Samira and her daughter remained motionless. Nefisa’s tears continued to flow. Overcome by a sense of defeat, despite her long experience, the mother felt at a loss as to what to do. Crushed by sorrow, her heart carried all the misfortunes life had piled up for her children, and in addition a personal, deep-buried, terrifying grief that frightened her as much as it tormented her—her compassionate sorrow over Hassan himself, which she feared most to reveal.
Where had he gone? What would they do to him if they arrested him? What did fate hold in store for him? In spite of everything, she must not forget his good nature and kindness; she must not forget that he had given them generously whatever he could, and that he was their refuge in time of distress. What a miserable, friendless outcast he was! This must have been the work of somebody’s envious, evil eye. They envied her for her son who had become a government employee and for the other who had become an officer, and in their envy they had forgotten that her painful struggles had reduced her to an absolute wreck. Unable to bear Nefisa’s weeping, she sighed nervously and scolded her. “Stop weeping,” she said. “Nobody has pity for me. I beg you, have mercy upon me.”
But Nefisa could not help weeping. In her hysterical state, she had no idea how very painful their situation was. She was overwhelmed with a curious fear that made her limbs shudder. Her tears were stirred by neither pity nor sorrow nor anger; they were hysterical tears, an attempt to overcome an unconquerable fear that grew out of her and made her identify herself with the hunted. Her heart was filled with sinister forebodings, more dreadful than the present. She turned around in fright, as if she feared someone might suddenly attack her. “Let’s go to them,” she heard her mother say in a feeble voice. She welcomed this opportunity to escape from her tortured feelings, and with heavy steps she followed her mother to the room. But as she crossed the threshold, her heart quivered in dread at meeting her brothers.
SEVENTY-SIX
Hassanein turned to Hussein. “Where do you think he escaped to?” he asked with ferocity.
Sufficient time had passed to restore Hussein to something like his normal condition. But he was disturbed by the harshness of his brother’s tone. “How could I possibly know?” he replied reproachfully. “Don’t forget that after all he’s our brother.”
“Even after all that’s happened.”
“Yes, even after all that’s happened.”
These words were uttered from his very depths, as consolation to his mutely suffering heart, which he knew was badly in need of consolation. But Hassanein, bursting out in anger, shouted at him, “We’re as good as lost!”
“Now the whole quarter is talking about our scandal.”
“We can leave the whole quarter,” Hussein said calmly.
Hassanein stared at him, a gleam of hope appearing in his eyes as he sat there gloomy and perplexed. Hussein’s suggestion struck a chord in his heart.
“What did you say?” he responded at once.
“Why not? Cairo is vast and boundless, and in less than a week our shame will be forgotten.”
Somewhat relieved, Hassanein sighed. “We’ll never wipe out the past,” he said.
“Let’s think of the future.”
“But the past will pursue the future forever.”
“Let’s think seriously of moving to another place,” Hussein said. “Let’s get it over with before the end of my vacation.”
“We should seriously think about it,” Samira said hopefully.
Baffled, Hassanein looked from the one to the other. The police might or might not arrest his brother, but in either case, Hassan would pursue and threaten them. Their lives would be in danger as long as he remained alive.
“Where do you suggest we go?” he queried, dispirited.
“Away from here…to Shubra Street.” There was hope in their mother’s voice.
He made a gesture expressing fright and dissatisfaction. “Farther away than that,” he said. “We’ll go to Heliopolis.”
“As you like.” Hussein was rather relieved.
For a moment, Hassanein appeared to waver. He said with a sigh, “But we’re badly in need of new furniture!”
“Don’t complicate matters,” Samira said, annoyed. “How important is furniture if nobody else sees it?”
“I can’t hide our home from my friends forever!”
“That’s another question,” Hussein said. “You can buy a sofa, two big chairs, and an Assiut carpet to serve as sitting-room furniture. We can go out today, if you like, and look for a new flat.”
The tension relaxed slightly, but they all surrendered in silence to the melancholy that engulfed the place. There was a knock on the door: Farid Effendi, accompanied by his family, paying an unexpected visit at the most inopportune time. How was it, Hussein wondered, that a few hours ago he had dreamt of Bahia’s visit, while now he received her with an uninterested heart. For no apparent reason, Hassanein was filled with anger. If Farid Effendi had not seen him when Nefisa showed the way to the sitting room, he would have taken to his heels. They all assembled in the sitting room. Farid Effendi’s family warmly welcomed Hussein back to Cairo, and the conversation rambled from past to present. Apparently, the visitors were ignorant of the arrival of the police and the search; but perhaps they deliberately did not mention it. Their apparent disregard for the matter failed to diminish Hassanein’s anger; rather, it intensified his inner revolt and deeply injured his pride. As his eyes occasionally met Bahia’s she seemed sorrowful and perplexed, wearing the same worrisome look she had borne ever since his sudden departure to Tanta. Let her feel the way she did. He had grown sick of it all. Now, in his state of fuming anger and irritation, he would face up to his innermost thoughts with candor and courage. This woman would never become his mother-in-law, nor this man his father-in-law, nor this girl his wife! All of them painfully reminded him of Nasr Allah alley. Like all the other neighbors, Farid Effendi’s family knew that the police had come. But they wanted to give the impression of being too magnanimous to refer to it. Perhaps this was another act of charity added to their previous ones. Damn it all! How sick he had grown of their favors, past and present! He looked forward to new people who had done him no favors that would strain his relations with them, new people who were in no way connected with his sordid past. Look as sad and confused as you wish, he thought. But I’ll never be your husband! Never! Everything must change. What was so attractive about her body? Was it her soft flesh? The markets were full of soft flesh. How hideous this atmosphere is! If I stay here any longer, I’ll come to hate my family itself.
The visit was protracted and he had to endure it patiently until the visitors left, a short while before sunset. As she shook hands with him, the girl slipped a folded paper into his hand. Once he was alone, he unfolded it. “Meet me on the roof,” it said, the first message she had ever sent him. Carefully examining her handwriting, he was surprised to find that it was like a child’s, but at once he remembered that she had only a primary school education! Brief as the message was, it sounded profoundly like a cry for help. Undoubtedly, before their visit she had secretly written the message in her flat, all of which suggested a foreboding in her heart that he would continue his flight from her, already begun with his journey to Tanta. His heart ached with pain. He was disturbed, discontented with everything around him. But why discontented? Wasn’t it better to acquaint her with the changes that had come over him? Could he possibly imagine that she hadn’t begun to suspect him after his sudden departure? Come what may, he would never yield to the pressure of circumstances, even if it involved his self-destruction. Moreover, he would never sacrifice his career and happiness for the sake of an old, infantile passion or promise. He could stand loneliness no longer and went to his room. “Let’s get out,” he suggested to his brother.
Hussein agreed and they left the room. But now Hassanein began to regret his proposal; he wished Hussein hadn’t responded so readily, for he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Although he could still
change his mind, he continued to walk along in silence with his brother. At the thought that Bahia might now be waiting for him in front of the chicken coop, his heart beat violently. How curious that he should keep her waiting hopelessly at the very spot that had witnessed his plaintive passion and confession of love! With firm determination, he tried to dismiss the picture from his mind. The voice of his brother reached him, saying, “We’ll waste no time. Before the end of this month, we’ll move to a new house.”
SEVENTY-SEVEN
The search for a new flat consumed considerable time, but finally they were able to find a reasonably priced one in a charming location on Al Zagazig Street in Heliopolis. Having agreed to bring their furniture surreptitiously during the evening, so as to conceal it from curious eyes, they moved in on the appointed day. Hassanein remained in the new flat with the heaps of furniture, while Hussein returned to the alley to accompany his mother and sister to their new home. With hope and no regrets, they bade farewell in the dark to their old quarter. Reaching the new quarter, they stood in surprised admiration for its enormous size, its quiet, the fine, dry air, and the sight of blocks of flats and villas on both sides. Despite sad, lingering memories, Nefisa, in this new atmosphere, could not help saying with a smile, “We’re now part of the upper class.”
The flat was located in a two-story house surrounded by a small garden. They climbed the seven steps to find Hassanein waiting for them, the kerosene lamp already aglow. Assisted by the two brothers, Samira and Nefisa arranged their few pieces of furniture in the three small rooms in less than an hour, including a brief break. The shabby chairs, sofas, and beds seemed out of place in these elegant rooms. It was to be expected that Hassanein would comment resentfully about this discrepancy, but the sight of the sitting room afforded him a measure of comfort. Entering from outside, a visitor could be shown into it without having to cross the interior hall. They discussed their new surroundings at length, the buildings, the streets, and what they imagined their neighbors must be like. Hassanein discussed the necessities of their new life as he saw them.
“We must have two things at once: electricity and a girl servant. Without these, we’ve no business staying here for even a day.”
Since it was understood that it was he who would supply these requirements, no one objected. But as he considered his surroundings from a new angle, Hassanein wondered whether his mother and sister would fit in with them. Mentally, he could hear women’s insulting comments after visiting their flat, and his boiling blood rushed to his brain.
“We mustn’t,” he warned his mother, “mix with anyone in this new quarter. We shall neither visit nor be visited.”
“I have no desire to mix with anyone,” his mother said indifferently.
“We’ve got no friends here that we’d be sorry to avoid,” Nefisa said.
“It’ll be better, too, if you don’t see your old female friends,” the young man said with concern.
The girl was disturbed. It was true that she wanted to sever her contacts with the outside world, but impelled by a repulsive urge to seek outside contacts, inevitably she failed to obey her wishes. “Am I doomed,” she asked fearfully, “to be a prisoner for the rest of my life?”
Taking his sister’s side, Hussein intervened. “Brother,” he urged, “don’t ask too much!”
“I don’t want anyone from our quarter to visit us,” Hassanein answered sharply.
“Except for Farid Effendi and his family, no one will take the trouble.”
Repressing his discontent, Hassanein kept silent. He remembered yesterday’s farewell visit from Farid Effendi’s family and how they got the new address. If only right now, he thought, at this moment in the twinkling of an eye, the entire past would cease to exist! Had the girl confided his recent lack of interest to her parents? he wondered. Could he arrange to slip easily out of this relationship or might he encounter unforeseen troubles? He would fight it out at whatever cost. His liberty and prestige were more important than the problems which faced him. If he could manage to recover from the past, a bright life full of peace and security would be assured.
Hassanein took his brother aside to straighten out their budget, with its extra expenses for transport, the purchase of the furniture for their sitting room, and the further anticipated expenses of the servant and electricity. Nefisa arose to look out of the windows at her new surroundings. In her loneliness, Samira summoned up memories of the recent events, ending with their arrival in this new quarter. Her thoughts revolved around only one subject: her son Hassan. Where was he now, she wondered, and what was he doing? Whenever she was alone, her memory of him always returned, stirring long-buried grief and remorse.
Thus they spent their first night in Heliopolis.
SEVENTY-EIGHT
“We’ve come to congratulate you on the new flat,” Bahia’s mother said. “May God make it a happy home for you!”
Bahia and her mother sat on the new sofa. It was afternoon. All the members of the Kamel family were present except Nefisa, who had left an hour before the two visitors arrived.
They had high praise for the new flat and the luxurious quarter, but Bahia’s mother complained of the loneliness her family suffered after the Kamels’ departure. She apologized for the absence of her husband, Farid Effendi, who was busy at the Ministry in the afternoons, so many of his colleagues being on vacation. They talked about familiar affairs, and Hassanein as usual took part in their conversation. But he was anxious and painfully embarrassed, and his tension increased as Bahia threw furtive, sad, and silently expressive glances at him. When Bahia’s mother suddenly expressed her wish to be alone with Hassanein’s mother, his uneasiness was accentuated. The two mothers left the sitting room; embarrassed in the presence of the engaged couple, Hussein made a pretext to leave. Hassanein realized that the decisive hour in his life was at hand; he would either perish or remain safe. Bahia and Hassanein exchanged prolonged glances, she disapproving and inquisitive, he with a faint, meaningless smile.
“Why did you stop visiting us?” she asked disapprovingly.
“You know, for reasons that prevent me from appearing in our old quarter,” he said, taken aback.
“Why didn’t you meet me on the roof after I left the paper in your hand?” she asked again.
“My brother and I had an important appointment.”
“And what about your sudden departure to Tanta without telling me?” she asked him sadly.
“I had to get away at once,” he said, avoiding her eyes.
“You don’t even try to make up reasonable excuses,” she exclaimed in anger.
As delicate and painful as the situation was, Hassanein realized that any wavering on his part would be fatal. As far as his liberty and career were concerned, he would make no concessions. Pretending sadness, he murmured, “My situation is too complicated for you to understand.”
“That you’ve changed is the only thing I can understand. You’ve become a different person. I’m neither foolish nor stupid. You don’t want to see me.”
“May God forgive you.”
Although she had originally been less communicative, her awareness of their limited time together loosened her tongue.
“Don’t be so equivocal,” she said, obviously pained. “I want to understand everything. What’s wrong with you? Why have you changed so much? Tell me!”
In his concern for his own salvation and escape, he failed to sense the pain and despair in her words. “I didn’t change, but my situation did,” he said.
“Yes, your situation did change, but for the better.”
“Only on the surface. Actually, I’m beginning to realize that my responsibilities are heavy indeed.”
“Weren’t you aware of them before?” she asked, her anger seeping into her voice. “All your responsibilities put together won’t stop you from doing whatever you want if you really want it.”
“I want but I can’t.”
Looking closely at him, her face pale, she murmu
red, “No. You can but you don’t want.”
How tormented he was, for he knew he had no answer. He grew more recalcitrant. “You’re mistaken,” he murmured.
Seeking to penetrate his innermost thoughts, she looked him up and down in fear and desperation. “No,” she replied, “I’m not mistaken. If you really wanted it, you would stop saying that you couldn’t. These are only pretexts.” She sighed in spite of herself. “You’re no longer in love with me and you want to get rid of me. Is there any other reason?”
Although he inwardly admitted this was the truth, yet it appalled and pained him to hear her say it.
“You’re most unjust to me,” he said, raising his eyebrows in contradiction.
Far from calming her, this made her even more desperate. Pressed for time, in her increasing anxiety she cast off her characteristic shyness. “It’s you who are unjust,” she exclaimed. “You’re thinking of getting rid of me after three years of engagement!”