The Beginning and the End

FIFTY-NINE

That afternoon, Hassanein paid a visit to Ahmad Bey Yousri’s villa in Taher Street. He was, in fact, vigorously heading for the realization of his life’s dream, to join the War College or perish. He had climbed the stairs and now sat waiting in the drawing room, glancing absentmindedly about the garden. He saw it enveloped in mystery. His eyes moved among the elegant palm trees growing amidst tastefully arranged circlets of grass interspersed with rosebuds and surrounded by hedges of camomile. To relieve himself for a while of worry and preoccupation, he focused his attention on a wide circle of grass in the center of the garden between the entrance to the villa and the drawing room. In the middle of this circle stood a short, young palm tree, with a white trunk, rosebushes profusely covering the top, their branches touching it and the intertwining roses merging in a vast halo, whose red, green, and yellow hues blended in peace and harmony. He smiled without realizing it. An evening shadow crept over the garden area and part of the road behind it. Traces of the setting sun fell on the top story on the other side of the road, and the warm air was filled with the fragrance of the jasmine which mounted the fence. He wondered whether it would be possible one day for him to own such a villa! He imagined life there, the bedroom and the garden, the car and the respectable family that living in such a place usually involved. This was his second visit to Ahmad Bey Yousri’s villa, and in both cases the lava of frustrated ambition, discontent, and desire for life’s clean and respectable pleasures erupted from his volcanic breast. Most of all, he feared that his life would be as confined as that of his brother Hussein, and that, lacking any flowery prospect, he would spend the rest of his life striving for menial promotions from the eighth to the sixth grade. He felt he must have his full share of the world’s pure air and higher pleasures. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a girl riding a bicycle through the left side of the garden. The girl was so absorbed in warily weaving her way on the mosaic paths between the circular flower beds that she paid no attention to anything around her. She was sixteen years old, slender, with a pure complexion and a blossoming bosom. She wore a long white dress, her head demurely bound with a small kerchief. Hassanein was so attracted to the movements of her legs pedaling up and down under the cover of her dress that he hardly made out her face. She disappeared behind the right wing of the villa before he could see what she looked like. His eyes glowed in watchful interest. He wondered who this girl might be, if she were not Ahmad Bey’s daughter. The image of Bahia with her soft, plump body and moonlike face came to him, beautiful and delicious but with nothing approaching this girl’s elegance. Remembering his sister, Nefisa, he wondered at the vast differences between creatures of the same species. The compassionate ache in his heart brought him back to himself with the realization that the sight of the cycling girl, the garden, the villa, and the chandelier of the reception room combined to stir in him ambition, revolt, and discontent.

How wonderful it would be to possess this villa and lie with this girl! he thought. It’s not mere lust. It would be a symbol of power and glory to have this girl of good birth lying in my arms naked and surrendering, her eyelids closed, as though all the organs of her passionate body were clamoring, “My master.” This is life. Mount it, and you’ll mount a whole class!

Again recalling Bahia, his pain intensified, mingled with something akin to remorse and shame. Then his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps from the direction of the stairs. Turning, he saw Ahmad Bey Yousri approaching in a white silk suit, a red rose in the lapel of his jacket. Hassanein stood up, went politely up to him, and bowed, greeting him with veneration. Smiling, the Bey welcomed him. He inquired, as they took their seats, “How is your family, my son?”

“Remembering your favors, they kiss your generous hand,” Hassanein answered ingratiatingly.

“You need not mention it,” the Bey murmured.

The Bey was certain that shortly this young man would beg him to find him a job or transfer his brother to Cairo. This was the routine of his life every day. Though such requests irritated him, he actually liked them, and could not bear to see his house empty of people seeking his help.

“What’s the matter, my son?” he said.

“Your Excellency, I’m appealing to you for help, to intercede for me in joining the War College.”

Astonished, the Bey seemed to have expected anything but this aristocratic request. Without hiding his surprise, he inquired, “But what made you choose this narrow gate?”

Distressed at the Bey’s astonishment, the young man at this moment developed a blind hatred for him, yet he continued to address him in the same polite and ingratiating manner. “Your Excellency, the government’s decision to enlarge the army affords me a golden opportunity this year that had never presented itself before. Furthermore, your intercession will be more important than anything else.”

“What about the fees?” the Bey asked curtly.

Once more he felt detestation for the Bey. He soon forgot about his request for exemption from the fees, or decided instead to put it off until some other time.

“I’m ready to pay the entire fee,” he said, confident and reassured.

The Bey pondered the matter.

“The Under Secretary of State for the Ministry of War is an old friend. I’ll talk to him about it,” he said.

Hurrying forward, Hassanein took the Bey’s hand to kiss it to express his gratitude. Withdrawing his hand, the Bey stood up, perhaps to end the interview. Hassanein bowed low over the man’s hand, saluted, repeated his thanks, and left the room, full of cheer and hope. Crossing the garden, he remembered the cycling girl. As he looked at the traces of the wheels on the path, her image flashed before his mind, but absorbed as he was in his hopes for the future, the vision soon passed away.