Princess (26 page)

I awoke one night thinking that I had suffered a bad dream. I was grasping for easement when I realized that the nightmare was real; there would be no relief to those who knew Sameera and the fact that she now suffered helplessly in total captivity and isolation. The never-ending question ran through my mind: What power on earth could release her? As I stared up at the desert night sky sparkling with stars, I had to conclude there was none.

Chapter Eighteen: Second Wife

Thursday, August 28, 1980, is a day I will never forget; Kareem and I had just returned to Riyadh from Taif, a cool mountain resort. I was lounging on the sofa while one of the Filipino servants rubbed my aching feet. Our three children were at a camp in Dubai, in the Emirates, and I was bored without them.

As I looked through the stack of newspapers that had accumulated during our two months’ absence, an item of interest leaped from the page of the latest newspaper. One of my relatives, the governor of Asir, Prince Khaled Al Faisal, had recently taken steps to curb the spiraling cost of marriage in his province by limiting the dowry costs that a groom had to pay to acquire a bride in his area. The prince had placed a limit of SR 25,000 ($7,000) as the maximum the bride’s parents would be allowed to request for their daughter. The article pointed out that the directive was well received by eligible bachelors, since SR 100,000 ($27,000) was the average price of brides in the year 1980. As a result, many young men of Saudi Arabia could not afford to purchase a wife.

I read the item to the Filipino servant, but she took little note, for she had few concerns of the plight of Saudi women who were bought and sold. Mere survival was a heavy burden for most Filipinos. They thought we Saudi women were quite fortunate to have endless time on our hands and vast sums of money to spend on whatever we might fancy.

As the mother of two daughters, I did not care about the actual price of a bride, for when the occasion came for our children to wed, the bridal price would be of little concern. Kareem and I were exceedingly wealthy; money failed to play a role in my daily frustrations. But I saw a trend of backward moves by the men of our family. In the confines of our homes, they spoke eloquently of freedom for women, while in legal directives they themselves wrote, they kept the pressure high for the status quo and steadily pushed us back to the primitive age.

Only the total elimination of dowries would have satisfied my longing. How many years would it take before we women were no longer bought and sold as property?

I was restless and began to feel edgy, for all of my sisters, other than Sara, were still abroad. My dearest sister was in the last few weeks of her fourth pregnancy and now slept most of the daylight hours.

My life, so well planned in my youth, had not turned out the accomplishments I had envisioned. Instead, I had settled into much the same routine as my sisters and the other royal princesses I befriended.

Since the servants fed the children their morning meal and organized their days, I generally slept until noon. After a snack of fresh fruits, I would soak in the tub in a leisurely manner. After dressing, I would join Kareem or, if he was occupied, my sisters for a late lunch. We would lounge and read after our meal, and then Kareem and I would take a short nap. Afterward, he would return to the office or visit with his royal cousins while I spent a few hours with the children.

I attended women’s parties in the late afternoon and returned to our palace no later than eight or nine o’clock in the evening. Kareem and I made a point of eating our evening meal with the children to learn about their activities that day. We almost always attended a dinner party in the evenings, for we were of a most select group that entertained mixed couples. Generally, our associates were of the Royal Family only, but on occasion high-ranking foreigners, foreign ministers, and wealthy Saudi business families would be included in our inner circle. Since our social freedoms had not come, we of the younger generation had decided to take them by force. We knew that the religious groups seethed with anger at our mixed gatherings, yet they made no move to pressure Khalid, our revered and pious king.

For such social gatherings the women dressed with flamboyance, for we had few occasions to show off our jewels and dresses. Kareem and I were often out until two or three in the morning. Our routine rarely wavered unless we were out of the country. An eternal question haunted me: Was this all there was? I could deny the facts no longer. I, the fiery Sultana, had become an ordinary, dull, and listless Saudi woman, with little of real importance to occupy my days. I hated my lazy and luxurious life, but was unsure as to the steps I could take to change my rut of boredom.

After the relaxing foot massage, I had an urge to walk through the gardens. In planning our own gardens, I had used Nura’s lovely grounds as a reference. Nothing gave me as much peace as a stroll in the cool shade of the small forest so vigorously watered and tended by a crew of twelve men from Sri Lanka. We lived in the middle of one the world’s harshest deserts, yet our homes were surrounded by lush, green gardens. Because of endless sums of money paid for plentiful water trucked in from the seaports for the four waterings each day, we wealthy Saudis could escape the stark red sands that were waiting for the slightest chance to encroach upon our cities and erase our memory from the earth. In time, the desert would win, but for now, we were the masters of our land.

I stopped to rest in the gazebo specially built for Maha, our eldest daughter, who would soon celebrate her fifth birthday. She was a dreamer and spent hours upon hours hidden in the midst of the vine-covered contraption, playing complicated games with imaginary friends. She reminded me so of myself at a young age. Fortunately, she did not share the heavy revolutionary personality of her mother, for Maha enjoyed her father’s love and felt no need to rebel.

I picked at the flowers overhanging Maha’s favorite spot. She had left an assortment of toys in an unruly pile. I smiled and wondered how she could be so completely removed from her younger sister’s character traits, for Amani, who was now three, was a child of perfection, much in the same manner as her Aunt Sara.

As I thought of my children, my depression came to me, fierce and strong. I remembered to thank God for my healthy son and two daughters, but tears welled in my eyes when I thought again about the fact that I would have no more children.

The year before, during a routine examination at the King Faisal Specialist Hospital and Research Centre here in our city, I had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Kareem and I were shocked, for we thought of illness as belonging only to the aged. I had remained disease-free all of my life and had borne my last two children with ease. The doctors were certain I was now clean of the killer cells, but I had lost one breast. Further, I was also warned not to become pregnant.

As a precaution against desire for more little ones that would overrule common sense, Kareem and I made a decision for me to undergo sterilization. My fears had been so great that I might not live to see my three children grow that my mind was little troubled at the time by the thought of having such a small family. In Saudi Arabia, rarely does a woman stop producing children; age removes the pangs of giving birth, nothing else.

The sound of Kareem’s voice interrupted my deep and troubled thoughts. I watched him as he walked briskly across the thick grass. We had suffered many arguments over the past year, for our lives were stressed by my illness. I made a sudden resolve to become the old Sultana, the girl who used to make her husband laugh with great joy and abandon. I smiled at his long, athletic legs bound by the tightness of his thobe. The sight of him still gladdened my heart.

When he came closer I recognized that trouble was on his mind. I tossed around the possibilities, for I knew my husband’s moods; it would take many moments for him to reveal his burden. I gestured with my hand for him to sit beside me. I wanted to sit as closely as our rigid customs allow, which meant our limbs could touch through our clothing so long as no one could see.

Kareem disappointed me when he settled at the farthest corner of the gazebo. He did not return my smile of welcome. Some harm had come to the children! I jumped to my feet and asked him what bad news he brought. He seemed surprised that I anticipated unpleasant tidings. Then Kareem uttered words that I never, in my wildest expectations thought I would hear from my husband.

“
Sultana, I have made a decision, a very difficult decision, some months ago. I have not discussed this matter with you due to your illness.”

I nodded, unclear to what was awaiting me, though I was terrified to hear his words.

“
Sultana, you are, and will always be, the most important woman—wife—in my heart.”

I still had no notion of what message my husband wanted me to hear, but without doubt, his words were meant to prepare me for news I would not embrace. I felt numbness creep into my face; I knew with certainty that I did not want him to reveal what change I would soon know as actuality.

“
Sultana, I am a man that can afford many children. I desire ten, twenty, as many as God sees fit to give me.”

He paused for what seemed a lifetime. I held my breath in fear. “Sultana, I am going to wed another. As the second wife, she will be there to provide me children. I need nothing further from her, only children. My love is always with you.”

No sound could be heard because of the pounding in my head. I was trapped in a dark reality that I did not believe. Never, never, never had such a consideration entered the realm of possibility.

Kareem waited for my reaction. At first, I could not move. My breath finally came back to me in deep, ragged gasps. The truth of his announcement slowly sank into my mind and came to life; when my strength returned, I could answer him only with a fit of passion that brought us both to the floor.

The depth of my pain could not be expressed in words. I needed to hear Kareem beg for my mercy as I clawed his face and kicked his groin and tried desperately to kill the man who was my husband.

Kareem struggled to get to his feet, but because of the sudden madness that had consumed me with violence, I was possessed with great physical strength. To restrain me, Kareem had to pin me to the ground and sit astride my body.

My screams pierced the air. The names I called my husband caused the gathering servants to freeze. Like a wild creature, I spit into Kareem’s face and watched his astonishment grow as he witnessed the fury he had triggered. Finally, the servants, in fear of what they were witnessing, rushed to various areas and hid themselves in buildings and behind bushes.

At last, my rage was spent. A deadly calm fell over me. My mind was made up. I told Kareem that I wanted a divorce; I would never submit to the humiliation of his taking another wife. Kareem replied that divorce would be out of the question unless I chose to give up my children for his second wife to raise. He would never allow them to leave his home.

In a flash, I saw my life before me. Kareem, far removed from the dignity and decency of a civilized man, assuming one wife after another. Most men and women sense the limits they can bear; philosophically, I did not have the disposition to abide such debauchery.

Kareem could mouth any deception he chose, but I understood the implications of his taking a second wife. The desire for children was not his basis. The issue was primitive. We had been wed for eight years; sexual license was his aim. Obviously, my husband was weary of eating the same dish and sought a new, exotic fare for his palate.

To think that Kareem thought me mindless enough to accept his well-thought-out explanation further enraged me. Yes, I would accept what God placed before me, but this dispensation did not extend to my earthly husband. I told Kareem to remove himself from my presence; I would, on this day, restrain from murder.

For the first time, I felt keenly the first emotions of dislike toward my husband. His façade was wisdom and kindness; his very bowels were cunning and selfish. I had lain beside him eight years; yet, he suddenly seemed like a stranger I did not know at all. I asked him to leave my sight. I was disgusted to discover that he was merely a shell of a man with little to commend him, after all.

I watched him as he walked away, head low, shoulders slumped.

How was it possible to love him less than an hour before? Yet, the flow of my love had slowed. I had held the character of Kareem high, regarding him in great favor over other men of our society. Yet, sadly, at the core of his being, he was as all the rest.

Yes, we had lived through a year of difficulties. Yes, marriage proves restrictive and irritating. We had enjoyed seven years of immense pleasures and suffered through only one year of trouble and evolution. For that, thoughts of fresh joys, a new uncomplicated woman perhaps, crept into my partner’s dreams.

Worst of all, he was a man who could blackmail the one with whom he had borne children. Without shame, he had dangled the sinister possibility of his second wife determining the happiness of my precious children. That should connect me with the reality of my male-dominated world.

As a plan began to grow in my mind, I thought of my husband with pity. His memory had dimmed of the fiery one he had wed. Kareem would find it difficult to outwit me in the possession of my children.

Chapter Nineteen: Escape

Unlike most Saudi husbands, Kareem kept his family’s passports and papers within easy reach of his wife. Already I was a master at duplicating his signature. His personal seal was stored on top of his desk in his home study. By the time I had gathered my thoughts and returned to the house, Kareem was no longer in evidence. So he was a coward too. I knew with certainty that he would stay at his father’s palace for a night or two.