What does the officer expect me to do? he thought. What should I do? Oh, God! How can I leave this place? He heard the man address him. “I’ve done my duty. The rest is up to you.”
“Where is the other?” Hassanein asked, avoiding the officer’s eyes.
Understanding his meaning at once, the officer replied rather sternly, “After the usual legal routine, I released him.”
“Thanks,” Hassanein murmured. “Let’s get out of here.”
NINETY
In the dark outside, a cold breeze was blowing. With heavy steps, he walked out of the police station, followed at arm’s length by his sister, her face cast down. The two walked along the tram tracks. Since this was his first visit to this quarter, he did not know where he was going. The street was deserted, although it was still early in the evening. Where does this street go? he wondered, surprised at the nature of his own thoughts. Where the street went was without significance for him. What to do with her was the main thing. He had thought of doing something as soon as they came out of the police station, and this was exactly what she expected. But he did nothing, and they continued to walk. He felt her intolerable presence behind him, the sound of her footsteps like bullets shot into his back, crushing every desire to look back at her over his shoulders. The terrible silence estranged them; he appeared absorbed in deep thought, but in reality his mind was utterly, terrifyingly, involuntarily blank. His self-control had vanished, all power of will was gone. Helpless, he yearned to recover his customary authority. When his foot collided with a small stone in his path, a flash of anger burst in his chest, as if attracted by his wandering thoughts in the dark. Should he strangle her, he wondered suddenly, or smash her head with his shoe? His pent-up feelings demanded some kind of relief. The infernal silence which separated them still prevailed. He was mustering all his willpower to break through this barrier when, to his surprise, she did it herself. He heard her murmur in a quaking, sobbing voice, “I’m a criminal, I know. I won’t ask for forgiveness. I don’t deserve it.”
How, he wondered, could she have the courage to speak? How devilish! Her feeble voice stirred up in his breast a blind tyrannical storm of agitation that poured anger into his limbs and caused him to stop in his tracks. Turning to her with surprising swiftness, he raised his hand and with full force slapped her on the face. Mutely she staggered backward and fell, the back of her head crashing to the ground. Momentarily speechless, she quickly sat up. Summoning all her strength, she rose to her feet, withdrawing from him, until her back touched the wall of a house. She leaned against it. As he approached her, she could see the determination in his glances, despite the darkness which engulfed his face. She motioned with her hand as if pleading with him to stop.
“Stop!” she begged him hurriedly. “Don’t! I’m not afraid for myself but for you. I don’t want any harm to come to you because of me.”
Increasingly infuriated by her gentle words, he bellowed, “You don’t want any harm to come to me because of you! You filthy prostitute! You’ve already done me incalculable harm!”
“But,” she passionately entreated him again, “if anything should happen to me, I can’t bear the thought of their harming you.”
“This kind of sly deceit won’t help you to save your rotten life. No harm will come to me for killing you.”
“I don’t want you to be punished in any way,” she exclaimed with the same passion. “What will you say when they ask you why you killed me? Let me do the job myself so that no harm will come to you and nobody will know anything about it.”
“You’d kill yourself?” he inquired, astounded.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly.
As he sought to control himself, suddenly a heavy weight seemed to lift from his chest. Burning with anger and tormented by his sense of duty, he had constantly considered the consequences of the spread of the scandal and the punishment involved. But now that she had cast the verdict on herself, his breath came more easily and he began to distinguish a ray of light in the suffocating darkness.
“How?” he asked, still absorbed.
“By any means whatever,” she answered, hardly able to swallow.
He thought about it for a while, then cast a cruel glance at her. “Drown yourself in the Nile,” he said bluntly.
“All right,” she agreed calmly.
Snorting with fury, he withdrew. “Come on!” he muttered. He walked off. She left the wall with heavy steps and continued to follow him as before. He experienced a momentary feeling of relief which was as suddenly spoiled by the realization that he had lost his sense of personal dignity, of which he had been so proud as long as he was determined to kill her himself. Now he had changed from a man who prized his personal dignity to one who wanted only to save his own skin. Her proposed suicide choked him with a sense of defeat. But he was not strong enough to sacrifice safety on the altar of dignity, or weak enough to submit entirely to his urge for safety.
“How could you do such a thing?” he said roughly to give vent to his feelings. “You! Who would have imagined it!”
“It’s God’s decree,” she sighed, surrendering to despair.
“No! Satan’s!” he roared.
“True,” she sighed as before.
“Who is it?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation.
“Don’t torture yourself and me,” she said, shuddering. “Everything will be over in a few moments.”
“Did he know me?”
“No,” was her quick, emphatic answer.
Further hesitation doubled his torture. “Was it the first time?” he inquired.
She quaked again. “Yes,” she said in the same voice.
Stamping his foot on the ground, he cried, “How could you surrender to temptation?”
“This is the decree of Satan,” she murmured.
“You’re Satan incarnate. We’re destroyed.”
“No. No,” she exclaimed hopefully. “Now everything will be over, and nobody will ever know.”
“Do you mean what you say?”
“Of course.”
“And if you get scared?”
“No. My life is more dreadful than death itself.”
Exhausted, both fell silent again. Confused, he looked ahead, along the tram rails.
“Where are we going?” he asked her sarcastically. “Probably you know this quarter better than I do.”
She made no reply, her features contracting with pain. Now Daher Square came into view, teeming with life, buildings, and human voices. Absently he focused his eyes on a row of waiting taxis, headed for the first one, and opened the door for her. He followed her inside, temporarily absorbed in his thoughts while the driver waited for his instructions.
“The Imbaba Bridge, please,” Hassanein said in a low voice.
NINETY-ONE
The taxi sped swiftly to Farouk Street, Ataba Square, then Imbaba.
Like strangers they sat inside the taxi. Half of his back to her, he looked out of the window at the road; Nefisa, her head bowed, was dazed and self-absorbed. Nothing significant passed through her mind. She was quietly immobile, like the silence in the wake of a storm, the motionlessness of death after the last painful breath. Before she fainted in the street, she had already reached the apex of insane paroxysm. As she returned to consciousness she was assaulted anew by her train of fearful thoughts. In infernal horror, her life passed before her, until the weight of her sorrows caused her to bow her head over her chest, as if desperately doomed under the weight of a collapsing wall. Now, she realized, it was all over, after her complete collapse, the appearance of Hassanein, and their conversation in the street. Horror left her mind in a mute vacuum, save for some distant memory of the days of her childhood, or some trifling aspect of the taxi floor. Yet she was undergoing an experience hitherto unknown to her. Life was worthless; death would rescue her from its painful humiliation. True, she had long resented her past life and sometimes dreamt of death. But she had not considered suicide, for always a gle
am of hope lay hidden at the bottom of her heart. Now all connections with her life had been severed. Gone were the roots tying her to existence. Profound despair gave way to relief from the burden of living.
Now in her resignation, the death she hurried to meet became a soothing drug. As the speeding taxi suddenly swerved at a corner, Nefisa almost fell off the seat and became fearfully aware of her surroundings. Though her head was bowed, she felt his presence by her side. At the glimpse of his suffocating shape enveloped in a mysterious mist, her heart ached with pain and shame. What could he be thinking of? she wondered. When will he feel anything but anger? When will it all be over? This will only be the end. Will Mother guess the truth? I shouldn’t think of it. I’m doomed to die.
Hassanein was strained and agitated, overcome with awe, anger, and despair. How will this ordeal end? he wondered. And how will I come out of it? Will the curtain really fall on this affair, will no rank smell rise from it to make all this labor futile? I feel as if I’m being choked. One can never wipe out the past; it goes on with the future. Why can’t we be different? Everything is finished and there is no need to think about it, no need at all. Such torment! How to overcome my misery? Wait. I’m driving her to her death, and she knows it. Will she have enough courage to do it? Sure, she’s absorbed in her thoughts. But what is she thinking about? I shouldn’t think of her. Death is the right end for her. Our eyes shouldn’t meet; it would be too intolerable for both of us.
“This has to do with your sister.” Oh! Damn the officer. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but she was arrested in a certain house in Al Sakakini.”
Who would ever have dreamed of this? Death is not an end but the beginning of further misery that awaits me at home. When shall I free myself from such thoughts?
What chimney is this? Perhaps a factory chimney. We’re approaching Abu al-Ila Bridge. The chimney sends forth black, thick smoke. Were my thoughts or my breath to fume, I would send forth much filthier smoke. “I don’t want any harm to come to you because of me.” Right you are. You must perish alone. When will we come to the end of the road?
The taxi crossed the bridge. Strong gusts of cold, humid air, full of the fragrance of the Nile, gushed inside the taxi. Like a man scorched in a blazing fire, the young man welcomed the breeze, but it sent a shudder down Nefisa’s spine, arousing a mysterious fear in her heart, until she finally gave way to her former state of resignation, immobility, and despair. The taxi doubled its speed. As it reached the neighborhood of the Imbaba Bridge, it gradually slowed down. As the driver turned inquiringly to Hassanein, he ordered him in a low voice to stop, paid the fare, and got out. She left by the opposite door, and the taxi departed.
Now brother and sister were alone, close to the entrance of the bridge. Lamps on either side of the bridge pierced the darkness with a strong light, and distant lamps twinkled faintly along the banks of the Nile, engulfed as it was north and south in the gloom, the rows of trees on either side of the river appearing like gigantic apparitions. The place was almost deserted, with only an occasional passerby. The branches moaned against the cold wind; the trees whispered when the breeze fell. Shocked into immobility, they stood quietly. He glanced secretly at her, and saw that her head was lowered and her back a little hunched, but the sight of her stirred no feelings of pity in his hardened, merciless heart. Suddenly exasperated by his own inaction, he spoke to her roughly. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she answered in a strangely curious voice.
Her simple answer cut deep into his soul. He could stand still no longer and moved off with a heavy step. Before he had gone an arm’s length from her, he heard her beg him, “Don’t remember the harm I’ve done.”
Taking wide strides like a fugitive, he replied in a gruff voice, “May God have mercy on all of us.”
He left her alone in front of the bridge and walked toward the pavement extending to the right along the bank of the Nile. He quickened his pace. He felt an urge to escape, but an all-encompassing power held him back. His resistance collapsed near the huge trunk of a willow tree about thirty meters off the beginning of the pavement. Overcome with fatigue, he hid behind it. Like a monster sinking its teeth into the flesh of its prey, the bridge appeared to him as a solid mass, sparkling in the light of its lamps, obstinate and determined to link both sides of the Nile. At the entrance of the bridge facing him, he watched her move with unusual heaviness and rigidity, her head cast down as if she were walking in her sleep. Observing her clearly under the bright lights, his eyes were fixed on the illuminated side of her face, as she continued step by step to the middle of the bridge, where she halted. She raised her head and cast her eyes about her. Turning to the rail, she looked down at the swift, tumultuous water underneath. Breathless, he continued to watch her. At this moment, two men appeared at the farther end of the bridge. Busily conversing, they crossed the bridge quickly. The tram from Imbaba, shattering the silence with its noise, turned toward the bridge. The young man briefly recovered his breath, but soon became worried and depressed. Surely others must hear the violent beating of his heart. Several moments elapsed. He thought of himself as a detached observer of a scene in no way related to himself, but only after his sense of awe had displaced his anger and exasperation. In a turmoil of conflicting thoughts, he felt perplexed, like a man faced with an abstruse, mysterious problem who finds he cannot solve it or has no time to think about it. Now he was baffled and lost. Meanwhile, the two men crossed the bridge, the tram preceding them. The girl still stared at the water. Looking around, he saw no trace of a human being. All his senses crystallized in a fixed, terrified moment of expectation. He saw her turn her head to the right, then to the left. Suddenly she swiftly climbed the rail. Watching her movements, his heart quaked and his eyes protruded. Impossible! Not this…he thought. She had thrown herself into the water. Rather, she did nothing to stop herself from falling. Her protracted scream sounded like a groan, conjuring up the image of death for anyone unlucky enough to hear it. His own cry of terror was submerged in her last, piercing scream. As he watched her drown, he felt he could find the solution to the abstruse problem which perplexed him, a solution different from the one she had chosen. There might have been another solution, he thought. His cry sounded like an attempt to redress his mistake, but the cry vanished. As he heard her body tumble into the water, he gave another cry.
NINETY-TWO
He leapt to the sloping bank, his eyes staring at the spot under the bridge where her body had disappeared. Uncertain what to do, or what he wanted, he remained transfixed, staring. In a few moments, he thought that perhaps her body would float up to the surface of the water, but then he realized that the rushing current under the bridge must have carried her away. Perhaps her body was being tossed under the bridge; perhaps it was sinking in the river beyond the bridge. Although the thought occurred to him to take off his clothes and jump into the water in an attempt to save her life, he remained motionless. More immobile than before, he thought how bitterly ironic it was. Had his reason ceased to control his mind? He was taken aback by a voice behind him.
“Did you hear a scream?” someone shouted wildly.
Turning around, he saw a policeman, obviously concerned.
“Yes,” he answered in surprise. “Perhaps someone is drowning.”
In the darkness, the policeman gazed at the surface of the river, then walked quickly toward the bridge. His presence brought Hassanein back to an awareness of where he was, and he withdrew to his place behind the tree. But he was unable for long to control himself, and rushed toward the bridge, crossed it, and reached the rail overlooking the other side of the river. He glanced down at the swift current. Others were aware of the accident. A swift boat was moving from the left bank to the middle of the river. He heard screams and cries for help from the farther bank. Beyond the bridge the surface of the river was illuminated by the reflected images of the lamps. His eyes searching the surface, he failed to see anything.
Carried by the curre
nt, the boat left the illuminated area, headed into the darkness. Could the boat win this race against death? he wondered. Either he couldn’t recognize his true feelings or perhaps his concentration on the boat was an attempt to escape from his thoughts. The boat stopped, and amid the noisy voices of the occupants, someone jumped into the water. This was the decisive moment. His heart quaked and his mouth was dry. In the darkness that enveloped the boat, he tried in vain to distinguish any object or make out a word in the tumult of different voices. His eyes were as tired as a blind man’s; he could no longer see anything. He became aware that a crowd of people had gathered around him.
“The boat is returning,” he heard one of them say. “Maybe they’ve rescued whoever it was.
A shudder passed down his spine. Did she survive or perish? Should I stay or get out of here? The desire to torture himself to the utmost proved irresistible; he walked toward the bank which the boat was heading for. Then, too frightened to trust to walking, he began to run as fast as he could to the place on the bank where a crowd gathered. He reached it just as the boat landed, and with shaking legs approached the crowd. His limbs trembling in spite of himself, he joined it stealthily, casting dazed glances at the boat in its thin veil of darkness. Not far away, the officer of the police station, together with some policemen, stood facing the bank. Now the shapes of men appeared carrying the drowned body, as they moved from the boat to the bank.
“Did they save him from drowning?” a bystander exclaimed.
Hassanein pricked up his ears for the answer, but none of the men uttered a single word. With an effort, they climbed the sloping bank, all eyes centered upon them.
“Oh, dear!” someone cried in horror. “It’s a woman!”