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Fahd bin Abdul Aziz
Sultan Bin Abdul Aziz
Naef Bin Abdul Aziz
Salman Bin Abdul Aziz
Ahmad Bin Abdul Aziz
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when love beckons to you, follow him, though his
ways are hard and steep.
-KAHLIL GIBRAN
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MANI AND HER SISTER, Maha, woke me from a pleasant
afternoon nap. Through the heavy doors leading into my private quarters, I
could hear my daughters screaming at one another.
What had Amani done now? I thought to myself as I quickly dressed. Since
Amani's re ligious conversion, she liked to tell people what she thought
of them, never hesitating to enumerate the immoral actions of her brother
and sister, searching endlessly for a pretext to censure her siblings.
My son, Abdullah, was loath to fight. Dreading Amani's incalculable and
apparently unappeasable wrath, Abdullah, more often than not, simply
ignored his sister. On the rare occasions that Amani's demands were simple
to fulfill, he capitulated.
Amani did not find such agreement possible with Maha. In her older sister,
Amani was dealing with a female whose character was at least as strong as
her own, for Maha's violent temper had been apparent from her first
breath.
I followed the sound of my daughters' shouts. Several of the servants were
standing in the doorway of the kitchen, but they were disinclined to
interrupt what to their eyes was lively entertainment.
I had to push my way into the room.
I arrived at an opportune moment. Maha, who is much fiercer than her
younger sister, had reacted violently to Amani's latest regulation. As I
rushed toward my daughters, I saw that Maha had her younger sister pinned
on the floor and was rubbing her face into the pages of the morning
newspaper!
It was as I had thought!
Just the week before, Amani and her religious group had come to the
conclusion that the kingdom's daily newspapers were made holy because
their pages contained the word God, the sayings of the Holy Prophet, and
verses of the Koran. The committee had de creed that newspapers were not
to be walked upon, eaten upon, or thrown into the trash. At the time,
Amani had given notice to her family of this religious decision, and now
she had evidently apprehended Maha committing an irreverent act-heedless
of her noble instruction.
The result had been predictable.
I shouted, "Maha! Release your sister!" Spurred on by her anger,
Maha seemed not to hear my excited command. I made a futile attempt to
pull Maha away from her sister, but my daughter was determined to teach
Amani a lesson. Since Maha was stronger than Amani and I together, she was
the victor of our three-way struggle.
Red-faced and breathing with great effort, I looked to the servants for
assistance, and one of the Egyptian drivers moved quickly to intervene.
The man had strong arms and was successful in separating my daughters.
One battle always invites another. Verbal insults replaced physical force.
Maha began to curse her baby sister, who was weeping bitter tears while
accusing her elder sister of being a nonbeliever.
1 proposed to mediate but could not be heard above the mayhem. I pinched
the skin on my daughters' arms until they were silenced. Maha stood in
smoldering sullenness. Amani, still on her hands and knees, reached to
straighten the pages of the ripped newspaper. My daughter kept her
devotions to the end!
The causes for religious fervor are many, and the results are endless. It
occurred to me that some people appear at their worst in their religion.
Certainly, that was the case with Amani. In the past I had felt both doubt
ful and hopeful that religion could, in time, soothe rather than incite
Amani. But now I felt with dull certainty that such would not be the case.
My patience did not equal my anger, and I led my daughters by their ears
into the sitting room. With a firm voice, I called for the servants
to leave us to ourselves. I glared at my children, thinking ungallantly
that I had made a grievous mistake in inflicting upon the world such
troublesome characters.
"The wailing of the newborn infant is nothing more than a siren of
warning sung for a mother," I said to my daughters.
My face and glance must have made mc look like a madwoman, for my
daughters' expressions were stricken. They held a curious respect for
their mother's moments of in sanity.
Thinking to avoid a second, larger quarrel with three participants rather
than two, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Once calmed, I told my
daughters that each of them would have an opportunity to speak but that
there would be no more violence.
Maha burst out, "Too much! Too much! Amani is driving me insane! She
will leave me alone, or I could see that Maha was searching through her
mind for the worst possible insult, "I will slip into her room and
rip up her Koran!"
Amani gasped in horror at the thought.
Knowing how spirited and daring Maha could be when she was determined, I
forbade my daughter the irreverent act.
Her fury unleashed, Maha continued. "This stupid idea of not
discarding old papers! We will be forced to build a large building to
store them." She looked at her sister, "You _have lost all good
sense, Amani!" Maha looked back at me and charged her sister with
dictatorship, "Mother, from the moment we departed Haj, Amani no
longer feels my equal but my master!"
I agreed completely with Maha. I had seen my daughter's religious beliefs
pass, with impressive speed, from confusion to a flourish ing vision. Her
sense of divine righteousness was producing ridiculous household sanctions
that excluded no one.
Just a few days before, she had discovered one of the Filipino gardeners
proudly displaying a pair of rubber sandals that had been imprinted with
the name of God on their soles.
Instead of granting the anticipated praise for his purchase, Amani
shrieked in rage, grabbing the poor fellow's shoes and accusing him of
blasphemy, threatening him with severe punishment.
In tears, the young man confessed that he had purchased the shoes in
Bahtha, a popular shopping souq located in the downtown district of
Riyadh. He thought his Muslim employers would be pleased to see that the
name of God was printed on his shoes.
Calling the shoes the work of the devil, Amani called a special meeting of
her reli gious group and stunned them all by revealing the sacrilegious
shoes.
Word spread to other religious groups, and pamphlets were distributed in
the city, advising people not to buy or to wear such shoes.
The shoes were rather shocking, since Muslims are taught never to walk on
any item bearing God's name, even going so far as to be sure our shoes are
never left lying sole up, in case that might be some insult to our maker.
Yet, Amani's reaction was somewhat dramatic, since the young Filipino was
not of our faith and not acquainted with our truths. My daughter was cruel
in her angry denunciations.
Since an early age, I have been drawn to the idea of a kindly God, a being
that does not find sin in every human delight. I knew with certainty that
my child was not acquainted with the God of Mohammed, as taught to me by
my loving mother. I sent a questionable prayer to my maker, asking that
Amani's gloomy devoutness take a holiday.
My thoughts returned to the present crisis, and I looked upon my
daughters.
With Maha's threat of defacing her Koran looming as a real possibility,
Amani promised to refrain from inspecting her siblings' habits.
Maha declared that if Amani would only leave her to her own inclinations,
however distracting they might be to her sister, she would commit no
further violence.
I hoped the truce would stick, but I had my doubts, for Amani was readily
moved to judge all before her, never really happy except when making
religious war. And Maha was not one to bear timidly the taunts of her
sister.
My two daughters, trapped in a family unit, were too volatile a mixture
for everlasting peace.
I abandoned desolation and yielded to motherly affection. With the deepest
love, I embraced each of my daughters.
Maha, always quick to anger and prompt to forgive, gave me a genuine smile
of peace. Amani, slow to pardon those she deemed in the wrong, was stiff
and did not yield to my affection.
Exhausted by the responsibilities of motherhood, I wistfully observed my
girls as they went their separate ways.
All at once, the room was empty of their mad energy, but the resulting
quiet was not comforting. I felt edgy, and told myself that I was in need
of a stimulant.
I rang the bell for Cora and asked that she bring me a cup of Turkish
coffee. Then, with out knowing my reason, I abruptly changed my mind and
asked instead that she mix me a strong drink of bourbon and cola.
Cora stood openmouthed with surprise. It was the first time I had
requested a drink of alcohol during the daylight hours.
"Go on," I demanded.
I sat, reading the newspaper without absorbing the news. I admitted to
myself that I was looking forward to my drink with discomfiting
anticipation, when Abdullah arrived at home.
Abdullah moved with speed through the door into the hallway. I caught a
glimpse of my son's face and did not like what I saw. Accustomed to his
gentle character, I knew from his dark expression that he was torn by
agony.
I called out, "Abdullah!"
Abdullah strode into the room. Without inquiry, he let loose his anguish.
"Mother! Jafer has fled the kingdom!"
"What?"
"He has run away! With Fouad's daughter, Fayza."
Staggered by confusion and skepticism, I could not speak. With my mouth
hanging open, I sat and stared at my son.
Still in his early twenties, Jafer Dalal was a young man admired by all
who knew him. He was both handsome and strong, with a serious but kindly
countenance bespeaking quiet wisdom and calm strength. He was a charming
conversationalist, a gentleman of refinement and courtesy. Jafer was one
of but a few young men whom Kareem trusted completely with the women of
his family.
Jafer was Abdullah's dearest and most cherished friend.
Often I told Kareem that I would have liked to have known Jafer's parents,
for never had a man been better raised. But that could never be, for
Jafer's mother died when he was only twelve and his father was killed in
the Lebanese civil war when Jafer was seventeen. His one brother, older by
four years, had been critically wounded in the Lebanese war and was a
permanent resident of a nursing facility located in the south of Lebanon.
Orphaned while still a teenager and without any siblings to offer him
shelter, Jafer moved from the only home he had ever known and traveled to
live with an uncle in Kuwait, who managed some businesses for a wealthy
Kuwaiti.
As a Palestinian Sunni Muslim, born and raised in the refugee camps of
southern Lebanon, Jafer did not have an easy life.
After the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait, the PLO stood behind Saddam Hussein.
It was not surprising that after the war ended there was much resentment
by the Kuwaiti citizens toward the large Palestinian population. While
Jafer's uncle and his family had remained loyal to their Kuwaiti sponsor
and could have remained in Kuwait, there was such a backlash of antagonism
toward any one with Palestinian identification that the Kuwaiti sponsor
recommended that the family move to another land. The kindly man did not
want such a fine family to risk danger by remaining in Kuwait. "Let a
few years pass, he promised, "and the crisis will be over."
This Kuwaiti sponsor co-owned a business with Kareem, and he suggested to
my husband that Jafer's uncle would make an excel lent employee for a
particular job-opening in that company's offices in Riyadh.
As there was some bitterness at the time between our king and Yassir
Arafat with regard to the Gulf War, there was a political movement in
Saudi Arabia to avoid employment of people with Palestinian nationality.
As a high-ranking prince, however, Kareem could do as he pleased. On the
recommendation of his Kuwaiti partner, he employed Jafer's uncle.
After the man arrived in Riyadh, he became one of Kareem's most trusted
employees, as signed difficult tasks and responsible posts. Jafer
accompanied his uncle and so im pressed my husband that he was given a
management position in Kareem's law offices.
From the moment Abdullah was introduced to Jafer, the two young men became
fast friends, Abdullah claiming Jafer as the brother he never had.
Jafer came into our lives only two short years ago, yet he quickly became
a beloved member of our family.
Conspicuously attractive, Jafer drew much female attention wherever he
went in the city. Abdullah claimed that women passed his friend notes of
invitation while in hotel restaurants. Once, when Jafer accompanied
Abdullah to the King Faisal Hospital and Research Centre to visit a royal
cousin who was hospitalized there, three foreign nurses volunteered their
telephone numbers to Abdullah's friend after the briefest of
conversations.
I thought Jafer wise beyond his years, for it appeared that he lived a
life of celibacy in a land that frowned upon illicit relationships between
men and women.
Sensing that the young man was lonely and of an age to settle down, Kareem
reproached Jafer for his persistent bachelorhood. Making serious offers to
introduce Jafer to Lebanese or Palestinian contacts, men who might
introduce him to marriageable Muslim women from those countries, Kareem
declared that it would be a tragedy if Jafer avoided love, adding that
even good men could be ruined by too much virtue!
With a wink in my direction, Kareem mischievously added that all men
should experience the pleasures and tribulations of female companionship.
In jest, I made a threatening move toward my husband, for I knew the
truth-that Kareem, a happy father, could not fathom a life without
children.
Kareem failed in his attempt to provide female company for the young man
whom he had grown to respect and love, for Jafer never accepted Kareem's
generous invitations.
Abdullah added to the mystery by saying that his friend was polite but
firm in refusing all offers of female companionship.
I was puzzled but so consumed by the problems presented by my daughters
that I thought little more of Jafer's private life.
Looking back, I wondered how we could have thought that a full-blooded,
sensual man like Jafer would scorn all that love had to of fer.
The truth as to why Jafer had deferred marriage was made known in a most
devastating manner that threatened to end in tragedy.
Abdullah, who had loved Jafer with perfect sincerity, now let his grief
swell to great pro portions. There was something disarmingly childlike
about him as he complained, "Jafer never told me about Fayza."
It was the darkest time of Abdullah's young life. My son's disheveled
innocence pierced my heart, and it was difficult for me to believe at that
moment that he would soon celebrate his twentieth birthday.
At that moment Kareem arrived, as angry as Abdullah was sad.
"Abdullah!" he shouted. "You have risked your life and the
lives of innocents!"
Kareem told me that when Abdullah was informed of Jafer's disappearance,
he became distraught and left Kareem's offices in a dangerous mood.
Fearful for his only son's safety, Kareem followed in hot pursuit. My
husband claimed that Abdullah drove his automobile through the streets of
the city at high speed. Kareem said that at one point Abdullah's car
crossed the center lane and forced a line of drivers from the road.
"You could have been killed!" Kareem was so agitated at the
possibility that he reached across and slapped our son's face.
The sharp slap shocked and silenced my husband.
Over the years of my children's turbulent growth, I have pinched and
slapped all three of them with irresistible pleasure.
Never had Kareem struck one of our children!
Kareem was as stunned by his action as I, staring down at his offensive
hand as though it were not his own.
He embraced his shivering son and apologized, saying that in the course of
following Abdullah's reckless path, he had
gone out of his mind with worry.
The room was filled with emotion, and it took many moments for the mystery
of Jafer and Fayza's hidden romance to be completely revealed.
Fayza was the daughter of Fouad, Kareem's partner in three foreign
businesses. Fouad was not of the Al Sa'ud family but distantly related by
marriage to a daughter of a royal.
Many years before, Fouad was allowed to wed into the royal family, even
though he was not from a clan of the Najd (the central area of Saudi
Arabia), nor was his tribe particularly close to the Al Sa'uds. Generally,
Al Sa'ud women were wed out of the family only for political or economic
reasons. Fouad was from a prosperous Jeddah trading family that had
bitterly fought the Al Sa'uds during the early days of the formation of
the kingdom.
Anxious to forge a bond between his family and the rulers of the land,
Fouad offered an immense dowry for Samia, a princess who, we often said in
kindness, was spared the distracting handicap of being a great beauty.
No one in the royal family could believe Samia's good fortune, for she was
long resigned to remaining a spinster, cruel gossip about her bad skin,
small eyes, and bent back having stripped away all marriage possibilities.
Fouad, determined to attach himself to the respected Al Sa'ud clan, heard
of Samia's lack of beauty through women who knew her family, but his only
desire was to marry a woman of many virtues. He had heard the lurid
stories told by his female relatives about alluring women who made the
most miserable wives because, carefully coiffeured
and richly garbed, they could think of little besides ex pensive homes,
many servants, and endless jewels.
Fouad knew sound advice when he heard it. Denouncing the lure of beauty,
he said that he desired a woman of humor and warmth. The particular
princess he sought, while un congenial to a poet's dream, was one of the
more popular royals, well loved for her charm and grace.
Thinking that Fouad was a fool, Samia's family accepted his offer, and a
wedding was arranged.
Fouad was well pleased with his wife, for she had a sense of humor, which,
Fouad knew, would see them through the tribulations of marriage. His new
bride facilitated matters by falling deeply in love with her husband.
Theirs was the happiest of unions.
Fouad was a Saudi man who adored his one and only wife and who was the
proud father of three sons and one daughter. In one of the stranger quirks
of nature, Fouad, a plain-faced man, and Samia, a woman who was pitied for
her appearance, produced the most dazzling offspring. Their three sons
were strikingly handsome, while their only daughter was a ravishing
beauty.
Fayza was the only girl I have ever seen who rivaled Sara's youthful
splendor. Stories about her fair complexion, wistful dark eyes, and long
coal-black hair stirred the blood of Saudi Arabian men, who could only
imagine the girl's physical attractiveness from hear say.
Fayza had other irresistible qualities. She inherited something of her
mother and was a girl of rare, dry wit who often enlivened our female
gatherings.
I was sorry that Fayza was older than my son, for I thought Abdullah would
have loved her intensely, had he been given the opportunity
Beautiful, witty, and smart, Fayza was a university student at a women's
school in Riyadh. She was in the first courses of pre-dentistry and had
aspirations to open a children's dental facility.
Fouad confided that while he wanted his daughter to attain a degree, in
reality she would have little need for working skills. He proudly confided
to Kareem that at the completion of his daughter's education, Fayza would
be married into a wealthy family. Meetings had already been conducted, and
Fouad had his pick of three influential families. When his daughter
graduated, he would allow her to have supervised meetings with each of the
three young men in question, al lowing his child to have a say in her
future.
When Kareem told me Fouad's plans for Fayza, I felt great joy, thinking
how far we had traveled since the days of my youth! None of my sisters had
a voice in the choice of their husbands. And, Sara! Who among us could
forget the nightmare Sara had endured in her first marriage to an evil
man. She was only sixteen when our father forced her to marry a man
forty-eight years her senior. The man was very wealthy and had business
connections with our family. Sara became hysterical when she heard the
news, pleading with our father to have mercy and cancel the wedding.
Sadly, not even our mother could reverse his decision. As it turned out,
Sara was allowed a divorce after she tried to take her own life. My sister
was an innocent girl who knew nothing of men and their sexual appetites,
but her husband subjected her to the cruelest of sexual bondage and abuse.
It was a tragic union that scarred my sister and almost
claimed her life.
In my family, I was the only daughter privileged to meet my husband before
he became my intimate partner in life. And that decision had resulted from
nothing more than the actions of a spirited girl, combined with the de
termination of a curious suitor.
When I first learned that I would be wed to a royal cousin, I telephoned
the sister of that cousin, pretending I had been seriously scarred from a
chemical accident. Little in my land is more valued than female beauty.
The rumor I purposely started (in order to have my engagement called off)
led to a personal meeting with a group of female relatives of that cousin.
These women inspected me as if I were a camel in a market, and I reacted
in an outrageous manner, snapping and biting until they fled my home. When
Kareem heard of my behavior, he insisted upon meeting me. Happily, Kareem
and I were attracted to each other, or who knows what else might have
occurred.
Now a man raised in the strictest of times was casually speaking of
allowing his child the opportunity to take part in the selection of her
husband.
How happy I was at the news!
Yet I did not let myself rejoice too long, for I knew that most women in
my land still were used as nothing more than political or economic prizes.
Nevertheless, I assured myself, each individual battle won would
eventually lead to widespread and enormous victory!
And now! Fouad's dreams for his daughter's future had come to nothing. His
only daughter, a beautiful woman sought by the wealthiest men in my land,
had eloped with a penniless Palestinian refugee!
"How did this happen?" I asked my husband.
With their lawyer's minds and information gathered by Samia, Kareem and
Fouad had pieced together the drama of the two lovers.
Weeks after Jafer began his work at the firm, Fouad's family came into the
office to sign some papers. Fouad had acquired some rather large business
interests abroad, and he put some of those businesses in the names of his
children.
Jafer was responsible for the clerical aspects of the documents. When
Fouad's family arrived, they were ushered into Jafer's office, where the
young man was told to obtain the necessary signatures. As our religious
customs demand, Samia and her daughter, Fayza, were veiled. Feeling
protected in a locked office, in the presence of a trusted employee, both
women threw their veils off their faces for the purpose of reading and
signing documents.
Now, in the midst of the controversy, Samia had the dimmest recollection
that her daughter and Jafer had stared at each other for too long a time.
Samia, innocent in her inherent goodness, did not connect her daughter's
nervous behavior and crooked signature with the medley of incredible
fancies that were playing upon her child.
At the time, Samia listened without hearing and looked without seeing.
The handsome young man, Jafer, offered them tea, and Samia watched her
daughter as she gratefully received his attentions, their hands lightly
brushing in the innocent ex change of pens and cups of tea. She told her
husband that, at the time, she had thought the touches were accidental.
Kareem reported that Fouad had screamed insults, blaming his wife, telling
her that all men are by nature villains, and that she, the mother of an
innocent girl, should have been more attuned to Jafer's evil nature! Fouad
had moaned, claiming that Jafer was nothing more than a man with a poem on
his lips and a dagger in his pocket!
Samia could recall nothing more, except that her child had seemed flushed
and feverish while in the company of Jafer.
Fayza's personal Filipino maid, Connie, knew many details. She was
carefully questioned by Kareem and Fouad. The two men discovered that
there was no end to the intrigue of the two lovers, and according to
Connie, it was Fouad's daughter, rather than Jafer, who had pursued the
affair.
Connie reported that from that first day, Fayza was stricken by a great
love, a weaken ing love that made the girl forget to eat and sleep. Torn
between loyalty to her family and sexual desire for Jafer, Fayza confessed
to her maid that love was the victor. She would have this man, Jafer, or
no man at all.
Connie said that she had never seen a girl so taken by a man.
Knowing the plans of Fayza's parents for their lovely daughter, Connie
found herself in an unenviable position. She could not report the truth
about her young mistress, yet she knew that she should. Connie swore to
Fouad she had reminded Fayza that the daughter of a wealthy Saudi family,
with close connections to the Al Sa'uds, could not end up with a
Palestinian clerk.
Such a situation could only lead to misfortune.
Having a tendency to lapse into criticism of our male-dominated society, I
thought of where the blame might be placed. Thinking of Saudi Arabia's
restrictive social customs, I interrupted Kareem and told him I had come
to a conclusion, that Fayza's overreaction to a charming, handsome man
made a mockery of our system. My voice thick with frustration, I declared
that if men and women could only meet each other under normal circum
stances, these delusions of instant love would be more infrequent.
While I do believe that great attractions lead to genuine love, such as
had happened with my sister Sara and her husband, Asad, such a happy
outcome is rare. When life is filled with harsh social restrictions, when
young men and women rarely have the opportunity to enjoy one another's
company on ordinary social occasions, spontaneous emotions are quick to
rise to the surface, often ending in terrible personal tragedies.
With an irritated look on his face, Kareem said he would quit the room if
I insisted on burdening the conversation with my well- known theories
about the subjugation of females in the Saudi culture!
Abdullah looked at me with longing, his eyes begging me not to make a
scene. For the sake of my son, I agreed to be quiet.
Kareem, subtly pleased, continued to de scribe the drama.
Fayza, telling Connie her heart had been a willing recipient of love, knew
that Jafer loved her, too, but that he was vulnerable, in his low
position, to her elevated status. She feared that he would never take the
initiative. Fayza boldly called Jafer at his office, asking him to meet
with her, promising that her family would never know.
Jafer, while acknowledging to Fayza that no woman had ever affected him as
she had, refused the tempting offer, asking the girl what benefit could
come from such temporary bliss, for when the relationship ended,
unbearable mental torture would be the result of his loss.
Fayza gleefully confided to Connie that Jafer was snared, that she was
certain she would soon see him, for their telephone conversations had
become hot with passion, Jafer warning her that if he ever had her, he
would never give her up. His words were delightful to hear!
Fayza persisted. After two weeks of increasingly intimate telephone
conversations, which only served to further their desire, Jafer's resolve
weakened. They agreed to meet at the Al Akariya, a large shopping mall in
the city of Riyadh.
At last, a veiled Fayza, masquerading as a relative of Jafer's, walked
beside the man she had sought. The two walked from shop to shop, getting
to know one another. They aroused little suspicion, for an Arab man with a
veiled woman was a common sight in our city.
Their walking relationship was unnatural, but they were too fearful to
seat themselves at a restaurant to share a meal, for they knew that
restaurants were the principal target of the active and increasingly
familiar morals committees, which harass people of every nationality who
live in Saudi Arabia.
Such committees are composed of menacing men who unexpectedly surround and
enter eating establishments, demanding identification of the restaurant
patrons. If proof is not forthcoming that the men and women sharing a
table are husband and wife, brother and sister, or father and daughter,
these frightened people will be arrested and escorted to a city jail, with
punishment freely given. The legal penalties vary according to the
nationality of the "criminal." Muslim of fenders can be flogged
for their social mis conduct, while non-Muslims are jailed or de ported.
In the beginning, Jafer and Fayza adjusted their morals to the situation.
Over time, Jafer located an apartment, offered by a sympathetic Lebanese
friend, where they could meet in privacy. Since Fayza, as a woman, was not
allowed to drive, she was forced to trust a family driver. Know mg that
his participation could result in deportation or worse, Fayza lessened his
hesitation by offering the man a large sum of money.
Out of this tempting attraction a great love blossomed. The lovers knew
that neither one of them could ever love another. Jafer asked Fayza to
marry him. Then, just as they were building up their courage to make their
love known to their families, a crisis occurred. One of Saudi Arabia's
wealthiest men approached Fouad for the privilege of asking the beautiful
Fayza to wed his oldest son. Pressure mounted for Fayza to agree. Fouad
declared that the perspective bridegroom was matchless.
"Row long I have toiled to build a perfect relationship, which my
father would so readily destroy!" Fayza cried out to Connie.
The desperate lovers made their decision to flee the country.
Fouad had been tricked, his honor tarnished, and now he would stop at
nothing to find his only daughter!
Knowing how difficult it was for females in Saudi Arabia to travel freely,
I asked, "How did Fayza manage to leave the kingdom alone?"
"She did not," Kareem replied, "leave alone."
I was pleased to hear that Fayza did not commit the sin of traveling
alone. Saudi women are forbidden by our religion to travel without a male
member of the family as escort. This particular restriction is taken di
rectly from the words of the Prophet, who said: "She who believes in
Allah and the Last Day (meaning the Day of Judgment) must not travel any
distance that is normally covered by one day's and one night's traveling
unless accompanied by a mahram."
A woman's mahram is any relative to whom she cannot be married, such as
her father, brother, uncle, nephew, stepfather, father-in-law, or
son-in-law. She is allowed to travel with her husband as a matter of
course.
I discovered that Fayza had talents in the art of treachery. She told her
parents she needed some time away from mounting pressures. She hinted to
her mother that a positive response would be forthcoming to the marriage
proposal if she could only enjoy a small holiday. She thought she would
like to visit her cousin, a girl who married a man from Dubai. Could she
be rewarded with a weekend before she pledged herself to marriage?
Samia was bedridden with a sprained back, so Fayza's younger brother went
along as his sister's required male escort.
Why should anyone be suspicious of Jafer's taking his annual holiday
during this same period? In their wildest imaginations, no one in the
family had linked the young man with Fayza.
Once in the safety of Dubai, removed from the dangers of Saudi Arabia,
Fayza outmaneuvered her younger brother, slipping her passport from his
travel bag while he was in the shower, and making an ordinary pretense of
shopping with other females. Her brother volunteered to drive, dropping
them at the Al Ghurair Centre on his way to meet a Saudi friend who was
staying at the Chicago Beach Hotel, located on one of the most beautiful
beaches in the Emirates.
From the Al Ghurair Centre, a popular shopping area, Fayza whispered to
her cousin that she had to seek a toilet but would soon return. Her
cousin, intent upon selecting per fume, thought little of the deception,
promising Fayza that she would wait for her in the shop.
Fayza was not seen again. To her cousin's horror, she had disappeared.
A frantic search ensued, with Fouad and his wife fearing the worst for
their daughter's safety. Had their child been kidnapped, raped, or
murdered? While such crimes were rare in the Emirates, violent acts were
occasionally committed.
When Connie learned of her well-loved mistress's strange disappearance,
she collapsed into a weeping fit and confessed her knowledge of Jafer and
Fayza's activities.
A father's love knows no reason. Not believing that his innocent daughter
could be so devious, he cast all blame upon Jafer's head.
Neither Kareem nor I had ever heard of Fouad's resorting to abuse or
force. He was known to all as a soft-spoken, kindly man. This was not the
case during the emotional upheaval he suffered after his daughter's flight
with a man. He fired the unfortunate Connie, putting her on the next
flight to Manila. Then, in his wild rage, Fouad burst into Kareem's
offices and physically assaulted Jafer's uncle. There was a terrible
scene, with Fouad threatening the man's life if Fayza was not returned
unharmed, still a marriageable virgin.
The police were summoned by a frightened Indian secretary in a neighboring
office.
In Saudi Arabia, liability for public disorder falls upon the foreigner,
never upon a Saudi. In this case, Fouad was questioned by the police and
apologies were made for their interference in a private matter. But had
Kareem not been higher in rank and influence than Fouad, Jafer's uncle
would have been imprisoned.
Everyone in my family felt saddened by the insoluble problems of human
life, and no one knew the appropriate action to take.
Sara and I visited Samia in her home. Muttering that "life without
love would be a mistake," I said everything wrong, causing poor
Samia's ugly face to grow uglier still, while Sara knew how to express
intense feeling in her own quiet way.
Bewildered by her child's rash flight, Samia had difficulty speaking and
began to stutter anxious responses to Sara's kind sympathy.
When we departed Samia's home, I asked my sister, "How can the
outworn traditions of our society be changed, without painful destruction
of the older generation's expectations?"
It is my opinion that marriage brought about by love is most natural and
rewarding, while the majority in my land scorn love and look only for
respect and companionship after marriage.
How would we Saudi Arabians ever reconcile our differences?
Unable to determine his daughter's whereabouts without professional
assistance, Fouad contacted private investigative agencies in France and
America. One week after his child disappeared, Fouad discovered that she
was in Nevada, registered in a hotel as Jafer's wife!
The moment the information came to Fouad, he traveled with his three sons
to America, vowing to bring Fayza home. He promised his wife that their
daughter would not remain with a Palestinian. Caught up in his tyrannical
affection, he said that Fayza's death would be preferable to the loss of
his personal honor.
This bit of news created a furor in our household.
I bit my nails until my fingers bled.
Abdullah fell into a melancholy that threatened his health, sensing that
nothing would ever be the same again.
Praying for the souls of the lovers, Amani glumly predicted that her
prayers would not be answered, that the lovers had foolishly taken their
paradise on earth, and that fires of molten metal would welcome them as
they exited this earth.
Abdullah glared at his sister and cuttingly remarked that perhaps Jafer
felt Fayza's feminine perfection was worth the quitting of heaven.
Caring deeply for both Jafer and Fayza, Maha became hostile to anyone who
criticized the lovers, declaring that no man or government should have
authority over true love.
Abdullah and I pleaded with Kareem to make contact with Jafer, to give him
a warn ing to flee. I told Kareem that Fayza's male relatives needed more
time to accept the crucial fact that Fayza now belonged with an other.
Their extreme anger could not prevail; time would ease their rage.
It was not to be. My husband infuriated me, remaining true to the Saudi
male policy of accepting any injustice, if that injustice involved a man's
obsession with his women or the family honor. Thinking to incite him to
action, I insulted Kareem, telling him that I was disappointed to discover
I had wed a man who failed to probe the deeper complexities of life, who
instead was a dull, unfeeling type that tended to remain on the surface of
things.
As I left my husband standing open mouthed in amazement at my attack, I
could not resist one final barb. "Kareem, how can you have no
conflict between logic and feeling? Are you not human?"
Silently I retreated, but secretly I had Abdullah take action. At my
urging, he searched Kareem's office and found the information that had
been provided by the investigative services looking for Jafer and Fayza.
Triumphant, we were careful to hide our selves from Kareem and Amani,
making our telephone call during the long evening prayer, knowing that
Kareem was in the mosque and Amani locked in her room, facing Makkah,
saying her prayers.
With shaking fingers, Abdullah punched the number of the Mirage Hotel in
Las Vegas, Nevada, where Jafer and Fayza were known to be registered.
As I watched the brooding face of my beautiful son patiently waiting for
the hotel opera tor to ring the room, I was possessed by the fever a
mother has for her children, wishing for Abdullah's pain to leave his body
and enter mine.
Jafer answered the telephone!
Abdullah tortured himself trying to find the right words to make Jafer
understand that he was in great danger.
His friend was dismayed at their rapid discovery but felt secure in his
married state. "What can they do now?" he asked Abdullah.
When Abdullah repeated the question to me, I grabbed the telephone from my
son's hand. "They can do plenty, Jafer," I yelled.
"Fouad's honor has been attacked, his only daughter has vanished with
a man not thought suitable! Do not be a fool! You are an Arab, you are
aware what reactions such anguish will bring to an Arab father!"
Jafer tried to soothe my fears, claiming that their love would see them
through any persecution.
Fayza came to the telephone, speaking softly into the receiver, which
Jafer still held in his hand. Fayza's sultry voice told of the wonderful
love that had prevailed, in spite of the substantial obstacles placed in
its path by the laws of our land.
"Fayza, you are still a youth of twenty and have loosened yourself
from our ancient traditions. Your father cannot do this. Fouad is a man of
desert mentality, and he can only flow down the main stream. In his mind,
you have committed a shocking offense. Leave that place! Meet with the men
of your family at a later date."
My pleas for the lovers to vanish made no impact. How weak my words must
have seemed to their brave spirits. Courageous, Jafer vowed he would face
the fury of Fayza's family.
I returned the telephone to my son, thinking that I had done all I could.
I thought, is it a glory or a disaster that they have no suspicion yet of
the extent of their tragedy? I realized the narrow limits of their lovers'
vision. Jafer and Fayza were blinded, believing that the strength of their
great love could conquer the challenge of her furious and disapproving
family.
Fretting in silence, I could only hope that Jafer and Fayza would be able
to delay destiny for a while.
It was four days before Fouad returned to the kingdom.
His voice low and uneasy, Kareem called me from his offices and reported
that Fouad and his sons had returned from America.
My throat closed around the words I could not ask.
After a dry pause, Kareem added that Fouad had returned with his daughter
but without her husband.
My voice returned. "Is Jafer dead?" I asked, wondering already
how we would break the cruel news to Abdullah.
"No. Jafer is not dead," Kareem answered, his voice causing me
to doubt his words even as he spoke them.
I was quiet, waiting for the news I was not sure I wanted to hear.
"Sultana, I am coming home. Together, we will tell Abdullah what has
happened."
"What happened?" I screamed, thinking that I could not bear to
wait for Kareem to make the twenty-five-minute drive from his office to
our home.
I heard a click and the line went dead. I told myself that my husband's
news must be dreadful, for Kareem, like most Arabs, had a habit of putting
aside unpleasant truths until the last possible moment.
Fouad had told my husband little, only that there had been a minor scuffle
in Jafer and Fayza's hotel room, and that Jafer had been left unconscious
but without serious injury.
Fayza? Naturally, his daughter had been traumatized by the incident and
was now at their palace under sedation. Without the influence of Jafer,
Fouad believed his daughter would quickly return to her senses.
I looked at Kareem and announced with certainty, "Jafer is
dead!"
"Nonsense. They were in America."
Two weeks later we received a telephone call from Jafer, who had returned
to Lebanon, and we finally learned the truth of the matter.
Jafer's words to me were, "All is lost." He paused. "Except
for my skin, which is safe."
"Abdullah!" I called out. "It is Jafer! Come quickly!"
Kareem, Maha, and I circled Abdullah as he spent long moments quietly
listening to his dearest friend, comforting the caller with reassurances.
"What could you do? You had no choice."
With a start, I heard my son say, "I am coming!" stating that he
would soon be on his way to Lebanon, that nothing could keep him from his
friend's side.
I grabbed Abdullah's arms and began to shake my head no, vigorously.
My feet left the floor as Kareem yanked me from my son's face.
Abdullah put the telephone on hold. With tears running down his face, my
son buried his head in his hands and began to weep bitter tears. His words
were muffled, difficult to understand. "Jafer is ruined! He is
ruined!"
"What is this about Lebanon?" I inquired, too agitated at the
thought of Abdullah traveling to that country to consider Jafer's
condition.
"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. |
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