Princess Sultana's Circle (9 page)

Munira looked to Hadi for
his approval. Already, the spirit of life had been sapped from her
body! Hadi moved his head slightly and made a clicking noise with
his tongue that meant, no. Obediently, Munira remained by her
husband’s side. Hadi then snapped his fingers and signaled at
Munira. “Coffee.”

Although the palace had
many servants ready to satisfy our every whim, Hadi wanted to show
us that one of our own was enslaved by him!

Understanding that the
women of her family were aghast at her predicament, Munira’s face
grew red with shame as she stared at the floor.

“
Munira!” Hadi said,
loudly. An ugly scowl crossed his face.

Munira stumbled toward the
kitchen, looking for coffee.

Hadi’s scowl melted into a
gloat. He turned to look at Munira’s family. The satisfaction on
his face was unbearable to see!

Sara stood and stared,
looking at Nura, then to Hadi, and back. She did not know what to
do in the face of Hadi’s intentional rudeness to his young wife.
Other than poor Reema, all the daughters of Fadeela had respectful
husbands, and even Saleem did not denigrate Reema in full view of
her family.

Just as Munira returned
from the kitchen carrying Hadi’s coffee, Ali arrived.

My brother has always had
the power to provoke me. Now, like the snake he is, Ali slithered
his massive body up to Hadi and had the nerve to ask him if his
honeymoon exercises had kept him so occupied that he had failed to
enjoy the sultry beauty of the Moroccan women.

Munira’s face flushed a
deep crimson red, humiliated by her father’s salacious
comments.

I began to shake with rage.
Did Ali not remember that his daughter was a shy girl who wanted
nothing in life but to be left alone?

Suddenly, I could take no
more! My brother was an unfeeling mass of human flesh who did not
deserve to live! I jumped to my feet with violence on my
mind.

Kareem had been watching,
and when he recognized the reckless mood that had overtaken me, he
rushed to my side. Taking me by the arm, he forcibly led me toward
another corner of the large room. Sara and Nura quickly joined
us.

Ali looked mystified when
he caught me casting him a murderous look. Not only was he
compassionless, I decided, he was also simpleminded! He truly had
no understanding that his every word wounded his innocent daughter!
For Ali, women were a man’s property, possessions whose feelings
and well-being never need enter his realm of thinking.

My sisters and Kareem
encouraged me to go to Sara’s quarters and rest for a short while.
They had witnessed many altercations between Ali and me, and hoped
to avoid a disorderly scene that would surely disrupt the night’s
banquet.

I said that I thought that
Sara and Asad should order Ali and Hadi out of their
home.

Nura swallowed once or
twice and looked to Sara. “We are in your home, Sara. Do as you
like.”

“
We must think of Munira,”
Sara reminded us all in her soothing voice. “Anything we do to
anger Hadi will be detrimental to her.”

I voiced my objection
forcefully. “How could it be worse? She is the slave of a man who
loves nothing more than to torture women! At least if we attack
him, then he will know that his behavior does not meet with the
approval of his wife’s family!”

Without responding, Sara
and Kareem led me away, while Nura rejoined the rest of the family.
I could hear Ali and Hadi laughing and joking even as we left the
room.

After convincing me that a
short nap would restore calm thinking, Kareem and Sara left me
alone. But the mental picture of Munira’s shame kept sleep from
coming. I fretfully thrashed from side to side, brooding over the
never-ending abuse of females born in my country. We Saudi women
owned nothing but our souls, and only because no man had yet
devised a method to seize them!

Just as I was about to
close my eyes, I spotted a bottle of wine sitting on a small table
in the corner of the room. Although Sara did not drink, her husband
Asad was a connoisseur of fine French wines.

I reasoned that I needed a
drink, rather than a nap. Nothing would quell my emotions better
than a full-flavored glass of French wine. For many days now, since
the day Sara had rescued me from my drunken haze, I had not
consumed a single drink. I counted the days and nights in my mind.
For the past twenty-nine days and nights, I had been more
self-possessed than I ever dreamed that I could be.

Now abandoning every
thought of Ramadan, as well as my promise to my sister, I threw
back the bedcovers and moved toward that bottle as one bewitched. I
found the bottle to be nearly full, and happily grabbed it tightly
in my hand. I then searched for a cigarette. Although I am a heavy
smoker, I had not smoked a cigarette since the hour before dawn. I
glanced at Asad’s bedside clock. It was at least another hour
before the breaking of the fast, but I knew that I could not wait
that long. Unable to find what my body was craving, I slipped from
Sara’s bedroom and went across the hall into Asad’s quarters.
Surely, cigarettes could be found there.

Several packets of
Rothmans, a familiar but foreign brand of cigarettes, were strewn
around Asad’s bedroom. A gold cigarette lighter lay on his bedside
stand. Now that I had my hoard, I knew it best to find a secluded
spot to have a drink and a cigarette. Sara’s bedroom would not do.
Kareem or Sara might go there to assure themselves that I was
indeed resting. I made a quick decision to hide in Asad’s
bathroom.

I had never seen my
brother-in-law’s bathroom, but I was not surprised at its large
size. I lifted a glass from the bathroom sink before sitting down
on an elaborate velvet bench.

With trembling hands, I lit
my first cigarette of the day. After drawing the pleasing fumes
into my lungs, I removed the silver stopper from the wine bottle
and filled the glass. Alternately, I sipped Asad’s wine and enjoyed
his cigarette. For a small moment, life was good once
again.

Just as I was savoring my
secret treasures, I heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The
terror of being discovered surged through my body like an electric
shock. Quickly, I ran into Asad’s large shower and closed the glass
door.

Too late, I realized that I
had left the open wine bottle on the floor beside the bench! My
cigarette still burned, so I crushed it on the side of the shower
tile, and attempted to blow the cigarette smoke away.

The door creaked slightly
as it opened. The large form of a man cast a shadow on the shower
door as he sauntered into the room.

Luckily the glass door of
Asad’s shower was engraved with large black swans. I peered around
the swans. The intruder was my brother, Ali!

I might have
known.

Although I could not see
details clearly, I closed my eyes when my brother lifted his thobe,
lowered his undershorts, and began to urinate. Repulsed by the
noise of his water, I placed my fingers in my ears. He urinated so
long that I began to realize that such an amount could not be
passed from one who had been fasting from liquids for an entire
day. I knew then that Ali took the vows of Ramadan less seriously
than he would want others to know. That knowledge pleased me
mightily, and I could barely stifle my laughter at the thought of
Ali’s likely reaction should I jump from the shower and confront
him.

After flushing the toilet
and arranging his clothes, Ali stood for a few moments before the
large wall mirror. He patted his cheeks, ran his fingers over his
thick mustache and eyebrows, and smacked his large lips several
times as he admired his mirrored reflection.

I was barely able to
contain my amusement. I had to hold my hands over my mouth to keep
from bursting into laughter.

As Ali turned to leave the
room, the bottle of wine caught his eye. He stared thoughtfully at
the bottle for a short moment, then walked rapidly toward it, and
drank the entire contents.

He peered at the label.
“Ah, a good year,” he commented to himself, before dropping the
empty bottle in a wastebasket, and leaving the room.

I slumped against the wall.
I had wanted that wine! I then began to giggle at the absurdity of
it all, but after wiping the tears of merriment from my face, I was
struck by a disagreeable thought. When it came to abstinence, Ali
and I were as one in our failure and hypocrisy! I could no more
chain the devil in my soul than could Ali!

I returned to our family
gathering in a subdued mood. With a new humility, I found myself
more tolerant of Ali than I could have imagined earlier in the
evening.

Poor Munira did not speak a
single word during the course of the long meal. She sat silently by
her husband’s side while nibbling at a small mound of chicken and
rice.

My sisters and I exchanged
many worried glances during that evening. Our hearts turned over
more than once, yet we had no power to change the stream of
Munira’s life. Each of us feared that life for Munira could be
little more than an accumulation of great sufferings. We were
helpless. Only Allah could save Munira.

Chapter Five

Paradise Palace

Since the time I was a
young girl, I have always believed that dreams once dreamed are
never truly lost. And so, despite the discouraging truth that on
the nineteenth day of Ramadan I broke my fast by smoking a
cigarette, and most blasphemous of all, by drinking a forbidden
glass of wine, I still dreamed of becoming a saintly Muslim on the
same exalted level as my mother and my sisters. I hoped I might
still become a righteous person, despite my lapses. I resolved that
there was no need to add humiliation to discomfort by confessing
failure to members of my family. In any event, I had little doubt
that God had witnessed my sinful behavior, and to me that alone was
shame enough. My only hope was that Mother had been so occupied
with her own spiritual life that her daughter’s dishonorable
conduct on earth had gone unnoticed.

Kareem was another matter.
The day before Ramadan ended, we traveled to our palace located on
the Red Sea in Jeddah. In the late afternoon, I was sitting in the
garden with Kareem and my daughters while waiting for the last day
of Ramadan to end. I noticed that Kareem was watching me carefully.
He looked so thoughtful that I began to feel anxious. Had Amani
failed to keep her promise to Sara? Had my daughter told Kareem
about my disgraceful and intoxicated condition while he was in
Japan?

I wanted to ask Kareem what
was on his mind, but I feared the subject of his introspection
might be something I did not want to discuss. I cringed when Kareem
began to speak.

“
Sultana,” he said with a
smile, “I want you to know that I am very proud of you.”

Anticipating criticism, I
was confused by this compliment. I sat and stared without speaking.
What was his intent?

He repeated, “Yes. I am
very proud.” Kareem looked at me with such affection that I thought
he might kiss me. But since this conversation was taking place
during the daylight hours, and we were still in our Ramadan fast,
he merely stroked my hands.

Bewildered, I could only
sputter, “Proud?”

“
Yes, my darling.” Kareem’s
smile widened. “Sultana, since the first year we wed, I have
witnessed the great struggle you undergo each Ramadan. I know that
for you to succeed in your fast is a thousand times more remarkable
than it is for an ordinary person.”

I squirmed, uncertain what
I should do. While I had determined it best not to confess my
failure to keep my fast, I felt overwhelmed with guilt at accepting
congratulations for a feat I had not accomplished. The weight of my
conscience came down full force on my heart.

I knew that I must tell my
husband the truth, no matter how disagreeable it might be for both
of us. “But, Kareem…”

“
Do not protest, Sultana.
You should be, and you will be, greatly rewarded for fulfilling
your vows.”

“
Kareem, I…”

“
Darling, I realized long
ago that Allah creates some people to be more highly spirited than
others. And I believe that He does this for a great purpose.
Although such people can create turmoil, often it is for the best.”
He smiled sweetly as he stared into my face. “You are just such a
person, Sultana.”

“
No, no, Kareem, I need to
tell you that…”

Kareem put his finger
across my lips. “I’ve often thought that you feel more deeply than
anyone I’ve ever known, and that your profound feelings often bring
you great suffering.”

“
Kareem,
listen…”

Maha interrupted, “Father
is right, Mother. You will be rewarded many times over for
conquering your desire for earthly pleasures.” Maha turned a
cheerful look at Kareem, “I’m very proud of Mother,
also.”

I shouted, “No! You do not
understand!” I placed my head in my hands and let out a low cry.
“You do not understand! I must make atonement!”

At that moment, I finally
felt that I had the courage to explain the reasons for my desperate
need to make amends, and to confess that I was less pure than
either of them believed.