Princess Sultana's Daughters

structures of the populous
city had retained the oppressive heat of the day, dulling the
senses of Cairo’s eight million occupants.
    Our three children whispered among
themselves, claiming that we had once again been forgotten by
“Forgetful Fatma,” as they often called our Egyptian housekeeper
when she was out of earshot.
    I warned my children not to make fun, that
Fatma was no longer young and her feet had difficulty moving her
abundant body. Still, I stifled a smile, thinking that the children
were probably right in their assessment of the situation. Fatma had
more than likely begun some new chore, entirely forgetting her
employers as they waited impatiently for a cool drink. Fatma was
absentminded and did have a consistent inability to remember why
she left one room to go into another. Many times Kareem had
complained, saying that Fatma should be let go and a younger, more
energetic woman hired in her stead, but I resisted his urgings
because the woman was dependable and had always displayed a genuine
love for my three children.
    Kareem accused me of being unable to part
with Fatma’s lively tales of Cairo scandals. But that was not the
case.
    Fatma has been employed as our permanent,
live-in housekeeper since we purchased the villa many years before.
Abdullah was only two years old at the time she came into our
lives, and our girls were not yet born, so Fatma was a constant in
their young lives.
    Just as I pushed myself from my chair to go
and remind her of our earlier request, I heard the familiar
scraping of her loose sandals as they struck the marble floor of
the interior hallway leading to the veranda.
    I looked at Kareem, and he gave an irritated
shake of his head. My husband had no understanding of why he should
be inconvenienced by the aging of a servant.
    Feeling mischievous, I said, “My husband, do
not forget that God is watching you.”
    Kareem tartly replied, “Sultana, do not
concern yourself with my relationship to God.”
    The children thought we might slip into an
argument and ruin the afternoon, so Amani wrapped her arms around
her father’s neck, while Maha began to rub my shoulders and begged
me not to lose my temper.
    I felt too good to fight and said so. About
that time, my attention was drawn to Fatma. Recalling the graceful
and slim woman of years past, my eyes affectionately followed her
heavy figure as she painstakingly opened the double glass doors
that led from the villa onto the veranda. Fatma was enormous and
had great difficulty balancing the tray stacked with crystal
glasses and a matching crystal decanter filled with freshly
squeezed lemonade.
    Like many Egyptian women, Fatma had struggled
with a weight problem from the moment she bore her first child.
With each new addition to her family, she had grown larger and
larger, until a childish Abdullah had fearfully questioned me,
asking how Fatma’s skin could continue to hold her figure
together.
    Slowed by her weight, Fatma took many moments
to walk the few steps from the doorway to the table of
white-painted rattan. Abdullah jumped to his feet and took the tray
from her, insisting that he would serve the family.
    Kareem and I exchanged glances, and I saw
that my husband bit the inside of his lip to keep from protesting.
Ever since he was young, Abdullah was easily affected by the
suffering that comes so often undeserved to mankind. I felt proud
of my son’s sensitivity, but I knew that his father had no desire
for him to do the work of servants.
    To distract Kareem, I asked Abdullah to tell
us more about his experiences in Lebanon, for since we had met him
in Cairo, we had enjoyed little private time to hear of his
adventure. I remembered that in Kareem’s youth, he had spent many
happy times in the beautiful city of Beirut, where large numbers of
the Saudi royal family had gone for rest and relaxation before the
days of the mad and senseless war that had destroyed the once
lovely land of Lebanon.
    Abdullah saw hope where Kareem said there was
none. Abdullah said that he had been impressed by the Lebanese
spirit, marveling that the Lebanese people had not only survived,
but had endured a most vicious civil war with their optimism
intact, refusing to acknowledge that they could not surpass their
brilliant past. Abdullah thought that given half the chance, the
Lebanese would once again rise to claim an exalted place in the
Arab world.
    Abdullah paused and looked at his father. He
wondered if Kareem might be interested in