Great Expectations: The Cairo Resolution

By - Alessandro Parisi

17 t h Century, Cairo Egypt

The shining radiance of Earths heavenly lights was rioting in a blaze
through the open air gap of the Cairo Mercantile clerks office. The walls
reflected the yellow rays in an oasis of gold around the chief clerks
concentrated gaze. There he sat in his common clothes and his common cap and
his common pen, writing the final draft of a credit report for a common local
enterprise looking to further its reach to the citizens of the citys outskirts. It
was a thoroughly consumptive and exhaustive work, but the clerk persisted
through with an ironed determination.
As the pages mounted higher upon themselves, and as the shining sun was
gradually replaced with the twinkling of stars against a deep, dark blue sky, he
felt his hand cramp with the movements of his pen. He got up, for what may
have been a second or third time today, to replenish the drained contents of his
inkwell. The dancing golden rays had smoothly given way to the over watch of
the oil lanterns and white candle stalks, their points spilling a light that was in
dim contrast to earlier daylight, but for the clerk they were all the same. Light
was light, and light meant that he could write.
His brooding shoulders felt the long day drawing to a close. His dear
friend of the old days of England, Herbert, emerged from his office in the back.
He had his wide brimmed hat tucked under his arm; his light, equatorial attire
returned the glaring presence of the day amidst the sea of raised bright orbs that
served for Pips lighting.
Ay Handel, another bus y day. he addressed his friend with the warm
joviality never failed to be associated with his dearest acquaintance.
Yes, indeed. Pip answered, tucking the finished reports into their
respective folders for binding the next day. He knelt under the desk and
produced another, even larger bundle of papers, the pages of which crossed with
scribble and stained with blotches of dried ink.
Ah. Your memoirs I see. Herbert said, recognizing the extensive bundle.
He noted with an unyielding sense of surprise at how Pip voraciously returned to
his hand to the inkwell and in turn the pen to paper. You know, Handel. For all

your devotion to writing Im surprised you would not make a better producer of
grand literature than reiterated financial statements.
Pip smiled from his brood, examining for himself the fervor at which he
maintained his pace. He had wasted far too much of his life to let a meager
cramp halt his expedition.
Dear Herbert, you credit my work far too well. I am very grateful for the
position you have offered me and mean to do well by it in every respect. As for
my personal time, he reached out to wet the tip of his pen, it is a feat I feel I
am obligated to uphold as well, outside my obligations to you, of course.
Besides, I doubt many would truly have interest in what I have to say. In my
desire to capture the proper essence of my memories I find myself extrapolating
in terms of length and obscurity regarding my vernacular and vocabulary.
Herbert smiled. Forgive me, dear Handel for I feel as though I relate with
your proposed audience. I lost you halfway through your recent statement.
Pip chuckled, his mind halfway between Satis House and Cairo. Herbert
came up and filed his fingers through the pile.
Perhaps if you were to subtract some of those words you could provide
yourself a much smaller bundle to keep maintenance of.
I could not do that. The mission of these pages is to document everything
in my head to paper. My thoughts, my actions... My guilt, my lessons, he
continued in his head.
You do recall me telling you of my being bedridden following
Magwitchs death, correct?
Indeed. You were in horrible condition and Joe nursed you back to full
health.
And I was not imprisoned, correct?
A confused look crossed his friends face, Imprisoned? You told me of a
few men coming to arrest you, but they left you because of your state.
Pip looked back in his pile of papers, Yes. That is correct.
That matters little now though, what with Joe paying your debts to those
creditors.

A brief silence held still the air between them. Herbert was just about to
excuse himself from the firms front parlor when Pip interjected,
I find much of my own story here concluding in happy endings.
Herbert gave him a good, long look. Indeed, happy you say, except for
yourself.
Pips pen stopped moving. He replaced it in the inkwell, being sure to
present his friend with a most reassuring smile. I shall address that subject in
due course. After all, he started with a grin, my story has not finished yet.
You still havent gotten over her. Herbert said, piercing through the
curtain Pip had been rushing to secure. Pips lips moved in contemplation,
churning his friends observation over and over in his mouth.
Come Handel dont you think its time you left her behind? Clara and I
have talked this over and we worry for your happiness. She is nothing but a drag
on your spirit, a dead weight threatening to deliver you to the hand of Evil
itself.
Happiness. Pip let out a smirk at the word. He had learned a few things
about happiness.
Happiness lies not in wealth or status, nor does it in excruciating
passions that consume the heart. No it lies instead in bountiful acquaintances,
acquaintances with ones who truly remain loyal, even through the grit and
grind. He said motioning to his dear friend. The face of Joe also appeared in
his mind. The thought of Joe recovered other, less satisfying feelings as well.
As for the others, who are late to learn such lessons, their hopes lie in
some form of redemption. His eyes fell to the paper lying on the desk before
him, the window into his very own tattered and distressed soul. His mind shot
forth the vivid images of Miss Havisham with her endearing pleas to help him,
In accepting their faults for what they are, being honest about them, the
memories of him and Joe resurfaced next, tinged with a heat of shame at his own
betrayal of his most loyal friend, and if possible, utter devotion to their being
resolved, Provis, Abel Magwich, his benefactor and the focal point of his young
adult life, even in the shadows of his exile.
And Pip himself now, for Joe and Herbert.
Is that what you hope for with Estella?

The question startled Pip. Hearing her name aloud had become such a
rarity since leaving England. It sounded so strange to feel its vibration
reverberate through his ears again. He was so used to just the inner voice of his
own mind.
I hope many things for her, for she is my love. But until she learns to
value what is good, we shall forever be doomed to the attracting forces that
shred against the immovable repelling barrier between us.
Herbert thought this analogy through, pondering it with interest, for as far
as he (or anyone else for that matter) understood Pip and Estellas relationship,
that the attraction was a one way avenue. Her cold, empty expression that
Herbert remembered from his old visits to the Satis House left him with a strong
impression and a undercurrent of doubt toward his friends wish,
Fat chance of that. He muttered imperceptibly to himself.
Pips head kept steady at his work, oblivious to the remark. His next
comment made Herbert think back to make sure he did not, in fact, speak aloud.
My imaginations have failed me on numerous occasions in the past,
Herbert. I expected great things to happen with me, basing purely off of a wild,
untamed speculation of my young mind. I know now that life happens on its own
accord, and one should focus more on appreciating what they have than
dreaming about what they ought to have.
It seems as though youve figured it all out. Herbert jeered. Pip nodded
solemnly, his lips curling into a grin, his fingers tracing the name Estella with
the point of his pen.
Herbert?
They both turned their heads for the front door. Claras head peeped in
from the frame.
Do not be alarmed, dear. I am just having a late conversation with
Handel, here. I apologize for making you wait.
She smiled, satisfied with the discovery that her husband was okay. She
walked in to stand at her husbands side, who in turn stood up in preparation to
leave for the night. Before leaving, he turned to his friend to address one final
subject.
Have you settled on a title?
4

Pip looked back up at his friend, and then leaned back in his chair, I have
not actually. I suppose I am nearing that point however.
Well, what comes to mind? Herbert baited. Pip rubbed his chin in
contemplation. The Fruition of a Young Mans Dreams? The Truthful Tales of
Life?
He had always had such a large fancy of how his life would be as a fully
grown man, and now here he was! He was far from the gentleman he had
dreamed of becoming. He had many expectations of life growing up, and a
dreadful few managed to come true. Often they were discovered to have been
exaggerated from reality, indeed greatly beyond any real tangible scale.
Expectations that were greatly different from those of his discovered reality.
Wait- That is it! He suddenly thought to himself. The title of my memoirs, the
title of my life Great Expectations !