The Beginning and the End

SEVENTY-ONE

Before leaving Taher Street, Hassanein lifted his face to the sky. Looking at the pale sunset, he wondered whether he would find his brother Hassan at home if he ventured to pay him a visit. Though Hassanein had faint hopes of reforming his brother, he was determined to confront him. He was engrossed in thoughts about his own and his family’s future, and his meeting with Hassan was his main preoccupation. Though he proceeded with unbending determination, his heart was heavily laden with worry and doubt. He took the tram to Al Khazindar Square, then walked toward Clot Bey Street.

Now Hassanein’s attention was diverted to his uniform. He reflected that it had been purchased, in part, with the money his mother received from selling his old clothes. He was concerned that circumstances forced him to appear in a suspect area. But he had no alternative. He saw in Hassan the family’s most serious, thorny problem. Nefisa had abandoned her dressmaking business, and soon he would be leaving Nasr Allah alley, even the entire district of Shubra. Probably a curtain of oblivion would fall on his family’s whole detestable past. Yet the problem of Hassan would remain unsolved. And as long as this brother continued his evil life, security would be impossible. Approaching Gandab alley, he headed for his brother’s house, avoiding the people’s astonished and searching glances, hurriedly crossing the alley like a fugitive.

His nostrils offended by the putrefying smell, he disgustedly climbed the spiral stairs, remembering with both annoyance and embarrassment his first visit to this house a year ago. Halting on the darkened threshold of his brother’s flat, he knocked. A strange man opened the door, one of the disfigured faces indelibly imprinted on his memory from his first visit. No sooner did he see Hassanein than the man slammed the door shut with a loud cry: “The Police!”

Surmising what had happened, ashamed, pained, and disturbed, Hassanein thought of withdrawing. But filled with an obstinate determination to carry out his objective at whatever cost, he stood his ground. To him, this was no insignificant question but a matter of life or death; he would be unable to make progress in the world as long as this house haunted him. He knocked on the door again and waited, realizing how useless it was. He knocked again, violently. Perhaps, he wondered, they might have escaped from the flat through one of the windows. Perhaps his brother would recognize his voice if he called his name aloud. But he was too ashamed to reveal his identity; to reassure his frightened companions, Hassan might tell them of their relationship — which Hassanein would rather bury forever. Yet how could he be sure that Hassan, to show off, had not already told someone or other who his brother was? As he gnashed his teeth, shame and despair made him all the more obstinate, and he violently hammered on the door with his fist, shouting, “Hassan, Hassan, it’s Hassanein!” Soon the door was opened. Appearing behind it, Hassan stared at him in amazement. As though recovering from shock, Hassan, motionless, fixed his eyes for a while upon him. Finally, he came alive, smiling. “Hassanein an officer!” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe my eyes!”

Pressing Hassanein’s hand with one of his and patting his arm with the other, he pulled him inside the flat with a loud, nervous laugh. Hassan walked by his side to the bedroom. “An officer! What a surprise! Congratulations! Congratulations! This is a happy day!”

Hassanein sat on the sofa. Hassan closed the door and sat by his side. Trying hard to overcome his confusion and excitement, the young officer smiled at his brother. “I deserve to be congratulated,” he said, “but you deserve to be thanked.”

Hassan laughed with pleasure, pleasure doubled by a sense of relief following the flurry. “Why should I deserve thanks?” he asked. “I’ve only given part of what’s due to you. But forget about that and tell me about our family. How are Mother and Nefisa? And how is Hussein?”

Pretending to be interested, Hassanein kept the conversation going. Their rambling talk brought Hassanein to the point of asking Hassan why he had stopped coming to see the family. But then he remembered that the ending of his brother’s visits afforded an unintended benefit; under the present circumstances, any continued relations would be most disastrous. Thus at the last moment he refrained from asking him.

“In fact,” Hassan said, “I miss the family very much. But my kind of life no longer allows me to satisfy my longing for them. True, we live in the same city. Yet I feel, indeed, that I’m the inhabitant of a remote place cut off from the rest of the world. Perhaps I worry less about them since I know that they no longer need my help and that I’ve performed part of my duty to them. Besides, I’m not always prosperous. Though my pockets may bulge with cash for several days, they soon become empty for several weeks. And when my pockets are full, I’m compelled to spend extravagantly whatever money I have. But never mind. Now that you’ve become an officer, I should congratulate you on your good fortune and keep my happiness for it pure. Congratulations to our respected officer!”

As he listened attentively to his brother, Hassanein studied his face. He was appalled at the disfigurement and the strange changes in it; it was as though Hassan in one year of his precarious life had gone through what would normally have been many years. Hassan had already stopped talking. Depressed and pessimistic, Hassanein realized the heavy weight of the task he had come to perform, but not for a moment did it occur to him to abandon what seemed to be his sense of duty. Determined to approach the purpose of his visit gently, he said, “I’m afraid my visit may have upset you.”

“Spit those words out of your mouth! What’s that I’m hearing from our respected officer?”

Pretending astonishment, Hassanein pointed to the exterior of the flat. “A strange man opened the door for me. Horrified, he cried, ‘The Police!’ and shut the door in my face!”

“An unfortunate misunderstanding,” Hassan said, laughing aloud. “But when I recognized your voice, everything ended up all right.”

Finding himself in difficulty, Hassanein hesitated before asking him, “But why was he so scared?”

Hassan looked at his brother inquisitively. Was he really ignorant or just playing the fool? “There are people, you know,” he replied indifferently, “who have a phobia about the police.”

“Isn’t it dangerous for you,” Hassanein asked, “to shelter such people under your roof?”

“Yes, it is,” Hassan said after a pause. “But a man isn’t free to choose his companions.”

“How is this, brother?” Hassanein inquired with astonishment. “Certainly a man is free to choose his companions!”

“Forget about it. Let’s change the subject.”

“I can’t, until I’m reassured about you.”

“Then be reassured and don’t worry about me,” Hassan answered with a laugh.

“I wonder what makes you befriend such evil people. You’re a respectable artist and you can choose your friends from your fellow artists.”

Hassan lowered his eyes to hide the grim look that appeared in them. He was infuriated, and had his anger been aroused by anyone other than Hassanein, he would have exploded. He was hurt that Hassanein knew more than he pretended to know about him and that he treated him like a child. Had Hassanein spoken his mind, had he described him as being as evil as his companions, he would not have felt angry as he did now. Determined to tear off the mask which concealed the true drift of their conversation, Hassan, still restraining his anger, spoke curtly in a tone different from before. “I’m one of these evil people!”

Hassanein was astounded.

“Hassanein! Stop pretending to be astonished,” Hassan said roughly. “You’re not a fool. Neither am I. You’d better speak to me as frankly as you always used to. What’s so strange about my being a black sheep? Haven’t I always been one, all my life?”

Sullen and ashamed, Hassanein lowered his eyes. His thoughts shattered, he fell speechless. Relieved by his brother’s confusion, Hassan’s merriment returned. Desiring to put an end to this painful conversation, he said, “Let’s forget about the whole thing. Damn the coward! But for his childish panic, our conversation wouldn’t have taken this foolish course. Now let’s discuss more important matters. I’ve no doubt,” he said, laughing, “that you’ve come to talk to me about a more important subject!”

Hassanein collected his thoughts. “I have, in fact,” he said with a sigh, “come only to discuss this matter with you.”

Hassan’s face clouded with resentment. “I thought,” he said ironically, “you’d come to ask for money.”

Although he knew how angry his brother was, Hassanein did not waver. Ingratiating himself with his brother, he said gently, “Thank you for your previous kindness. But I’m no longer in need of money. I’ve come to discuss a matter much more serious than money. I want to reassure myself about you.”

Hassan cast a piercing look at his brother. “I still demand that you be more frank with me!” he said in an ironical tone. “My respected officer, you want to get reassured about yourself and not about me!”

In defeat and indignation, Hassanein answered, “They are one and the same.”

“Really? I see things differently. Why didn’t you give me this piece of advice before? A year ago, for example?”

Having inadvertently said that he had come only to discuss this matter, it was impossible for him to pretend that he had known nothing about it. Annoyed, he posed this question to avoid answering his brother: “Don’t you see that I’m interested in your own good?”

Hassan ignored the question. “A year ago,” he continued in the same ironical tone, “you were in desperate need of money. So you didn’t care then to give me advice. Now that you’ve become an officer, your sole concern is to protect this shining star on your shoulder.”

Hassanein’s face remained unchanged, but his heart palpitated with anger and irritation. He seemed shaken by the fact that Hassan was able to penetrate the depths of his soul with such ease and accuracy. “Brother,” he said softly. Hassan motioned to him to keep silent.

“I’ll be entirely frank with you,” Hassan added recklessly. “If you really want to know what my work is, I’ll tell you that I’m a bouncer for a coffeehouse in Darb Tiab.” He pointed to the photograph above his head. “I also keep this mistress and deal in narcotics.”

“I don’t believe you,” Hassanein exclaimed, worried.

“Yes, you’d better believe me. Perhaps you guessed it earlier and now you’re sure of it. Now what do you think?”

In silent pain and compassion, the young man looked at Hassan. But as the silence weighed heavily upon him, he said sadly, “Nothing would make me happier than to see you start a new, honorable life.”

With a loud laugh, Hassan said sarcastically, “By virtue of my dishonorable life, I was able to protect our family from starvation, provide your brother Hussein with the money he needed to start his government job, and to provide you as well with the installment of the College fee which, thank God, has made you an officer.”

Hassan’s words, as sharp as a needle, pierced Hassanein to the marrow. Life seemed about to suffocate him. But a strong desire to defend himself prevented him from accepting defeat. “All of this has come about,” he said, “only by virtue of your nobility of character, not because of such a dangerous life as this!”

“Don’t deceive yourself. They call me Mr. Head, not Mr. Noble. Besides, what do you mean by a dishonorable life? Or an honorable one? There’s only one life, in which we all strive to make a living, each in his or her own way.”

“But there is a secure life and another kind of life that flies into panic at the mere mention of the police.”

“This is due to the arbitrary actions of the police and we’re not to blame. For heaven’s sake, what do you want me to do?”

Hassanein’s enthusiasm returned in what he thought might be a ray of hope. “Abandon this life and take an honest job as before.”

Bursting into laughter, the man said with astonishment, “A mechanic’s apprentice? Asking me this is like asking a man to resign from the army to start school life at Tawfikiyah.”

Once more the blood in Hassanein’s veins boiled with anger. Composing himself, he asked with a smile, “Don’t you realize how such a life must inevitably end?”

“Either I’m imprisoned or killed!” Hassan answered in ironic simplicity. “And if it’s my fate to be killed, then, naturally, I’ll be saved from imprisonment.”

Hassanein pretended to laugh, but his anger increased, especially at his brother’s recklessness. Almost desperate though he was to change Hassan, he replied gently, “Obviously, you realize the danger, so you don’t need me to remind you of the disastrous consequences of your kind of life. For God’s sake, be wise enough to take care of yourself.”

Hassan cast a prolonged, smiling glance at his brother, as if saying to him, “Don’t try to deceive me with your softness.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “May God forgive me; but I should rather say, don’t be worried about yourself and your reputation. My advice to you is, don’t burden yourself with unnecessary worries and shut me entirely out of your life. Don’t worry about what people may say about you because of me. Despite what people say, you can lead the life that appeals to you.”

Desperate and exasperated, Hassanein sighed. He was filled at this moment with black anger toward his brother, and actually wished he didn’t exist. But the fact remained that he did exist and his existence, hanging like a sword over his head, was a perpetual threat to him. What should he do? Sighing again, he inquired, “Isn’t there a gleam of hope that you’ll return to an honorable life? Is this your final word?”

Hassan became furious. As if afraid of what he might do to his brother in his fury, he leapt to his feet and walked back and forth across the room, thus giving vent to his pent-up anger in his violent strides. He leaned on the edge of the bed, his arms crossed against his chest. “An honorable life!” he shouted impatiently. “An honorable life! Don’t let me hear such words from you again. You make me sick. A mechanic earning a few piasters a day. Is this the honorable life you’re talking about? I’d rather spend my life in prison. If I’d followed your honorable life all along, that star would not be decorating your shoulder. Is it only my life that isn’t honorable? Young officer, you’re laboring under a delusion. Your life is no more honorable, since mine is its origin.” He pointed again to the photograph. “I’ve made an officer of you with illegal money obtained from this woman and from traffic in narcotics. So you’re indebted for your uniform to narcotics and this prostitute. Fair enough; if you really want me to abandon my tainted life, then you, too, must abandon yours. Go ahead, take off your uniform and let’s start a new honorable life together.”

Hassanein’s face turned pale. Dumbfounded and desperate, he cast down his eyes, his heart seething with anger. Again and again, his lips twitched as if he would speak, but overwhelmed with mounting despair, he soon closed them. Sullen and miserable as Hassanein was, Hassan had no mercy.

“Don’t you see,” he persisted, “that you prefer the star on your uniform to an honorable life? I don’t blame you. Like you, I prefer my earnings to an honorable life.” He laughed. “We’re brothers and the same blood runs in our veins.”

Frowning, Hassanein stood up. “Don’t mock me for the advice I’ve given you. Farewell,” he added as he walked to the door. But he paused, his hand on the knob.

Hassan spoke to him with unexpected tenderness. “Before you go, don’t you want to shake hands with me?”

Hassanein turned, stretched out his hand. Hassan pressed it for a while in his. “I’m sorry I’ve made you angry,” he said with a laugh. “Forget what has happened and let’s keep, even at a distance, the same old mutual feelings. You’ll always find me the same Mr. Head you know quite well. And please convey my regards to Mother and Nefisa. Goodbye.”