Princess Sultana's Circle

my brother, Ali!
    I might have
known.
    Although I could not see
details clearly, I closed my eyes when my brother lifted his thobe,
lowered his undershorts, and began to urinate. Repulsed by the
noise of his water, I placed my fingers in my ears. He urinated so
long that I began to realize that such an amount could not be
passed from one who had been fasting from liquids for an entire
day. I knew then that Ali took the vows of Ramadan less seriously
than he would want others to know. That knowledge pleased me
mightily, and I could barely stifle my laughter at the thought of
Ali’s likely reaction should I jump from the shower and confront
him.
    After flushing the toilet
and arranging his clothes, Ali stood for a few moments before the
large wall mirror. He patted his cheeks, ran his fingers over his
thick mustache and eyebrows, and smacked his large lips several
times as he admired his mirrored reflection.
    I was barely able to
contain my amusement. I had to hold my hands over my mouth to keep
from bursting into laughter.
    As Ali turned to leave the
room, the bottle of wine caught his eye. He stared thoughtfully at
the bottle for a short moment, then walked rapidly toward it, and
drank the entire contents.
    He peered at the label.
“Ah, a good year,” he commented to himself, before dropping the
empty bottle in a wastebasket, and leaving the room.
    I slumped against the wall.
I had wanted that wine! I then began to giggle at the absurdity of
it all, but after wiping the tears of merriment from my face, I was
struck by a disagreeable thought. When it came to abstinence, Ali
and I were as one in our failure and hypocrisy! I could no more
chain the devil in my soul than could Ali!
    I returned to our family
gathering in a subdued mood. With a new humility, I found myself
more tolerant of Ali than I could have imagined earlier in the
evening.
    Poor Munira did not speak a
single word during the course of the long meal. She sat silently by
her husband’s side while nibbling at a small mound of chicken and
rice.
    My sisters and I exchanged
many worried glances during that evening. Our hearts turned over
more than once, yet we had no power to change the stream of
Munira’s life. Each of us feared that life for Munira could be
little more than an accumulation of great sufferings. We were
helpless. Only Allah could save Munira.
     

Chapter Five
    Paradise Palace
    Since the time I was a
young girl, I have always believed that dreams once dreamed are
never truly lost. And so, despite the discouraging truth that on
the nineteenth day of Ramadan I broke my fast by smoking a
cigarette, and most blasphemous of all, by drinking a forbidden
glass of wine, I still dreamed of becoming a saintly Muslim on the
same exalted level as my mother and my sisters. I hoped I might
still become a righteous person, despite my lapses. I resolved that
there was no need to add humiliation to discomfort by confessing
failure to members of my family. In any event, I had little doubt
that God had witnessed my sinful behavior, and to me that alone was
shame enough. My only hope was that Mother had been so occupied
with her own spiritual life that her daughter’s dishonorable
conduct on earth had gone unnoticed.
    Kareem was another matter.
The day before Ramadan ended, we traveled to our palace located on
the Red Sea in Jeddah. In the late afternoon, I was sitting in the
garden with Kareem and my daughters while waiting for the last day
of Ramadan to end. I noticed that Kareem was watching me carefully.
He looked so thoughtful that I began to feel anxious. Had Amani
failed to keep her promise to Sara? Had my daughter told Kareem
about my disgraceful and intoxicated condition while he was in
Japan?
    I wanted to ask Kareem what
was on his mind, but I feared the subject of his introspection
might be something I did not want to discuss. I cringed when Kareem
began to speak.
    “ Sultana,” he said with a
smile, “I want you to know that I am very proud of you.”
    Anticipating criticism, I
was confused by this compliment. I sat and stared without speaking.
What was his intent?
    He repeated, “Yes. I am
very proud.” Kareem looked at me with such affection that I thought
he might kiss me. But since this conversation was taking place
during the daylight hours, and we were still in our Ramadan fast,
he merely stroked my hands.
    Bewildered, I could only
sputter, “Proud?”
    “ Yes, my darling.” Kareem’s
smile widened. “Sultana, since the first