Princess Sultana's Circle

suite. Kareem
walked into the room a few moments later, and with a wide smile, he
said that he had an idea that he thought I might like.
    I rushed toward my husband
and pulled him toward me. He stumbled from the force of my embrace,
and we tumbled backward together onto the bed.
    Kareem attempted to speak
even as I continued to kiss his lips, his eyes, and his nose.
“Sultana, I…”
    Just knowing that I had a
second chance to redeem my life, I felt like the thief who is told
he is going to lose his hand, only to discover that the swordsman
has died, and he has been reprieved. I felt so relieved and joyful
that I kissed Kareem until he forgot what idea he wanted to
discuss. Soon we were involved in ardent lovemaking.
    Later, after Kareem lit a
cigarette and passed it back and forth between us, he asked, “What
was that all about?”
    I teased, “Am I not allowed
to show my husband how much I love him?”
    He smiled. “Of course,
darling. Anytime you are so overwhelmed with this love, call
me.”
    I laughed, “Who else would
I call?”
    Kareem held the cigarette
up in the air as he contentedly nuzzled my face with his. “And, I
love you, too, darling.”
    Kareem placed the cigarette
between my lips and waited for me to inhale before placing it once
more between his own lips.
    “ What was that idea you
spoke of?”
    “ Oh, yes. I have been
thinking today that it has been a long time since we took a trip
into the desert, together, as a family.” His eyes searched my face
for my reaction. “I believe that you, Sultana, most of all, would
benefit from a desert journey into our past.”
    What he said was true.
While Kareem and Abdullah often joined their royal cousins for
jaunts into the desert for hawking and hunting trips, rarely did my
daughters and I make such excursions. Thinking back, I realized
that it had been several years since our family had retreated to
the desert. In the past, such journeys into a simpler way of life,
not governed by clocks and calendars had brought great mental
relaxation to me.
    I could not conceal my
feelings. “Yes,” I said, “the desert. I would like that,
Kareem.”
    Although we Saudi Arabs now
dwell in ornate palaces and modern cities, we have not forgotten
that our recent ancestors were tribal nomads who once lived in
tents. Actually, today, there are few nomads moving back and forth
across the vast Arabian deserts. For the past twenty years or more,
the Saudi government has encouraged Bedouin tribesmen to abandon
their tents and move into the cities. Yet all Saudi Arabians carry
the tribal memory of nomadic travelers in their blood. And although
the Al Sa’ud family abandoned the desert long before many of our
countrymen, we are no different from other Saudis when it comes to
an unrestrained love of the desert.
    In 1448 AD, early members
of the Al Sa’ud clan withdrew from the harsh desert and began to
cultivate the land around the settlement known today as Diriya. The
men in our family became successful farmers and traders; in time,
they became what are known as city Arabs. Therefore, we Al Sa’uds
do not consider ourselves to be nomads, yet we are inexplicably
drawn to the magnet what is, to us, an irresistible sea of endless
and sweeping sand.
    Kareem interrupted my
agreeable musings.
    “ We will make a family
event of this trip.” He said as he watched me. “We will invite
everyone.”
    Knowing the exact meaning
of Kareem’s words, I quickly complained, “Not Ali, I
hope!”
    Kareem touched my face with
his hand. “Darling, don’t you believe that the time has come for
you and your brother to put the past behind you? What good does
this ceaseless hostility do, for either of you?”
    “ How can I befriend such a
man as Ali? Brother or not, he is too contemptible for words!” I
said stubbornly.
    “ Well, if we invite one, we
must invite all.”
    I knew that Kareem was
right. It would be a shocking insult, a total disregard of Arab
hospitality to invite all our siblings to accompany us to the
desert, but to deliberately omit Ali and his family. If such an
offense were to occur, the scandal of our family’s estrangement
would become Riyadh gossip.
    Imprisoned in my heritage,
I sighed deeply, “Invite him then, if you must. But, I truly
dislike the way we Arabs cannot be open about our feelings,” I
muttered.
    “ You were born an Arab
Princess, Sultana,” Kareem said with a short laugh. “Why fight your
fate?”
    What more was there to
say?
    Despite