The Beginning and the End

EIGHTY

Hussein did not go directly to his destination, but went first to a coffeehouse in Heliopolis, where he sat for an hour thinking the matter over. His thoughts wandered from the memories of the past to the events of the present. For a long time, he probed his mind and heart, then came to a decision. Putting aside all doubts and fears that caused him to waver, he became unusually bold, firm, and decisive, so much so that he marveled at his speed in reaching the decision. Did he arrive at this decision on the spur of the moment or did it result from an accumulation of his own deep sentiments over a period of three years? Somewhat confused, he reviewed all the various perspectives. Now, nothing could deter him from his determined course. He rose and left his place with mixed feelings, vacillating from an expansive kind of pleasure to a gripping worry to a bountiful spirit of adventure. Proceeding to the alley, he easily reached it by the evening. Now, as he approached their old house, he realized how difficult and embarrassing his mission was. Yet he advanced with steady steps and an unflinching determination. With a beating heart, he knocked on the door. The astonished glance of the servant who opened it for him irritated him. She showed him to the sitting room. Farid Effendi entered, his body sagging, his face sad for the first time, his eyes burning with anger. No sooner did the host finish with the customary complimentary salutations on receiving a guest than he exclaimed in a paroxysm of passion, “Our lifelong friendship, our lifelong neighborliness, and our lifelong companionship! In one moment you’ve torn all these to shreds!”

Confounded, Hussein looked at the table in front of him. “Our old mutual feelings of affection can never change,” he murmured in a low voice. “Nor can we forget as long as we live your splendid character and your assistance to us.”

Paying no attention, Farid Effendi continued, striking one palm against the other. “When they told me about it, I couldn’t believe my ears. My heart refuses to believe that such disgraceful treachery is possible.”

“Sir, what you say is justified. But believe me, we found it just as hard to believe as you. My mother is deeply upset.”

Still paying no heed, Farid Effendi went on. “I noticed that he didn’t visit us as frequently as before. And to explain this change of attitude, they put forward childish excuses, which made me more pessimistic. This evening I learned that he had openly breached his promise. How amazing! Does he imagine that girls of good families are mere toys in his hands, to be disposed of any way he likes? So he gets engaged as he pleases and breaks engagements as he pleases! I have always treated him like a son, and it never occurred to me that he could be so wicked and so treacherous!”

Acutely embarrassed, Hussein began to advance whatever came to his mind in defense of his brother: “My brother is a rash young man, and this business of Hassan made him go out of his mind.”

“But are we at fault?” the man asked. “This is an incomprehensible excuse!”

“What I mean is, the disaster so shook his nerves and impaired his judgment that he was sick of the whole world.”

Violently waving his hand, the man said indignantly, “What you say is unconvincing. I’m a man of some experience, and I know that a man does not desert his fiancée for such a reason. Tell me a different story if you want me to believe you. Say now that he’s an officer he wants to marry a different sort of girl.”

“With all my heart I wish I could repair the damage,” Hussein said sadly.

“The damage is beyond repair. What has happened doesn’t become honorable people. Had I been a different man I would have chastised him. But thank God that, after his deceiving me for so long, I’ve discovered what kind of person he is. He’s only a mean and cowardly young man. Excuse me for blurting out the truth so bluntly.”

Pained by the man’s words, Hussein kept his eyes lowered for a long time. “I’m extremely sorry,” he said in a feeble voice. “We’re all sorry. Our only wish is to preserve our old affections.”

Silence prevailed, until Farid Effendi murmured coolly, “You were never deceptive in your dealings with us.”

Still tense and worried, Hussein recalled with an agitated heart the decision he had made before his arrival. He wondered whether now was the right time to declare it. Although Farid Effendi’s attitude was not encouraging, Hussein refused to put it off any longer. Looking at the man with searching eyes, he inquired, “May I see Miss Bahia?”

The man violently waved his hand. “What for?” he queried. “Leave her alone. Under the circumstances, this is the only thing to do.”

Moved, Hussein wondered what the poor girl might be doing and how her tender nature would receive the shock. What should he do himself? Should he proceed or withdraw? Wouldn’t his words sound ridiculous in this electrified atmosphere? But he had a deep-seated feeling that if, at this particular moment, he allowed himself to retreat, he would never carry out his plan. Dispelling his hesitation with a deep sigh, he attempted to conceal his confusion.

“Sir,” he said with apparent calm, “I don’t know how to express my feelings. Nor do I pretend that I’ve chosen a suitable time for expressing them. But I can’t help saying a final word in this matter; that is, I hope one day you’ll bless my honest desire to ask for your daughter Bahia’s hand.”

Astonished, the man’s eyes opened wide. He appeared to have expected anything but this proposal. He seemed anxious, but unable to speak, whereas Hussein, having survived the climax of his confusion, recovered a degree of his calm.

“Don’t imagine,” he said, “that my request results from a feeling of guilt over my brother’s behavior. Nor is it from pity for Miss Bahia. No. I swear this isn’t the case. My own, my independent, unconditional desire grows out of my esteem for your daughter and yourself.”

Farid Effendi’s astonishment continued. Hussein found courage and warmth in his silence as well as in his own volubility.

“Only one thing disturbs me about this request,” Hussein went on. “Perhaps I’m not her equal.”

Breaking his silence for the first time, the man murmured, “Don’t belittle yourself, Hussein Effendi. You’re like a son to me.”

“Thank you,” Hussein said, flushing.

Perplexed, the man pondered for a while. “I should thank you for this request,” he said. “God only knows how much it would please me to see it fulfilled. But, you know, this isn’t the proper time to discuss it.”

“Sir, this is quite natural,” Hussein said with enthusiasm. “I can wait until the proper time comes.”

With this remark, their conversation came to an end.