Princess Sultana's Circle

the hated thought
of my brother, I felt more calm than I had in a long time. I
lovingly wrapped an arm around Kareem’s waist and pulled him close.
“Let’s take a short nap,” I suggested.
    Although Kareem rarely
sleeps in the daylight hours, he too, was weary from our
international trip. “A short rest would be welcome,” he
agreed.
    As sleep seduced me, I
listened to my husband as he softly quoted an old Bedouin creed
taught to him by his father. I felt a rush of nostalgia mingled
with sadness for a way of life that has disappeared
forever.
    Land that is open wide to
wander
    Covered with grass that is
fit for grazing
    Ample wells of the sweetest
water
    A tent large enough for a
large family
    A beautiful wife with a
sweet temper
    Many sons and some
daughters
    To own great herds of
camels
    To belong to an honorable
tribe
    To see Makkah
    To live a long life without
shame
    To be saved from the fires
of hell
    To enjoy the rewards of
Paradise!
     
    Lulled by pleasing visions
of the simple life once lived by my own ancestors, I drifted off to
sleep.
    Although my shameful secret
had been discovered by my husband, I slept with the serene
soundness of a woman who could now look to her future with new
hope.
    Had I known that the
following day would bring forth yet another family drama, creating
one of the most alarming moments of my life, I am certain that my
afternoon nap would have been much less restful.
     

Chapter
Thirteen
    Threat to the
Throne
    W hile Kareem was enjoying his morning shower, I lingered under
the bed covers, moving restlessly from side to side. I missed our
daughters terribly and was anxious to leave Jeddah and return to
Riyadh.
    As the rushing sound of the
water flow from Kareem’s shower ceased, I arose from bed and walked
toward the balcony adjoining our bedroom suite. Pushing aside the
window shade, I looked outside. The view was just as I expected. It
was a typical day in Saudi Arabia, bright and sunny.
    Within a few moments,
Kareem was out of the shower and standing beside me. He made an
attempt to caress my breasts with his hands.
    Several years before, I had
traveled to Switzerland for a breast reconstruction to replace the
breast I had lost to cancer during the early years of our marriage.
As part of the medical rehabilitation, I had been told that the
breast must be massaged daily in order to keep the liquid
ingredients that formed my new breast soft and supple. Since that
time, Kareem had insisted that he should be the one to take
responsibility for my therapy.
    An inviting smile spread
across his face. “Do you want to go back to bed,
Sultana?”
    I returned his smile but
said, “No, darling. Truthfully, I want nothing more than to see the
beautiful faces of our two daughters.”
    My husband’s smile faded,
but he understood. “Yes, of course. I miss them, also.” He paused,
“Telephone Nura and tell her that we will arrive in Riyadh later
this afternoon. Have her drivers deliver the children home from
school.”
    Soon we were at the airport
and ready to board our plane for the short flight from Jeddah to
Riyadh. Once we had arrived, Sara and I said hasty farewells as we
got into separate automobiles. Sara was as anxious as I to see her
own children.
    Maha and Amani were waiting
for our arrival. After heartfelt hugs and greetings, I gave our
daughters the gifts that I had purchased for them in New York. Both
daughters received many new clothes, some electronic gadgets, music
CD’s, movie videotapes, and books.
    Kareem then said that he
had work to do. I was further disappointed when both Amani and Maha
expressed a desire to return to their own suites and return
telephone calls from their friends. I had some difficulty
convincing them to stay a while longer with their
mother.
    Once my children became
teenagers, they began to prefer the company of their peers to their
own mother, and I had often wished that I was possessed of a great
power that could move back time so that I could once again enjoy
the days when my children were babies.
    Smiling, I held out my arms
in invitation and said, “Let us sit together for a while. Then you
can go and make your calls.”
    I called out for one of our
servants to serve us with some cold Laban, their favorite
buttermilk-like drink.
    Maha smiled, then snuggled
against me on the large sofa that faced the television set. Amani
curled up into an oversized chair.
    Maha yawned and picked up
the TV remote control to switch on the television set.