Free The Beginning and the End by Naguib Mahfouz

“wants to choose a tutor for Salem.”
    “What has this got to do with us?”
    “He will choose from you.”
    “For what subject?”
    “English.”
    “He will choose me, of course,” Hassanein cried.
    “And arithmetic, too,” she said with a smile.
    “Me.” Hussein heaved a sigh.
    “He wants to employ both of you, gratis, of course,” she added slyly.
    Understanding her insinuations, both shouted with delight, “Of course!”

FIFTEEN
    Since they felt no need to put on their suits when they visited a flat in the same building, they merely pulled on their coats over their pajamas and went out. Furthermore, to avoid unnecessary wear, their mother forbade them to dress in their suits except in cases of extreme emergency. The shining forenoon sun tempered the cold weather. Filled with hope and delight, the two young men climbed up the stairs. On their way, they passed the door of their old flat, casting silent looks at it, then continued to climb until they reached the top flat. Finding its door partly open, they hesitated for a few moments. Hassanein approached and raised his hand to knock on the door, but it stopped in midair as, in spite of himself, he stared inside the house. There he saw a girl, her back to the door, her head bent over something she held in her hands; perhaps she was looking for something in a drawer of the sideboard. Her shapely buttocks protruded and her dress, slightly raised, exposed her naked legs and the backs of her knees. The color of her legs was sparkling white, and the eye could almost sense their softness. The sight so attracted Hassanein that he stood entranced, and Hussein began to wonder at the cause. He came near his brother, craned his neck to cast a look over his shoulder, and was overcome with astonishment. But like an escaping fugitive, he quickly retreated, pulling his brother by the arm away from the door and looking sharply at him, as if to say: Are you mad? They stood for a while, overcome by a vague sense of guilt, for the spectacle made their blood run hot. Hassanein leaned toward Hussein and whispered, “Bahia!” in his ear.
    His brother pretended to be indifferent. “Perhaps,” he murmured.
    Hassanein hesitated, a diabolic smile in his eyes. “Shouldn’t we steal another glance?” he said.
    Striking him on the shoulder, his brother pushed him aside, then knocked on the door. They heard footsteps approaching, and when the door opened, a beautiful round face appeared, chubby, white and slightly pale, adorned with eyes of pure blue. As soon as she saw the two newcomers, she retreated shyly. Then from afar came the voice of Farid Effendi, shouting, “Please come in, great masters!”
    They entered the hall, which also served as a dining room. Farid Effendi sat on a sofa facing the sideboard; his loose garment made him look like a balloon. As they shook hands, he welcomed them warmly and closely studied their faces. Then he called Salem. The boy came in to stand before them, embarrassed and uncertain. “Shake hands with your masters,” Farid Effendi told him. “You know them, of course. But from now on, they are different people. They are your masters. So you must behave in their presence as you would with your teachers in school.”
    The boy approached politely, doing his best to conceal a smile at the two young men, for whom he had not yet developed the habit of respect. His father pointed to a room to the left of the entrance.
    “The sitting room,” he said, “is the most suitable place for your lessons. There is a balcony, too, if you want to be in the sun.”
    The two instructors proceeded to the room, with their pupil leading the way. The boy hurried to the balcony and opened its French windows, then closed the door. Since Farid Effendi had no son of their own age with whom they might have exchanged visits, this was the first time the pair had entered the flat. They discovered that the sitting room was much like their own. It contained an old set of