The Beginning and the End

EIGHTY-FOUR

Hussein had departed. Part of the period of waiting for the Bey’s answer, which Hassanein called the probationary period, had passed. Wavering between hope and despair, he was forced to endure it stoically. Hassanein was unhappy that his brother was gone. He wished to have him by his side for advice when he received Ahmad Bey Yousri’s answer. Willful and tyrannical though Hussein was, Hassanein always listened to his advice. The fact that Hussein had embarked on his marriage project was a source of relief to Hassanein, who was actually uneasy about marrying before his neglected brother, who had denied himself all the pleasures of life and borne the brunt of it. This did not mean that he was uninterested in the future of his family. In fact, he expected much good, both for himself and for his family, to emerge from his prosperous marriage. With this logic, he dismissed his family’s troubles; now he was free to seek his own fortune with an easy conscience. This was his state of mind when a friend and colleague asked him to meet him at Luna Park Casino in Heliopolis. Ali al-Bardisi was his favorite friend. Their friendship started and flourished while they were cadets at the College and it was continued in spite of the fact that Hassanein joined the cavalry and Ali al-Bardisi the air force.

Hassanein found his friend waiting for him, and they sat in the Casino garden. His friend ordered two glasses of beer. From the first moment, Hassanein sensed that his friend had a serious matter to discuss with him. Despite his apparent joviality, al-Bardisi struck him as unusually grave and pensive. After a while he asked Hassanein, “Do you remember Lieutenant Ahmad Rafat?”

“Of course,” Hassanein said with indifference. “He graduated with us in the same year. An artillery officer, isn’t he?”

His friend nodded affirmatively, then proceeded with bitterness and annoyance, “Yesterday I heard him speak about you to a group of friends in a way that angered and offended me.”

Astonished, Hassanein stared at him. This was most unexpected. “What are you saying?” he inquired.

“Some friends and I were playing cards in his house in Ma’adi,” Ali al-Bardisi said somberly.

“So?”

“I don’t remember how the subject came up. We were drunk, and I heard him say things that were offensive to you personally. First of all, tell me, did you really ask for the hand of the daughter of a man called Ahmad Bey Yousri?”

The name shook the young man like an earthquake and his heart beat violently. He suddenly remembered that Ahmad Rafat was closely connected with some of Ahmad Bey Yousri’s relatives. He tried hard to compose himself. A coarse feeling of fear and pessimism came over him.

“Perhaps,” he answered curtly.

“Do you know that Ahmad Rafat is a friend of this family?”

“Possibly. But tell me what he said.”

For a while, al-Bardisi hesitated and kept silent. “I understood, from his conversation,” he murmured in a low, obviously embarrassed voice, “that the family did not approve. I’m sorry to tell you.”

This piece of news weighed heavily upon him, making him feel small, shattering his sense of dignity and manhood. Boiling with anger, he was about to surrender to his flaming fury, but at the last moment he managed to subdue his passion. He pretended indifference.

“Was this what you found offensive, my friend?” he asked with a laugh.

“No, this sort of thing happens every day,” his friend said, gloomy and disconcerted. “But he indiscreetly mentioned the reasons for the family’s disapproval. Though they are trivial reasons that don’t degrade a man, yet I was very much offended to hear them repeated in a crowd of drunkards.”

Hassanein had always felt that his past constituted a constant threat, like a heavy hammer suspended over his head. Now it fell with full force on his brain, smashing it into scattered pieces. This was strikingly obvious. But could he possibly ignore it? He raised his eyes to the gloomy face of his friend.

“Tell me what he said,” Hassanein asked mechanically.

His friend made a wry face. “It was something negligible,” he went on, annoyed and irritated. “But to be fair, you should know about it. I don’t need to tell you that I was so angry that I silenced their wagging tongues.”

So he was the object of their drunken slanders! What did they say? He should have taken all this into consideration when he had proposed to the Bey’s daughter. Smiling faintly at his friend, he said, “I believe you, and I appreciate your sincerity. But I beg you to repeat to me everything that was said, word for word.”

Ali al-Bardisi looked disgusted. With extreme distaste, he replied curtly, “He said many things about one of your brothers. I was so indignant that I told him about a highwayman in our village whose brother is a minister in Cairo!”

Hassanein’s face turned pale. His friend’s defense offended him as much as the charge itself. Yet he said with a desperate laugh, “Usually, a friendly eye sees the minister, while an unfriendly eye only sees…Anyhow, forget about it. What else?”

“Foolish talk of this sort,” the friend said evasively.

Hassanein was suddenly overcome with annoyance and impatience. “Please!” he exclaimed. “Don’t hide anything from me, please!”

Embarrassed, Ali al-Bardisi said, “I loathe speaking about a lady’s honor.”

“You mean my sister?”

“He said that she worked to earn her living. And I angrily gave him to understand that there’s nothing to be ashamed of in any honorable work. Poverty isn’t a crime.”

Shaking his head, Hassanein reiterated his friend’s words with painful irony. “ ‘Poverty isn’t a crime.’ Splendid! What else did he say?”

“Nothing.”

That’s enough! Hassanein thought. A brother who is a highwayman and a sister who is a dressmaker, a mere worker. How could I dare to propose to the daughter of an illustrious Bey?

“I believe,” al-Bardisi said, “you made a mistake in proposing to the daughter of such a faultfinding family.”

“You’re right,” Hassanein murmured with a sickly smile. I’m up to my ears in the mud, he thought. My only way out is to smash the head of Ahmad Rafat. But will it actually change my circumstances? No. It’s useless to defend myself in this way. Yet I should always remember an important fact: that is, with a strong blow a man can compel people to respect him. Thank God, I lack neither courage nor strength, and I’m capable of dealing such a blow. Hassan was the lowest of our family but he was the most feared and respected: a useful lesson I should not forget.

Then he heard his friend consoling him: “You shouldn’t care too much.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Hassanein pretended indifference. “This is well-reasoned advice,” he said. “There’s nothing in our family to be ashamed of. One day we were rich. Then poverty struck us. We faced it with courage, and we managed to overcome it. There’s nothing shameful in this.”

“On the contrary, one should be proud of it.”

Hassanein suddenly stamped the ground with his foot, his eyes bloodshot with anger. “But I know how to deal with anyone who insults me.”

“Of course you do.”

In the ensuing painful silence, for lack of anything better to do al-Bardisi ordered two more glasses of beer.

“You can find a better girl,” he murmured with a smile.

“Oh! Girls in this country are more plentiful than air and cheaper than dust.”

To quench his thirst, he swallowed gulps of beer, while his friend stared into his drink. Silence fell upon them again.

Ah! Hassanein thought. I wish I could be born all over again, in a new family and with a new past. But why should I torment myself with futile hopes? This is me and this is my life, and I won’t allow anyone to destroy it. The battle is not over yet.