by Jean Sasson
As was the custom of the day, the young boy’s mother was wed to a surviving brother of his father, a man who had many children of his own. The young boy felt responsible for his five younger siblings. Four of the five children were buried by his own hand, their deaths the result of poor nutrition and lack of medical facilities. His brutish climb to prosperity was a tale of Dickensian horror.
After a youth spent amid dire poverty, it was quite natural that the first Saudi generation to know the power of wealth would pamper their offspring, showering them with all that their money could purchase. While Kareem and I grew to adulthood without knowing need, we understood the vital force of our parents’ poverty, which had made a lasting impact during our youth. However, the children born from our generation never knew deprivation, even secondhand, and so did not realize what it really meant to be poor.
Civilization followed a natural course, for concentrated wealth balanced insecurely upon a lost heritage may at any moment be dismissed as of no value. It was only a matter of time until the shaky foundations began to tumble.
The conventions and traditions accepted by past generations were questioned by my generation. The generation that followed mine often, wholly without restraint, followed their animal instincts. This primitive rejection of social order brought forth a natural backlash of religious fanaticism and disdain for extravagant fortunes.
Now, those who are most fanatical are the offspring of my generation. Having never known life without great wealth, and spared any knowledge of the consequences of wrenching poverty, our children and the children of our acquaintances are scornful of our economic ease and are searching for a purpose greater than the accumulation of additional riches.
My child Amani became a leader of a group of women who strive to be even more militant than the men who lead the faithful to overturn the throne claimed by the Al Sa’ud clan.
While Amani sought to save the souls of those she knows as relatives, or claims as friends, she brought forth a confession from her cousin Faten, the child of my brother, Ali, that none of us could ever have imagined.
No man has been haughtier with women than Ali. As a child, he treated his ten sisters with contempt. As a young man living in America, he bedded and casually discarded hundreds of Western women. As a husband, he treated his wives as slaves, caring little about their happiness, careful to wed girls at first puberty so that they knew little of man’s nature and accepted his perverse behavior as normal. In addition to four wives, Ali settled one concubine after the other in his home. As a father, he virtually ignored his daughters and showered affection on his sons.
It was only natural that his son Majed, brother of Faten, grew into a sadistic youth who considered women nothing more than sexual objects.
Looking back, I know now that Majed would have been beheaded or shot to death by a firing squad had his crime become common knowledge. Nothing could have saved him from this fate, not even the fact that he is the son of a high-ranking prince, for his sin was without precedent in the Al Sa’ud family.
*
We had returned to our home in Riyadh, where each afternoon after school Amani continued her daily Koran sessions with those relatives who were interested in returning to the times of darkness, when women would remain silent on all aspects of life that did not occur within the confines of their homes.
It was a Wednesday afternoon, and I watched from my bedroom balcony as one after another of my daughter’s friends and relatives left our driveway in the safety of their chauffeur-driven limousines. Faten, the daughter of my brother, Ali, was the last to leave, and I thought it odd that she and Amani talked for many long moments, with passionate embraces exchanged on more than one occasion. Sadly, I guessed that Faten, in her desperate unhappiness as the daughter of my unfeeling brother, had fiercely seized the cause my child had offered her.
Desperate to return to a normal relationship with my child, I cautioned myself not to introduce the topic of religion with Amani ever again, but to let God lead her where he wanted her to go. Still, I thought to interest Amani in a game of backgammon or cards, to see if I could focus her mind on something other than her faith.
When I timidly knocked on my daughter’s door, there was no response. I heard the sound of weeping and entered her room. I felt irritation sweep through my body, for there sat Amani, holding the Koran in one hand and wiping her tears with the other. While I wanted to shout that religion was not meant to sadden a person, I resisted the urge and knelt at my child’s feet. I began to pat her knee and calmly question her on the cause of her grief.
Expecting to hear that she had received some message from God not meant for my ears, I was startled when she replied, “Mummy, I am truly grieved by what I must do!”
Then my child threw herself into my arms and wept as one who has heard the most devastating news!
“Amani! Daughter! What is this?”
“Mummy!” A spasm shook her small frame as she sobbed. “A terrible sin has been committed. I have learned a loathsome secret. God has told me to make this sin public.”
“What sin?” I shouted, alarmed that Amani had somehow heard of Maha’s love relationship with her friend Aisha, knowing that if their affair were made public my daughter and our family would suffer greatly.
Amani looked at me with big eyes. “Faten has revealed a confidence that is troubling her soul. This sin is too terrible to reveal, yet I must.”
Relieved that Amani was not speaking of her sister, I speculated on which of the Al Sa’ud scandals might be plaguing my child. In a family the size of the Al Sa’ud clan, there is much gossip regarding the ungovernable conduct of the young princes and, on rarer occasions, the youthful princesses. Male members of the family will often be featured in foreign newspapers after a great gambling loss or having been caught in a sexual misadventure with a foreign woman. After family holidays in the West, more than one princess has returned to the kingdom expecting an illegitimate child. Rarely is the complete truth revealed, as the various relatives rush to cover the misdeeds of their children to prevent their personal misfortunes from becoming common knowledge throughout the Al Sa’ud clan.
Amani blurted out, “Mummy. It is Majed. Majed has committed a sexual sin.”
I had difficulty maintaining a serious face. “Majed? Amani, Majed is his father’s son.” I pulled my daughter’s face to mine, warning her, “If you speak of this matter, the men of our family will do nothing more than share a laugh at your expense. Ali is proud of his son’s success with foreign women.”
Everyone in our family knew that Majed, Ali’s second son, participated in foreign activities within our country, attending parties in foreign compounds and dating non-Muslim women from the hospitals and foreign airlines. This kind of activity was generally frowned upon by Muslim families, but Ali thought it a perfect opportunity for his second son to enjoy sexual freedom in a land where such activities are strictly forbidden between people of the Muslim religion.
My heart ached when I saw the seriousness of Amani’s expression as she explained further. “No, Mummy. You do not understand. Majed has performed a sexual act without the consent of the woman.” I had no idea what my daughter was talking about. “Amani, what do you mean?”
My daughter began to weep once again. Between her convulsive sobs, she asked that I go and find her father, saying that she needed his guidance in her decision about whom to inform of Majed’s terrible conduct.
Hurt that Amani desired her father’s opinion over my own, I nevertheless went through the house, looking for Kareem. When I finally located him with Abdullah and Maha in the game room, playing a lively game of pool, I felt a twinge of jealousy, thinking to myself that all three of my children preferred their father to their mother. I had to bite my tongue to avoid blurting out Kareem’s distressing character flaws in an attempt to redirect my children’s devotion.
All three members of my family jumped when I loudly yelled, “Kareem! Amani needs you.”
“On
e moment. It is my turn.”
“Kareem. Your daughter is weeping. Come now.”
My husband gave me a filthy look. “What have you said to her, Sultana?”
Already testy and now wrongly accused, I used my hand to knock each of the brightly colored pool balls into the holes at the sides of the table. I walked away, unconcerned with the disappointed moans coming from Kareem and Abdullah. “Now,” I shouted over my shoulder. “The game has ended. You have won. Now perhaps you can tend to your child.”
Kareem was on my heels as we entered Amani’s room. The tears had gone from my daughter’s eyes, and she had the fixed look of one who has made a decision.
Kareem spoke first. “Amani? Your mother says that you need to tell me something?”
“Father, Majed has to be punished for what he has done. I have read carefully all that is written of such matters, and there is no other way. Punishment must be given to my cousin.”
Kareem sat on a chair and crossed his legs. He had a squeezed, funny look on his face, as though for the first moment he realized that Amani had gone too far in her religious quest.
His voice quiet, he asked, “What has Majed done that is so terrible?”
Still an innocent girl, Amani’s face turned a bright red. “I am ashamed of what I have to say.”
“Just say it,” Kareem prodded.
Embarrassed at speaking thus in the presence of a man, even her own father whom she had purposely requested to share the confidence, Amani stared into her lap. Her face was clear and innocent as she told us a tale of evil blackness.
“One evening Majed attended a party at one of the Western compounds. I believe that it was the compound for Lockheed employees. While there, he met an American woman who took an interest in the fact that he was of the royal family. As the evening went on, Majed became drunk, and the woman thought better of her promise to go with him to a friend’s apartment. When Majed understood that he had wasted his evening and that there would be no sex that night, he left the compound in an angry mood. On the way to his home, he went to visit a friend, who happened to be in a hospital with minor injuries from a car accident. While at this hospital, Majed became angrier, and in his drunken condition, he slipped from room to room searching for a blonde or foreign woman whom he could coax or pay to have sex.
“It was after midnight, and there were few employees who were not sleeping.”
Amani’s bottom lip began to tremble, and Kareem had to persuade her to continue. “And…what happened then, Amani?”
The accusation tumbled from my daughter’s mouth. “Majed had sex with a woman in the hospital who was a patient, a woman who had been seriously injured and was not conscious.”
I could not move. As one who has been turned to stone, I listened as my daughter and my husband continued to speak. Kareem shook his head in disbelief. “Amani. Faten told you that?”
“Yes, Father. And more.”
“Amani. No. Faten is imagining this. It cannot be true. It is too sick to be real.”
“I knew you would resist the truth,” Amani accused. “There is proof.”
“Proof? What proof? I would like to know.”
“Well, there was a man from Pakistan working in that area of the hospital. He discovered Majed leaving the room, and when he examined the patient, he saw that the sheets on her bed had been disturbed. He followed Majed and threatened to call the authorities. When he was told that Majed was a prince, he demanded money. To quiet him, Majed gave him what he had in his pocket.”
“Amani!” Kareem, highly dubious, cautioned his daughter. “Watch the words that come from your tongue. Rape! Blackmail! This is too much to believe!”
“It is true! It is true! You will see! Now there is going to be trouble.” Amani’s words rushed, one atop the other, as she tried to convince her father. “Now it has been discovered that the woman who was in a coma, a Christian woman from another land, is with child! Even though she has been in the hospital, unconscious, for six months! She is three months with child! There is a big investigation in that hospital, and Majed fears that his name will be made public in the scandal.”
Thinking for the first time that there might be some truth to the story, for the details were many, I began to breathe heavily, wondering how we could avoid this scandal.
Amani tearfully completed her tale of horror. “Faten caught him trying to break open the safe in their father’s office in order to steal cash. When she confronted him, Majed confided in his sister that the Pakistani has demanded a lot of money. This man wants one million riyals to remain silent about Majed’s royal identity. Majed cannot ask his father for that amount of money without an explanation, and the man is going to name him. Majed has been given one week to come up with the money.”
Kareem and I stared at each other, wondering if what we were hearing was the truth.
I recalled terrible words that Majed had once used against Abdullah, ridiculing my son for his refusal to have sex with what Abdullah had claimed was a particularly ugly American, a woman twice my son’s age who had been willing to have sex with a young prince for money. Majed had accused Abdullah of being a man who did not like women, saying, “A true man can become excited over a she camel!” I vaguely recalled that Majed had then told Abdullah something about this woman being better looking than the last one he “rode”—a woman who was unconscious and had not known the fun she was missing.
When discussing the incident, we had assumed that the woman must have been drunk. Now, in light of what Amani was saying, had that woman been unconscious from an injury? Had Ali’s son raped a woman who had no ability to speak for herself? The timing of Abdullah’s confidence now fit Amani’s story. I wanted to ask Kareem about that conversation, for he had been told of the matter by Abdullah and had shared the story with me. From that time Kareem had forbidden Abdullah to accompany his cousin Majed to foreign parties.
Kareem came back to his senses when Amani said, “Majed has to be punished. I will have to tell Wijdan to inform her father of Majed’s misdeed.”
I heard Kareem grinding his teeth. He, as I, knew that the father of Amani’s good friend was a religious man who worked out of the royal mosque. While he bore no special animosity toward members of the royal family, he was a man of religion who followed his conscience. He would be a difficult man to buy off, and if nothing else, would insist on discussing the matter with the religious council and the king. The last thing our familyneeded was for that particular man to be told of the situation.
Besides, I still had hope in my heart that a mistake had been made and Majed was innocent of such unspeakable and indecent behavior.
Kareem instructed his daughter, “Amani, this is no topic for young girls to discuss. I will investigate these charges, and if they are true, I give you my word that Majed will be punished. Now, I must have your promise that you will tell no one what you have just said.”
Expecting Amani to disagree, I was pleasantly surprised when my child seemed relieved to discharge the problem to her father. She promised him all that he had asked.
Within three days, Kareem had discovered the ugly truth. Indeed, there was a Christian woman in a local hospital who had suffered a serious head injury in an automobile accident within the kingdom seven months before. She had been unconscious for that length of time. Now, the hospital staff and the family of the woman were in a crisis, for the medical staff at the hospital had discovered that the woman was four months pregnant! There was an ongoing inquiry at the hospital to find the guilty party.
Amani’s horrifying story was true! Kareem said that Ali must be told, and asked me to accompany him to my brother’s home. For once in my life, I experienced no glee regarding my brother’s misfortunes.
My stomach churned as we entered the side gate into the enormous compound that housed Ali’s four wives and seve concubines. As our automobile entered the gate, I caught sight of many women and numerous children gathered on the portion of the lawn that was made partially p
rivate by green foliage. The children were playing, while the women were gossiping, playing card games, or knitting.
How strange, I thought, that over the years the women my brother had wed, along with the concubines he kept, had developed close and loving relationships. It was rare for so many women attached to one man to maintain such a successful and friendly rapport.
I could not imagine sharing Kareem with even one woman, let alone ten. I thought that perhaps the lack of love in my brother’s temperament had caused the women to seek friendship and companionship with those of their own kind. Or perhaps my brother inspired no love at all from his women, and each one welcomed the intrusion of another to seduce Ali away from her marriage bed.
That thought brought a smile to my face.
But when I remembered the tragic reason for our visit, my smile vanished.
Ali was in a jolly mood, and he extended a friendly welcome to our unexpected and unexplained visit.
After an exchange of amenities, and our third cup of tea, Kareem broke the bad news. It was not an easy exchange, and Ali became distressed as Kareem informed him of what we had learned.
Ali’s expression changed from that of a contented man to that of one lost in sorrow. For the first time in my life, I felt sympathy for my brother, recalling words I had often heard spoken by those wiser than I. “Those whose hands are in the water should not expect happiness from those whose hands are in the fire.”
Ali was a man with his hand in the fire. Majed was summoned, and the boy’s arrogant facade cracked when he saw the furious look on his father’s face. I wanted to hate the boy, but I remembered an incident that had occurred when I was a child. After being corrected for some minor infraction, Ali once called our mother an ignorant bedouin and moved to kick her. When my sisters and I begged our mother to beat Ali with a big stick, she sadly responded, “Why blame a young boy for resembling his father?”
