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

his
throat and counted the beats. My imagination swept me into his
chest, to that powerful spot of romance, and I thought: This heart
is mine. I, alone, have the power to make it beat with happiness or
with misery. It was a sobering moment for a young girl.
    Finally, he stood tall and straight before
me; I was suddenly overcome with emotion. I felt my lips tremble
and my eyes water as I fought against the urge to weep. When Kareem
removed my face cover, we both burst out laughing; our emotion and
joy were so intense. The audience of women began to applaud loudly
and stamp their feet. In Saudi Arabia, it is rare that a bride and
groom find such obvious pleasure in each other.
    I could not take my gaze off Kareem’s face. I
was overcome with the emotion of disbelief. I had been a child of
darkness, and my new husband, instead of being the expected object
of dread, was sweet freedom from the misery of my youth.
    Anxious to be alone, we lingered only a short
while after the ceremony to receive the congratulations of our
female friends and relatives. Kareem threw gold coins from small
velvet bags toward various groups of merry guests while I slipped
away to change into traveling clothes.
    I wanted to speak with my father, but he had
hurried from the garden the moment his role was complete. His mind
was relieved; his youngest and most troublesome daughter of his
first wife was now safely wed and no longer his responsibility. I
ached with the desire for a bond between us that had been in my
dreams but never broke into reality.
    For our honeymoon, Kareem had promised me we
would go anywhere and do anything I desired. My every wish was his
command. With the glee of a child, I listed all the places I wanted
to see and all the things I wanted to do. Our first stop would be
Cairo, and from there on to Paris, New York, Los Angeles, and then
Hawaii. We would have eight precious weeks of freedom from the
scars of Arabia.
    Dressed in an emerald green silk suit, I
hugged my sisters good-bye. Sara was weeping so violently that she
could not bear to turn me loose. She kept whispering, “Be brave,”
and my heart broke for my sister; I understood too well that the
remembrances of her wedding night would never disappear. With the
passing of years, perhaps the thoughts of her honeymoon would
merely fade away.
    I covered my designer suit with the black
abaaya and veil and snuggled in the backseat of the Mercedes with
my new husband. My fourteen bags had already been taken to the
airport.
    For the sake of privacy, Kareem had purchased
all the first-class seats on each flight of our trip. The Lebanese
air hostesses wore bright smiles as they watched our silly
behavior. We were as adolescents, for we had never learned the art
of courtship.
    Finally, we arrived in Cairo, rushed through
customs, and were driven to an opulent villa on the banks of the
ancient Nile. The villa, which belonged to Kareem’s father, had
been built in the eighteenth century by a rich Turkish merchant.
Restored by Kareem’s father to its original splendor, the villa was
laid out into thirty rooms on irregular levels with arched windows
leading to the lush garden. The walls were covered with delicate
dusty-blue tiles, with intricate carved creatures in the
background. I felt seduced by the house itself. I told a proud
Kareem that it was a wonderful setting in which to begin a
marriage.
    The impeccably decorated villa brought the
garish decorating defects of Nura’s palace to mind. I suddenly
realized that money did not automatically bestow artistic
discrimination to those of my country, even in my own family.
    I was only sixteen, still a child, but my
husband understood the implications of my youth, and he eased my
introduction into the world of adults with a unique solution. He,
as I, disagreed with the manner of marriage in our land. He said
that strangers should not be intimate, even if those strangers were
husband and wife. In his opinion, men and women should have time to
understand the secrets of the other that make desire grow. Kareem
told me that he had decided weeks before that he and I would have
our courtship after our marriage. And, when I was ready for him, I
would be the one to say, “I want to know all of you.”
    We spent our days and nights playing. We
dined, rode horses around the pyramids, browsed through the crowded
bazaars of Cairo, read books, and talked. The servants were puzzled
at such a joyous couple who chastely kissed good night and