The Beginning and the End

FIFTY-SEVEN

Along about midsummer there came a happy day in the life of the family inhabiting Nasr Allah alley. Hassanein had passed the baccalaureate examinations. Calm and serene, Samira, Nefisa, and Hassanein gathered to spend a peaceful hour, their tired hearts overflowing with joy. Farid Effendi Mohammed and his family came to congratulate Hassanein on his success. In his fiancée’s presence, Hassanein experienced a complacent feeling of innocent pride, as though the baccalaureate had lent him further manliness, deserving both her respect and sympathy. Merry and pleasant as usual, he spoke with animation, ecstatically triumphant, and volleys of laughter rocketed from his mouth. The sight of Bahia filled his heart with a mixture of happiness and sorrow. It delighted him furtively to meet her clear, serene eyes and to read in them evidence of profound and refined love. However, the serenity he derived from her glances was slight, for it soon gave way to the flames of passion flaring up in his heart. When these arose, he grew indignant as he remembered his long deprivation and looked back with regret and sorrow over the past two years. Casting surreptitious glances at her during the conversation, his amorous eyes fixed intently on her moonlike face and plump body. As was his frequent custom, he formed a mental picture of her completely naked, with only her hair flowing down her back. As he pictured her thus, he felt his boiling saliva scorching his mouth. Mutely he wondered whether her attitude toward him could possibly change now that he had obtained the baccalaureate! Would it not be fair to grant him a kiss by way of congratulation? As his thoughts shifted from one object to another, his mind flitted from the girl to his mental image of her naked body, then to the people gathering around. Though the general atmosphere was pervaded with complete happiness, his own was tainted with the relentless torture imposed by her presence.

The guests departed. Left to themselves, the mood of pure delight now was gone, and the family was assaulted by a new sense of responsibility. Life had taught them that obtaining the baccalaureate was a source of transient happiness to be followed by troubled reflection. They were already agreed that Hassanein should continue onto higher education, but they were still undecided about the kind of education he should pursue.

“Now you have to choose the profession you want for yourself,” Nefisa said.

Hassanein had thoroughly probed this matter. “Higher education,” he said, “is a long, arduous process, and its prospects are vague.”

The two women eyed him with surprise.

“I’ve thought this matter over for a long time,” he added. “I have come to the conclusion that I should choose either the Police College or the War College.”

“How wonderful!” Nefisa exclaimed happily.

Preoccupied with the obstacles standing in the way of his hopes, he paid no attention to Nefisa’s delight. “After only two years of study, I’ll become an officer,” he said. “Since the course of study is like playing games, success is almost certain. Eventually there will be a secure job waiting for me. These are advantages to be reckoned with.”

“A two-year study after which you become an officer!” Nefisa exclaimed with the same enthusiasm. “How dreamlike this is!”

“What about the fees?” his mother inquired fearfully.

Rather bewildered, he stared at her. “The Police College is very expensive,” he replied. “But the fees of the War College are reasonable, only thirty-seven pounds.”

Stunned, the two women stared at him.

“There is some possibility of exemption from paying the fees,” he hurried to say, “or at least half the fees. In this case, we have to appeal to Ahmad Bey Yousri, whose intercession will carry a great deal of weight.”

In her anxiety his mother still looked stunned.

“Farid Effendi Mohammed told me about the Primary Education Training Institute,” she said. “I find that it has certain advantages worth considering. No fees, and after finishing the three-year course, you get a teaching job.”

“I would hate working as a teacher and I would hate even more to enroll in a free institute,” the young man said resentfully.

“But you don’t object to joining the War College gratis.”

“There is a vast difference between an institute designed to be free and another which exempts me from all the fees or half of them. If I joined the former institute, people would say that I received my education gratis. But if I joined the latter, nobody would ever know about it except the college clerk.”

Unconvinced, the mother shook her head. “Our situation,” she muttered, “is too grave to consider such a thing.”

“Nothing can be more grave than this. Not only do I loathe poverty but I hate the mere mention of it. I can’t bear to walk with my head lowered among people with their heads raised.”

This was not his only reason for preferring an officer’s career. In fact, his motive in joining the War College was a thirst for domination, power, and a dazzling appearance. His mother remained anxious, unconvinced.

“And if you are unable to obtain an exemption from the fees?” she inquired.

He became grimly thoughtful. “As a start, I need the first installment of the fees, which I hope to get from Hassan,” he said. “I don’t think he will let me down, since he didn’t let Hussein down. As for the rest of the fees, these can be managed if you give me the money Hussein sends, plus whatever Nefisa will be generous enough to offer.” He looked at his sister. “I don’t think she will be miserly with me, especially because her earnings are good enough.”

He looked from his mother to his sister to observe the effect of his words. Seeing no sign of encouragement, he continued tenderly: “We’ll have two more lean years, after which there’ll be comfort and happiness!”

He directed his hopeful glances from one to the other, and added cajolingly, “You’ll become the mother and sister of an officer! Imagine it! Imagine that we’ll leave this alley for a respectable flat on the main street!”

Touched by his entreating glances, Nefisa was overcome by a generous, altruistic impulse.

“Don’t worry as far as I’m concerned. I’ll give you whatever I can,” she said.

There was a look of gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you, Nefisa,” he said. “Mother won’t be less generous than you are. Thus everything will be all right.”

His mother wished him good luck. She had no great expectations from him. Her maximum hope was that after getting a job, he would postpone his marriage for two years to give her the opportunity to get her family back on its feet. However, she gave him the rescue money provided by Hussein, wishing him the best of luck from the bottom of her heart. Still under the sway of her generosity and altruism, Nefisa had reached the lofty peak of eagerness, peace, and happiness. Only for a few precious moments did she enjoy real delight, for assailed by a cloud of dark memories, her happiness soon disappeared. No longer did it flow abundantly; instead, it was strangled and smeared with the mire of those memories. Her enthusiasm subsiding, she lowered her eyes, dispirited and feeling that she had no right to unalloyed joy. Anyhow, what could happiness do to console a miserable, disfigured, tainted soul?