, the feeling that he was in the right delighted him. Moreover, his delight resulted from a sense of being always misunderstood although always in the right. It was a mysterious delight similar to that which people experience when they resign themselves to the harsh verdict of fate.

“Hassan Effendi,” he said with a smile, “since your family was a large one, it’s impossible for you to understand the troubles of a family like ours.”

The man hid an arrogant smile under a façade of pretended grimness. “Deal with your problems as you like,” he said. “But don’t forget yourself. God said, ‘Don’t forget your share of this world.’ Things are destined to ripen. In another few months, your brother will obtain the baccalaureate, which will change the situation. Throw the die and see who will begin the game.”