Princess Sultana's Daughters

his sister and cuttingly
remarked that perhaps Jafer felt Fayza’s feminine perfection was
worth the quitting of heaven.
    Caring deeply for both Jafer and Fayza, Maha
became hostile to anyone who criticized the lovers, declaring that
no man or government should have authority over true love.
    Abdullah and I pleaded with Kareem to make
contact with Jafer, to give him a warning to flee. I told Kareem
that Fayza’s male relatives needed more time to accept the crucial
fact that Fayza now belonged with another. Their extreme anger
could not prevail; time would ease their rage.
    It was not to be. My husband infuriated me,
remaining true to the Saudi male policy of accepting any injustice,
if that injustice involved a man’s obsession with his women or the
family honor. Thinking to incite him to action, I insulted Kareem,
telling him that I was disappointed to discover I had wed a man who
failed to probe the deeper complexities of life, who instead was a
dull, unfeeling type that tended to remain on the surface of
things.
    As I left my husband standing openmouthed in
amazement at my attack, I could not resist one final barb. “Kareem,
how can you have no conflict between logic and feeling? Are you not
human?”
    Silently I retreated, but secretly I had
Abdullah take action. At my urging, he searched Kareem’s office and
found the information that had been provided by the investigative
services looking for Jafer and Fayza.
    Triumphant, we were careful to hide ourselves
from Kareem and Amani, making our telephone call during the long
evening prayer, knowing that Kareem was in the mosque and Amani
locked in her room, facing Makkah, saying her prayers.
    With shaking fingers, Abdullah punched the
number of the Mirage Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada, where Jafer and
Fayza were known to be registered.
    As I watched the brooding face of my
beautiful son patiently waiting for the hotel operator to ring the
room, I was possessed by the fever a mother has for her children,
wishing for Abdullah’s pain to leave his body and enter mine.
    Jafer answered the telephone!
    Abdullah tortured himself trying to find the
right words to make Jafer understand that he was in great danger.
His friend was dismayed at their rapid discovery but felt secure in
his married state. “What can they do now?” he asked Abdullah.
    When Abdullah repeated the question to me, I
grabbed the telephone from my son’s hand. “They can do plenty,
Jafer,” I yelled. “Fouad’s honor has been attacked, his only
daughter has vanished with a man not thought suitable! Do not be a
fool! You are an Arab, you are aware what reactions such anguish
will bring to an Arab father!”
    Jafer tried to soothe my fears, claiming that
their love would see them through any persecution.
    Fayza came to the telephone, speaking softly
into the receiver, which Jafer still held in his hand. Fayza’s
sultry voice told of the wonderful love that had prevailed, in
spite of the substantial obstacles placed in its path by the laws
of our land.
    “Fayza, you are still a youth of twenty and
have loosened yourself from our ancient traditions. Your father
cannot do this. Fouad is a man of desert mentality, and he can only
flow down the main stream. In his mind, you have committed a
shocking offense. Leave that place! Meet with the men of your
family at a later date.”
    My pleas for the lovers to vanish made no
impact. How weak my words must have seemed to their brave spirits.
Courageous, Jafer vowed he would face the fury of Fayza’s
family.
    I returned the telephone to my son, thinking
that I had done all I could.
    I thought, is it a glory or a disaster that
they have no suspicion yet of the extent of their tragedy? I
realized the narrow limits of their lovers’ vision. Jafer and Fayza
were blinded, believing that the strength of their great love could
conquer the challenge of her furious and disapproving family.
    Fretting in silence, I could only hope that
Jafer and Fayza would be able to delay destiny for a while.
    It was four days before Fouad returned to the
kingdom.
    His voice low and uneasy, Kareem called me
from his offices and reported that Fouad and his sons had returned
from America.
    My throat closed around the words I could not
ask.
    After a dry pause, Kareem added that Fouad
had returned with his daughter but without her husband.
    My voice returned. “Is Jafer dead?” I asked,
wondering already how we would break the cruel news to
Abdullah.
    “No. Jafer is not dead,”