Princess Sultana's Circle Page 6

  Since the time of our marriage, Kareem and I had lost count of the number of needy persons that my failure to keep my Ramadan vows had fed and clothed.

  As I savored my second serving of honeyed dessert, I silently vowed that, this year, I would astonish my family with my faithful adherence to Ramadan.

  After Sara left to return to her own palace, I busied myself devoutly studying the Koran, in a effort for the spiritual month ahead.

  Ten nights later, an enthusiastic announcement resonated from the neighborhood mosque, informing believers that the holy month of Ramadan was upon us. The new moon had been first sighted by a group of trustworthy Muslims in a small Egyptian village. I knew that the same happy message was being heard at every corner of the world where Muslims reside. The time had come for all Muslims to strive to move toward a state of perfection.

  We were six days into Ramadan when Kareem returned to Riyadh to join his family in keeping the important rituals.

  When Amani assured her Auntie Sara that she would not reveal my drinking to Kareem, I made a vow that never again would I supply my God-fearing daughter with such a noose to dangle before my eyes.

  I felt a glimmer of hope that all would now be well.

  During the month of Ramadan, every routine of our normal life is altered. We rise at least an hour before dawn. Ablutions are made, verses of the Koran are recited, and prayers are performed. Then, a pre-dawn meal, called Sahoor, usually consisting of cheese, eggs, yogurt or milk, fresh fruit and bread, is placed before us. We have to take care to finish this meal before the white thread of dawn appears, distinct from the black of night. After eating, but before the actual rising of the sun, more dawn prayers are performed.

  For the remainder of the day, we are bound to abstain from food, drink, smoking, and sexual intercourse. During the day, we pray at noon and again in the late afternoon.

  As soon as the sun retreats from the sky, our fast is broken by drinking a small amount of water, juice, or milk. At this time, a prayer is offered: “Oh God! I have fasted for Your pleasure. Oh God! Accept my fast and reward me.” Only then can we take nourishment. The usual food that breaks our fast is dates. After this light snack, the time quickly arrives for the sunset prayer and the dinner meal.

  Each day before the sun sets during the month of Ramadan, the members of our extended families usually meet at the palace of Sara and Asad to socialize and to share the evening’s banquet. A mood of celebration is always in the air, for our dispositions are generally improved due to the success of our self-control.

  This celebratory atmosphere increases as the month of Ramadan draws to a close. Muslims begin to prepare for Eid ul-Fitr, the three day feast which marks the close of Ramadan. While many devout Muslims prefer the austere period of striving for perfection, I find the celebration of Eid the most pleasurable time.

  Since I have no particular schedule during the month of Ramadan, I usually turn my night into day and stay awake throughout the night. I watch videotapes of American films, read the Koran, or play Solitaire. Once Kareem leaves our home for his office, I sleep late into the day, resting through the hours that bring me the greatest hunger and thirst so that I will not be tempted to break my fast. I do always take great care to rise from bed for my noon prayer, and then again for the mid-afternoon prayer, often offering extra supplications at this time.

  During this particular Ramadan, Sara often shared these difficult hours with me as she had promised. When Sara could not leave her own family, Maha stayed resolutely by my side. Although I was often listless and hungry during the afternoon hours, I knew that soon it would be the hour of sundown, when Kareem would return home to take us to Sara’s palace.

  By the nineteenth day of the Ramadan fast, I had not broken a single vow! I felt increasingly proud that I had not once been tempted to sneak a bit of food, drink a sip of water, or smoke even one cigarette! Most importantly, I had successfully conquered my temptation to drink alcohol.

  Kareem and Maha offered me many encouraging smiles and compliments. Sara congratulated me at every opportunity. Even Amani showed more warmth toward me. Never had I gone so long into Ramadan without slipping down that slippery slope of uncontrolled desires.

  I honestly believe that, for once, I would have accomplished the total perfection I was so eagerly seeking, were it not for my hated brother, Ali. Although he knew his sisters’ feelings about Munira’s marriage, Ali still insisted that Hadi and his new bride join our extended family at the nineteenth sundown breaking of our fast. The couple had returned from their honeymoon in Morocco to Riyadh on the previous evening.

  But Hadi was not a man welcome in our inner circle, and we had assumed that he and his four wives and children would be joining his own family when breaking the daily fasts. So when Sara informed me that Hadi and Munira would be among her guests, I guessed that we would be forced to witness poor Munira’s first public subjugation. Furious at the thought, I spat, “How can we be joyous with such a one as Hadi at our table!”

  “This will be a difficult evening,” Sara agreed as she rubbed my back. “But, we must get through it with good grace.”

  The clenching of my jaw muscles hardened my voice. “Hadi married Munira for one thing only! He’s always wanted the opportunity to insinuate himself into the family life of the royals!”

  Helplessly, Sara raised her hands into the air. “There is nothing that we can do, Sultana. He is married to our brother’s child. Anything we do to anger Hadi will come down on Munira’s head.”

  “It’s the same as blackmail,” I muttered angrily.

  Maha whispered into Nashwa’s ear, and both girls laughed loudly. Sara and I stared at our daughters. My voice grew loud with increasing irritation. “Why do you laugh?”

  Maha’s face reddened, and even before she spoke, I could tell that she was weaving a small lie. “We were talking about a girl at school, Mother. Nothing more.”

  “Daughter! Do not break your fast with a lie! Have you forgotten that it is Ramadan?”

  “Nashwa?” Sara’s voice was gentle.

  Nashwa was a girl resembling Maha in many ways, but she had greater difficulty lying to her mother than did my child.

  “It was only a small joke, Mother.”

  “And? Share the joke, please.”

  Nashwa exchanged an uneasy look with Maha, then said, “Well, Maha wants us to cast a spell on Hadi so that his male organ will enter a permanent sleep.”

  “Child!” Sara was aghast. “Put such thoughts out of your mind! Only Allah has such power!”

  I was angry that Maha could lie so easily, while Nashwa could not. I looked suspiciously at my daughter. Was Maha still drawn to the trickery of black magic?

  Maha began to squirm under my scrutiny. Four or five years earlier, Maha had been caught planning to cast an evil spell on her own brother. But I thought that Kareem and I had frightened her into giving up all thoughts of black magic. Perhaps not, I now mused. I knew that a number of my royal relatives had a great belief in the black arts.

  I did not share my thoughts with Sara, but secretly I agreed that Munira’s life would take a turn for the better if her husband became impotent. After all, she could successfully appeal for divorce should such a thing occur.

  In Saudi Arabia, a man can divorce his wife at any time without stating a cause, while Saudi women are not so fortunate. However, if a husband is impotent, or does not provide for his family, a divorce, however difficult, is possible for a woman to obtain.

  Later, when Hadi and Munira arrived, the first thing I saw was the misery on Munira’s face. I was so shocked at her wretched physical condition, I wanted to strike Hadi with all my force. In only one short month, Munira had lost many kilos in weight, and now her skeletal frame was visible through her flesh.

  Sara and I exchanged a horrified look. Sara rose to her feet.

  “Munira, you look unwell, child. Come and sit.”

  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?