Princess Sultana's Circle (10 page)

But Amani chose that same
moment to taunt me, sneering, “You praise a Muslim for doing what
is the minimum normal requirement of every Muslim?”

Ignoring Amani, Kareem’s
tone was puzzled as he pulled my hands away from my face.
“Atonement? For what, Sultana?”

I realized I was unwilling
to confess my shortcomings in front of such an unforgiving child as
Amani. I let out a deep breath. “I must make additional reparations
for past sins.”

I felt guilty seeing
Kareem’s eyes glisten in pride and affection. How could I sink so
low? Lowering my head, I mumbled, “I’ve always been so sinful, as
you know.”

Now I was being
manipulative, even more reason for guilt! I was certain that God
would severely punish me for continuing such shameless deception. I
made a silent but sincere vow that I would wait no longer than
until the first moment Kareem and I were alone to right this wrong.
I would confess everything.

My thoughts drifted to
Mother. I sighed and unintentionally spoke aloud, “I wish Mother
was with us.”

Amani spitefully declared,
“Only the weak cannot accept the will of God.”

I stared at Amani with a
long look of resigned misery.

She opened her mouth as
though to insult me once again, but Kareem gave her a stern and
reproachful glare. “We are practically at the end of Ramadan,
Amani, and you insult your mother?”

This stopped Amani from
saying more.

Suddenly, a melodious voice
came over the neighborhood Mosque loudspeaker announcing that the
new moon for the month of Shawwal, which is the tenth Hijra month,
had been sighted and confirmed. Ramadan was over! The celebration
of Eid-ul-Fitr could now begin. We expressed our joy by embracing
and congratulating each other and our servants, each of us asking
God to keep us in good health until the next Ramadan.

My favorite time of Ramadan
had arrived, although my joy was somewhat tempered by the knowledge
that I had not yet made atonement.

Eid, the most special
holiday of Islam, continues for three days and is marked by a
variety of events organized by the government, including fireworks,
poetry recitals, dramas, painting contests, and folk singing
concerts. Individuals celebrate by visiting family and friends, and
bringing gifts.

We celebrated into the
night until the golden rays of morning sunlight began to appear on
the horizon. Thus, there was no opportunity that night to confess
to Kareem.

The next morning, we did
not wake from our exhausted sleep until noon. As I lay in bed, I
steeled myself to tell Kareem of my broken oaths, but as soon as he
finished dressing, he reminded me that he would be spending much of
the day at the Jeddah palace of our beloved King Fahd. Kareem’s
mind was already so engrossed with the various traditions of Eid,
that I thought it best that I leave our talk until
later.

Still, I found myself in a
quandary. Whether or not I confessed to Kareem, I still must make
appropriate reparations. And I must do so before I started my round
of visitations and gift giving.

Just as Kareem was about to
walk out the door, I ran toward him and took him by the arm.
“Darling, did you forget? I feel a great desire to feed many poor
people this year.” My fingers plucked at his sleeve.

“
Even more than in previous
years.”

Kareem smiled, “Do I need
to feed more poor families than I did when you ate that large plate
of Maamool Bel Tamur?” (Pastries filled with dates.)

I reddened as I bit down on
my lip. “Yes.”

That humiliating incident
had happened two years before during Ramadan. Our cooks had spent
many hours mixing the spices, flour, and dates for the pastry that
our family would enjoy after the evening meal. All through the
morning, the scent of that delicious pastry had drifted throughout
the palace, causing me to salivate with longing for my favorite
dessert. I was so hungry from fasting that I lost all good sense,
and fantasized about date pastries all day.

Later that afternoon, once
I knew that everyone was resting in their rooms, I slipped into the
kitchen. I was so focused on the thought of tasting those pastries
that I did not notice Kareem. Using the refrigerator door to shield
myself from view, I consumed one pastry after another.

Kareem watched silently as
I continued my voracious eating. Later he told me that once he saw
the first pastry disappear into my mouth, he pragmatically decided
that I might as well satisfy my hunger, as the sin of eating many
pastries was the same as that of eating one.

Kareem’s mischievous smile
grew wider as he watched me squirm at that memory. “Surely,
Sultana, there is no need to feed as many families as I did last
year when you smoked more than a packet of cigarettes during
Ramadan. Is there?”

“
Stop, Kareem!” I turned
around angrily. “Do not tease me!”

But Kareem continued, “Yes,
I discovered you crouching inside one of your closets, surrounded
by discarded cigarette butts.”

He laughed gently at the
memory, mingling tenderness with his teasing. “Come, tell me,
Sultana, what sin is it that you have committed this
time?”

God finally had given me
the opening that I had been praying for, but I had already decided
there wasn’t time to make my confession this morning.

“
I’ve done nothing!” I
declared defensively. “I simply want to share our great wealth with
those less fortunate.”

Kareem looked at me
skeptically.

“
Is not our good fortune an
obligation for generosity?” I asked.

In his rush to join his
cousins and uncles at the palace of the King, Kareem took me at my
word. “All right, Sultana. I’ll have Mohammed purchase enough food
to feed thirty needy families. Is that enough to cover your
sins?”

“
And tell Mohammed to buy
them clothing, also,” I quickly added.

Mohammed was a loyal
Egyptian employee. He would not gossip to the other servants about
the large atonement that our family was making.

“
And clothing, too.” Kareem
agreed wearily.

I breathed a sigh of
relief. As whoever breaks an oath becomes liable to the penalty of
feeding ten needy persons, I thought that feeding and clothing
thirty families would be more than sufficient to cover my sin of
breaking the fast and drinking wine.

After Kareem left our
quarters, I called out for Libby, one of my Filipino female
servants, to prepare my bath. I felt lighthearted and free to have
my sins so easily reconciled by mere almsgiving, and I began to
sing Arabic love ballads as I soaked in my bath.

Once I had adorned myself
with make-up and perfume, my Egyptian hairdresser arranged my long
black hair in a complicated fashion consisting of braids, which she
fastened in place with expensive hair clasps that I had recently
bought at Harrods in London. Searching through the many dresses in
my closet, I selected one of my favorite red satin gowns designed
by Christian Dior.

Once I was satisfied with
my reflection in the mirror, I called out whether Maha and Amani
were ready, because I was eager to begin an afternoon of
celebrating the Eid festival by visiting various
relatives.

I watched attentively as
three of the servants loaded the many gifts my daughters and I
would present to our family and friends into the trunk of our new
Mercedes. The elegantly wrapped gift boxes contained delicate
chocolates molded in the form of a mosque, silk scarves embroidered
with golden threads, bottles of the finest French perfumes,
colognes, and pearl necklaces.

I knew exactly the palace
that I wanted to visit first! The previous year an eccentric cousin
whom we didn’t know very well had built a magnificent palace that I
had long been anxious to visit, because I had heard many fantastic
stories of its wonders from friends. This cousin, named Faddel, had
reportedly spent unimaginable sums of money to construct a palace
and surrounding gardens to closely resemble the likeness of
paradise itself—the heavenly paradise as described in our Holy
Koran.

The Holy Koran gives many
details of the glory and pleasure that await those who honor God by
living the earthly life of a good Muslim. Patient and obedient
souls can look forward to spending eternity in one vast garden,
watered with pleasant streams and shaded with green trees, dressed
in silk and jewels. They will spend their time reclining on couches
while eating the finest food. Wine will not be forbidden, as it is
on earth, but will be served in silver goblets carried by handsome
servants.

For a Muslim man fortunate
enough to reach paradise, yet another reward awaits him.
Seductively beautiful virgins, never yet touched by another man,
will attend to his every need, and fulfill his every sexual desire.
Each man will possess seventy-two of these lovely
virgins.

Pious women will also enter
paradise, and it is said that these women will receive the greatest
joy from reciting the Koran and experiencing the supreme ecstasy of
beholding Allah’s face. All around these women will be children who
never grow old. Of course, since Muslim women do not have any
sexual desires, there will be no sexual partners awaiting them in
paradise.

Although I was filled with
the greatest curiosity, wondering how my cousin Faddel had emulated
the wonders of paradise on earth, I also had a feeling of
foreboding. For some reason, my heart was telling me not to go to
that palace, to turn back. Despite this warning, I plunged ahead,
taking along my two daughters.

Upon our arrival at
“Paradise Palace,” as one of our cousins had mockingly named it,
our driver found the iron gate to the entrance locked. The gate
guard was nowhere to be seen. Our driver went to search for him,
and reported that he could see two bare feet protruding from under
the guard’s chair through the gatehouse window.

I ordered our driver to
pound on the glass partition. Finally, a sleepy Yemeni guard awoke
and opened the gate, and at last, we were able to enter.

Although the driveway was
made of many costly polished stones reflecting a glittering luster,
it provided a jolting ride for those arriving in an automobile. I
looked about with great interest as we passed under the dense
branches of a thicket of trees. Once we had passed through the
grove of trees, we saw before us a scene of breathtaking
beauty.

Faddel’s palace was not one
large building, as I had expected, but rather a succession of snowy
white pavilions. Perhaps as many as fifteen or twenty identical
pavilions with billowing sky blue roofs were arranged in a circle
around a larger pavilion, creating an imposing sight.

The grass surrounding the
pavilions provided a lush carpet of green. Colorful beds of rare
flowers were artfully arranged throughout the grounds. The combined
colors of the white pavilions, the blue-tented roofs, the green
grass, and vivid blossoms were truly an inspired and beautiful
composition.

“
Look, children,” I said,
“the grass here is as green as my new emerald necklace!”

Maha exclaimed, “There are
more than ten pavilions!”

“
Eighteen.” Amani said in a
flat tone of voice.

“
Amani,” I said, pointing
at an ornate gold sign with “Stallions” written on it in green
lettering. “There’s a path leading to the stables.”

I was somewhat surprised
that the Faddel I knew had stables. While a large number of my
cousins purchase and breed expensive horses, I had never heard of
Faddel having an interest in horses.

Amani leaned over me to
peer at that sign, but said nothing.

Our driver followed a
winding road that took us beneath an imposing white marble arch.
This surely was the entrance to the largest pavilion. A tall,
handsome Egyptian doorman opened the door of our Mercedes and
welcomed us profusely, then rushed forward to open the immense
double doors that led into a large reception room. The doorman
stood thus waiting while our driver retrieved the particular gifts
I had selected for this cousin and his wife.

Once satisfied that I had
the appropriate packages in hand, I moved into the reception room.
My daughters followed along behind me. We were greeted in perfect
Arabic by a lovely young Asian woman who introduced herself as
Layla. She smiled sweetly as she welcomed us as the first guests of
the day. She reported that her mistress, our cousin Khalidah, would
be with us shortly. Meanwhile, she would escort us to the main
residence.

As I followed Layla, I
carefully took note of everything that dazzled my eyes, as none of
my sisters, nor even Kareem, had visited this so called “Paradise
Palace.”

We were led down a wide
corridor. The walls were covered in pale yellow silk with a
delicate floral design. The carpet featured many lively patterns of
exotic flowers and wildly colorful birds. It sank under our feet as
we walked.

Amani suddenly asked Layla,
“Where do you keep the birds that I hear?”

Only then was I aware of a
distant chorus of birds.

Layla laughed lightly.
“What you hear is only a recording.” Her voice sounded as pleasant
and musical as the melody of the birds. “The master insists that
every sound heard here be pleasing to the ear.”