Princess Sultana's Daughters

going to follow regarding female circumcision, and
nothing I could say would alter their decision.
    We discussed the issue until I could see the
light begin to leave the room. Sundown was approaching. I knew that
Nasser would return soon, and I had no desire to confront the man
of the house over such a delicate matter. I made some small mention
that it was time for me to return to my children.
    Fatma, sensing failure, began to wail and
slap at her cheeks until her face was completely reddened.
    A look of distress flickered in Elham’s eyes
at her mother’s grief, but she said that the decision had been
reached by her husband and that she agreed with his thinking. All
four of her daughters would undergo the rite of circumcision when
they reached the proper age.
    I could see that Elham wished for my
departure. Understanding that I could do nothing to erase the
frightening shadow cast over the lives of the female children of
this home, I stood and said my farewells.
    With quiet self-assurance, Elham’s eyes met
mine, and she politely bade me good-bye. “You have honored my home
with your presence, Princess Sultana. Please, come again another
day for a longer visit.”
    Against her daughter’s wishes, Fatma insisted
upon staying for the ceremony, saying that if the evil deed was
going to be done, she wanted to supervise the barber’s work to make
sure he cut nothing more than the tip of her granddaughter’s
clitoris.
    I submitted to the inevitable, leaving
Elham’s home without accomplishing my goal. My feet felt leaden as
I walked down the long staircase. In an effort to give myself time
to calm my nerves, I stood immobile on the steps and recited aloud
a verse from the Koran, “You cannot lead aright whomever you
wish, it is God who leads whomever He wishes.”
    My son was waiting, sitting at a small table
in the front of the café. His questioning gaze followed me as I
made my way to his side.
    My son peered at me expectantly. “So?” he
asked.
    I shook my head. “No. There is nothing to be
done.” Abdullah’s face clouded as I admitted my failure.
    “Come,” I said, “let us return home.” I
glanced over my shoulder as we left the small alley, gazing into
the night. Elham’s home had melted into the darkness as though it
had never existed.
    When my son began to talk, I urged silence
with the press of my hand against his lips.
    I was unable to control my weeping. Without
speaking, my son drove his sobbing mother home. As soon as I
arrived back at our villa, I called out for my astonished daughters
to abandon their current activities and pack their belongings. Our
family would leave Cairo as soon as their father returned from the
casino.
    I whispered to Abdullah that the city I had
loved since childhood was in danger of losing my affection, though
I hoped our evening’s experience would not result in my vigorous
dislike of everything Egyptian.
    Abdullah’s eyes flashed with understanding,
and I was gratified to see that my son appreciated the reasoning
behind my words.
    Kareem soon arrived with the odor of alcohol
spread about him, which brought on a sudden and prolonged prayer
from Amani for God to look past her father’s sinful acts and
restore Kareem to the status of heaven’s most favored. In the
context of her plea, Amani began to describe the burning agony of
hell that awaited members of her family.
    Already in a foul mood, I quickly wearied of
Amani’s enthusiastic fanaticism. I was incensed that she would take
it to the point where she spoke critically of her family.
Face-to-face, I told her in no uncertain terms that I had not yet
received notification that God had appointed my daughter to the
sacred role of frightening mankind into decency.
    I reached across to pinch the skin on her
face, but Kareem grabbed my hand and held it tight to his chest,
ordering Amani to leave our presence, suggesting that she complete
her prayers in the privacy of her room.
    Kareem then became noisy in the irritating
manner of a drunkard, saying that he had often observed my
inability to control my destructive temper, and he thought the time
had come to teach me a useful lesson.
    We looked at each other for a time. Kareem
stood still, waiting for my response. His lips were curled with
contempt, and it was easy to see that he was in a rare mood to
fight.
    I quickly scanned the room for a weapon with
which to bang my husband’s head, for I am a woman who meets threats
with violence, but Kareem knows me well