Princess Sultana's Circle

windows, and build domed and vaulted rooms with lofty
columns and concealed chambers. He had coordinated colors and
textures, Persian carpets, silk drapes, and marble floors and had
added some pieces of Italian and French antique furniture. The
combination of the arabesques and arches of Middle Eastern
tradition with modern Italian flamboyance had resulted in a
romantic informality that drew great envy and attention from my
royal cousins.
    I walked past the large
sitting area into the cigar and wine athenaeum only to discover one
of the Filipino servants at work dusting the redwood liquor
cabinets. I abruptly told her to find another chore. When I was
certain that she had left the room, I began to count the bottles. I
was overjoyed to discover that Kareem had replenished our cache
magnificently. There were over two hundred bottles of spirits as
well as sixty bottles of assorted liqueurs.
    With a light heart, I
proceeded into the walk-in wine room, a spacious oak structure
specially built to maintain proper temperature and humidity for our
wine collection. At two hundred bottles, I stopped
counting.
    We were well-stocked,
indeed, I thought. My mind then drifted into a dangerous arena.
Surely Kareem would not notice the absence of a few bottles here
and there. As I considered the plentiful supplies on hand, I was
overcome with familiar cravings. My vow of abstinence was easily
dismissed. I tucked two bottles of Scotch whiskey under my loose
gown, and pledging that I would allow myself only a single drink, I
ascended the winding marble staircase to our private
quarters.
    Once inside, I locked the
door and lovingly caressed the bottles I had seized. Then I began
to drink, in the earnest hope that I might obliterate the image in
my mind of Munira’s on-going torment.
    Twenty-four hours later I
was jolted awake by the nearby sounds of hysterical voices. I
opened my eyes when someone began to slap my face. I heard my name
called out: “Sultana!”
    Sara’s worried face hovered
close to mine. “Sultana! Can you hear me?”
    I felt a pang of anxiety.
Judging from my physical discomfort, I feared that I had been in an
accident and was now awakening from a coma.
    I heard Maha sobbing,
“Mother! Wake up!”
    Sara comforted my daughter,
“Praise God, Maha! She is still with the living.”
    Trying to shake off my
confusion, I blinked my eyes. I wanted to speak, but I was unable
to form words. I could hear the mingled languages of Filipino, Thai
and Arabic being shouted by excited female voices. I wondered
groggily why my bedroom was filled with so many chattering
women!
    In a weak voice, I asked my
sister, “What has happened?”
    With furrows of pain lining
her forehead, Sara seemed to search for words. “Sultana,” she
finally asked, “how do you feel?”
    “ Not good,” I said, before
repeating once again, “what happened?”
    The loud voice of Amani,
rising in volume with every word, rang out over the rest. “You have
committed a grave sin, Mother!”
    Choking back sobs, Maha
shouted, “Shut up! I mean it!”
    Amani’s words echoed
through the room. “I have the evidence, here!”
    I turned my head and saw
that Amani was enthusiastically swinging an empty whiskey bottle in
each hand. “Mother has been drinking!” She shouted. “Surely, the
Holy Prophet will curse her for this sin!”
    Sara turned a somber face
to her niece. “Amani, give me the bottles and then, please leave
the room.”
    “ But…”
    Sara gently took the
bottles from Amani’s hands. “Now, child. Do as I say. Leave the
room.”
    Next to her father, Amani
loved and respected her Auntie Sara more than anyone. Now she
obeyed, but not without a parting threat. “I’m going to tell Father
about this—the moment he arrives home.”
    As dazed as I was, I could
feel my stomach turn at the thought.
    Sara carefully laid the
empty bottles on the foot of my bed, and then she took charge:
“Everyone, leave the room.”
    “ Not me!” Maha
wailed.
    “ Yes, you, too,
Maha.”
    When Maha bent to kiss me,
she whispered, “Don’t worry about Amani, Mother, I know how to
quiet her foolish tongue.”
    The expression in my eyes
must have betrayed my curiosity, for Maha clarified, “I’ll threaten
to tell all Amani’s religious friends that she wears revealing
clothes and flirts with boys!”
    Even though this was not
true, I knew that such a warning would cause Amani grave concern,
for her reputation is that of a true believer who could