Princess Sultana's Circle

at the Jeddah palace of our beloved King Fahd. Kareem’s
mind was already so engrossed with the various traditions of Eid,
that I thought it best that I leave our talk until
later.
    Still, I found myself in a
quandary. Whether or not I confessed to Kareem, I still must make
appropriate reparations. And I must do so before I started my round
of visitations and gift giving.
    Just as Kareem was about to
walk out the door, I ran toward him and took him by the arm.
“Darling, did you forget? I feel a great desire to feed many poor
people this year.” My fingers plucked at his sleeve.
    “ Even more than in previous
years.”
    Kareem smiled, “Do I need
to feed more poor families than I did when you ate that large plate
of Maamool Bel Tamur?” (Pastries filled with dates.)
    I reddened as I bit down on
my lip. “Yes.”
    That humiliating incident
had happened two years before during Ramadan. Our cooks had spent
many hours mixing the spices, flour, and dates for the pastry that
our family would enjoy after the evening meal. All through the
morning, the scent of that delicious pastry had drifted throughout
the palace, causing me to salivate with longing for my favorite
dessert. I was so hungry from fasting that I lost all good sense,
and fantasized about date pastries all day.
    Later that afternoon, once
I knew that everyone was resting in their rooms, I slipped into the
kitchen. I was so focused on the thought of tasting those pastries
that I did not notice Kareem. Using the refrigerator door to shield
myself from view, I consumed one pastry after another.
    Kareem watched silently as
I continued my voracious eating. Later he told me that once he saw
the first pastry disappear into my mouth, he pragmatically decided
that I might as well satisfy my hunger, as the sin of eating many
pastries was the same as that of eating one.
    Kareem’s mischievous smile
grew wider as he watched me squirm at that memory. “Surely,
Sultana, there is no need to feed as many families as I did last
year when you smoked more than a packet of cigarettes during
Ramadan. Is there?”
    “ Stop, Kareem!” I turned
around angrily. “Do not tease me!”
    But Kareem continued, “Yes,
I discovered you crouching inside one of your closets, surrounded
by discarded cigarette butts.”
    He laughed gently at the
memory, mingling tenderness with his teasing. “Come, tell me,
Sultana, what sin is it that you have committed this
time?”
    God finally had given me
the opening that I had been praying for, but I had already decided
there wasn’t time to make my confession this morning.
    “ I’ve done nothing!” I
declared defensively. “I simply want to share our great wealth with
those less fortunate.”
    Kareem looked at me
skeptically.
    “ Is not our good fortune an
obligation for generosity?” I asked.
    In his rush to join his
cousins and uncles at the palace of the King, Kareem took me at my
word. “All right, Sultana. I’ll have Mohammed purchase enough food
to feed thirty needy families. Is that enough to cover your
sins?”
    “ And tell Mohammed to buy
them clothing, also,” I quickly added.
    Mohammed was a loyal
Egyptian employee. He would not gossip to the other servants about
the large atonement that our family was making.
    “ And clothing, too.” Kareem
agreed wearily.
    I breathed a sigh of
relief. As whoever breaks an oath becomes liable to the penalty of
feeding ten needy persons, I thought that feeding and clothing
thirty families would be more than sufficient to cover my sin of
breaking the fast and drinking wine.
    After Kareem left our
quarters, I called out for Libby, one of my Filipino female
servants, to prepare my bath. I felt lighthearted and free to have
my sins so easily reconciled by mere almsgiving, and I began to
sing Arabic love ballads as I soaked in my bath.
    Once I had adorned myself
with make-up and perfume, my Egyptian hairdresser arranged my long
black hair in a complicated fashion consisting of braids, which she
fastened in place with expensive hair clasps that I had recently
bought at Harrods in London. Searching through the many dresses in
my closet, I selected one of my favorite red satin gowns designed
by Christian Dior.
    Once I was satisfied with
my reflection in the mirror, I called out whether Maha and Amani
were ready, because I was eager to begin an afternoon of
celebrating the Eid festival by visiting various
relatives.
    I watched attentively as
three of the servants loaded the many gifts my