Princess Sultana's Daughters

I
understand that the men of the Al Sa’ud family cannot risk their
power for the sake of their women. They are passionately in love
with the crown.
    Kareem regains his composure after I remind
him that no one outside our family, other than the author, knows
who he is! And those persons know him well and are aware of his
good and bad traits, even without the publication.
    Kareem sits beside me and lifts my chin with
his finger. He looks almost appealing as he ponders, “You told Jean
Sasson about the disease I caught?”
    I wiggle in shame as Kareem slowly shakes his
head from side to side, visibly disappointed in his wife. “Is
nothing sacred to you, Sultana?”
    Many battles end in an outpouring of
goodwill. This evening ends with unexpected displays of affection.
Strangely, Kareem says he has never loved me more.
    I find myself being courted by my husband,
and the intensity of my feelings increases. My husband reawakens
the desire I had once deemed forever lost. I wonder at my own
ability to both love and hate the same man.
    Later, as Kareem sleeps, I lie awake by his
side and replay in my mind, moment by moment, the events of the
day. I realize that despite the evening’s end—the guarantee of
protection promised by my family (due solely to their own fears of
royal banishment and/or punishment) and the renewal of my
marriage—I cannot rest peacefully until genuine social adjustment
comes to the land I love for the women whose burden I share. The
hard necessities of female life are pushing me to continue my
efforts to gain personal freedom for the women of Arabia.
    I question myself: Am I not the mother of two
daughters? Do I not owe my daughters and their daughters after them
every effort to bring transformation?
    I smile, once again thinking back on the
puppet skit I had watched with Sara’s youngest children, and I
recall the words of the funny but wise puppet Goha. “Does a
faithful saluki [desert dog] stop barking in his master’s defense
when a single bone is thrown his way?”
    I shout, “No!” Kareem stirs and I rub the
back of his head, whispering sweet words, lulling my husband back
to sleep.
    I know at that moment that I will not keep
the pledge I made under coercion. I will let the world community
decide when I should return to silence. Until people choose to
close their ears to the plight of women in despair, I will continue
to reveal the true happenings behind the secrecy of the black veil.
This is to be my destiny.
    I make a decision. In spite of the promises I
made under threat of detention, when I next travel out of the
kingdom I will contact my friend Jean Sasson. There is more to be
accomplished.
    When I close my eyes to sleep, I am a more
focused but much sadder woman than the Sultana who had awakened the
previous morning, for I know that I am once again entering a risky
arena, and even though my punishment—and possibly even my death—
will be cruel, failure will be more bitter, for failure is
everlasting.
     

 
Maha
    The more prohibitions you have, the less
virtuous people will be.
    —TAO TE CHING
    Those whom Kareem and I love best have proved
the worst. Abdullah, our son and firstborn, troubles us; Maha, our
eldest daughter, frightens us; while Amani, our youngest daughter,
puzzles us.
    I felt no prophecies of doom as our only son,
Abdullah, smiled with boyish happiness when he recounted with
relish his wonderful success on the soccer field. Kareem and I were
entranced, as most parents would be, upon hearing the successful
exploits of a well-loved child. From a young age, Abdullah was
seldom sur- passed in physical games, and this fact was a
particular source of glee for his athletic father. While listening
with pride, we took no note of his younger sisters, Maha and Amani,
who were amusing themselves with a video game.
    When Amani, our youngest child, began to
scream in alarm, it was with a terrible shock that Kareem and I saw
flames licking at Abdullah’s clothing.
    Our son was on fire!
    Acting on instinct, Kareem quickly threw our
son to the floor and extinguished the flames by rolling Abdullah in
a Persian carpet. After we assured ourselves that our son was
unharmed, Kareem tried to find the source of the unexplainable
fire.
    I cried out that the fire was caused by an
evil eye, that we were too boastful of our beautiful son!
    Fighting back tears, I turned to comfort my
daughters. Poor Amani! Her small frame was wracked with sobs. While
I held my baby, I motioned with my