Jean P Sasson - [Princess 02] (21 page)

"Hush, Sultana," Kareem ordered.

Abdullah finally calmed himself and explained how Fouad and his sons had taken Fayza from Jafer.

The telephone call had awakened them in the night. Fayza's father and brothers were in the lobby.

"Could they come up, please?" Fouad's tone was civil; Jafer was encouraged and felt no fear of physical assault.

When Jafer opened the door, he felt pleased and smiled.

Fouad and his sons took no time to talk. Provoked by Jafer's smiling face, which he now feared they had mistaken for a smirk, Fayza's brothers set upon him. Caught by surprise, Jafer was no match for four men.

Jafer said he was hit on the head with a heavy object, and blackness overcame him.

Hours later, when he revived, his new bride and her male relatives were gone.

Jafer said he knew all was lost once they had stolen Fayza away from him. He was well seemed the country was finally returning to peace.

"How sad," I said. "It is the end of a magnificent love story. And now Jafer stands alone against an overwhelming power."

Standing quietly to the side of the room, my son was an unforgettable figure clad in his white thobe.

He was straight and tall and suddenly looked a man. His face was sad, and with dramatic intensity, Abdullah said no, that was not the case. Jafer would never be alone, for he would not forsake his friend. He was going to visit him in Lebanon.

Kareem and I refused our son permission to travel to that country, but Abdullah seemed not to care and said that he would go nevertheless.

Such a trip would invite a thousand calamities! I was miserable as I prepared myself for bed, plotting to stop my son from his sentimental journey.

I should have known I would fail, for it is impossible to rule a son in blossoming man hood. Such youthful vitality does not easily accept defeat.

We will give it unto our children, and they unto their children, and it shall not perish.

-KHALIL GIBRAN

AFTER THE DISTRESSING incident with Jafer and Fayza, I underwent a persistent and depressing change, retreating into myself. My son, Abdullah, plotted his trip to Lebanon with such inspired devotion that I came to believe him when he said nothing would hinder the potentially perilous journey.

Kareem cautioned restraint, for he said our son's ardor would cool when the difficulties of travel to Lebanon became more apparent.

I grew cross with my husband, and with a voice raised in disbelief asked how he could remain so calm while those to whom we had given life tortured my mind with grief.

With a mysterious half smile, Kareem reminded me that Abdullah's passport was locked in our safe.

It would be impossible for our son to leave the kingdom.

For these reasons, my resistance to Abdullah's plan was sporadic, unorganized, and in effectual. In a matter of days, my once close relationship with my son became one of strained silences.

Everyone who lived in our palace fumed and despaired. While Abdullah packed his suitcases, his sister Amani mourned to see how little she could do to improve the morals of her brother and older sister. Spurred on by her faith, Amani began to spy on our employees. Horrified by what she called the looseness of our staff of sixty servants-for there are many secret romantic encounters among those who serve us-Amani set out with blunt directness to convert our Christian and Hindu servants into the superior Muslim faith.

After a hundred quarrels with my daughter over her inconsiderate and indiscriminate coercion of those who practice a religion different from our own, I finally acknowledged that I had met my match in Amani, who continued to outdistance her mother in sheer perseverance.

I spent many hours in the solitude of my room, mulling over the lives of my children.

When my three offspring were infants, they gave my life great joy and meaning. In the days of their early childhood, only Maha generated chaos, and I had no reason to anticipate peril at every turn. In those pleasurable times, moments of parental happiness vastly overshadowed the dark intervals of my fear and worry over the fates of these small beings to whom I had given life.

Now that my children were nearing adulthood, I came to the frightful conclusion that the only prerequisite to contented mother hood seemed to be a precarious dependence upon chance, for nothing I said or did altered my children's unpredictable behavior.

As one who has enormous difficulty adjusting to failure, I took to my bed, complaining to Kareem that nothing in my life was progressing as I had hoped. My psychological decline came at a time when Kareem's business was quickly expanding. As his free moments were limited, he was ill equipped to console and liberate my soul from melancholy, that mental interloper that had intruded and dismantled my joyful pursuit of happiness. 

I felt increasingly alone. Suppressing every display of emotion other than self-pity, I began to sleep poorly and to overeat, gaining unwanted pounds. Continually ignored by those whom I was attempting to manipulate, I became progressively bad-tempered with my family and the servants. I even acquired a disgusting habit of twisting, pulling, and biting on my hair. The length of my hair became shorter, and the thickness became thinner, until Kareem, after noticing my habit, sarcastically commented that he thought I had employed a new and more enthusiastic hair dresser when in reality I was behaving like a child by pulling it out.

I was quick to snap an ugly retort, unfairly accusing Kareem of loving none but himself, which was why I, alone, had to keep watch over our children.

Gently impatient, Kareem got a distant look in his eyes, and I felt as if he left me without leaving the room. When his spirit returned, he said that he had been trying to remember a comforting verse he had once read about the rearing of spirited children. Kareem recited, "You may give your children love, but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts."

"Kahlil Gibran," I said.

"What?"

"That verse, it is from The Prophet. And it was I who read that particular verse to you while we were awaiting the birth of our firstborn."

Kareem's stern face softened as a smile parted his lips, and I wondered if he was remembering the happy moments so long ago that we had spent with our infant son.

That was not the case, for he complimented me by saying, "Sultana, you are an amazing creature.

How can you remember such a thing?"

Kareem had always marveled at my memory, for once I'd read or heard something, my recall never failed in accuracy.

I was pleased with his recognition, but the causes of my discontent were too deep and varied to be so easily dissolved. In a collision with my children, my mad passion had blinded me to my husband's clear and logical mind. With no one else to battle, I continued to snarl at my husband. In contempt I compared Kareem with Nero, the mad fiddler of Rome, blind to disaster even when his kingdom was aflame.

Angered by my repeated insults, Kareem thought better of his solicitous sympathy and left me alone to consider his parting observation, which was not comforting. His spiteful words were, "Sultana, you have it all. Yet, you fear everything and understand nothing. I predict that you will, one day, be committed to an institution built especially for the insane.

I hissed like a snake and Kareem left, not to return for two days.

Shortly after our heated exchange, I was unconsciously twisting my hair with one hand while idly thumbing through one of my many foreign publications when I read an article in an American magazine that told of a rare disease that strikes females only, causing women to pull their hair out until they become completely bald. Once bald, those unfortunate women then progress pulling out and eating their eyebrows, eyelashes, and body hair.

I let go of my hair. Did I have that disease? 

I ran to view my image in the mirror, and to search through my scalp for bald spots. My hair did seem thin. Now I was truly worried, for I had never cured myself of vanity and had no inclination to be bald! Besides, in the Muslim religion, it is forbidden for a woman to be bald.

Time proved that I did not have the disease, for unlike the women in the article, my attachment to beauty helped me to quickly cure myself of the habit.

Despite retaining my hair, I feared that I had lost my passion for life, and I told myself that if my debilitating depression was not conquered, my old age would be premature and triumphant. Feeling sorry for myself, I imagined that I would suffer a slow death through the gradual diminution of my senses.

I was saved from my self-destructive behavior by my dearest sister.

Sara, a contemplative genius, was sensitive to my dulled lust for life, and she began to spend many hours by my side, humoring me with her undivided attention. Sara understood my feelings perfectly and knew that worry over Abdullah and Amani now ruled my life.

My sister looked upon me with great pity when I tearfully told her, "Sara, if I had to live my life over again, I do not believe that I could survive it."

Sara's mouth curved upward in a half smile as she wryly observed, "Sultana, few of our family would survive if you were to live your life again."

Our laughter filled the room.

My sister was so dear. Sara was not without problems of her own. She herself was burdened with an unruly child, yet she came to my aid at a time of great need. While four of my sister's five children strove for perfection, Nashwa, Sara's teenage daughter, born on the same day as Amani, relished controversy.

In strictest confidence, Sara told me to be thankful that Amani had attached herself to religion, for Sara had the opposite problem with Nashwa. Her daughter was wildly attracted to members of the opposite sex, and twice Asad had discovered her meeting Saudi teenage boys in a music shop at a shopping center in the city.

Tears streamed down Sara's face as she confided in me that her daughter flirted outrageously with every male who entered their grounds. In a voice filled with disbelief, she said that the week before, Nashwa had begun an explicit sexual conversation with two of the younger Filipino drivers. One of Nashwa's brothers had overheard the conversation, and when confronted, Nashwa boldly acknowledged her action, stating that she had to do something to interrupt the monotony of life in Saudi Arabia.

Asad had been forced to fire the young drivers and to employ older Muslim men from Egypt who would respect the Muslim way: to ignore the willful women of the house.

Just that morning, Sara had overheard her daughter speaking with a female friend on the telephone.

The two girls were discussing in great detail the pleasing physique of the girl's eldest brother. It seemed to Sara that Nashwa had a crush on this boy, and now my sister had to reconsider or regulate her daughter's visits to that home. 

Sara's face was drawn with worry over the outcome of Nashwa's loose morals and unbecoming conduct, saying she had often heard that one of nature's oversights was that beauty and virtue often arrive in separate packages. Nashwa, my sister said, was an innocent-faced beauty who was sadly lacking in virtue.

I had to agree that my difficulties with Amani paled in comparison with my sister's problems with Nashwa. There was some consolation in the knowledge that Amani's piety had the approval of the religious authorities, while Nashwa's activities could embroil Sara and Asad in that never-ending web of the Saudi religious and legal system.

I was once again overtaken by the thought that Nashwa was my true child, while Amani must be attached by blood to Sara. I thought to ask Sara about the matter, but had a moment of anxiety that an actual exchange of daughters might result from my baseless speculation. I reminded myself that in my country it is better to wrestle with a persistent religious fanatic than with a young girl habituated to sexual stimulus.

In an effort to raise my sister's spirits, I told her that too often when dealing with our children, we parents see little but the defects. I thought to mention some of Nashwa's good traits, but could find nothing to say.

Sara and I were still for a time, looking at each other. We knew instinctively that we understood each other perfectly.

With her daughter in mind, my sister began to ponder the progress of civilization. Our children have been sheltered from all worldly concerns, lavished with creature comforts, provided with intelligent pursuits and moral guidance, yet the careful organization of their lives had made little impact on their development.

Sara said she had come to the conclusion that human character was linked to nothing more than genetics, and that her children might as well have grown like weeds instead of meticulously tended plants. "Besides," she said with a laugh, "the radicals of one age become the reactionaries of the next, so who knows the eventual outcome of our off spring?"

Since it always lightens one's burdens to be reminded of another's troubles, even if that person is one greatly loved, I began to feel more cheerful than I had in days.

I laughed and agreed with my sister, saying that the seeds we planted had not all flowered. Thinking that all of life is in God's hands anyway, I promised myself I would worry no longer.

Sara went to inquire about her youngest children, who were playing in our palace playground, which is located next to Amani's zoo, while I promised to bathe and dress myself for a visit to Fayza.

Neither Sara nor I had seen the poor girl since she was forced to return to the kingdom, though we had heard, with some surprise, that she had recovered and was now seeing close friends and relatives.

Enjoying uncommon peace for the first time in days, I was unprepared for a shocking telephone call from my husband.

His voice was alarmingly intense. "Sultana, go to the safe and locate Abdullah's passport."

"Why?" I asked. 

Kareem told me to shut up and do as he said.

Thinking the worst, I dropped the telephone receiver to the floor and ran rapidly into my husband's home office, which is located on the first floor in our home. My hands refused to cooperate with my memory, and it required three attempts to open the combination safe.