Sweet Revenge

briefly. Once he’d battled back his shyness, he bombarded Philip with questions about London. His mind was like a sponge.
    “There is a large Muslim population in London.”
    Philip sipped the coffee and longed for good British tea. “I believe so.”
    “I would like to see it, the buildings and museums, but in the winter when there is snow. I should like to see snow.”
    He remembered how Adrianne had spoken of her first glimpse of snow. “Then you should come next year and stay with Adrianne and me.”
    Rahman thought it would be wonderful, to see the great city, to spend time with his sister with the lovely eyes and smile. There would be so much to learn in London, and he wanted badly to learn. He shot a quick look at his brother. They both knew their father’s mind.
    “You are very kind. One day I will come to London, if Allah wills. You will excuse me, I must go back to my studies.”
    Later, in an air-conditioned limo, they drove through the city. Fahid pointed out the ships in port as he talked of the excellent trade agreements between Jaquir and Western countries.
    There was great beauty here; Philip saw it in the dark distant hills, in the harsh blue of the sea. Despite the traffic and mad rush of taxis there was a sense of antiquity, and, more, of a stubborn resistance to change.
    They passed a courtyard where less than five years before a minor princess and her lover had been executed for adultery. In the distance Philip could see the silver column of an office building topped with a satellite dish.
    “We are a country of contrasts.” Fahid watched a member of the Committee for the Protection of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice grab an unescorted woman by the arm. “There has been much change in Jaquir in the last twenty-five years, yet we are, and will always be, a country of Islam.”
    Since the opening had been given, Philip pried it a bit further. “Is it awkward for you, having been educated in the West?”
    Fahid studied the
matawain
who shouted at the lone woman and shoved her roughly out of the suqs. He disapproved of such things, but he was not yet king. “It is sometimes difficult to find the balance between what is best in your world and what is best in my own. If Jaquir
is
to survive more progress, more compromise will be necessary. The laws of Islam cannot change, the traditions of men must.”
    Philip, too, had seen the exchange in the suq. “Traditions such as manhandling women?”
    Fahid gave brief instructions to the driver, then settled back. “The religious police are dedicated, and it is religion which governs in Jaquir.”
    “I’m not one to criticize another’s religion, Fahid. But it’s difficult for a man to sit by and watch a woman mistreated.” He was thinking beyond the woman in the suq to Adrianne, and to Phoebe. Fahid had no trouble following the trail.
    “On some points you and I will never agree.”
    “What will you change when you rule?”
    “It is not so much what I will change, but what the people will allow to be changed. Like many Europeans, you believe it is the government that makes the people what they are. That oppresses or that frees. In many ways, perhaps in most, it is the people themselves who hold off change. They struggle against progress even as they rush to embrace it.” Fahid smiled. There was a jug of chilled juice which he poured into crystal goblets for both of them. “Would it surprise you that many women enjoy their veils? It is not the law. They became popularized by the elite many centuries ago. What became fashionable during Mohammed’s time has become tradition.”
    When Philip drew out a cigarette, Fahid took a gold lighter and flicked on the flame. “You see that no woman is permitted to drive in Jaquir. This is not a law, but a tradition. It is not written that it is unseemly for a woman to operate a car, but it is … discouraged, because if she were to have a flat, no man could assist her. If she were to drive recklessly, the police could not detain her. So it is tradition that becomes more solid than the law itself.”
    “Are your women content?”
    “Who knows the mind of a woman?”
    Philip grinned. “On that East and West can agree.”
    “This is what I wanted to show you.” As the limo stopped, Fahid gestured out the window “Ahmand Memorial University. The woman’s college.”
    The single building was constructed out of good American brick. The windows were latticed as much for protection against the sun