Princess (27 page)

A sudden thought of Noorah came to mind. I seethed with anger as I imagined my mother-in-law’s pleasure at my predicament. More than likely, she had already selected the second wife for her eldest son. Until that moment I had not considered who the new wife would be; perhaps she was a youthful royal cousin, for we royals tend to wed royalty.

I calmly packed a traveling case and emptied our hidden safe of hundreds of thousands of dollars. Like most of the royals, Kareem had plans for the possibility of revolutionary fervor, which often spring to life unexpectedly in lands ruled by monarchies. We had talked of his plan to buy our lives should the populous weak ever overthrow the strong. I uttered a murderous prayer for our Shiite minority in the Eastern Province to overthrow our Sunni leaders; a vision of Kareem’s head skewered on a post brought a smile to my grim countenance. After packing my wealth of jewels in a small travel bag, I prepared my travel papers with utmost ease. Finally I was ready.

I could not trust any of my sisters, for they might be tempted to divulge my plan to their husbands. And men stick together; Kareem would be notified immediately.

I called for my most trusted maid, for I suspected she would be the first questioned by Kareem, and told her I was going to Jeddah for a few days and to please advise my husband of my plans, should he inquire.

I telephoned my favorite of the family’s pilots and advised him that we would be flying to Jeddah within the hour; he was to meet me at the airport. I called the servants in Jeddah and informed them that I would be visiting a friend in the city; perhaps I would come by the villa for a visit. Should Kareem call and request to speak to me, they should tell him that I was at the home of a friend and would call him back at my first opportunity.

My deceitful actions were an attempt to keep Kareem from my true travel plans as long as possible.

As I was driven to the airport, I watched, in wonder, at the mass of Thursday evening traffic in Riyadh. Our city was filled with foreign workers, for we Saudis could not bring ourselves to work at menial jobs. One day the underprivileged would weary of our ill-treatment; our carcasses would make food for the packs of wild dogs that roamed our cities.

When the American pilot saw the black shadow that was me walking in his direction, he grinned and waved. He had taken me on many journeys, and was a warm reminder of the open and friendly pilots who had flown my mother and me to Sara’s side so many years before. The memory caused my heart to flutter and to ache for the healing embrace of my mother.

When I boarded the plane, I told the pilot that our plans had changed; one of the children had become ill in Dubai, and I had just received a telephone call from Kareem advising me that l should go to our child rather than Jeddah. He, Kareem, would follow tomorrow if it was a real emergency.

I lied with the greatest of ease when I told the pilot that we, of course, imagined that our youngest was simply homesick and that my presence would soothe her feelings. I laughed when I said that they had been away for three weeks, much too long for the little one.

Without questioning me further, the pilot changed his flight plans. He had flown for our family for many years and knew us as a happy couple. He had no reason to doubt my orders.

Once we arrived in Dubai, I told the pilot to stay at his usual hotel, the Dubai Sheraton. I would call him tomorrow or the day after to advise him of my plans. I told him he should consider himself off duty, for Kareem had said he would not need him or the plane for several days. We owned three Lear jets; one was always on standby for Kareem’s use.

The children were ecstatic at the unexpected sight of their mother. The headmaster of the British summer camp shook his head in sympathy when I reported that their grandmother was gravely ill. I would be taking the children, that very night, back with me to Riyadh. He hurried off to his office to locate their passports.

When I shook the man’s hand in farewell, I mentioned that I could not locate the servants who had accompanied the children to Dubai. They had not answered the telephone in their room; I imagined they were eating their dinner meal. Would he call them in the morning and tell them I would have the pilot, Joel, waiting for them at the Dubai Sheraton? They should go immediately and present the pilot with this note. With that, I handed the headmaster an envelope addressed to the American pilot.

Inside the note, I apologized for using him in such a deceptive manner; I added a postscript to Kareem describing my duplicity of the pilot. I knew Kareem would have a flash of anger at the pilot, but it would pass when he considered the circumstances. The pilot, Joel, was a favorite of Kareem’s. He was sure not to lose his job.

The children and I climbed into the waiting limousine, which sped to the airport; a direct flight to London was departing within the hour. I would use whatever lie I could muster to obtain four seats on the plane.

As it turned out, I did not have to damage my soul with God further. The flight was almost empty; most people were returning to the Gulf at the end of the hot summer, not departing. The children were sleepy and asked few questions; I told them they would be surprised at the end of the journey.

As the children slept, I nervously turned the pages of a magazine. Nothing on the pages penetrated my thoughts; I was considering my next move with great care. The remainder of my life would depend upon the events of the next few weeks. Slowly, the feeling overcame me that someone with a purpose was staring directly at me. Had my flight from Kareem already been discovered?

I looked across the aisle. An Arab woman of thirty or so years of age was staring hard at me. She cradled a sleeping three-or four-year-old girl in her arms. I was relieved to see that my mental intruder was a woman, and a mother, for Saudi men would never put such a one in their employ. Her piercing glower was a puzzle, so I stood, threaded my way around the serving cart, and sat in the empty seat beside her. I asked her what her trouble was; had I offended her in some manner?

Her granite face came to life and she practically spat her words at me: “I was at the airport when you arrived; you, and your brood.” She glanced with contempt at my children, “you practically ran over me and my child as you checked in at the ticket counter!” She looked with black malice into my eyes when she emphasized my nationality in her next insulting sentence: “You Saudis think you can buy the world!”

My warped day had sapped my strength; I surprised myself even more than I surprised the woman when I burst into tears. Through my sobs, I patted her shoulder and told her I was sorry. I had a great tragedy in my life and catching this flight was of utmost importance. With tears streaming down my face, I returned to my seat.

The woman was of a sympathetic nature, for she was unable to remain far from my side after my show of emotion. She carefully placed her daughter in the seat and knelt in the aisle beside me. My body stiffened and I turned away, but she maneuvered her face close to mine and said, “Please, I apologize. I, too, have had a great tragedy. If I tell you what happened to my daughter in your country, more than likely at the hands of some of your countrymen, you will understand my great bitterness.”

Having absorbed more horror than most people endure in a lifetime, I felt no desire to carry yet another image of injustice in my comprehension. Unable to trust my voice, I mouthed the words “I am sorry.” She seemed to understand that I was on the verge of hysterics so she left my side.

But the woman was unwilling to let the dreadful happening go unheard, and before the flight had ended I knew the cause of her despair. Upon hearing her story, my bitterness further hardened toward the degenerate patriarchal society that endangers all females, even children, who dare to tread on the soil of Saudi Arabia, regardless of their nationality.

Widad, the woman, was from Lebanon. Because of the persistence of the heartbreaking civil war of that once beautiful little country, Saudi Arabia and the Gulf States were overflowing with Lebanese in search of jobs. Widad’s husband was one of the fortunate who had been employed as an executive in one of the many booming businesses in Riyadh. After a favorable beginning, he had felt secure enough to bring his wife and young daughter to live in the desert capital.

Widad had been content with her life in Riyadh. The war in Lebanon had taken away any desire to return to the endless shelling and mindless deaths of those innocent there. She happily settled herself in a land far different from the one she had known. A spacious villa was rented, furniture was purchased, lives were reassembled. Widad had been most impressed with the lack of crime in our country. With severe punishments meted out to those guilty, few criminals ply their trade in Saudi Arabia, for a convicted thief will lose his hand, and a murderer or rapist, his head. With a mind of peace, she had failed to caution her young daughter of the danger of strangers.

Two months before, Widad had given a small woman’s party for a group of friends. As with Saudi women, there is little for foreign women to occupy themselves with in my land. Widad served light refreshments and her guests played cards. Two of the women had brought children, so Widad’s daughter was fully entertained in the garden.

After the last guest departed, Widad helped her two Indian servants to clear the house for her husband’s return in the evening. The phone rang and Widad chatted much longer than she had realized. When she glanced through the window, she could see only darkness. She called out for one of the servants to go and bring in her child.

Widad’s daughter was not to be found. After a frantic investigation, the last guest remembered that the child had been sitting on the curb, holding her doll. Widad’s husband returned, and a search of the neighborhood was begun. No one had seen the child. After weeks of searching, Widad and her husband could only surmise that their sole child had been abducted and more than likely murdered. When all hope for her precious daughter was gone, Widad found she could no longer reside in her villa in Riyadh. She returned to her family in war-torn Lebanon. To earn a living for them, her husband remained in his job, in the same villa.

Ten days after Widad arrived in Beirut, she heard a loud pounding on her apartment door. Frightened from the recent militia battles in her neighborhood, she pretended that no one was at home until she heard the voice of her neighbor screaming news from her husband in Riyadh.

The neighbor had just received a telephone call from Widad’s husband. The line had been disconnected, but not before he had taken down an unbelievable message for Widad. She was to take the boat to Cyprus and go immediately to the Saudi embassy in that country. Her visa for reentry to Saudi Arabia was waiting. She should return as quickly as possible to Riyadh. Their daughter was alive! She had come home.

Three long days were needed for the boat trip from Jounieh, Lebanon, to Larnaca, Cyprus, so that her visa could be stamped for the plane trip to Riyadh. By the time Widad arrived in Riyadh, the startling truth of their child’s whereabouts was revealed.

Once Widad’s husband had recovered from the shock of driving up to his villa to find his long-lost daughter standing by the gate, he had taken the child to a medical clinic to ascertain if she had been raped, for that was his biggest fear. After a thorough examination, the discovery was chilling. The physician told the astonished father that his child had not suffered from sexual assault. However, she had recently undergone major surgery. Widad’s daughter had been used as a kidney donor, the doctor told him. The child’s scars were ragged and infection had set in from filth.

Speculations were wild among the medical staff that examined the child, for many questions arose as to donor-typing and surgical procedures. It was unlikely that the child had undergone surgery in Saudi Arabia; at that time such an operation was not common in the kingdom.

When the police investigated, they suggested that the child had been taken to India by a rich Saudi who had a child in need of a kidney transplant. Perhaps this person had abducted more than one child and had selected the one most suitable. No one could determine the events that led to the surgery, for the child could recall only a long black car and a bad-smelling handkerchief held by a big man. She had awakened to severe pain. Isolated in a room with a nurse who could not speak Arabic, she saw no other persons. The day of her release, she was blindfolded, driven for a long time, and unexpectedly dropped at her door.

Without a doubt, whoever had abducted the child was wealthy, for when her father had jumped from the car and seized his daughter in his arms, she was clutching a small bag filled with more than twenty thousand dollars in cash, along with many pieces of expensive jewelry.

Understandably, Widad despised my land and the oil riches that had shaped a people who considered their wealth the conqueror of all of life’s obstacles. Sacred body parts were taken from innocent children and cash left to neutralize the anger of those injured! When Widad saw my look of utter disbelief at her story, she rushed to bring me her sleeping child and exposed the long red scar that showed clearly the moral depths to which some men will stoop.

I could only shake my head in horror.

Widad gazed at her sleeping daughter with rapt love; her return was nothing short of a miracle. Widad’s parting words erased the fragile pride I still had left in my nationality: “You, as a Saudi woman, have my sympathy. In my short time in your country, I saw the manner of your lives. For sure, money may smooth your paths, but such a people as the Saudis will not endure.” She paused for a moment of reflection before continuing: “While it is true that financial desperation leads foreigners to Saudi Arabia, you are still hated by all that have known you.”