Princess Sultana's Circle

our
automobile. Our driver slammed on the brakes. Flashing his
toothless smile, Omar tapped on the window.
    “ Open the window!” I
ordered.
    “ Mistress, might I come
with you?” Omar asked in his high feminine voice.
    “ With me? I thought you
were a part of Faddel’s family,”
    “ I said I was allowed to
live here, Madam; I did not say I was welcomed.” He added, “I have
not been truly welcome since Faddel’s father died, over fifteen
years ago.”
    “ Well…” I glanced in the
front mirror and saw that the driver was looking at me in alarm. I
turned back to Omar. “Were you bought as a slave by Faddel’s
family?”
    “ Slaves were freed many
years ago.”
    That was true. In 1962 the
American President, John F. Kennedy personally appealed to Faisal,
who was then Prime Minister, to abolish slavery in Saudi Arabia.
Our government honored President Kennedy’s request and purchased
freedom for every slave in the country for a price of nearly 5,000
Saudi Riyals ($1,500) per head. Many of these freed slaves had
remained in their ex-owners’ households. Even though Omar had
chosen to remain with the family who once owned him, he was his own
master.
    “ Please,
Mistress.”
    I quickly considered this
unusual request. Perhaps Faddel would punish Omar for failing to
report my arrival at his harem. I now knew him to be perfectly
capable of any heinous act.
    Reluctantly, I said, “Well,
get in. Come with us.”
    Once the little man was
settled, I asked, “What makes you want to live with my
family?”
    Omar studied me carefully
for a moment before answering, “Well,” he finally said, “I have
lived for many years in this land. When I was eight years old, I
was stolen from my family in Sudan and sold to a wealthy Turk. That
same year, my owner traveled to Makkah for the Haj.” Omar chuckled,
“He was a fat fool who ate too much grease and sugar, and he
dropped dead while circling that black rock at the big mosque. I
was taken away by the authorities before being presented as a gift
to Faddel’s grandfather, who was owed some favor or another by the
authorities.
    “ I am now eighty-eight
years old. So for eighty years, I have lived among your people.” He
sat silent for a long moment before saying, “It used to be that
Arabs from this country had a little humanity in their hearts. But
I have not personally witnessed a single act of kindness in more
years than I can remember.” He took a deep breath, “I promised
myself some years ago that the next kind person I met, I would
serve.” Omar looked at me and smiled gaily.
    The reality of what I had
done then came to me. My husband was an indulgent man, but what he
was going to say when he saw this fantastically dressed eunuch was
something I could not imagine.
    When we arrived at our
palace, Maha ran weeping to her room.
    I told Omar to wait for me
in the main living room. He happily complied.
    I searched for Amani, and
as I knew I would, I found her in the garden with her birds. I
stood and watched my daughter as she indulged her birds with
special seeds and treats. Well, at least these particular birds
would suffer no more. The garden was filled with their joyous
singing.
    I drew a sharp breath as I
considered my victories and my defeats. The songbirds were free,
while the young girls were still captive!
    When Kareem arrived home
and found me sitting in the living room chatting with the tiny
black eunuch, Omar, he stared and threw me a look of total
incredulity. Poor man! He had no idea of what had transpired that
day during his absence. Nor did he know that he now had a eunuch as
a part of his household.
     

Chapter Eight
    The Story of a
Eunuch
    Many times I have heard
Kareem declare that God moves in mysterious
ways. Now seeing him reel toward me in a shocked stupor, I hoped to soften what I knew would be my
husband’s incensed reaction by reminding
him of his past assertion. “Kareem, I now
know the true meaning of your wise words. God does move in mysterious ways.” I turned from him and smiled at the eunuch.
“God, Himself, has brought Omar of Sudan to
live in our home.”
    Kareem’s automatic Arab
hospitality momentarily restrained the anger directed toward me. He
looked at the strange little man sitting at my side and greeted him
courteously. “You are most welcome in our home, Omar.”
    I tried to bewitch Kareem
with my enthusiasm. “Darling! Omar’s story is a legend from our
past!”
    Kareem showed his
skepticism as he