Thus he thought of Hassan as the only possible source. He confided his thoughts to his mother, who agreed. She had no doubt that her eldest son would come to their rescue if it was at all possible for him to do so. She gave Hussein his brother’s address. He set out at once for Clot Bey Street, and there started to search for Gandab alley. At the beginning of his journey, his heart was filled with great hopes. Gradually hope gave way to anxiety, until he finally wondered whether Hassan would really give him what he needed, and whether he might lose the job just because of his inability to obtain a few pounds.
By the time he had found his way to the alley at last, his mood was one of painful pessimism. It was a narrow, zigzagging alley, with dilapidated houses on both sides, its polluted air permeated by the smell of fried fish, crowded with people and cluttering handcarts, and the echoes of hawkers advertising their wares was interspersed with abusive language, rattling coughs, and the sound of people gathering spittle in their throats and spewing it into the street. The ground, covered with dust, vegetable litter, and animal dung, was a gradual incline, so that the alley appeared to be constructed on top of a hill. Hussein went to number seventeen, an ancient two-story house. So strikingly narrow was it that it seemed more like a huge pillar than a dwelling. Not far from its entrance sat a woman selling pips, peanuts, and dome, the fruit of palm trees. Hesitantly he entered the house. As he climbed the spiral stairs, which had no banister, his nostrils were filled with a putrefying odor. When he reached the second floor, he knocked at the door. He was extremely afraid he might not find his brother at home, and his fear was intensified when nobody opened the door for him. Violently and desperately, he kept knocking until his hands ached. In his despondency he stood there, not knowing what to do. He was about to move away when he heard a rough voice inside, shouting angrily, “Who is this son of a bitch knocking at the door at such an early hour?”
Hussein’s heart pounded with delight. Answering the voice, which he well recognized as that of his brother, he said, “Hassan! It’s me, Hussein.”
“Hussein!” The voice sounded astonished. Then Hussein heard the rattle of the bolt being lifted. As the door was opened, he saw Hassan, his hair unruly and disorderly, his eyes swollen and bloodshot. Extending a hand to greet his brother, Hassan shouted in surprise, “Hussein! You’re welcome. Come in. I hope no calamity has brought you here. What’s the matter?”
Rather confused, Hussein entered. Soon his nose was filled with the odor of incense, its sweet fragrance sharply contrasting with the horrible smell emerging from the staircase. He found himself in a darkened corridor with two rooms, one on the right of the entrance, the other facing it to the left. Smiling apologetically at his brother, Hussein said, “Have I come early? It’s eleven o’clock.”
Hassan yawned. “I usually get up in the afternoon. Singers work by night and sleep by day,” he said, laughing. “But before anything else, tell me, how is our family?”
“Thanks to God, they are well. How is everything?”
Accompanying his brother to the room on the right, Hassan said, “Thanks to God, everything is all right.”
They entered a small room, nearly partitioned into two halves, one containing a bed, the other a wardrobe, with a sofa between them next to the inside wall. Hanging above the sofa was a big photograph of Hassan with a very dark-skinned, fleshy woman leaning on his shoulder, her arms around his neck. As Hussein fixed his eyes on her, his astonishment caught his brother’s attention.
“What are you thinking about?” Hassan asked, laughing.
“Have you married, my brother?” Hussein asked naively.
Asking Hussein to sit on the sofa, Hassan jumped on the bed and squatted there. “Almost,” he answered.
“Are you engaged?”
“Neither married nor engaged.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the third state!”
Dumbfounded, the young man raised his astonished eyes to Hassan. He smiled mechanically in spite of himself. A feeling akin to shyness appeared on his face. Hassan laughed aloud.
“Even without a marriage contract, she’s my wife in every possible sense,” he said lightly.
“Aren’t you alone now?” Hussein asked fearfully.
Nodding his head affirmatively, he yawned aloud like a braying donkey. “Of course, you won’t tell anybody about it,” he cautioned.
“Of course.”
“I don’t want to hurt the family’s feelings, that’s all. By the way, have you had any experience with the female sex?” Hassan asked with a laugh.
Shyly, the young man shook his head no.
“Nor Hassanein?” Hassan continued.
Hussein’s heart pounded with fear and pain for no obvious reason. “Nor Hassanein,” he said.
Hassan became thoughtful. “That’s better for you,” he remarked. “If one day you intend to marry,” he adding, laughing, “come to me and I’ll supply you with wonderful bits of advice.”
“I’m not thinking of marriage, as you know,” Hussein said calmly.
“Is it possible that Hassanein will get married before you?”
His heart shook, but he said quietly, “This is certain, since he is bound by an old promise.”
“Anyhow, when Hassanein finishes his studies, no obstacle will get in his way!” Hassan was moved. “Oh! By the way, what’s the latest news about the job you are searching for?”
Hussein was delighted by the opportunity Hassan was affording him to bring up the subject.
“I’ve come to tell you that I’ve been appointed a clerk at the secondary school in Tanta, and I’ll be starting my work on the first of October,” he said.
“Will you travel to Tanta?” Hassan asked with astonishment. “What use, then, will it be to Mother if you live in Tanta?”
“Little use. But what’s to be done?”
“This is really bad luck. This is the result of school education!”
To overcome his confusion, Hussein smiled. Summoning up his courage, he said, “I should be leaving by the end of September. As you know, government salaries are paid at the end of the month.”
Hassan realized what his brother was driving at before Hussein finished speaking, and as he pondered it, he allowed no trace of his thoughts to appear on his face.
“How much of a salary do you expect?” he asked.
“Seven pounds.”
“How foolish of Mother to have sent you to school! And, of course, you have not a millieme of the money needed to cover your travel and living expenses for the month of October?”
Hussein smiled resignedly, wondering at the embarrassment and confusion the situation had caused him; it was as if he were asking a stranger for help. His mind active, Hassan silently continued to stare at him. Hussein comes to me at an inappropriate time. I’m expecting some money. But I’m not sure when it will come. Right now I’m empty-handed, entirely empty-handed. Damn him! I can’t tell him the truth. Let hell destroy us all before I ever do. He has a pressing need for the money and he must obtain it. The future of the family depends on these few pounds. In fact, he doesn’t need much, just the price of a few pounds of hashish. In one week’s time, a reckless young man would spend such a sum of money on the women of Darb Tiab. Sana’a herself is hard up. I don’t keep anything for her. I must help him. But how? Why did he wait until today to come see me? How long will my family remain a source of pain to me? Silently, he continued to gaze at his brother, until the latter’s heart was stricken with worry and fear. Suddenly Hassan moved away from the bed. Reaching the wardrobe, he opened a drawer. After fumbling in it for a few minutes, he returned to his place on the bed. Holding four gold bracelets in his hand, he stretched it out to his brother.