Princess Sultana's Circle (26 page)

“
Wait here, Father, I have
something that will interest you.” Amani spun on her heels and
quickly left the room.

Kareem stood frozen like a
stone.

In my uneasiness, I circled
the room.

Amani returned with a
briefcase, which she silently handed to her father.

Kareem’s anger was
obviously growing by the minute, for he fumbled with the briefcase
lock. Once he had opened it, he examined one paper after another,
discarding sheet after sheet on the floor. I had never seen Kareem
in such a state of agitation.

“
Where did you get these
papers?” he bellowed at Amani.

“
My friend stole them from
her brother’s room,” she confessed.

“
Here!” Kareem shoved a
stack of papers into my reluctant hands.

I picked up a packet of
cigarettes and toyed with the pack as I tried to focus on the
printed pages. After lighting a cigarette, I finally calmed myself
to the point that I could understand the significance of the papers
I held in my hand.

I quickly saw that the
papers were copies of actual press releases and documents written
by Dr. Al Massari and other Saudi dissidents. The document I
selected to read was entitled, “Prince of the Month,” which was an
exposé of the alleged activities of one of my older cousins, who
was a province governor. The document claimed that, “He has been
overheard to say in the Majlis, (the open house where citizens
bring complaints to their governor) ‘The tribes of the south have
the mentality of slaves, {I} fill their bellies and mount their
backs.’ And, ‘My grandfather Abdul-Aziz told me that the people of
this province are a combination of apes and slaves.’”

The writer of this document
went on to accuse my cousin of various sins, including the
appropriation of huge tracts of Province land to his own name, and
then sell it for a huge profit.

As I rushed through the
documents, I saw that each page contained at least one savage
indictment of an uncle or a cousin. One cousin was even implicated
in a murder! An accountant for Saudia Airlines had been beaten to
death after he had presented a bill for millions of riyals to this
cousin. Of course, nobody had ever been charged with this
crime.

Any detachment that I hoped
to maintain rapidly vanished when I saw the name of my own father!
I held my hand against my mouth to keep from crying out as I
quickly read over a litany of vile deeds attributed to him. My
heart sank, for I suspected that some of the denunciations could
easily be true. Overcome with sad thoughts of my father, I looked
at the faces of my husband and child. A hundred questions rose in
my mind, but one look at Kareem’s drawn face and my questions died
on my lips.

However, Amani bravely
burst out, “Father, is this true?” She gripped tightly to the
document she was showing Kareem. “Does our Al Sa’ud family arrest
children?”

Her query brought me to my
feet. Looking over Amani’s shoulder, I softly read, “Last week Fahd
Al-Mushaiti, age 11 years, and Mansour Al-Buraydi, age 12 years,
were detained in Buraydi and charged with carrying leaflets that
had angered Al Sa’ud. It would seem that the Al Sa’ud’s have
conveniently forgotten that they are repeating the crimes of Saddam
Hussein, against whom they have previously fought. They have also
forgotten that their newspapers, even today, still criticize his
actions.”

Our defiant daughter
persisted, “Father, answer me, does our family really arrest
children?”

Kareem withdrew the
document from Amani’s hand. He did not answer.

A tearful Amani persisted,
“Father?”

Kareem began stuffing the
papers back into the briefcase. In a flat voice he retorted, “You
know that our enemies lie.”

“
Much of what I read was
true, Husband.”

Seething like a pot on a
hot fire, Kareem flashed an angry look in my direction.

“
But greatly exaggerated,
of course.” I added quickly.

Kareem then tried to
recover every document, but I hid the ones in my hands behind my
back. “I want to read one particular section again,” I said. “I’ll
return them to you later in the evening.”

After inhaling several
deep, ragged breaths, Kareem turned his attention back to Amani. “I
won’t ask you to name who provided you with these documents, but
only on the condition that you banish these people from your
life.”

Amani’s voice was shrill.
“But, Father, she’s my friend!”

“
This is an order, child! I
will not have my own daughter fraternizing with our
enemies!”

Amani began to weep, but
Kareem did not soften his stance. “Amani?”

After some moments, she
gave her word, “I promise, Father.”

Frightened into submission,
Amani whispered in her father’s ear before receiving a heartfelt
embrace, and left the room.

Kareem’s penetrating eyes
were now turned on me. He mimicked the sound of my voice, “Much of
what I read was true, Husband!” He glowered, “A wife who upholds
her husband is a great treasure, Sultana!”

Only recently had I learned
that a cunning warrior knows when to retreat. Unable to rival
Kareem’s intense fury, and fearful of provoking him even further, I
hurried from the room.

Kareem stormed out of the
palace. When he did not return for our evening meal, I knew that I
would not see him again until late.

I looked in on the children
and found that an unusually subdued Amani had retired early. Maha
was talking on the telephone.

I stared at the clock and
waited for my husband. As I waited, I read once more the
vituperative accusations against many prominent members of my
family. I read of allegations of adulterous behavior, theft, acts
of repression, false arrests, and arrogant disregard for the
responsibilities of the elevated station that we Al Sa’uds had been
fortunate to inherit.

My suspicion that there was
truth in these allegations depressed me. This depressed state of
mind soon led me to imagine that Kareem was at that moment in the
arms of another woman. Many Al Sa’ud princes are guilty of bringing
women of questionable moral character into our country for the
illicit sexual pleasure they offer. Haunted by visions of my
beloved caressing another, I began to wander restlessly around the
room. In an outburst of frustration, I smashed a crystal vase
against the wall. Even this provided no relief, and I began to
cry.

Sleep escaped me. Just as I
finally closed my eyes, the light shining through the cracks
between the window shades revealed that it was dawn.

Kareem did not return home
until midmorning.

I was preparing to
telephone Kareem’s brother, Asad, when my husband walked through
the door. Despite his red-rimmed eyes, Kareem had the expression of
a man who was merely returning from a routine errand.

“
Sweetheart,” he said, as
he bent to kiss me.

My calm smile concealed my
despair. Every woman has a hidden source of knowledge about her
husband. I smelled the scent of another woman on my husband, and
told him so.

In an attempt to placate
me, Kareem spun one lie after another, but in a jealous fury, I
dragged three suitcases into our bedroom.

I packed my
clothes.

Kareem unpacked my
clothes.

I packed, and he
unpacked.

Our conversation went the
same way as our packing, with everything repeated in different
words.

I stared into my empty bag,
and threatened divorce.

Kareem held the phone and
told me to dial a certain number, that he had been at the home of a
friend, and that the friend would swear to the truth that they had
been without female companionship.

Knowing that such a friend
would protect him, I understood that I would never know the truth.
“Why should I cook water?” I asked scornfully. “It will only remain
water.”

Temporarily defeated by the
freedom only men can claim as their own, I felt a desperate urge to
inflict pain on my husband. Remembering the vow I had made to
defeat my drinking habit, and knowing that Kareem would be greatly
wounded were I to break it, I walked to the cabinet that held our
store of liquor. Uncapping a bottle of whiskey, I drank straight
from the bottle. My eyes met Kareem’s shocked stare. I told him
what was on my mind: “Husbands rule, wives endure.” I paused as I
took another swallow, then threatened. “If you go to bed with other
women, Kareem, then I will certainly become an
alcoholic.”

Kareem blinked in surprise,
then said, “Ah! A drink,” as he glanced at his watch. “At ten
o’clock in the morning! What a wonderful idea, Sultana.” He walked
toward me, took the bottle from my hand, and then he, too, took a
long drink from the bottle.

With the back of his hand
he wiped his lips and mustache. “If the woman I love becomes an
alcoholic, then I will become one too!”

I stared at Kareem. I had
no desire for either of us to become an alcoholic!

The faintest of smiles
began to flicker across Kareem’s face. My husband was a man of two
distinct parts, one lovable, and one detestable. I began to weaken
after looking into his large black eyes filled with so much
affection.

When Kareem’s massive chest
began to rise and fall with silent laughter, my anger evaporated
all at once. I laughed aloud as I put the bottle of alcohol back
into the cabinet.

Suddenly, we were locked in
a lover’s embrace. Our latest disagreement was quickly buried in
the same bottomless container as every other unresolved issue of
our marriage.

The following morning a
serious Kareem said that he had to speak with me about an important
matter.

After ordering a strong
coffee from the kitchen, I sat quietly, sipping from my cup,
listening as Kareem shared his thoughts.

“
The incident with Amani
has caused me to rethink my ideas on Saudi Arabia’s future. I have
decided to invest more of our money into foreign
ventures.”

I stared blankly before
responding. “Why would you do that?”

“
For the sake of our
children, Sultana.” He paused. “Do you agree?”

Trying to think, I rubbed
my forehead with my fingers.

“
Well, I don’t know. It’s
too early to think about business.” I paused before adding, “Don’t
you think we already own enough businesses abroad?”

Kareem and I owned hotels
and businesses in Europe, America, and Asia. Even now, to keep
watch over all that we owned was nearly impossible. Following a
recent accounting, we were told that our total assets in real
estate, cash, and businesses worldwide, was nearly $900 million
dollars.

Kareem leaned in toward me.
“Listen to me, Sultana. It’s time to face reality. Even our own
daughter, the niece of the King, is critical of the regime. Can you
imagine what other Saudis think of our family? Sultana, one day, we
are going to lose Saudi Arabia. Perhaps not in our lifetime, but
certainly during the lifetimes of our children.”

My husband’s words
depressed me, although this was a topic our family had discussed on
many occasions before.

“
Nothing lasts forever,”
Kareem mused. “Our family will eventually lose its control. I
greatly fear that Saudi Arabia will tread the same path taken by
Iran and Afghanistan. The Islamic fundamentalist ripple is growing
into a tidal wave that will engulf every Muslim country.” Kareem
paused while gathering his thoughts.

The idea of Saudi Arabia
going the way of Afghanistan caused my heart to pound with fear.
The sad story of Afaaf, Sara’s maid, made one thing quite clear.
Should Saudi Arabia ever be ruled by fundamentalists, Saudi women’s
lives would become even more oppressed.

Kareem’s voice became
bitter, “Besides, the only reason we’re still in power today is
because the United States needs Saudi oil. One day that need will
be filled by some other fuel source. Already scientists are
starting to find substitutes for the fuel needs of the West. When
that day comes, Saudi Arabia—and our family—will be expendable to
the Americans.”

Kareem’s face became
blotched with anger. “All American politicians are self-serving.
They’ll throw us to the jackals the moment our usefulness is gone,
in the same manner they discarded Reza Shah Pahlavi.” Kareem looked
at me sadly. “Sultana, my estimate is that within twenty years, we
all will be living in exile.”

I stared at Kareem. “Even
if we no longer rule,” I whispered, “could we not live in quiet
obscurity in our own country?”

“
No,” Kareem sighed. “We
will be burdened with our name. A fundamentalist regime will rule.
Saudi Arabia will be too dangerous for any Al Sa’ud. We will be
hated by everyone.”

I knew that what my husband
was saying was true. We have a saying that “Arabs are either at
your feet or at your throat,” and I knew that in one swift moment
our fortunes would be reversed. We Al Sa’uds’ would rule, or we
would be destroyed; there would be no in-between.