Princess Sultana's Circle

of
the hall, discharging flocks of veiled women. Our driver stopped at
the wide steps that led to the entrance of the building. Two
doormen rushed to open the doors of our automobile, and my
daughters and I stepped out into a night filled with music. I could
feel the beat of Arabic dancing music drifting through the hall as
we moved toward the stairs.
    Although we were all
veiled, I knew that most of the other guests were members of the
royal family, or women whose families had high connections with our
family.
    Other than the groom, his
father or brother, the father of the bride, and possibly a Mutawwa,
or religious man, we never see men at this kind of occasion. Men
and women in my country celebrate weddings at separate locations.
Even as we women were gathering at the King Faisal Hall, our men
were congregating at Ali’s Riyadh palace.
    As my daughters and I
walked across the threshold into the large hall, a swarm of female
servants dressed exactly alike in red velvet gowns and caps waited
to relieve us of our cloaks and veils. The three of us were
elaborately dressed in expensive designer gowns that we had
purchased the year before while vacationing in Paris. I wore a
black evening dress covered in red Italian lace.
    A few days earlier, in an
attempt to distract me from Munira’s plight, Kareem had sent a
trusted Lebanese employee on one of our private planes to Paris for
the sole purpose of acquiring a special gift for me. The ten-tiered
diamond choker was now fastened securely around my neck.
    Maha was arrayed in a
lovely burgundy silk dress that draped loosely off her broad
shoulders. A diamond and pearl necklace shaped in the form of
simple teardrops covered the smooth flesh of her neckline. While
selecting her jewelry, Maha had whispered that she thought it
appropriate that even her jewels appeared to weep for her dear
cousin.
    Amani was fitted out in a
dark blue gown with a matching jacket. In keeping with her strict
religious beliefs, she had chosen a garment most severe in style
covered up to the neck.
    Since our faith regards the
love of jewelry and ornaments as natural and becoming for a woman,
if they are not used to attract men and arouse their sexual
desires, Amani could hardly object to my wishes that she wear
beautiful jewels that night. I had reminded my pious daughter of
what she already knew—other than Hadi, his attendant, her Uncle
Ali, and a man of religion, no men would be present at our
gathering. Once she agreed that her faith did permit her to wear
precious stones free of guilt, Amani selected a charming ruby and
diamond necklace which had been cleverly fashioned to resemble a
cluster of sparkling flowers.
    Admittedly, both my
daughters were lovely, and on any other occasion, I would have been
proud to display them.
    When Maha and Amani
gathered with female cousins near their own age, I left them and
wandered alone into the vast hall.
    The music was so loud and
the singer so shrill that I could only liken the sound to shrieks
of terror! Or was this just my imagination?
    I winced. A pillar of light
shone overhead. Such an overabundance of lighting had created a
blinding effect. At Ali’s behest, special decorators flown in from
Egypt had covered the entire surface of the ceiling with brightly
colored lights. Looking around the room, I was astonished at the
gaudiness of the decorations. The room overflowed with lights,
while garish vessels overflowed with gold-foiled wrapped candy.
Velvet swags with no obvious purpose hung from the
ceiling.
    Great cascades of floral
arrangements were suspended from gold painted columns, set atop
tables, and even attached to the walls. But the flowers were
arranged haphazardly with no particular design or color theme. Red
roses were bunched with yellow daises, while lilac orchids were
linked with blue carnations. The garishly decorated platform where
Hadi and Munira would view, and be viewed by the wedding guests was
covered with blinking green and red lights!
    I was so absorbed in this
expensive but tasteless display that I did not see Sara come
forward from the swarming throng. A gentle arm went around my
waist. “Sultana.” “Sara,” I smiled, “Thanks be to God you found
me.”
    With a disapproving look,
Sara nodded at the scene around us. “On this night I am embarrassed
to be my brother’s sister.”
    “ For more reasons than the
décor, I too am ashamed,” I agreed.
    “ I wish I had helped you
hide Munira,” Sara admitted.
    “