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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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A girl possesses nothing but a veil and a tomb
-Saudi Arabian proverb |
OUR BROTHER, Ali, met us at the King Khalid
International Airport that is located twenty-two miles from Riyadh's city
center. Ali seemed preoccupied and curtly informed us that we would be
taken directly to the private clinic to visit our sister Reema, for she
was suffering a particularly bad day and had been asking for Nura since
the early morning.
The traffic was heavy, and the drive took more than an hour. Each of us
was lost in her thoughts of Reema. At the beginning of the journey, the
conversation was strained and sparse, with nothing important spoken.
Ali, tiring of the silence, confided that he, himself, was involved in a
family crisis. With a touch of annoyance in his voice, my faithless
brother said that Reema's unfortunate injury could not have occurred at a
worse time, and that he had been greatly inconvenienced by the necessity
of becoming involved in Saleem's private family affair. In all earnest
ness, Ali wondered aloud what Reema had done to bring forth Saleem's
hostility.
Ali was blaming Reema for Saleem's unprovoked attack!
Sara and Tahani looked quickly at Ali, and I detected in their evasive
glances faint reprimands at his unfeeling comment.
I could not restrain my tongue and said, "Ali, with each day, your
ignorance grows while your intelligence shrinks!"
I felt a keen urge to slap my brother, but not wanting to appear less than
admirable in front of Nura and Tahani, I consoled myself with silent
criticism. Ah was only a year older than I, but he looked no less than ten
years my senior, with lines in his face and pouches under his eyes. In his
youth, Ali had been handsome and vain about his looks. In middle age he
had grown a bit stout, and his chin had doubled. Ali's affluent,
overindulgent life style was clearly evident in his face and form. I was
cheered to see his physical appeal decaying.
My eldest sister's face clouded, and in a voice filled with tenderness and
concern, she asked Ah what crisis there was in his life.
Out of ten sisters, only Nura truly loves Ali. The emotions of the
remaining nine sisters for their only brother range from pity, con tempt,
and envy to open dislike. We do under stand that Nura is protected from
acute disapproval of her only brother by the division of many years, for
Nura is the oldest child of our mother, and Ah is one year from the
youngest. Nura was married with children when Ali was born, and was
mercifully spared his spoiled, overbearing conduct. In addition, Nura
inherited the kindly character of our mother and belonged to that minority
who instinctively make apologies for those around them, while accepting
the most feeble explanations for inexcusable deeds. Thus, Nura's reaction
to my insensitive statement differed from
those of his other three sisters.
Ali frowned slightly. He looked out of the automobile window and then said
distantly, "I have divorced Nada."
Nura gasped. "Again?"
Ali looked at Nura and nodded.
"Ali! How could you? You promised Nada that never again would you
divorce her!"
Nada was Ali's most beautiful and favored wife. He had married her seven
years before, and together they had had three lovely daughters.
Under Muslim law, a man's freedom to divorce his wife is justified in the
Koran. This system of the threat of divorce constantly looming over her
security is most unsettling to women in my land. It is intolerable that
many men stretch this flexible ruling to the utmost, demanding divorce for
the most trivial causes, causing the continuous social degradation of
their women.
Women do not have the same options, since a divorce in a woman's favor is
given only after a thorough investigation into her life. More often than
not, women will not be allowed to divorce, even when there is just cause.
This female lack of freedom so enjoyed by males creates one-sided, often
cruel methods of male control and power over their women. The words of
divorce slip most easily off the tongue of any man who wishes to punish
his wife. Simply by saying "I divorce thee," or "I dismiss
thee," he sends the woman into exile from her married home, often
without her children.
Ali, a man rarely in control of his tongue or his temper, often used
divorce as a weapon against his wives.
I knew that my brother had divorced each of his wives at least once, and
Nada had been divorced twice. More times than not, once Ali's anger
receded, he would repent the divorce and retain the wife he had divorced
the day or night before. Ali had this benefit, for men are not only given
the option of divorcing their wives with the greatest of ease but are
allowed to take back the divorce and resume their marriage as if nothing
out of the ordinary had occurred. Under Muslim law, a man is given this
option twice. If he divorces his wife for a third time, the procedure be
comes more complicated.
In a fit of anger, Ali had divorced Nada for the third time, and according
to our law, he could not resume marriage with her until she had married
another man and had then been divorced by him. Through his childlike con
duct, Ali had finally and truly divorced him self from the only one of his
wives for whom he felt true affection.
I tried not to smile as I quoted the Koran, doing my best to remember
every word.
"You may divorce your wives twice; after that you must either retain
them with kindness, or put them away with benefits. If then the husband
divorce her a third time, it is not lawful for him to take her again,
until she shall have married another husband."
I stuck my face into the face of my brother and asked, "Ali, who is
Nada now going to wed?"
Ali glared at me with bulging eyes, and answered coldly, "La! La!
[no, no] Nada has no desire to wed another!"
"Ha! Nada is famous within the female community for her beauty. Once
it is known that she is free, many mothers and sisters will send their
sons and brothers to ask for her. Wait and see!"
Sara intervened, not wanting our lifelong, unending feud to lead to a
fierce argument in a confined area. "Ali. What led to this
divorce?"
Ali was clearly embarrassed. He said that the matter of the divorce was
private, but he did ask Sara and Nura if they would visit with Nada, to
convince her that the words were spoken in haste, and as such, Ali should
be given another opportunity to prove that he had no real desire to
divorce her. If Nada chose to ignore the situation and did not notify the
authorities, then Ali might be able to avoid an order to allow Nada to
leave his home, thereby becoming eligible for another man to pursue.
Nura and Sara agreed to speak with Nada. The car began to slow down, and
Ali peered through the dark blue curtains and then pointed at the black
assortment of veils, abaayas, and shaylas that were spread over the seat.
"Hurry. Prepare yourselves. We are there," he commanded.
It was a struggle for the four of us to cover ourselves in the black garb
of decency within the small space of the automobile. Ali had met our
private airplane on the tarmac, so we had not bothered with our required
outer coverings until the last moment.
We had arrived at the private clinic that Ali said was owned jointly by a
Lebanese and a Saudi Arabian. The clinic was one often frequented by royal
family members when confidentiality was desired. I was acquainted with
three princesses who routinely entered the clinic for treatment of drug
and alcohol abuse.
Our family was escorted inside the building through a little-used door; we
were met there by one of Reema's physicians. The man informed us that he
was an internist, a specialist from Beirut, and had recently been hired by
the owners of the clinic to care for members of the royal family. It was
easy to see why he had been selected to treat influential Saudis, for he
was a tall, attractive man, deferential, yet with an air of competence
that provided us with a sense of confidence in our sister's safety.
The physician walked between Nura and Ali, and though I made an attempt to
lean forward and involve myself in their quiet conversation, I failed to
hear the words that he spoke. We passed a group of Asian nurses who were
clustered around an elongated nurses' station. I could tell by their
accents that they were Filipinos.
The windows in Reema's room were still closed, but the blinds were
slightly open, allowing a small amount of the sun's glow to penetrate and
wash the room in a soft light. The room was completely white, and above
Reema's head hung a large pearl-white chandelier that looked strangely out
of place in this clinical setting.
Reema was resting, but when she heard us she opened her eyes. I could see
that my sister suffered a moment of confusion before reality rushed back
to her. Her face was extremely pale, and her eyes were those of a
frightened child. My sister was receiving fluids from bottles hanging from
metal stands, and I could not count the tubes that had been placed in her
arms and nose.
Nura rushed to her side, placing her arms around the form that was Reema.
Sara and Tahani held hands, fighting back tears, and I could scarcely see
as I flung myself into a white armchair. I bit my lips until I tasted
blood, and I pressed my hands into the arms of the chair with such force
that I broke three fingernails.
Ali, uncomfortable with our display of grief, whispered to Sara that he
would return within the hour to escort us to our homes. Before leaving, he
reminded Sara that it was imperative she see Nada that very evening.
I was seething with rage at the sight of my wounded sister and thought to
myself that I would like to send the hottest fire raging throughout the
whole country. Let the evil of my land die with the flesh of those Saudi
men who dared to use the holy Koran as a basis for molesting those of my
sex!
I attempted to calm my thoughts, for there was no purpose in creating
chaos and adding to Reema's pain. I remembered the Prophet's promises of
punishment to those who so sin, but my religion could not soothe me, even
in the knowledge that Saleem would suffer ever lasting agonies in hell for
what he had done to my sister. I had no patience to wait for divine
intervention. Nothing would cool my boiling blood but the sight of
Saleem's mutilated remains!
Once comforted by Nura, Reema spoke with each of her sisters in turn,
pleading with us to treat Saleem with the same courtesy as before,
reminding us that one of the duties of good Muslims is to forgive those
who do wrong. Seeing the anger in my face, Reema quoted a verse from the
Koran. "Sultana, do not forget the words of the Prophet: Forgive,
even when angry."
I could not hold back my words. Remembering the text of the Koran that
followed, I replied, "Let evil be rewarded with evil."
Sara pinched me on my buttocks, reminding me not to cause further anguish
to our sister. I left Reema's side and stared out the window, seeing
nothing of what I was looking at.
Reema began to speak once again. I could not believe what I was hearing
and was chilled by Reema's words, which were delivered with the
impassioned eloquence of a woman whose reason for living was at stake.
I returned to my sister's bedside and stared at her face.
As the intensity of Reema's feelings in creased, her brow became furrowed,
and her lips grew tight with determination. My sister said that Saleem had
repented and had promised there would be no other violence. She was not
going to be divorced, nor would she seek a divorce.
Suddenly I realized what was in Reema's heart. My sister's only fear was
deprivation of her children, and those four children were the inspiration
for Reema's ability to forgive Saleem for his heinous attack. She would
accept any indignity so long as her relationship with her precious
children was not severed.
Reema asked us to assure her that no one in our family would seek
retribution on her behalf.
It was the most difficult promise ever to pass my lips, and my tongue
would scarce obey my mind. But my word was given, and I knew I had no
choice but to abide by my sister's sincere wish.
Once recovered, Reema would return to the home of this man who had kept
his infinite capacity for cruelty well hidden for many married years. I
knew that once unleashed, Saleem's ugly temperament would not soften.
There was nothing we could do.
Our frustration only increased when an Egyptian nurse employed by the
clinic confided in Nura that Saleem had visited his wife earlier that day.
In the presence of that nurse, Saleem had lifted his wife's hospital gown,
viewing the opening that had been made in her side for her bodily waste to
be expelled, and had expressed shocked disgust at the sight.
The nurse said that Saleem had then made a most callous remark, telling
his wife that while he would not divorce her, he would never again come to
her bed, for he could not bear the sight or smell of one so repugnant.
I marveled at my ability to control my rage. My sisters and I had entered
the clinic as a united force, swelled with determination to snatch our
sister from the grasp of her evil husband. Defeated by Reema's legitimate
apprehension of the possible loss of her children, we retreated from the
clinic as nothing more than a group of black-shrouded and nameless wives,
without the ability to force justice upon a single man.
The sting of the defeat was unbearable.
Who could deny that the main bulwark of the Saudi social order remained
male dictatorship?
Since our husbands and children were still in Monte Carlo, my sisters and
I decided we would stay together in Nura's house. Ali took us there from
the clinic. Nura and Sara pledged to our brother that they would have one
of Nura's drivers take them to visit Nada that evening and said it would
be best for him to stay in the home of another wife that night.
Once we had telephoned our husbands in Monte Carlo, giving them our news
of Reema, Tahani pleaded exhaustion and retired early to bed. I insisted
on accompanying Sara and Nura to Nada's palace. I was forced to make a
second promise, guaranteeing that I would make no suggestion that Nada
quit Ali while she had the opportunity.
My sisters know me well. Admittedly, I had already made a plan in my mind
to try to convince Nada that she must quickly move to marry another. My
brother had treated women with contempt all his life, and in my opinion it
was time for him to learn not to use divorce as a weapon. Perhaps if he
lost the only wife for whom he felt affection, he would temper his
bullying
tactics.
Now, I had a second difficult promise to keep.
It was nearly nine o'clock in the evening when we arrived. Ali's compound
seemed more peaceful than we had ever seen it. We saw none of his wives,
concubines, or children as our car made its way along the wide circular
drive that wound around the four palaces belonging to our brother. Nada's
palace was the third building within the compound walls.
Nada's Egyptian housekeeper informed us that her mistress was having a
bath but was expecting us and had instructed the housekeeper to take us to
her living quarters.
Nothing about my brother is modest. The influence of Saudi oil wealth was
evident in his home at every turn. Conspicuous consumption met my eyes as
I entered the white- marbled front hallway that was the width of an
airport terminal. The towering staircase gleamed, and I remembered Ali's
proud announcement that the columns bracing the structure were coated with
real silver. Fifteen-foot-high doors with solid silver door knobs led into
Nada's private living quarters.
I tried not to gloat, recalling that my brother had taken a serious
financial loss during the worldwide run on the silver market in the 1980s.
In his greed, Ali must have purchased more of the precious metal than we
had realized, only to see his fortunes tumble. Now, Ali's financial loss
was the gain of a silver-enhanced palace!
I had never visited Nada's bedroom, though I had once received an
invitation to view the bedstead. I had been told by a shocked and saddened
Sara that the bed was carved in solid ivory, and now I saw that her
description was true. Ali had once bragged about the number of elephants
that had died to support his bulky frame, but now I could not recall the
figure he had quoted.
Looking around my brother's opulent home, I had a vision of justified Al
Sa'ud exile from the kingdom of Saudi Arabia, for such inherent corruption
of wealth deserved no other fate. Would we one day share royal
displacement with the likes of King Farouk of Egypt, the shah of shahs of
Iran, or King Idris of Libya? There was one certainty in my mind, that if
the working class of Saudi Arabia ever viewed the private living quarters
of Prince Ali Al Sa'ud, revolution would be inescapable.
This terrifying idea numbed my body.
At that moment, Nada swept into the room wearing a fashionable hairdo, a
haughty expression, and a bulging bosom crammed into a blinding gold lame'
dress. It required little imagination to understand how our brother had
been infatuated by his most beautiful wife. Nada had achieved fame in our
family through her daring fashions and her will to do battle with a man
who had met little resistance from women throughout his life. In spite of
her ability to torture Ali, I had always thought the expression in her
eyes looked subtly malicious and had never veered from my opinion that
Nada's itch for gain had been her only purpose in marrying my brother. I
did remember Sara saying that it was Nada's insecurity in her marriage
that made her ap pear what she was not, for she had no idea when Mi might
dispense with her, as he had other women. Such a position creates the need
to ensure one's future economic security. But I still had my lingering
doubts about her true nature. I did admit to myself that Nada had paid
dearly for the softer luxuries, for married life with Ali surely must be
grim.
Nada said, "Ali sent you, did he not?"
I watched her face, thinking that she was pouting and mourning, as if our
visit were all a mistake. I alternated between like and dislike, and as
Nura and Sara gathered 'round our sister-in-law, I excused myself, saying
that I was going to the bar to fetch myself a drink.
The house was completely quiet and there was no one about. After preparing
myself a gin and soda, I felt no desire to rejoin my sisters, and I
wandered through my brother's palace, finding myself in his private study,
which was located on the lowest level of his home.
A childlike curiosity came over me, and I began sifting through my
brother's personal belongings, making a discovery that first puzzled me
and then brought great amusement.
I opened a small packet on the top of his writing desk, and read with
vague curiosity about a set of undergarments my brother had obviously
purchased during a recent trip to Hong Kong.
A flimsy sheet of instructions accompanied the underpants, and I read the
sheet with interest.
Wonder Garment: Congratulations on the purchase of your new Wonder
Garment! The garment that you have purchased should be worn daily. This
garment is guaranteed to improve the wearer's sexual performance.
The secret of these miracle underpants lies in the "strategic"
pouch which maintains the sexual organs at the correct temperature and
under optimum conditions.
The Wonder Garment is recommended for all men, but most especially for
those who maintain an active sexual life and for those who sit down at
their work.
I began to giggle, and an evil spirit came over me. I stuffed the slim
plastic bag containing the undergarment and instruction sheet under my
long dress. I had no thought of what I was going to do with the item but
felt an urge to share the secret with Kareem. Feeling as I had in the days
of my childhood rivalry with Ah, I gleefully envisioned how my brother
would frantically search through his home for the magical pants.
I met my sisters on the staircase and could see from their eyes that
they'd had no success with Ali's wife.
Nada was leaving Ali.
Unlike poor Reema, Nada was not worried that her children would be taken,
for Ali had little love for his female offspring and had made no secret to
his wife that their three daughters were of no value to him and would be
allowed to live with their mother.
I left without saying good-bye. In the car, I cradled my gin and tonic. My
thievery of Ali's personal possession had brought forth childish emotions,
and I felt quite daring as a princess in the House of Al Sa'ud riding down
the streets of Riyadh, enjoying an alcoholic drink.
I asked Sara why Nada was leaving the tempting life of an Al Sa'ud, for
she had a dubious family background, and it would be difficult for her to
duplicate the wealth enjoyed as a wife of Ali. It had been Nada's great
beauty, not her family connections, that had won her a husband of immense
riches.
Nura said that from what she could gather it seemed that Nada and Ali's
divorce had come about over an evening of love.
Nada had tearfully confessed to my sisters that she had been divorced on
all three occasions over the issue of sex, saying that Ali insisted she
accommodate him at odd hours in the night, often waking her from a heavy
sleep. The week before, Nada had refused her husband sex, and Ali had
insisted, saying that when a man calls his wife to intercourse, she must
not resist him even though she might be on a camel! When Nada still
refused, Alii had divorced her.
Sara then told me that Nada had made a surprising second declaration,
saying that while she had some affection for Ali's other wives, she had
grown increasingly weary of the bastards that sprang from his
infidelities, for our brother was the father of seventeen legitimate
children and twenty-three illegitimate offspring. The compound that Nada
called home was overrun with her husband's concubines and their children.
At the mention of all that sexual activity, which had produced endless
offspring, I could not avoid thoughts of Ali's Wonder Garment and laughed
until tears streamed down my face, refusing to divulge the source of my
uncontrolled merriment to my two sisters, who feared that the day's events
now threatened their youngest sister's sanity. |
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