Princess Sultana's Circle (24 page)

Knowing the exact meaning
of Kareem’s words, I quickly complained, “Not Ali, I
hope!”

Kareem touched my face with
his hand. “Darling, don’t you believe that the time has come for
you and your brother to put the past behind you? What good does
this ceaseless hostility do, for either of you?”

“
How can I befriend such a
man as Ali? Brother or not, he is too contemptible for words!” I
said stubbornly.

“
Well, if we invite one, we
must invite all.”

I knew that Kareem was
right. It would be a shocking insult, a total disregard of Arab
hospitality to invite all our siblings to accompany us to the
desert, but to deliberately omit Ali and his family. If such an
offense were to occur, the scandal of our family’s estrangement
would become Riyadh gossip.

Imprisoned in my heritage,
I sighed deeply, “Invite him then, if you must. But, I truly
dislike the way we Arabs cannot be open about our feelings,” I
muttered.

“
You were born an Arab
Princess, Sultana,” Kareem said with a short laugh. “Why fight your
fate?”

What more was there to
say?

Despite the hated thought
of my brother, I felt more calm than I had in a long time. I
lovingly wrapped an arm around Kareem’s waist and pulled him close.
“Let’s take a short nap,” I suggested.

Although Kareem rarely
sleeps in the daylight hours, he too, was weary from our
international trip. “A short rest would be welcome,” he
agreed.

As sleep seduced me, I
listened to my husband as he softly quoted an old Bedouin creed
taught to him by his father. I felt a rush of nostalgia mingled
with sadness for a way of life that has disappeared
forever.

Land that is open wide to
wander

Covered with grass that is
fit for grazing

Ample wells of the sweetest
water

A tent large enough for a
large family

A beautiful wife with a
sweet temper

Many sons and some
daughters

To own great herds of
camels

To belong to an honorable
tribe

To see Makkah

To live a long life without
shame

To be saved from the fires
of hell

To enjoy the rewards of
Paradise!

Lulled by pleasing visions
of the simple life once lived by my own ancestors, I drifted off to
sleep.

Although my shameful secret
had been discovered by my husband, I slept with the serene
soundness of a woman who could now look to her future with new
hope.

Had I known that the
following day would bring forth yet another family drama, creating
one of the most alarming moments of my life, I am certain that my
afternoon nap would have been much less restful.

Chapter
Thirteen

Threat to the
Throne

W
hile Kareem was enjoying his morning shower, I lingered under
the bed covers, moving restlessly from side to side. I missed our
daughters terribly and was anxious to leave Jeddah and return to
Riyadh.

As the rushing sound of the
water flow from Kareem’s shower ceased, I arose from bed and walked
toward the balcony adjoining our bedroom suite. Pushing aside the
window shade, I looked outside. The view was just as I expected. It
was a typical day in Saudi Arabia, bright and sunny.

Within a few moments,
Kareem was out of the shower and standing beside me. He made an
attempt to caress my breasts with his hands.

Several years before, I had
traveled to Switzerland for a breast reconstruction to replace the
breast I had lost to cancer during the early years of our marriage.
As part of the medical rehabilitation, I had been told that the
breast must be massaged daily in order to keep the liquid
ingredients that formed my new breast soft and supple. Since that
time, Kareem had insisted that he should be the one to take
responsibility for my therapy.

An inviting smile spread
across his face. “Do you want to go back to bed,
Sultana?”

I returned his smile but
said, “No, darling. Truthfully, I want nothing more than to see the
beautiful faces of our two daughters.”

My husband’s smile faded,
but he understood. “Yes, of course. I miss them, also.” He paused,
“Telephone Nura and tell her that we will arrive in Riyadh later
this afternoon. Have her drivers deliver the children home from
school.”

Soon we were at the airport
and ready to board our plane for the short flight from Jeddah to
Riyadh. Once we had arrived, Sara and I said hasty farewells as we
got into separate automobiles. Sara was as anxious as I to see her
own children.

Maha and Amani were waiting
for our arrival. After heartfelt hugs and greetings, I gave our
daughters the gifts that I had purchased for them in New York. Both
daughters received many new clothes, some electronic gadgets, music
CD’s, movie videotapes, and books.

Kareem then said that he
had work to do. I was further disappointed when both Amani and Maha
expressed a desire to return to their own suites and return
telephone calls from their friends. I had some difficulty
convincing them to stay a while longer with their
mother.

Once my children became
teenagers, they began to prefer the company of their peers to their
own mother, and I had often wished that I was possessed of a great
power that could move back time so that I could once again enjoy
the days when my children were babies.

Smiling, I held out my arms
in invitation and said, “Let us sit together for a while. Then you
can go and make your calls.”

I called out for one of our
servants to serve us with some cold Laban, their favorite
buttermilk-like drink.

Maha smiled, then snuggled
against me on the large sofa that faced the television set. Amani
curled up into an oversized chair.

Maha yawned and picked up
the TV remote control to switch on the television set. Several
years before, Kareem had purchased a large satellite dish to
capture television channels from all over the world. It is illegal
in Saudi Arabia to possess a satellite dish. Our government insists
upon censoring the information its citizens see, hear, or even
read.

However, this decree is
ignored by people wealthy enough to purchase and import satellite
dishes, partly because the limited programming fare offered by
Saudi television is so boring! Certainly we were not interested in
the sanitized news reports and endless self-congratulatory accounts
of the good deeds performed by members of our own royal family that
were all that were available on Saudi channels.

The religious authorities
in Saudi Arabia are also against satellite dishes, for a different
reason. Religious men fear that good Muslims will be adversely
influenced by images from the decadent West. It is not unusual for
a committee of Mutawwas, or religious men, to roam the streets of
Saudi cities looking for satellite dishes. Although homes in Riyadh
are surrounded by walls, their flat roof tops are usually visible
from the street.

The Mutawwas go from street
to street, examining roof tops. Should a television satellite dish
be discovered, these men attempt to destroy the dish by any means
possible. Rocks and sticks are thrown at the satellite dish, and if
that fails, rocks and sticks are thrown at the owners of the
satellite dishes! Just a year ago, a group of unruly Mutawwas had
become so incensed by the presence of a television satellite dish
that they fired bullets at it! A poor female Indian was on the roof
hanging laundry. When the Mutawwas began to discharge their
firearms, the woman was shot in the abdomen! Thankfully, she
survived her injury.

Since that incident, Saudi
owners of satellite dishes have gone to great lengths to hide their
equipment. Today, many flat roof tops in Arabia are completely
surrounded by sheets, hanging from high steel poles, to block the
view of the roof top from the street. But this camouflage has
merely encouraged the Mutawwas to fire at the sheets themselves,
which have become targets.

Of course, as Al Sa’uds, we
do not have to concern ourselves with the unpleasant activities
undertaken by the Mutawwas.

When Maha paused to watch
an English comedy show depicting a woman ridiculing a man, I
noticed Amani’s lip curling in repulsion. In the Arab world, no
woman would ever poke fun at her husband in view of another, or to
depict a woman as more intelligent as a man.

Without warning, Amani
leaped to her feet and grabbed the remote control.

“
Mother!” Maha screamed her
objection.

This was not the afternoon
of pleasure and relaxation with my daughters that I had
anticipated. I gestured with my hand for Amani to pass the control
to me.

In an effort to appease
both daughters, I began switching from channel to channel,
searching for a suitable program that would entertain everyone.
Quite unexpectedly, I came upon a news story on a British channel
about Professor Mohammed Al Massari, a Saudi citizen who had
greatly outraged all in the Al Sa’ud family. Instantly, I became so
focused on the broadcast that Amani and Maha were
forgotten.

The professor was a Saudi
scholar whose subversive ideas for the democratization of Saudi
Arabia had severed him from his own country. After being arrested
and imprisoned, he was released but was continuously harassed by
the Saudi authorities. He had escaped Saudi Arabia the previous
year and sought refuge in England. Since that time, he had
organized a band of Saudi Arabian exiles into a London-based
organization that called itself “The Committee for the Defense of
Legitimate Rights.” To appease their fury at the injustices they
had suffered, this group of dissidents had recently drawn Western
media attention by describing the alleged corruption of our Saudi
royal family. Indeed, these disclosures undoubtedly caused many
sleepless nights in Al Sa’ud palaces. This man had exposed so many
family secrets that my relatives were left wondering how he could
possibly have obtained such confidential information. Had some
people working for our family become spies for our
enemies?

Mohammed Al Massari’s
allegations included that certain high-ranking members of the
ruling family routinely embezzle millions of riyals, from pay-backs
on foreign contracts, to the confiscation of valuable land
belonging to ordinary citizens. He claimed that these cheated
people were too frightened to protest, for they feared arrest and
imprisonment on false charges. It was alleged that all this
corruption has created more than fifty billionaires in my own
extended family.

I found everything Al
Massari claimed hard to believe, although I could not deny
corruption was rife in some branches of our family. For example, a
prominent Princess, a cousin whom I know quite well, often
laughingly boasts about the scandalously inflated rent she collects
by renting buildings to the Saudi military.

What makes me so indignant
is that there is no need for such behavior. The monthly allowances
received by all royals far exceeds our needs. With each Prince and
Princess receiving SR 35,000 ($10,000) monthly, a large branch of
family can collect several hundred thousand dollars each
month.

There were other
allegations. This professor, and his associates, also accused
certain foreign journalists from highly regarded newspapers and
magazines of being paid handsome bribes to vilify and slander other
writers who dare write the truth about our government and our
country. And, here was Mohammed Al Massari, speaking out freely on
British television broadcast all over the world, while a reporter
listened with interest and sympathy!

I sprang to my feet and
stood before the television set.

When Maha started to speak,
I hushed her. “Shhh, look,” I said as I leaned forward. I wanted to
commit this traitor’s face to memory. The physical appearance of
this enemy of my family would surely match the evil portrait that
already formed in my mind. But, I saw a dignified man whose eyes
flashed with intelligence. Judging by his genial appearance, an
observer would never dream that there was anything particularly
important on the man’s mind, certainly not such desperate ideas as
overthrowing a King. Here was a disturbing man!

Kareem had spoken more than
once about this professor. He was considered an ominous threat to
the rule of the Al Sa’uds, and the throne that allowed my family to
claim the country, and its revenues, as their own. I knew that my
husband, father, brother, cousins and uncles would go to extreme
measures to protect their right to control the oil of Arabia—the
black gold that currently flowed in a thousand streamlets directly
into the coffers of the royal clan.

My mind raced as I
listened. The interviewer appeared to approve the fact that England
was becoming a haven for Middle Eastern dissidents such as
Professor Al Massari. But I felt that British citizens might one
day regret offering sanctuary to opponents of oil-rich governments,
for the men of my family are extremely vengeful. After all, a Saudi
government vendetta against the people of England had already
occurred. In 1980, Princess Misha’il, the granddaughter of Prince
Mohammed, had been put to death in Saudi Arabia for the crime of
adultery. A film dramatization of her story, Death of a Princess,
made by an independent television company, had been broadcast in
Britain.