“Twenty pounds,” Hassanein said fearfully.
Despite himself, Hassan couldn’t keep the worry from his eyes. “Twenty pounds!” he exclaimed. “Our whole army isn’t worth that much money. Do you intend to join a college for field marshals?”
Worried and confused, Hassanein waited. He kept silent until his brother resumed the conversation on a more serious plane. “This is a really big sum. Today, I can’t give you more than ten pounds.”
A painful period of silence prevailed. Hassan snorted with annoyance.
“I wish you had come to me a week earlier!” he exclaimed. “However, tomorrow I leave for Suez. Perhaps I’ll come back with what you need.”
He was absorbed in his thoughts. Hassanein said in a low voice, “I’m sorry I’ve disturbed you.”
Laughingly pinching him on the nose, Hassan teased him, “I know you’ve got a long tongue, so I’m surprised to find that you’ve learned to be so polite. Don’t worry. I’ll bring you what you want even if I have to murder a man and steal his wallet!”
Hassan gave him the ten pounds, and asked him to convey his regards to his mother and sister, and to be wise enough not to disclose to them what he had seen in the alley. Thankfully pressing Hassan’s hand, Hassanein left the flat. As soon as he was alone, he said to himself in a heavy, melancholy voice, “Hassan’s life is a scandal we should conceal. Perhaps what’s hidden is worse and even more hideous.”
Walking along the street absorbed in his depression, he felt nauseous and fearful. He could not help remembering his brother’s favors and kindness to him. Yet he could not forget the woman, the disfigured men, and Hassan’s two appalling scars; all this had been horrifyingly inscribed on the young man’s heart. Good heavens! How different from other human beings Hassan had become! He was no longer one of them or of the community in which they moved. Hassanein staggered as if a terrible blow had fallen on his head and knocked him unconscious. Walking rapidly, he was beset by a sense of catastrophe. His need for money, which had caused him to seek his brother’s assistance, accentuated his nausea and resentment.
Desperate and defeated, he cursed his need from the bottom of his heart. More painful to him was the fact that he still needed his brother; after a few days he would return, begging for his help. Hassanein wondered how his brother would get the money in Suez. His heart did not lie to him. What he had already seen furnished enough evidence. In spite of all this, he would return to him, asking him to fulfill his agreement. Should he allow his anger to replace wounded pride? Would he actually return these pounds to his brother, shouting in his face that he disapproved of his filthy life?! He laughed hoarsely, realizing that he was foolishly daydreaming. He knew as well as Hassan that he would return of his own accord to accept the money with thanks and gratitude from him if he was kind enough to offer it. He could not help wishing his brother the best of luck, even though he knew he was going to steal it. As if to appease his gnawing conscience, Hassanein thought: To us, at any rate, he is a virtuous and generous brother!
FIFTY-NINE
That afternoon, Hassanein paid a visit to Ahmad Bey Yousri’s villa in Taher Street. He was, in fact, vigorously heading for the realization of his life’s dream, to join the War College or perish. He had climbed the stairs and now sat waiting in the drawing room, glancing absentmindedly about the garden. He saw it enveloped in mystery. His eyes moved among the elegant palm trees growing amidst tastefully arranged circlets of grass interspersed with rosebuds and surrounded by hedges of camomile. To relieve himself for a while of worry and preoccupation, he focused his attention on a wide circle of grass in the center of the garden between the entrance to the villa and the drawing room. In the middle of this circle stood a short, young palm tree, with a white trunk, rosebushes profusely covering the top, their branches touching it and the intertwining roses merging in a vast halo, whose red, green, and yellow hues blended in peace and harmony. He smiled without realizing it. An evening shadow crept over the garden area and part of the road behind it. Traces of the setting sun fell on the top story on the other side of the road, and the warm air was filled with the fragrance of the jasmine which mounted the fence. He wondered whether it would be possible one day for him to own such a villa! He imagined life there, the bedroom and the garden, the car and the respectable family that living in such a place usually involved. This was his second visit to Ahmad Bey Yousri’s villa, and in both cases the lava of frustrated ambition, discontent, and desire for life’s clean and respectable pleasures erupted from his volcanic breast. Most of all, he feared that his life would be as confined as that of his brother Hussein, and that, lacking any flowery prospect, he would spend the rest of his life striving for menial promotions from the eighth to the sixth grade. He felt he must have his full share of the world’s pure air and higher pleasures. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a girl riding a bicycle through the left side of the garden. The girl was so absorbed in warily weaving her way on the mosaic paths between the circular flower beds that she paid no attention to anything around her. She was sixteen years old, slender, with a pure complexion and a blossoming bosom. She wore a long white dress, her head demurely bound with a small kerchief. Hassanein was so attracted to the movements of her legs pedaling up and down under the cover of her dress that he hardly made out her face. She disappeared behind the right wing of the villa before he could see what she looked like. His eyes glowed in watchful interest. He wondered who this girl might be, if she were not Ahmad Bey’s daughter. The image of Bahia with her soft, plump body and moonlike face came to him, beautiful and delicious but with nothing approaching this girl’s elegance. Remembering his sister, Nefisa, he wondered at the vast differences between creatures of the same species. The compassionate ache in his heart brought him back to himself with the realization that the sight of the cycling girl, the garden, the villa, and the chandelier of the reception room combined to stir in him ambition, revolt, and discontent.
How wonderful it would be to possess this villa and lie with this girl! he thought. It’s not mere lust. It would be a symbol of power and glory to have this girl of good birth lying in my arms naked and surrendering, her eyelids closed, as though all the organs of her passionate body were clamoring, “My master.” This is life. Mount it, and you’ll mount a whole class!
Again recalling Bahia, his pain intensified, mingled with something akin to remorse and shame. Then his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps from the direction of the stairs. Turning, he saw Ahmad Bey Yousri approaching in a white silk suit, a red rose in the lapel of his jacket. Hassanein stood up, went politely up to him, and bowed, greeting him with veneration. Smiling, the Bey welcomed him. He inquired, as they took their seats, “How is your family, my son?”
“Remembering your favors, they kiss your generous hand,” Hassanein answered ingratiatingly.
“You need not mention it,” the Bey murmured.
The Bey was certain that shortly this young man would beg him to find him a job or transfer his brother to Cairo. This was the routine of his life every day. Though such requests irritated him, he actually liked them, and could not bear to see his house empty of people seeking his help.
“What’s the matter, my son?” he said.
“Your Excellency, I’m appealing to you for help, to intercede for me in joining the War College.”
Astonished, the Bey seemed to have expected anything but this aristocratic request. Without hiding his surprise, he inquired, “But what made you choose this narrow gate?”