Princess (16 page)

Chapter Eleven: Kareem

Much to Father’s amazement, and to my bitter disappointment, Kareem’s family did not break off our engagement. Instead, Kareem and his father arrived at Father’s office the following week and politely asked that Kareem be allowed to meet me, under proper supervision, of course. Kareem had heard of my unorthodox behavior with his relatives and was decidedly curious to discover if I was completely mad or just highly spirited.

Father had not responded to my earlier entreaty to meet with Kareem, but a request from the man’s family was a different matter. After discussing the issue at length with several of the family aunties and my sister Nura, Father gave a favorable reply to Kareem’s request.

Wild with joy, I danced around the room when Father told me the news. I was going to meet the man I would marry before I married him! My sisters and I were electrified, for it was just not done in our society; we were prisoners who felt the ever-present chains of tradition lighten.

Kareem’s parents and my father and Nura decreed that Kareem and his mother would come to our villa in two weeks’ time for afternoon tea. Kareem and I would be chaperoned by Nura, Sara, two of my aunties, and his mother.

With this possibility of control of my life on the horizon, hope was born, a fantasy I dared not imagine only yesterday. I found myself excited and wondered if I would find Kareem to my taste. Then I was struck with a new and unpleasant thought; perhaps Kareem would not like me! Oh, how I wanted to be beautiful like Sara, so that men’s hearts would throb with desire.

Now I stood for hours gazing in the mirror—cursing my small stature, twisting my short, unruly curls. My nose seemed too small for my face, my eyes had no luster. Perhaps it was best to hide me under a veil until the night of the wedding!

Sara chuckled at my agony and tried to reassure me: Men loved petite women, particularly ones with small, upturned noses and smiling eyes. Nura, whose opinion everyone respected, said, laughingly, that I was considered very pretty by all the women in the family. I had just never pursued beauty; perhaps the time had come for me to enhance my assets.

Suddenly consumed with yearnings to be considered a desirable woman, I told Father I had nothing to wear. For even though we Saudi women veil on the streets, our dark coverings are discarded the moment we enter the home of a female friend. Since we cannot awe those of the opposite sex, other than our husbands, with our carefully selected fashions, we females attempt to dazzle each other. Here, we really do dress for other women! For instance, women in my country will arrive at an afternoon tea party carefully dressed in lace and satin, with their garments tastefully accented by a display of priceless diamonds and rubies.

Many of my foreign friends have been stunned by the plunging necklines and skimpy clothing hidden under our dowdy abaayas. I have been told that we Saudi women resemble bright exotic birds with our choice of attire under our black veils and abaayas. Without a doubt, we women in black take more time and effort with our individual clothing under our cloaks than do Western women, who are free to flaunt their fashionable clothes.

Father, delighted that I was displaying an interest in a marriage he had thought I would disrupt, easily relented to my pleas. Nura and her husband traveled with me to London for a three-day shopping spree at Harrods. I took great pains to tell the Harrods salesladies that I was going to meet my fiancé the following week. Just because I was a Saudi princess, I did not want them to assume I was without choices in my life. I felt disappointed that no one expressed awe or surprise at my proud announcement. Those who are free cannot fathom the value of small victories for those who live on a tether.

While in London, Nura arranged for me to have a cosmetic makeover and a wardrobe color chart prepared. When told that emerald green was my most flattering shade, I bought seventeen outfits in that one color. My unruly hair was pulled back in a smooth twist, and I stared in delicious wonder at the sophisticated stranger in the storefront windows as I walked through the shopping districts in London.

Sara and Marci helped me dress on the day of the party. I alternately cried and cursed at the impossibility of duplicating my London hairstyle when Huda suddenly appeared at my bedroom door.

“
Beware,” she cried, her eyes narrowing to slits, “first you will know happiness, but then unhappiness will come with your new husband.” I threw my hairbrush at her and loudly told her not to spoil my day with her gibberish. Sara twisted my ear and told me to be ashamed of myself; Huda was just an old woman. My conscience did not hurt me at all, and I told Sara so. Sara replied that the reason was that I did not have a conscience. We sulked with each other until the gate bell rang; then she hugged me and said I looked lovely in my emerald green dress.

I was actually going to see my future husband in the flesh! The sound of my pounding heart filled my ears. Feeling all eyes on me watching for my reaction made me blush, which was ruining the sophisticated entrance I had planned. Oh, to return to the safety of my childhood!