He asked Onsiyya to meet him in the desert by the Pyramids on a Friday morning. This time he planned the assignation with more caution than was his custom, stealthily giving her a piece of paper on which he had scribbled the arrangements and the route each of them should separately take. It was one of those wintry mornings, dry and cold, though both of them felt the sun’s rays warm and invigorating. He watched her all the time with genuine anguish, though he was conscious that the role he was playing was cruel and debasing. From the first, the girl seemed unusually anxious.
“I had such a strange feeling when I read your note,” she said. “My heart just shriveled up inside me.”
Woman, he thought to himself, possessed an instinct which guided her in the knowledge of her most intimate affairs without recourse to the intellect; and if humanity as a whole had this sort of instinctive access to the unknown, it would not have remained unknown.
“The truth is,” he said with increasing sadness, “we’ve got to think about this thing.”
“Which thing do you mean?”
“Our close and sacred relationship.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“You must have wondered at my silence. We’ve talked about everything except the most essential, and naturally you may never have realized that all the time I’ve been suffering the torments of hell.”
She touched his arm concernedly.
“I must admit you’re making my heart shrink even more!”
“And I must admit that I’m a selfish man.”
“No. You are not selfish at all,” she protested.
“Yes. Selfish in the full meaning of the word. And because of my selfishness I’ve led you on and given you false hopes. I shall never forgive myself.”
“You’ve been so kind and good to me.”
“Don’t try to acquit me. You must have often wondered, ‘When is that man going to speak? What does he want of me? How long shall we go on meeting and parting without really getting any further? Is he toying with me?’ ”
“I’ve never thought ill of you.”
“In fact I have asked myself these questions many times, but the illusion of happiness has always got the better of me, and I wasn’t able to face up to reality before things got out of hand. How often have I been determined to tell you the truth, but then weakened and given in!”
“What truth?” she asked in a tone of frustration.
“Er…Why I haven’t proposed to you…”
Her eyelids quivered when she heard the beloved word. She stared at him in alarm and then turned away, raising her eyes to the unknown as though in silent prayer to ward off disaster.
“Surely you must have asked yourself this question? Otherwise what’s the meaning of life?”
She fixed her gaze on the ground as though, expecting only the worst, she no longer wanted to know more.
“I’m ill,” he went on.
“No!” she exclaimed in genuine fear.
“I’m not fit for marriage.”
She stared at him, stunned.
“Don’t let my appearance deceive you…My illness is not fatal, but it makes it impossible for me to marry.”
He looked down in distress. The sharp sigh he heard transfixed his heart. He was on the point of casting off the shackles of his ambition, throwing himself down and kissing her feet and begging her to accept him as husband. But another force held him back and paralyzed him.
“I’ve spared no effort. I’ve been to more than one doctor. I never lost hope, or else I would have told you a long time ago. But it’s no use. I should put an end to my selfishness, otherwise I will have destroyed your future forever.”
“But how could I live without you?”
“You’re still young. The wounds of youth are quick to heal.”
“I can’t believe it. It must be a nightmare.”
“It wouldn’t be wise for us to carry on together any longer.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Sudden disasters are always hard to believe, but life sometimes seems a series of sudden disasters. What matters is that you should find your way before it’s too late.”
“What do you want to do?” Her voice broke with anguish.
“We should stop traveling up a dead end.”
“I can’t.”
“It’s got to be done. It would be sheer madness to continue.”
He avoided her eyes. He had carried out his plan successfully to the end. But success was harsh, and he now found himself alone in a wilderness of desolation, alone with his anguish and shame, without faith, without solace. Madness was the only way out, he told himself. Madness alone had room for both belief and disbelief, glory and shame, love and deceit, truthfulness and lies. For how could sanity stand the absurdity of life? How could he look up at the stars when he was sunk up to the neck in slime? Through the long night he wept and wept.