Princess Sultana's Circle

appropriate garments. That is why I wear such
ancient attire from the days of my past, Master.”
    Kareem smiled kindly. “Here
you are welcome to all the food you can eat, Omar. And, I will tell
Mohammed to assist you with new clothing. If you are to live with
us, then you will dress appropriately.”
    Omar looked at me with
bright shining eyes before turning back to Kareem. “Master, God has
answered my prayers! I knew that a good woman such as your wife
would be paired with a kindly man!”
    I glanced at Kareem,
thinking that he might join in Omar’s praise, but he did not.
Instead, he patted Omar on the back. “Friend, one thing only, do
not refer to me as ‘Master.’ No man is the master of another.
Please call me Prince Kareem.”
    Omar nodded. “It is a long
habit that will be hard to break, but I shall try, Prince
Kareem.”
    With a smile on his face,
Kareem then leaned back in the sofa and called out for the servants
to bring us tea.
    I was astonished to see
that my husband’s tremendous wrath had been so quickly appeased by
this little man! As I thought back, I remembered how Omar had
comforted me only a few hours before, and I realized that this
eunuch possessed an enormously calming influence. I looked at Omar
with a new thought in mind. Would this little man prove to be an
unexpected gift to my overwrought, highly emotional
family?
    Kareem looked at Omar with
kindness. “Omar, tell us something of your past. I was certain that
the last eunuch in Saudi Arabia had died some years
ago.”
    Omar became animated. “It
would be my great pleasure to tell you anything you ask,” he said
with great excitement.
    I smiled. I had already
noticed that Omar loved to tell stories at the slightest
provocation.
    With a genial ease of
manners, Omar then pulled himself upright, and carefully arranging
his full-cut drawers, sat cross-legged on the sofa. When he lifted
his head to look at Kareem, his eyes took on a faraway look as he
began to relate details of the life he had lived.
    “ I remember little of bilad
as-Sudan, known as the ‘land of the black peoples,’ but I do know
that my family’s tribe, the Humr, were nomadic cattlemen. We
followed the rains and the tall grasses.
    “ Those were dangerous days.
Many African Chiefs worked closely with Muslim slave traders,
capturing and selling their own people. Every Humr mother was
burdened with the worry that her children would be stolen from her.
Even now, I remember the soft brown eyes of my mother as she looked
at me, and her stern warning that I was not to stray far from
members of the tribe.” Omar’s sad eyes mirrored his own pain, “I
was young and foolish, and failed to obey my mother. It was the aim
of every young Humr male to be praised as a hunter. Small boys were
always gathering stones to toss at birds or small animals. I was no
different, and one day while gathering smooth stones, I foolishly
wandered some distance from the tribe. Just as I was about to toss
a stone at a bustard, I was suddenly grabbed from behind and taken
away from that place. I never saw my mother again.”
    Even after all these years,
Omar brushed away tears at the thought of his mother. “But, that
was a long, long time ago.”
    Stillness hung in the air.
I felt unbelievably sad for the young boy that had been taken from
his mother, and for the man who had no chance to experience the
life he had been born to live.
    Omar began to talk in a low
voice, not looking at Kareem or me. “I was not alone in my misery.
Many men, women, and children had been taken from their villages or
tribes. We were tied together and led across the land toward the
Red Sea. We spent many days and nights traveling. When we finally
arrived at the Red Sea, an Egyptian Christian met with our leader.
There was low talk concerning the young male captives. Panic ran
down the line of captured slaves when the man was overheard saying
that a certain number of the youngest boys were to be relieved of
their three precious gifts. Unsure of what these precious gifts
were, I did not protest too loudly when I was pulled from the line
and taken a short distance away from the other captured
slaves.”
    Plainly uncomfortable,
Kareem interrupted Omar. “One moment, Omar.” He turned to me,
“Sultana, please go to the kitchen and ask the cook to prepare some
refreshments.”
    I knew Kareem’s intention.
He did not want me in the room when Omar detailed the graphic tale
of his castration. In our conservative