"To call women the weaker sex is a libel; it is man's injustice to women. You will guard your wife's honor and be not her master; but her true friend. Let not either of you regard another as the object of his or her lust.

-MAHATMA GANDHI

Fatma moistened her lips before she continued. "Princess Sultana, you entered my dreams last evening, and now I feel that I must convey the message of the dream."

I held my breath, afraid of what I might be told, thinking that I had never fared well in supernatural predictions.

Fatma gazed at me with sad affection. "Mistress, you are surrounded with life's possessions, yet you appear empty. This discontent comes from having the heart of a child in the body of a woman. Such a combination will bring great difficulties to one's soul. Neither you nor any other child of God can resolve all of mankind's problems. I was told to tell you that it is not shameful to bow to reality and that you should allow the lust for conflict to cool in your veins."

My mother's face appeared to me as a dark dream of disconnected memories. There was no doubt in my mind that my mother was using the form of the earthbound Fatma to communicate with her youngest child. Fat- ma's words were just the sort of advice my mother had often given me in the days of my childhood. When I was young, her words of wisdom were unclear and seemed to have no connection to me. Now that I was an adult, that was no longer the case.

I had known then, even as a child, that when my mother understood that she was dying, her only regret in passing from earth was that she was leaving my untempered character without a firm guide. Her fears had been that I would react to adult controversy in the same hasty manner I had confronted problems when I was a child, when I had no goal but success, embroiling myself in one conflict after another.

My beloved mother was communicating with me!

I felt a warm glow throughout my body and felt calmer than I had in days. My memories were no longer obscure, and I keenly felt my mother's divine presence.

I had no explanation to give for the sudden whimpering I heard arise from my throat, or for the sobbing and incoherent woman who threw herself into Fatma's strong arms, a woman who still felt as a child, longing with all her heart to have but one short moment with the one who had given her life.

I cried out to a sympathetic Fatma, "How blessed are those who still have their mothers!"

When leaving the city of Cairo, I could not help thinking of the gloomy fate awaiting many young girls in the country of Egypt. I whispered to my son that such tragic events make Egyptian life less bright and cheerful than is fitting in such a country.

Late that afternoon, our private plane landed at the Nice-C6te' International Airport in southern France. The husbands of my three sisters had rented a large villa in the hills above Monaco, which they had assured Kareem was a short drive from the airport. Asad had arranged for three limousines to meet our plane and transport our family and baggage from the airport to the villa.

Actually, at one time the villa had been a palace belonging to a French aristocrat and had over sixty rooms, so there was more than enough space for our combined families. None of my sisters was married to a man who had taken more than one wife, so our group of eight adults and sixteen children was un usually small for an Arab gathering of four families.

There are three highways going from Nice to Monaco, but none of us wanted to travel the coastal road, or the Infe'rieure Corniche, which is generally traffic-packed. The Moyenne Corniche is the middle road, and the Grande Corniche is the high road.

I expressed a desire to take the Moyenne, since I knew it was the best of the three and had wonderful views of the coastline.

Kareem disagreed, saying that our daughters should choose the road we would travel.

I pinched the flesh on his leg, indicating that his idea was not sound, but he continued to ask their opinions.

As I knew they would, Maha and Amani began an immediate squabble, each of them insisting upon a different route.

I whispered to Kareem, "I told you so."

Our daughters have never reached agreement on any issue, regardless of the subject, since the time they learned to speak. I admitted to myself that nothing in our lives had been simple since I had given birth to three children.

The driver settled their argument by saying that a truck loaded with eggs had suffered a mishap, and the Moyenne was temporarily blocked. Since two of the three roads were congested with traffic, he suggested that we take the Grande.

Like the baby she is, Amani pouted, but Maha and Abdullah were joyful, pointing out various interesting sights they had not remembered from our last trip to Monaco over three years
before.

The Grande Corniche was built by Napoleon, and he had his builders follow the route of the ancient Roman road. The drive took us along the southern slope of the Alpes Maritimes, and the scenery was spectacular.

I mentioned that after the uninspired brown and beige shades of desert countries, the lush greenery of Europe was restful to my eyes.

Amani took my comment as a slur upon the home of the Prophet, whereupon Kareem lost his patience and asked his daughter please to omit religious interpretations of the simplest social remark.

I thought to myself that my own precious daughter was becoming thoroughly unlikable. My love for her flowed as strongly as ever, but there were moments when I suffered extreme distaste for Amani's overbearing and holier-than-thou attitude.

Pleased that my family's confined journey was coming to an end, I was happy to see my sisters Sara, Tahani, and Nura, when our car pulled up the circular driveway to the front of the villa. How welcome it made me feel that the three of them had evidently been eagerly waiting by the door for our arrival.

My pleasure was short-lived.

"Reema has been hospitalized!" Nura announced as soon as we had completed our greetings and my three children had gone to seek out their cousins.

"What?" I responded, trying to imagine what illness had struck the fifth sister in age in our family.

"She has been injured," Sara volunteered, while exchanging a meaningful look with Nura.

"Yes?" My voice was so low that the sound barely left my throat. I had a sudden fear of an automobile accident, for traffic accidents are a main source of death in Saudi Arabia, where many young boys recklessly race their vehicles through the streets.

My sisters and I stood without speaking, awkwardly facing one another. I moved my weight from foot to foot, waiting for someone to enlighten me about my sister's condition.

Kareem and Asad stood to the side, watch ing but not speaking.

When no one spoke, my stomach churned. Was my sister dead, and was there no one in my family with the nerve to tell me?

Finally I asked weakly, "Is her injury serious?"

"It appears that it is not life-threatening," Nura stated.

The Arab manner of avoiding bad news is maddening! I felt the urge to scream, for someone to tell me all that there was to know, to release me from the agony of attempting to force small bits of information from my reluctant sisters.

"What has happened?" I demanded. "Any thing is easier to accept than this torturing doubt!"

My sisters looked at one another strangely. Surely, Reema was dead!

"Let us go inside," Asad suggested as he placed a tender hand on Sara's arm. "I will have tea prepared."

I followed Sara into the villa, taking no notice of the rooms as we passed them by. I was thinking of poor Reema. The fifth daughter in our family had always inspired family sympathy. From the date of her birth, Reema had not been blessed with obvious skills or beauty. While my sister was not born with a face scarred or misaligned, there had been nothing in her appearance to bring forth envy from other young mothers.

Nura had once confided that Reema was the only daughter whom our mother had felt no need to protect with the blue stone that was believed to ward off evil spirits, for who would wish the evil eye upon an infant so displeasing in appearance?

In addition, as a young girl Reema had been cursed with a heavy figure that brought her cruel taunts from unfeeling children.

Of my nine sisters, Sara is the most beautiful. Of the remainder of our female family members, four sisters are notably pretty, three are appealing, another is elegant and graceful, while Reema lacks a single mark of beauty. In a family of ten daughters, Reema was the unattractive sister who failed to excel in school or in games. Her one outstanding accomplishment was her ability to duplicate our mother's cooking skills, improvising delectable Arabic and French dishes that did nothing to help her expanding figure.

Living in a country where nothing is more admired than female beauty, Reema was not esteemed.

Once we had settled ourselves in the sitting room, Kareem and Asad left us to go and ar range tea. As the door was closing, I heard Asad speaking in a low voice to my husband, and knew that Kareem had discovered Reema's fate before her own sister.

"I must know the truth. Tell me. Is Reema dead?"

"No," Nura responded. Yet, my sisters gloomy face reflected the seriousness of the situation.

"She was attacked by Saleem," Tahani finally said.

I felt cold all over. "Truly?" I asked.

With tremendous emotion, Nura added, "Our dear sister was viciously attacked by her own husband."

"Why would Saleem want to hurt Reema?" I wondered. "Surely, she gave him no motive!"

Like many unattractive people, Reema had always been pleasing in character, striving to make all around her feel delightful and gay, as if her joyful countenance could outwit nature, eliciting admiration from those in her company.

Saleem? My memory of Reema's husband flashed through my mind. Saleem, like Reema, was not blessed with physical beauty. But he was known to be a most quiet and gentle man. As we often say in the Arab world, "Every pot has its cover." Saleem was considered a perfect partner for Reema, and their union seemed to suit them. His violent action was completely unexpected and out of character.

I put to Nura the most logical possibility, "Did Saleem lose his mind? Is that why he assaulted Reema?"

I was not prepared for what I heard.

Approximately a year before, Reema had confessed to her oldest sister, Nura, that a dark secret was consuming the light in her life. Reema said that her dear husband was undergoing a bizarre personality change that had begun with a strange restlessness and dissatisfaction. Suddenly the blackest melancholy overcame the formerly contented Saleem. Where he had once been well pleased with his home, he was now irritable, finding endless fault with his wife and four children. He no longer expressed an interest in his work, and for many days he would remain in bed until mid afternoon. Saleem was caught in the tyranny of his own emotions, which prevented the entire family from living a nor mal life.

While Reema's attachment to Saleem had increased during the years of their married life, Saleem coldly told his wife that he had never loved her, that as a matter of fact he had never known love at all, and had married Reema for no reason other than to gain prestige from her family name.

Reema confronted Saleem's unreasonable hostility with faithful love and genuine concern. Reema told Nura that she feared Saleem must have a brain tumor, or at least be suffering from a chemical imbalance. Why else would a man so radically change, when there had been no trauma in his life.

Reema pleaded with her husband to seek medical attention. But instead of looking to professional help for his misery, Saleem dwelt on his unhappiness. Saleem, a man who rarely drank alcohol, began to drink with increasing frequency. When drinking, he would become violent toward Reema and the eldest of their daughters.

Reema told Nura that she feared she would soon be divorced and separated from her two youngest sons, for Saleem had threatened to liberate himself from Reema, insisting that this was the only way to free himself from his unhappiness.

Nura was helpless at giving advice, for no one in our family could approach Saleem's without creating tension. His family had recently requested that one of Nura's daughters be wed to their youngest son. The engagement did not materialize because Ahmed and Nura had already arranged a different groom for their child. Saleem's family had held themselves at a distance since that time, taking offense where none was intended.

Nura said that while Saleem slowly pulled himself together so that he began to function at work, his contempt for Reema only grew more intense. Saleem began to take frequent trips to the Far East, and Reema knew from some of the brochures she found in her husband's belongings that these trips were not of a business nature. Saleem was participating in sexual junkets to Bangkok and Manila.

Just the month before, Reema went to Nura's home with a bruised face and a horrifying story. Our sister had discovered her husband in bed with one of the Sri Lankan maids. When she protested, Saleem went at her with his fists and threatened Reema with the loss of her children if she dared open her mouth to anyone in his family. Saleem's family was known to be devout and religious, and they would have expressed great shame at his conduct, though they would have been help less to change his mood.

While it is true that many Saudi men turn to secret pleasures with women to whom they are not wed, none of the females in our family had married a man so insensitive as to flaunt sexual relations with a servant in his own home.

Reema, perplexed and not sure where to turn, went to an Egyptian female imam, asking that the woman put in writing the answer to the question: Does Islam permit a man to have sexual intercourse with his maidservant without marrying her? Surely, her husband would heed a religious ruling, if she brought it to him in writing. To go against the teachings of the Koran would be unthinkable in the mind of our pious sister!

Nura said that Reema had confessed she was going to confront Saleem with the ruling. Nura had cautioned our sister, concerned that Saleem no longer enjoyed total sanity.

I asked if Nura recalled the words of the ruling.

She replied that she had taken a copy for herself and filed it with her other religious material. Who knew what other woman might have need of the information at a later date?

Nura said that to the best of her memory "the imam's ruling clearly states that Islam does not allow a sexual relationship between a master and a servant. The imam said that the idea was outrageous, and only through marriage could a sexual relationship exist in Islam."

The imam acknowledged that what hap pens in actual life is not always sanctioned by Islam and that there were many cases in the kingdom that had been brought to her attention involving a master forcing his servant to yield to his wishes, exploiting her inferior position to get cheap fulfillment of carnal desire.

The imam ruled that such a relationship was illicit and led to the three evils expressly forbidden by Islam. The evils of which she spoke are: "Any relationship which adversely affects the moral fabric of society, or leads to promiscuity, or affects the rights of any individual. In Islam, the only lawful way to have sexual intercourse is through marriage."

Reema's courage in seeking an outside opinion caused me some surprise, for she was meek in nature.

"Was the ruling the cause of Saleem's at tack?" I asked my sisters.

Nura answered in the negative.

"Then?"

Sara began to weep and left the room, saying that she could not bear to hear the details again. Tahani rose to follow her, but Asad was standing near the door. I caught a glimpse of him wrapping his arms around his wife as he led her to a private corner.

Tahani returned and sat by my side, and began nervously to pat the top of my hand.

I thought to myself that I was being pre pared for a distressing account.

"The physician would not tell us the full de- tails, but Father and Ali went to his office and were told the truth of the matter, for Saleem finally confessed to the physician what exactly had happened to Reema.

"It seems that Saleem had just returned from a short trip to Bangkok and had smuggled in pornographic videotapes. After a night of drinking and viewing the tapes, Saleem wanted to have sex with his wife, although he had not displayed affectionate interest in Reema for some time.

"When Saleem awakened Reema in the middle of the night for sex, he was told that she was having her monthly period."

With half-shut eyes, Nura leaned back on the sofa.

Like all Muslims, I know that the Koran forbids sexual relations during a woman's menstrual cycle. The Koran clearly states:

"They ask, concerning women's courses, respond: they are a hurt and a pollution, keep away from women in their courses, and do not approach them until they are clean, but when they have purified themselves, you may approach them in any manner; time, or place, ordained for you, by God."

Had Reema fought her husband, only to be raped and beaten during a time she was for bidden to him?

I could tell that Nura was thinking of what she was going to say and how she was going to say it. I watched Nura's face as it became white with anger. "Saleem, in a drunken state, became angry at his wife's condition and refusal." My sister took a deep, ragged breath. "Sultana, Reema was badly beaten, and then Saleem raped his wife in a region of her body not allowed to her husband. The physician at the private clinic informed Father that Saleem's attack was so violent and brutal that emergency surgery was per- formed. For the remainder of her life, Reema will be forced to wear a colostomy bag."

My mouth opened in a soundless howl. Reema? Disabled and encumbered for life? I found myself seething with hostility. Now I understood why Sara had fled the room, for she herself had been subjected to that same type of sexual abuse when wed against her will to her first husband, a man who was sick in his head.

I stood and stamped my foot so hard that a vase tottered and threatened to fall from a tall stand. "If Saleem were in this room, I would attack him with my hands," I shouted. In an uncontrolled rage, I asked, "And Saleem? Has he been jailed?"

Tahani made a clicking sound with her tongue. "Jailed? He is Reema's husband. He is free to do as he likes."

Nura's face was becoming even paler in her grief and bitterness over the fate of our innocent sister.

I protested, "But his conduct was forbid den! Surely, we can make a case for a religious investigation!"

Nura looked at me with great love mingled with sadness. "Sultana, you speak as a child. Who, in our land, will take the side of a woman against her husband? Our own father and brother have directed that this is a per sonal matter between Reema and Saleem and that no one of our family is to interfere."

Tahani confided, "Father prohibited us from telling you, but we decided that we must, for when you see Reema next, her condition will be obvious."

I insisted, "Reema must divorce him! That, at least!"

Nura reminded me of the reality of Reema's situation. "And lose her children? Both girls have reached puberty, and the boys are now eight and nine. Saleem has the right to take them from their mother. And that he would do. He has already threatened her with their loss. Sultana, Reema would die without her children."

When Nura saw that I was still fiercely angry, she asked, "Tell me, Sultana, could you live if your children were taken from you?"

In my land, in the event of a divorce, the mother has the right to retain her children if they are still suckling. In most cases, a mother maintains custody of daughters until a girl child arrives at puberty. In the case of male children, the boy should be allowed to remain with his mother up until age seven. When he reaches his seventh birthday, he is supposed to have the option to choose between his mother or father. Generally it is accepted that the father would have his sons at age seven. A son must go with his father at the age of puberty, regardless of the child's wishes.

Often, in the case of male children, fathers will not allow the mother to retain custody, no matter the age of the child. I have person ally known women who have lost custody of their children at young ages, never again see ing those to whom they gave birth. Unfortunately, if a father seizes the initiative and takes his children, there is no authority that will force him to return them to their mother.

I knew that if Saleem refused Reema visitation with her children, my sister would be forever banned from their presence. There was no court of law that would reverse the husband's final decision about the destiny of his children.

I moaned, thinking of the possibilities we would know if we had male support. If only the men of her family, our father and Ali, would stand behind Reema, her position in negotiating for her children would strengthen. Since our father and brother thought that a man should be allowed to do as he wished with the females in his family, they would be of no assistance to Reema.

It was a serious moment.

"Perhaps Saleem will come to his right mind," Nura hopefully suggested.

"Never try to straighten a dog's tail. In vain you do," Tahani muttered to no one in particular.

After further discussion, my sisters and I decided that we were needed in Riyadh. We would leave our husbands in Monte Carlo with our children, and travel back to Saudi Arabia the following day.

Later that evening, Kareem tried to lift my downcast spirit by reminding me that my sister had not died from her injuries, and where there was life, change might come. He said that a better day would soon be known, that in his opinion, Saleem was suffering from nothing more than a male crisis that would pass.

Kareem became concerned when I promised him that Saleem would suffer for his at tack on the gentle Reema.

Trying to ease my murderous rage, he joked, "Sultana, I do not wish to see you made ready for the executioner's sword! You must spare Saleem's life."

My husband continued to speak, but I listened to his words without hearing, thinking how lamentable it was that so much ignorance should prevail in a land that is home to a great religion.