Princess: A True Story of Life Behind the Veil in Saudi Arabia

is
smiling?”
    “Yes, Ma’am, that one. He and I like to see
each other and he agreed to take me to find my friend.”
    “Marci! You have a sweetheart!” I burst out
laughing.
    “And Omar. How did you avoid getting into a
problem with Omar?”
    “We waited until Omar went with the family to
Taif and we took our opportunity.” Marci smiled at my look of
pleasure.
    She knew nothing gave me more joy than a
successful trick pulled on the men of the household. “First, I
called the telephone number given to me in the Philippines. No one
would give me permission to speak with Madeline. I said I had a
message from Madeline’s mother. After a lot of hard work of
convincing, I was told the location and description of the villa.
Antoine drove to the area and located the place to deliver a letter
to Madeline. A Yemeni took the letter from Antoine. Two weeks later
I received a call from my friend. I could barely hear Madeline, for
she whispered, afraid she would be discovered using the telephone.
She told me she was in a very bad situation, to please come and
help her. Over the telephone, we made a plan.”
    I put aside my food and gave Marci my full
attention. I told her to stop rubbing my feet. I felt the danger of
their meeting and my interest in this brave Filipino, whom I did
not know, grew.
    “Two months passed. We knew the hot summer
months would give us an opportunity to meet. We were afraid
Madeline would be taken to Europe with her employer, but she was
told to remain in Riyadh. When you and the family, along with Omar,
left the city, I hid in the backseat of the black Mercedes and
Antoine took me to Madeline.”
    Marci, her voice cracking with her first show
of emotion, described Madeline’s dilemma: “I sat in the car while
Antoine rang the bell of the villa. While I was waiting, I could
not help but notice the condition of the villa wall. The paint was
peeling, the gate was rusty, the few bits of greenery hanging over
the villa wall were dying from lack of water. I could tell it was a
bad place. I knew my friend was in a dangerous situation if she
worked in such a home.
    “I felt depressed even before I was allowed
inside. Antoine had to ring the bell four or five times before we
heard activity as someone came to answer our call. Everything
happened just as Madeline had said. It was creepy! An old Yemeni
man dressed in a plaid wrap-around skirt opened the gate. He looked
as though he had been sleeping; his ugly face told us he was none
too happy at being awakened from a nap.
    “Antoine and I both became frightened and I
heard the shaking of Antoine’s voice when he asked, please, to
speak to Miss Madeline from the Philippines. The Yemeni could
hardly speak English, but Antoine has a little knowledge of Arabic.
Together they managed to understand each other enough for the
Yemeni to refuse us entry. He waved us away with his hand and began
to close the door when I leaped from the backseat and began to
cry.
    Through my tears, I told him that Madeline
was my sister. I had just arrived in Riyadh and was working at the
palace of one of the royal princes. I thought that might frighten
him, but his expression remained the same. I waved an envelope at
him that had just arrived from the Philippines. Our mother was
gravely ill. I had to speak with Madeline for a few moments to
deliver a last message from our dying mother.
    “I prayed to God not to punish me for such
lies! I think God heard me, for the Yemeni seemed to change his
mind when he heard the Arab word for mother. I saw that he was
thinking. He looked first at Antoine and then at me, and finally
told us to wait a moment. He closed the gate and we heard the
flip-flop of his sandals as he made his way back toward the
villa.
    “We knew the Yemeni was going inside to
question Madeline and ask her to describe her sister. I looked at
Antoine with a weak smile. It seemed our plan might work.”
    Marci paused, remembering that day. “Ma’am,
that was a frightening Yemeni. He had a mean look and carried a
curved knife at his waist. Antoine and I almost got in the car and
drove back to the palace. But the thought of my poor friend gave me
a feeling of power.
    “Madeline had told me that two Yemenis
guarded the villa. They watched the females of the house. None of
the female servants were ever allowed to leave their place of work.
Madeline had told me over the telephone that the young Yemeni was
without a good heart and would not allow anyone in the gate,