Princess Sultana's Daughters

he
placed a tender hand on Sara’s arm. “I will have tea prepared.”
    I followed Sara into the villa, taking no
notice of the rooms as we passed them by. I was thinking of poor
Reema. The fifth daughter in our family had always inspired family
sympathy. From the date of her birth, Reema had not been blessed
with obvious skills or beauty. While my sister was not born with a
face scarred or misaligned, there had been nothing in her
appearance to bring forth envy from other young mothers.
    Nura had once confided that Reema was the
only daughter whom our mother had felt no need to protect with the
blue stone that was believed to ward off evil spirits, for who
would wish the evil eye upon an infant so displeasing in
appearance?
    In addition, as a young girl Reema had been
cursed with a heavy figure that brought her cruel taunts from
unfeeling children.
    Of my nine sisters, Sara is the most
beautiful. Of the remainder of our female family members, four
sisters are notably pretty, three are appealing, another is elegant
and graceful, while Reema lacks a single mark of beauty. In a
family of ten daughters, Reema was the unattractive sister who
failed to excel in school or in games. Her one outstanding
accomplishment was her ability to duplicate our mother’s cooking
skills, improvising delectable Arabic and French dishes that did
nothing to help her expanding figure.
    Living in a country where nothing is more
admired than female beauty, Reema was not esteemed.
    Once we had settled ourselves in the sitting
room, Kareem and Asad left us to go and arrange tea. As the door
was closing, I heard Asad speaking in a low voice to my husband,
and knew that Kareem had discovered Reema’s fate before her own
sister.
    “I must know the truth. Tell me. Is Reema
dead?”
    “No,” Nura responded. Yet, my sister’s gloomy
face reflected the seriousness of the situation.
    “She was attacked by Saleem,” Tahani finally
said.
    I felt cold all over. “Truly?” I asked.
    With tremendous emotion, Nura added, “Our
dear sister was viciously attacked by her own husband.”
    “Why would Saleem want to hurt Reema?” I
wondered. “Surely, she gave him no motive!”
    Like many unattractive people, Reema had
always been pleasing in character, striving to make all around her
feel delightful and gay, as if her joyful countenance could outwit
nature, eliciting admiration from those in her company.
    Saleem? My memory of Reema’s husband flashed
through my mind. Saleem, like Reema, was not blessed with physical
beauty. But he was known to be a most quiet and gentle man. As we
often say in the Arab world, “ Every pot has its cover .”
Saleem was considered a perfect partner for Reema, and their union
seemed to suit them. His violent action was completely unexpected
and out of character.
    I put to Nura the most logical possibility,
“Did Saleem lose his mind? Is that why he assaulted Reema?”
    I was not prepared for what I heard.
    Approximately a year before, Reema had
confessed to her oldest sister, Nura, that a dark secret was
consuming the light in her life. Reema said that her dear husband
was undergoing a bizarre personality change that had begun with a
strange restlessness and dissatisfaction. Suddenly the blackest
melancholy overcame the formerly contented Saleem. Where he had
once been well pleased with his home, he was now irritable, finding
endless fault with his wife and four children. He no longer
expressed an interest in his work, and for many days he would
remain in bed until mid-afternoon. Saleem was caught in the tyranny
of his own emotions, which prevented the entire family from living
a normal life.
    While Reema’s attachment to Saleem had
increased during the years of their married life, Saleem coldly
told his wife that he had never loved her, that as a matter of fact
he had never known love at all, and had married Reema for no reason
other than to gain prestige from her family name.
    Reema confronted Saleem’s unreasonable
hostility with faithful love and genuine concern. Reema told Nura
that she feared Saleem must have a brain tumor, or at least be
suffering from a chemical imbalance. Why else would a man so
radically change, when there had been no trauma in his life.
    Reema pleaded with her husband to seek
medical attention. But instead of looking to professional help for
his misery, Saleem dwelt on his unhappiness. Saleem, a man who
rarely drank alcohol, began to drink with increasing frequency.
When drinking, he