Princess Sultana's Circle

look. Not only was he
compassionless, I decided, he was also simpleminded! He truly had
no understanding that his every word wounded his innocent daughter!
For Ali, women were a man’s property, possessions whose feelings
and well-being never need enter his realm of thinking.
    My sisters and Kareem
encouraged me to go to Sara’s quarters and rest for a short while.
They had witnessed many altercations between Ali and me, and hoped
to avoid a disorderly scene that would surely disrupt the night’s
banquet.
    I said that I thought that
Sara and Asad should order Ali and Hadi out of their
home.
    Nura swallowed once or
twice and looked to Sara. “We are in your home, Sara. Do as you
like.”
    “ We must think of Munira,”
Sara reminded us all in her soothing voice. “Anything we do to
anger Hadi will be detrimental to her.”
    I voiced my objection
forcefully. “How could it be worse? She is the slave of a man who
loves nothing more than to torture women! At least if we attack
him, then he will know that his behavior does not meet with the
approval of his wife’s family!”
    Without responding, Sara
and Kareem led me away, while Nura rejoined the rest of the family.
I could hear Ali and Hadi laughing and joking even as we left the
room.
    After convincing me that a
short nap would restore calm thinking, Kareem and Sara left me
alone. But the mental picture of Munira’s shame kept sleep from
coming. I fretfully thrashed from side to side, brooding over the
never-ending abuse of females born in my country. We Saudi women
owned nothing but our souls, and only because no man had yet
devised a method to seize them!
    Just as I was about to
close my eyes, I spotted a bottle of wine sitting on a small table
in the corner of the room. Although Sara did not drink, her husband
Asad was a connoisseur of fine French wines.
    I reasoned that I needed a
drink, rather than a nap. Nothing would quell my emotions better
than a full-flavored glass of French wine. For many days now, since
the day Sara had rescued me from my drunken haze, I had not
consumed a single drink. I counted the days and nights in my mind.
For the past twenty-nine days and nights, I had been more
self-possessed than I ever dreamed that I could be.
    Now abandoning every
thought of Ramadan, as well as my promise to my sister, I threw
back the bedcovers and moved toward that bottle as one bewitched. I
found the bottle to be nearly full, and happily grabbed it tightly
in my hand. I then searched for a cigarette. Although I am a heavy
smoker, I had not smoked a cigarette since the hour before dawn. I
glanced at Asad’s bedside clock. It was at least another hour
before the breaking of the fast, but I knew that I could not wait
that long. Unable to find what my body was craving, I slipped from
Sara’s bedroom and went across the hall into Asad’s quarters.
Surely, cigarettes could be found there.
    Several packets of
Rothmans, a familiar but foreign brand of cigarettes, were strewn
around Asad’s bedroom. A gold cigarette lighter lay on his bedside
stand. Now that I had my hoard, I knew it best to find a secluded
spot to have a drink and a cigarette. Sara’s bedroom would not do.
Kareem or Sara might go there to assure themselves that I was
indeed resting. I made a quick decision to hide in Asad’s
bathroom.
    I had never seen my
brother-in-law’s bathroom, but I was not surprised at its large
size. I lifted a glass from the bathroom sink before sitting down
on an elaborate velvet bench.
    With trembling hands, I lit
my first cigarette of the day. After drawing the pleasing fumes
into my lungs, I removed the silver stopper from the wine bottle
and filled the glass. Alternately, I sipped Asad’s wine and enjoyed
his cigarette. For a small moment, life was good once
again.
    Just as I was savoring my
secret treasures, I heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The
terror of being discovered surged through my body like an electric
shock. Quickly, I ran into Asad’s large shower and closed the glass
door.
    Too late, I realized that I
had left the open wine bottle on the floor beside the bench! My
cigarette still burned, so I crushed it on the side of the shower
tile, and attempted to blow the cigarette smoke away.
    The door creaked slightly
as it opened. The large form of a man cast a shadow on the shower
door as he sauntered into the room.
    Luckily the glass door of
Asad’s shower was engraved with large black swans. I peered around
the swans. The intruder was