Princess Sultana's Daughters

act.
    Her fury unleashed, Maha continued. “This
stupid idea of not discarding old papers! We will be forced to
build a large building to store them.” She looked at her sister,
“You have lost all good sense, Amani!” Maha looked back at me and
charged her sister with dictatorship, “Mother, from the moment we
departed Haj, Amani no longer feels my equal but my master!”
    I agreed completely with Maha. I had seen my
daughter’s religious beliefs pass, with impressive speed, from
confusion to a flourishing vision. Her sense of divine
righteousness was producing ridiculous household sanctions that
excluded no one.
    Just a few days before, she had discovered
one of the Filipino gardeners proudly displaying a pair of rubber
sandals that had been imprinted with the name of God on their
soles.
    Instead of granting the anticipated praise
for his purchase, Amani shrieked in rage, grabbing the poor
fellow’s shoes and accusing him of blasphemy, threatening him with
severe punishment.
    In tears, the young man confessed that he had
purchased the shoes in Bahtha, a popular shopping souq located in
the downtown district of Riyadh. He thought his Muslim employers
would be pleased to see that the name of God was printed on his
shoes.
    Calling the shoes the work of the devil,
Amani called a special meeting of her religious group and stunned
them all by revealing the sacrilegious shoes.
    Word spread to other religious groups, and
pamphlets were distributed in the city, advising people not to buy
or to wear such shoes.
    The shoes were rather shocking, since Muslims
are taught never to walk on any item bearing God’s name, even going
so far as to be sure our shoes are never left lying sole up, in
case that might be some insult to our maker. Yet, Amani’s reaction
was somewhat dramatic, since the young Filipino was not of our
faith and not acquainted with our truths. My daughter was cruel in
her angry denunciations.
    Since an early age, I have been drawn to the
idea of a kindly God, a being that does not find sin in every human
delight. I knew with certainty that my child was not acquainted
with the God of Mohammed, as taught to me by my loving mother. I
sent a questionable prayer to my maker, asking that Amani’s gloomy
devoutness take a holiday.
    My thoughts returned to the present crisis,
and I looked upon my daughters.
    With Maha’s threat of defacing her Koran
looming as a real possibility, Amani promised to refrain from
inspecting her siblings’ habits.
    Maha declared that if Amani would only leave
her to her own inclinations, however distracting they might be to
her sister, she would commit no further violence.
    I hoped the truce would stick, but I had my
doubts, for Amani was readily moved to judge all before her, never
really happy except when making religious war. And Maha was not one
to bear timidly the taunts of her sister.
    My two daughters, trapped in a family unit,
were too volatile a mixture for everlasting peace.
    I abandoned desolation and yielded to
motherly affection. With the deepest love, I embraced each of my
daughters.
    Maha, always quick to anger and prompt to
forgive, gave me a genuine smile of peace. Amani, slow to pardon
those she deemed in the wrong, was stiff and did not yield to my
affection.
    Exhausted by the responsibilities of
motherhood, I wistfully observed my girls as they went their
separate ways.
    All at once, the room was empty of their mad
energy, but the resulting quiet was not comforting. I felt edgy,
and told myself that I was in need of a stimulant.
    I rang the bell for Cora and asked that she
bring me a cup of Turkish coffee. Then, without knowing my reason,
I abruptly changed my mind and asked instead that she mix me a
strong drink of bourbon and cola.
    Cora stood openmouthed with surprise. It was
the first time I had requested a drink of alcohol during the
daylight hours.
    “Go on,” I demanded.
    I sat, reading the newspaper without
absorbing the news. I admitted to myself that I was looking forward
to my drink with discomfiting anticipation, when Abdullah arrived
at home.
    Abdullah moved with speed through the door
into the hallway. I caught a glimpse of my son’s face and did not
like what I saw. Accustomed to his gentle character, I knew from
his dark expression that he was torn by agony.
    I called out, “Abdullah!”
    Abdullah strode into the room. Without
inquiry, he let loose his anguish.
    “Mother! Jafer has fled the kingdom!”
    “What?”
    “He has run away!