Princess Sultana's Daughters

that the bed was carved in
solid ivory, and now I saw that her description was true. Ali had
once bragged about the number of elephants that had died to support
his bulky frame, but now I could not recall the figure he had
quoted.
    Looking around my brother’s opulent home, I
had a vision of justified Al Sa’ud exile from the kingdom of Saudi
Arabia, for such inherent corruption of wealth deserved no other
fate. Would we one day share royal displacement with the likes of
King Farouk of Egypt, the Shah of Shahs of Iran, or King Idris of
Libya? There was one certainty in my mind, that if the working
class of Saudi Arabia ever viewed the private living quarters of
Prince Ali Al Sa’ud, revolution would be inescapable.
    This terrifying idea numbed my body.
    At that moment, Nada swept into the room
wearing a fashionable hairdo, a haughty expression, and a bulging
bosom crammed into a blinding gold lamé dress. It required little
imagination to understand how our brother had been infatuated by
his most beautiful wife. Nada had achieved fame in our family
through her daring fashions and her will to do battle with a man
who had met little resistance from women throughout his life. In
spite of her ability to torture Ali, I had always thought the
expression in her eyes looked subtly malicious and had never veered
from my opinion that Nada’s itch for gain had been her only purpose
in marrying my brother. I did remember Sara saying that it was
Nada’s insecurity in her marriage that made her appear what she was
not, for she had no idea when Ali might dispense with her, as he
had other women. Such a position creates the need to ensure one’s
future economic security. But I still had my lingering doubts about
her true nature. I did admit to myself that Nada had paid dearly
for the softer luxuries, for married life with Ali surely must be
grim.
    Nada said, “Ali sent you, did he not?”
    I watched her face, thinking that she was
pouting and mourning, as if our visit were all a mistake. I
alternated between like and dislike, and as Nura and Sara gathered
‘round our sister-in-law, I excused myself, saying that I was going
to the bar to fetch myself a drink.
    The house was completely quiet and there was
no one about. After preparing myself a gin and soda, I felt no
desire to rejoin my sisters, and I wandered through my brother’s
palace, finding myself in his private study, which was located on
the lowest level of his home.
    A childlike curiosity came over me, and I
began sifting through my brother’s personal belongings, making a
discovery that first puzzled me and then brought great
amusement.
    I opened a small packet on the top of his
writing desk, and read with vague curiosity about a set of
undergarments my brother had obviously purchased during a recent
trip to Hong Kong.
    A flimsy sheet of instructions accompanied
the underpants, and I read the sheet with interest.
    *
    Wonder Garment: Congratulations on the
purchase of your new Wonder Garment! The garment that you have
purchased should be worn daily. This garment is guaranteed to
improve the wearer’s sexual performance.
    The secret of these miracle underpants lies
in the “strategic” pouch, which maintains the sexual organs at the
correct temperature and under optimum conditions.
    The Wonder Garment is recommended for all
men, but most especially for those who maintain an active sexual
life and for those who sit down at their work.
    *
    I began to giggle, and an evil spirit came
over me. I stuffed the slim plastic bag containing the undergarment
and instruction sheet under my long dress. I had no thought of what
I was going to do with the item but felt an urge to share the
secret with Kareem. Feeling as I had in the days of my childhood
rivalry with Ali, I gleefully envisioned how my brother would
frantically search through his home for the magical pants.
    I met my sisters on the staircase and could
see from their eyes that they’d had no success with Ali’s wife.
    Nada was leaving Ali.
    Unlike poor Reema, Nada was not worried that
her children would be taken, for Ali had little love for his female
offspring and had made no secret to his wife that their three
daughters were of no value to him and would be allowed to live with
their mother.
    I left without saying good-bye. In the car, I
cradled my gin and tonic. My thievery of Ali’s personal possession
had brought forth childish emotions, and I felt quite daring as a
princess in the House of Al Sa’ud riding