Fahd bin Abdul Aziz
Sultan Bin Abdul Aziz
Naef Bin Abdul Aziz
Salman Bin Abdul Aziz
Ahmad Bin Abdul Aziz
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Just imagine a desert country lying in absolute
darkness with many living things swarming blindly about in it.
-BUDDHA
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HAJ WAS COMPLETED and summer was upon us. The hot
desert air had disturbed us little during our pilgrimage to Makkah, for
our minds were on other, more important matters
connected to our spiritual oneness with God.
From Makkah we traveled to our palace in Jeddah, thinking to return to
Riyadh the following day. It was not to be. While I was organizing the
palace staff for our departure, Kareem entered the room and said that he
had canceled our flight, for he had been in formed by the air traffic
controllers that there was a particularly turbulent sandstorm from the Rub
Al Khali desert toward the city of Riyadh. Even without the effects of a
sandstorm, nearly four thousand tons of sand routinely settle on Riyadh
every month. Wanting to avoid the terrible sandstorm that would soon
assault our capital, dumping sand that stings the eyes, fills the pores,
and covers everything, I was pleased that we would remain in Jeddah
despite the fact that Jeddah's humidity is more oppressive than the dry
desert heat of Riyadh.
Abdullah and Maha were excited to be postponing our return to Riyadh and
their normal routines for a few more days. Our two eldest children began
to plead with us to take a small holiday while in Jeddah. I looked at my
husband and smiled. But the smile faded from my face when I noticed that
Amani was sitting off to herself in the corner of the room, her nose in
the pages of the Koran. Amani was quickly becoming a gloomy recluse and
seemed unconcerned as to where she might be. It appeared to me that my
youngest child had raised barriers against her normal desire for harmless
fun, for in the past nothing thrilled Amani more than to swim in the lap
ping, warm waters of the Red Sea.
Determined to avoid becoming even further depressed by Amani's activities,
I nodded my head, yes, in response to Kareem's questioning eyes. So, in
spite of the humidity and the heat waves that were dancing in the air,
Kareem and I decided to remain in Jeddah an additional two weeks, for we
could see that our two eldest children were sorely tempted by the blue
mirror of the Red Sea waters, which we could view from our palace walls.
I was not displeased at the idea, for I, like many members of the royal
family, prefer the lively port city of Jeddah to the staid atmosphere of
Riyadh. Thinking that I would take my daughters shopping in the modern
shop ping malls of Jeddah and entertain family friends who lived in the
city, the holiday loomed pleasantly in my mind. Had not Amani chosen this
time to expand the growing gap between herself and her family, it would
have been a perfect time in an other wise imperfect life.
I was down on my knees in the long corridor that connected the various
wings of the palace when Maha made the discovery that her mother was
attempting to overhear the voice of her sister, Amani, through a crack in
the doorway leading into the Turkish baths and indoor garden area.
"Mummy! What are you doing?" Maha called out in a loud, laughing
voice, even as I tried to wave her away with my hand.
Inside the room, Amani stopped speaking, and I heard my daughter's
determined foot steps as she made her way toward me. I made a desperate
attempt to spring to my feet so that I could move away from the door, but
my pointed shoe heel caught in the hem of my long dress. I was struggling
to free myself when Amani flung the door open and stood staring down at
her obviously guilty mother.
I was unnerved by my daughter's accusing face, for her piercing eyes and
tight lips made it plain that she clearly understood the situation.
Unable to acknowledge my despicable deed, I began to rub my fingers
against some red threads that were worked into the hall carpet, and with
what I hoped was a lilt to my voice, I began to lie with the intensity of
one who knows her listeners see through her lie.
"Amani! I thought you were in your room!" I exclaimed.
I returned my gaze to the carpet, seriously studying the red threads.
"Darlings, have either of you noticed the red stains on this car
pet?"
Neither of my daughters responded.
With a frown, I gave the red threads a few more rubs, and with my shoe
heel still caught in my dress, I stood up hunched over and limped down the
corridor. Short on explanation, I mumbled, "The servants have become
quite lax. I fear that the stain is permanent."
Amani, unable to allow me the pleasure of believing that my small lie had
been convincing, spoke to my back. "Mummy. This carpet is not
stained. Those are red roses woven into the pattern!"
Maha could not restrain herself, and I heard her as she began to giggle.
Amani called out, "Mummy, if you wish to hear my words, you are most
welcome. Please, come into the room where I am speaking." The door
leading into the garden room slammed with a thunderous clap.
Tears formed in my eyes, and I rushed to my bedroom. I could not bear to
look at my beautiful daughter, for since we had returned from Makkah, she
had begun to clothe herself from head to toe in black, even going so far
as to wear thick black hosiery and long black gloves. In the privacy of
our home, only her face remained uncovered, as my child wrapped her
beautiful black hair in a stiff black head covering that reminded me of
something a goat-herding Yemeni woman might wear. When Amani ventured
outside our palace walls, she added a veil of thick black fabric that
hindered her vision, even though the religious officials of Jeddah were
much more relaxed in pursuing women with unveiled faces than were those of
Riyadh. Our desert capital is known throughout the Muslim world for its
diligent morals commit tees, which are composed solely of angry faced men
who harass innocent women on the city streets.
Nothing I could say or do could persuade my daughter to dress more
comfortably than in the heavy black cloak, veil, and headdress that strike
most Muslim believers in other Islamic lands as nothing less than
ridiculous.
I could not control my sobs. At great risk to my happiness, I had battled
most of my life for my daughters to have the right to wear the thinnest of
veils, and now my dear child dis missed my small victory as if it had no
value.
And that was not the worst! Not content with her newfound faith, Amani
felt the zeal of the missionary to convert others to her new way of
thinking. Today, Amani had invited her closest friends, along with four of
her younger cousins, to our home to hear her read from the Koran and speak
about her interpretation of the Prophet's words, which sounded
distressingly like the interpretation I had so often heard from the
government's Committee for Commendation of Virtue and Prevention of Vice.
The intonation of Amani's childlike voice was ringing in my head as I
closed the doors to my private quarters and lay crossways on the bed,
wondering how I was going to tackle this latest crisis of motherhood.
While eavesdropping, I had overheard Amani as she read from the holy
Koran:
Do ye build a landmark
on every high place
to amuse yourselves?
And, do ye get for yourselves
fine buildings in the hope of living therein forever?
and when ye exert your strong hand
do ye do it like men of absolute power?
Now fear God and obey me And follow not the bidding
of those who are extravagant, and make mischief in the land, and mend
not their ways.
My knees shaking, I had listened in horror as Amani stressed the
Saudi royal family's similarity to the ostentatious sinners in the verse
of the Koran.
"Look around you! Witness the wealth of the home from which I speak!
A palace fit for a god could be no finer! Are we not disregard ing the
very words of God in embracing the opulence of costly indulgence that no
human eyes are fit to see?"
Amani's voice went soft, as if she were speaking in a whisper, but I had
closed my eyes and leaned closer, listening with great care. I could
barely hear Amani's words. "Each of us must banish extravagance from
our lives. I will set the first example. The jewels I have received from
the wealth of my family name, I will give to the poor. If you believe in
the God of Mohammed, you too must follow my example."
I did not hear the audience's response to their leader's outlandish
demand, for at that moment, my eldest daughter, Maha, had made my
unwelcome presence known.
Now, remembering Amani's promise to divest herself of her jewels, I pushed
myself from the bed and hurried to my daughter's bedroom. There, I opened
the safe she shared with her sister and removed a large quantity of
expensive necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and rings, locking those items
into the safe in Kareem's office. I had taken Maha's jewelry along with
Amani's, for who knew what offense Amani might commit in her state of
religious upheaval.
I knew that the total value of Amani's jewelry alone was well into the
millions of dollars, and it had been given to her by those who loved her
and desired economic security for her future. I promised myself that if
Amani genuinely wanted to provide for the poor, then money would be given
to her for that purpose.
Feeling depressed and unappreciated for our generosity, I remembered the
millions of riyals Kareem and I had quietly donated over the years to the
poor of the world. In addition to the required zakah liability, the
percentage of our annual income not needed for our daily living expenses,
Kareem and I contribute an extra 15 percent of our income for purposes of
education and medical care to various Muslim countries less fortunate than
Saudi Arabia. Never have we forgotten the words of the Prophet: "If
you give alms openly, that is well, but if you give them to the needy in
private, it is even better for you, and will atone for some of your bad
deeds. Allah is aware of all you do."
Thinking of the funds we had provided to build medical clinics, schools,
and private dwellings in the poorest of Muslim lands, I felt the keen
desire to remind Amani of the enormity of the financial contributions made
by her parents. Had my child discounted our charitable activities as
meaningless? Or was her true desire to turn our family into beg gars, like
those who benefited from our great wealth?
Returning to my bed, I lay quiet for over two hours, thinking thoughts,
discarding wild ideas, not knowing how to do battle with a force that is
higher than any man.
Darkness had fallen over my room when Kareem came home from his Jeddah
offices.
"Sultana! Are you ill?" Kareem switched on several lamps and
walked to my bed, peering down at my face with concern.
"Your face is flushed. Do you have a fever?" I did not answer my
husband's questions. Instead, I took a deep, tortured breath.
"Kareem, one of your flesh and blood is plot ting the overthrow of
the monarchy."
Kareem's face turned from pale brown to bright red in a matter of seconds.
"What?"
I feebly waved my hand in the air. "Amani. Today, our daughter held a
meeting of young princesses and good friends. I accidentally overheard her
speaking. She is using the Koran to turn her youthful cousins and
acquaintances against the leadership of our family."
Kareem clicked his tongue in the Arab manner that denotes disbelief. He
laughed. "You are crazy, Sultana. Amani is the least likely of our
children to incite violence."
I shook my head. "No more. Religion has strengthened our child. She
is beginning to resemble a hungry lion rather than a gentle lamb." I
repeated to Kareem what I had over heard.
Kareem made a face. "Sultana. Believe me when I say this latest
passion is nothing more than a passing phase. Ignore her. Soon she will
tire of her excesses.
It was clear that Kareem himself was tired of the topic of Amani's
religious conversion. I had talked of little else during the past week.
Amani's passionate embrace of all things extreme in our religion tortured
her mother, while her father dismissed his daughter's fervor with a joke
and a prediction that it would be shortlived.
I realized that Kareem and I would not share and resolve this latest
crisis together as we had in Maha's case. I felt the fight go out of my
body. For the first moment since giving birth to Abdullah so many years
before, I grew weary of motherhood, and wondered how many more generations
of women could be enticed to burden themselves with the solitary and
thankless procreation, nourishing, and guidance of the human race.
With a rasping sound in my throat, I cried out to my husband,
"How lonely is the life of a woman!"
Fearing that I would react in an extreme manner to my grief, Kareem patted
me tenderly on my back, and sweetly asked if I would like my dinner served
to me privately in our quarters. He said he would take the evening meal
alone with our children, if that were the case.
With a sigh of martyrdom, I decided not to stay alone. I had been in
solitude for many hours, and I did not want to give Amani the idea that
her mother was sulking. I pushed myself off the bed and told my husband I
would freshen myself for dinner and see him downstairs.
Kareem and I met in the small family sit ting room, and since we were an
hour early for dinner, I asked him to go with me on a stroll in the
Turkish bath and garden area.
Remembering the evening we had shared before, Kareem thought I was feeling
roman tic, and his eyes caressed my face with tenderness.
I returned his smile, but in reality I wanted to examine the garden area
and see what evidence, if any, my child had left of her religious meeting
with her friends and royal cousins.
We entered a large, beautiful courtyard that had been designed by a famous
Italian fashion designer. Over the years, many of our royal cousins had
attempted unsuccessfully to copy the loveliness of our unique
"Turkish room." A flowing waterfall situated in the back of the
room emptied clear water into a large circular pool inhabited by many
exotic fish. A stone path circled the pool, and beautiful flowers,
tenderly cared for by the staff of gardeners, lined the walkway. Two
raised sit ting areas were located to the left and to the right. Lush
green foliage imported from Thai land was draped over the rattan
furnishings, which were covered in pastel cushions. Glass- topped tables
were set about the sitting areas, and it was a most pleasant spot for our
family to enjoy morning or evening coffee.
The walls were made of special tinted glass, but the greenery was so
abundant and dense that it shaded us from the hot rays of the sun. A stone
pathway, carved with the faces of various wild animals, led around the
waterfall. I felt sad as I walked on the face of a giraffe, for I
remembered that Kareem had had the stones specially carved for Amani, as a
surprise to our animal-worshiping child.
The walkway took us to the Turkish bath area. Our home in Cairo had such a
room, and I had requested the Italian designer to study that design and
duplicate it at our pal ace in Jeddah.
The Turkish bathhouse contained four baths, each one in a different style
and size, centered in a fashionable life of luxury, which could hardly be
afforded without the vast wealth of the Saudi oil fields, I swept my hand
across the lovely setting of the Turkish bath. "This," I said to
Kareem, "is what our daughter believes is a great sin, to enjoy what
God has seen fit to provide our family."
My husband made no response.
I pressed him further. "Kareem, we must take action. Or do you want
your own flesh and blood to lead the revolt that will bring down the house
of Al Sa'ud?"
Kareem, still not believing his daughter capable of serious mischief,
refused to further analyze Amani's disenchantment with our royal status,
saying only that our daughter should be left to her consoling faith, even
if it was against her mother's obstinate resistance.
Holding me tightly by my shoulders, Kareem forbade me to mention the
subject again, making a ridiculous statement. "Sultana," he
said, "I decided long ago that each of us must respect the other's
delusions, or there will be no peace in our home. Now! Drop this
disagreeable subject!"
After days of soul-searching, I finally reached the understanding that I
was not to blame for my daughter's new direction in life. I decided that
Amani's zeal for a cause was a direct result of Saudi Arabia's horrendous
poverty, which had been relieved by sudden and enormous wealth. To get to
the heart of the matter, I had to go back in time.
Many people, Muslims and Christians alike, despise Saudis for their
unearned wealth. Yet, few bother to understand the wretched poverty
endured by all Saudi Arabians until the mid-I 970s. I highly resent this
hasty analysis of our current situation.
Many years passed after the actual discovery of oil under the sand of the
desert before our people benefited from the riches guaranteed by the oil
production that had been organized by American companies. In the
beginning, King Abdul Aziz, my grandfather and the founder of Saudi
Arabia, trusted the smooth-talking men who made false promises, not
understanding that the deals they struck put millions into the pockets of
the Americans and paltry sums into the coffers of Saudi Arabia. Only when
the American oil companies were forced to be fair did they be have in a
principled manner.
Thus, due to the disproportionate method of dividing the proceeds from the
oil wealth, it took many years for the bedouin tents of the desert to be
replaced by luxurious villas and palaces. Meanwhile, the people of Saudi
Arabia suffered greatly. Infant mortality in Saudi Arabia was among the
highest in the world, for there was no money, doctors, or hospitals to
treat the sick. The Saudi diet consisted of dates, camel milk, and goat
and camel meat.
I can remember seeing the desperate look in the eyes of one of the
wealthiest men in the kingdom as he shared the horrifying tale of his
early years. A brilliant and highly respected man of business, he spent
the first fif teen years of his life going from door to door in the
mud-hut village of Riyadh, in an at tempt to sell small bags of goat's
milk. He was the man of the family at age seven, for his father had died
of a slight infection received when he cut himself with his sword while
slaughtering a camel for the Haj feast. The infection had turned to
gangrene, and his father had left the living with screams of great pain
rending the air.
As was the custom of the day, the young boy's mother was wed to a
surviving brother of his father, a man who had many children of his own.
The young boy felt responsible for his five younger siblings. Four of the
five children were buried by his own hand, their deaths the result of poor
nutrition and lack of medical facilities. His brutish climb to prosperity
was a tale of Dickensian horror.
After a youth spent amid dire poverty, it was quite natural that the first
Saudi genera tion to know the power of wealth would pamper their
offspring, showering them with all that their money could purchase. While
Kareem and I grew to adulthood without knowing need, we understood the
vital force of our parents' poverty, which had made a lasting impact
during our youth. However, the children born from our generation never
knew deprivation, even secondhand, and so did not realize what it really
meant to be poor.
Civilization followed a natural course, for concentrated wealth balanced
insecurely upon a lost heritage may at any moment be dismissed as of no
value. It was only a matter of time until the shaky foundations began to
tumble.
The conventions and traditions accepted by past generations were
questioned by my generation. The generation that followed mine often,
wholly without restraint, followed their animal instincts. This primitive
rejection of social order brought forth a natural backlash of religious
fanaticism and disdain for extravagant fortunes.
Now, those who are most fanatical are the offspring of my generation.
Having never known life without great wealth, and spared any knowledge of
the consequences of wrenching poverty, our children and the children of
our acquaintances are scornful of our economic ease and are searching for
a purpose greater than the accumulation of additional riches.
My child Amani became a leader of a group of women who strive to be even
more militant than the men who lead the faithful to over turn the throne
claimed by the Al Sa'ud clan.
While Amani sought to save the souls of those she knows as relatives, or
claims as friends, she brought forth a confession from her cousin Faten,
the child of my brother, Ali, that none of us could ever have imagined.
No man has been haughtier with women than Ah. As a child, he treated his
ten sisters with contempt. As a young man living in America, he bedded and
casually discarded hundreds of Western women. As a husband, he treated his
wives as slaves, caring little about their happiness, careful to wed girls
at first puberty so that they knew little of man's nature and accepted his
perverse behavior as normal. In addition to four wives, Ah settled one
concubine after the other in his home. As a father, he virtually ignored
his daughters and showered affection on his sons.
It was only natural that his son Majed, brother of Faten, grew into a
sadistic youth who considered women nothing more than sexual objects.
Looking back, I know now that Majed would have been beheaded or shot to
death by a firing squad had his crime become common knowledge. Nothing
could have saved him from this fate, not even the fact that he is the son
of a high-ranking prince, for his sin was without precedent in the Al
Sa'ud family.
We had returned to our home in Riyadh, where each afternoon after school
Amani continued her daily Koran sessions with those relatives who were
interested in re turning to the times of darkness, when women would remain
silent on all aspects of life that did not occur within the confines of
their homes.
It was a Wednesday afternoon, and I watched from my bedroom balcony as one
after another of my daughter's friends and relatives left our driveway in
the safety of their chauffeur-driven limousines. Faten, the daughter of my
brother, Ali, was the last to leave, and I thought it odd that she and
Amani talked for many long moments, with passionate embraces exchanged on
more than one occasion. Sadly, I guessed that Faten, in her desperate
unhappiness as the daughter of my unfeeling brother, had -fiercely seized
the cause my child had offered her.
Desperate to return to a normal relation ship with my child, I cautioned
myself not to introduce the topic of religion with Amani ever again, but
to let God lead her where he wanted her to go. Still, I thought to
interest Amani in a game of backgammon or cards, to see if I could focus
her mind on something other than her faith.
When I timidly knocked on my daughter's door, there was no response. I
heard the sound of weeping and entered her room. I felt irritation sweep
through my body, for there sat Amani, holding the Koran in one hand and
wiping her tears with the other. While I wanted to shout that religion was
not meant to sadden a person, I resisted the urge and knelt at my child's
feet. I began to pat her knee and calmly question her on the cause of her
grief.
Expecting to hear that she had received some message from God not meant
for my ears, I was startled when she replied, "Mummy, I am truly
grieved by what I must do!"
Then my child threw herself into my arms and wept as one who has heard the
most devastating news!
"Amani! Daughter! What is this?"
"Mummy!" A spasm shook her small frame as she sobbed. "A
terrible sin has been committed. I have learned a loathsome secret. God
has told me to make this sin public."
"What sin?" I shouted, alarmed that Amani had somehow heard of
Maha's love relation ship with her friend Aisha, knowing that if their
affair were made public my daughter and our family would suffer greatly.
Amani looked at me with big eyes. "Faten has revealed a confidence
that is troubling her soul. This sin is too terrible to reveal, yet I
must."
Relieved that Amani was not speaking of her sister, I speculated on which
of the Al Sa'ud scandals might be plaguing my child.
In a family the size of the Al Sa'ud clan, there is much gossip regarding
the ungovernable conduct of the young princes and, on rarer occasions, the
youthful princesses. Male members of the family will often be featured in
foreign newspapers after a great gambling loss or having been caught in a
sexual misadventure with a foreign woman. After family holidays in the
West, more than one princess has returned to the kingdom expecting an il
legitimate child. Rarely is the complete truth revealed, as the various
relatives rush to cover the misdeeds of their children to prevent their
personal misfortunes from becoming common knowledge throughout the Al
Sa'ud clan.
Amani blurted out, "Mummy. It is Majed. Majed has committed a sexual
sin."
I had difficulty maintaining a serious face. "Majed? Amani, Majed is
his father's son." I pulled my daughter's face to mine, warning her,
"If you speak of this matter, the men of our family will do nothing
more than share a laugh at your expense. Ali is proud of his son 5 success
with foreign women.
Everyone in our family knew that Majed, Ah's second son, participated in
foreign activities within our country, attending parties in foreign
compounds and dating non-Muslim women from the hospitals and foreign air
lines. This kind of activity was generally frowned upon by Muslim
families, but Ali thought it a perfect opportunity for his second son to
enjoy sexual freedom in a land where such activities are strictly
forbidden between people of the Muslim religion.
My heart ached when I saw the seriousness of Amani's expression as she
explained further. "No, Mummy. You do not understand. Majed has
performed a sexual act without the consent of the woman."
I had no idea what my daughter was talking about. "Amani, what do you
mean?"
My daughter began to weep once again. Between her convulsive sobs, she
asked that I go and find her father, saying that she needed his guidance
in her decision about whom to inform of Majed's terrible conduct.
Hurt that Amani desired her father's opin ion over my own, I nevertheless
went through the house, looking for Kareem. When I finally located him
with Abdullah and Maha in the game room, playing a lively game of pool, I
felt a twinge of jealousy, thinking to myself that all three of my
children preferred their father to their mother. I had to bite my tongue
to avoid blurting out Kareem's distressing character flaws in an attempt
to redi rect my children's devotion.
All three members of my family jumped when I loudly yelled, "Kareem!
Amani needs you.
"One moment. It is my turn."
"Kareem. Your daughter is weeping. Come now.
My husband gave me a filthy look. "What have you said to her,
Sultana?"
Already testy and now wrongly accused, I used my hand to knock each of the
brightly colored pool balls into the holes at the sides of the table. I
walked away, unconcerned with the disappointed moans coming from Kareem
and Abdullah. "Now," I shouted over my shoulder. "The game
has ended. You have won. Now perhaps you can tend to your child."
Kareem was on my heels as we entered Amani's room. The tears had gone from
my daughter's eyes, and she had the fixed look of one who has made a
decision.
Kareem spoke first. "Amani? Your mother says that you need to tell me
something?"
"Father, Majed has to be punished for what he has done. I have read
carefully all that is written of such matters, and there is no other way.
Punishment must be given to my cousin.
Kareem sat on a chair and crossed his legs. He had a squeezed, funny look
on his face, as though for the first moment he realized that Amani had
gone too far in her religious quest.
His voice quiet, he asked, "What has Majed done that is so
terrible?"
Still an innocent girl, Amani's face turned a bright red. "I am
ashamed of what I have to say.
"Just say it," Kareem prodded.
Embarrassed at speaking thus in the presence of a man, even her own father
whom she had purposely requested to share the confidence, Amani stared
into her lap. Her face was clear and innocent as she told us a tale of
evil blackness.
"One evening Majed attended a party at one of the Western compounds.
I believe that it was the compound for Lockheed employees. While there, he
met an American woman who took an interest in the fact that he was of the
royal family. As the evening went on, Majed became drunk, and the woman
thought better of her promise to go with him to a friend's apartment. When
Majed understood that he had wasted his evening and that there would be no
sex that night, he left the compound in an angry mood. On the way to his
home, he went to visit a friend, who happened to be in a hospital with
minor injuries from a car accident. While at this hospital, Majed became
angrier, and in his drunken condition, he slipped from room to room
searching for a blonde or foreign woman whom he could coax or pay to have
sex.
"It was after midnight, and there were few employees who were not
sleeping."
Amani's bottom lip began to tremble, and Kareem had to persuade her to
continue. "And . . . what happened then, Amani?"
The accusation tumbled from my daughter's mouth. "Majed had sex with
a woman in the hospital who was a patient, a woman who had been seriously
injured and was not conscious.
I could not move. As one who has been turned to stone, I listened as my
daughter and my husband continued to speak.
Kareem shook his head in disbelief. "Amani. Faten told you
that?"
"Yes, Father. And more.
"Amani. No. Faten is imagining this. It can not be true. It is too
sick to be real."
"I knew you would resist the truth," Amani accused. "There
is proof."
"Proof? What proof? I would like to know."
"Well, there was a man from Pakistan working in that area of the
hospital. He discovered Majed leaving the room, and when he examined the
patient, he saw that the sheets on her bed had been disturbed. He followed
Majed and threatened to call the authorities. When he was told that Majed
was a prince, he demanded money. To quiet him, Majed gave him what he had
in his pocket."
"Amani!" Kareem, highly dubious, cautioned his daughter.
"Watch the words that come from your tongue. Rape! Blackmail! This is
too much to believe!"
"It is true! It is true! You will see! Now there is going to be
trouble." Amani's words rushed, one atop the other, as she tried to
convince her father. "Now it has been discovered that the woman who
was in a coma, a Christian woman from another land, is with child! Even
though she has been in the hospital, un conscious, for six months! She is
three months with child! There is a big investigation in that hospital,
and Majed fears that his name will be made public in the scandal."
Thinking for the first time that there might be some truth to the story,
for the details were many, I began to breathe heavily, wondering how we
could avoid this scandal.
Amani tearfully completed her tale of hor ror. "Faten caught him
trying to break open the safe in their father's office in order to steal
cash. When she confronted him, Majed confided in his sister that the
Pakistani has demanded a lot of money. This man wants one million riyals
to remain silent about Majed's royal identity. Majed cannot ask his father
for that amount of money without an explanation, and the man is going to
name him. Majed has been given one week to come up with the money.
Kareem and I stared at each other, wondering if what we were hearing was
the truth.
I recalled terrible words that Majed had once used against Abdullah,
ridiculing my son for his refusal to have sex with what Abdullah had
claimed was a particularly ugly American, a woman twice my son's age who
had been willing to have sex with a young prince for money. Majed had
accused Abdul lah of being a man who did not like women, saying, "A
true man can become excited over a she camel!" I vaguely recalled
that Majed had then told Abdullah something about this woman being better
looking than the last one he "rode" a woman who was unconscious
and had not known the fun she was missing. When discussing the incident,
we had assumed that the woman must have been drunk. Now, in light of what
Amani was saying, had that woman been unconscious from an injury? Had Ah's
son raped a woman who had no ability to speak for herself? The timing of
Abdullah's confidence now fit Amani's story.
I wanted to ask Kareem about that conversation, for he had been told of
the matter by Abdullah and had shared the story with me. From that time
Kareem had forbidden Abdullah to accompany his cousin Majed to foreign
parties.
Kareem came back to his senses when Amani said, "Majed has to be
punished. I will have to tell Wijdan to inform her father of Majed's
misdeed."
I heard Kareem grinding his teeth. He, as I, knew that the father of
Amani's good friend was a religious man who worked out of the royal
mosque. While he bore no special animosity toward members of the royal
family, he was a man of religion who followed his conscience. He would be
a difficult man to buy off, and if nothing else, would insist on
discussing the matter with the religious council and the king. The last
thing our family needed was for that particular man to be told of the
situation.
Besides, I still had hope in my heart that a mistake had been made and
Majed was innocent of such unspeakable and indecent behavior.
Kareem instructed his daughter, "Amani, this is no topic for young
girls to discuss. I will investigate these charges, and if they are true,
I give you my word that Majed will be punished. Now, I must have your
promise that you will tell no one what you have just said."
Expecting Amani to disagree, I was pleasantly surprised when my child
seemed relieved to discharge the problem to her father. She promised him
all that he had asked.
Within three days, Kareem had discovered the ugly truth. Indeed, there was
a Christian woman in a local hospital who had suffered a serious head
injury in an automobile accident within the kingdom seven months before.
She had been unconscious for that length of time. Now, the hospital staff
and the family of the woman were in a crisis, for the medical staff at the
hospital had discovered that the woman was four months pregnant! There was
an ongoing inquiry at the hospital to find the guilty party.
Amani's horrifying story was true!
Kareem said that Ali must be told, and asked me to accompany him to my
brother's home. For once in my life, I experienced no glee regarding my
brother's misfortunes.
My stomach churned as we entered the side gate into the enormous compound
that housed Ali's four wives and seven concubines. As our automobile
entered the gate, I caught sight of many women and numerous children
gathered on the portion of the lawn that was made partially private by
green foliage. The children were playing, while the women were gossiping,
playing card games, or knitting.
How strange, I thought, that over the years the women my brother had wed,
along with the concubines he kept, had developed close and loving
relationships. It was rare for so many women attached to one man to main
tain such a successful and friendly rapport.
I could not imagine sharing Kareem with even one woman, let alone ten. I
thought that perhaps the lack of love in my brother's temperament had
caused the women to seek friendship and companionship with those of their
own kind. Or perhaps my brother inspired no love at all from his women,
and each one welcomed the intrusion of another to seduce Ali away from her
marriage bed.
That thought brought a smile to my face.
But when I remembered the tragic reason for our visit, my smile vanished.
Ah was in a jolly mood, and he extended a friendly welcome to our
unexpected and un explained visit.
After an exchange of amenities, and our third cup of tea, Kareem broke the
bad news. It was not an easy exchange, and Ah became distressed as Kareem
informed him of what we had learned.
Ali's expression changed from that of a contented man to that of one lost
in sorrow. For the first time in my life, I felt sympathy for my brother,
recalling words I had often heard spoken by those wiser than I.
"Those whose hands are in the water should not expect happiness from
those whose hands are in the fire."
Ali was a man with his hand in the fire.
Majed was summoned, and the boy's arrogant facade cracked when he saw the
furious look on his father's face. I wanted to hate the boy, but I
remembered an incident that had occurred when I was a child. After being
corrected for some minor infraction, Ali once called our mother an
ignorant bedouin and moved to kick her. When my sisters and I begged our
mother to beat Ah with a big stick, she sadly responded, "Why blame a
young boy for resembling his father?"
Now, just as Ah had resembled our father in character and behavior, Majed
was the image of Ali.
Kareem and I left my brother and his son when Ali began to strike Majed
with his bare hands.
A week later Ali confided to Kareem that the problem had been
"handled." He reported that he had located the Pakistani orderly
and had made the man very rich. The Pakistani had invested his money in
Canada, and with Ali's assistance would soon receive a passport to that
country. Our family would hear no more from that troublemaker, Ali
declared.
Shaking his head in bafflement, he told Kareem, "All this disruption,
for a woman.
Neither the hospital nor the family of the woman raped by Majed was ever
aware of the truth of the matter, that the guilty party was a royal
prince.
Majed was sent away to school in the West. Amani, convinced that no
punishment could be worse than banishment from the land of the Prophet,
was pacified. Once again, wealth had absolved the family responsibility
for a crime committed.
I suppose I should not have been angry or surprised, for as my brother
said, it was only a woman.
It seemed that nothing disturbed the male domination of my country, even
when one of their own was guilty of the most heinous crime. |
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