Read Online Princess: A True Story of Life Behind the Veil in Saudi Arabia by Jean Sasson - Free Book Online Page B

asked.
Father actually grew fond of her as the years passed, for few of
his daughters had Nura’s complaisant qualities. Since Sara’s
divorce, Father held Nura up as a constant reminder to the rest of
his daughters. She had married a stranger and her marriage had
proven to be satisfactory. Of course, the real reason was that her
husband was considerate and attentive.
    In Father’s mind, Sara had obviously provoked
her husband into criminal behavior. It is never the fault of the
man in the Middle East. Even if he murders his wife, the man will
state “valid” reasons for his action, which will be accepted by
other men without question. In my country, I have seen newspapers
print articles that honor a man for executing his wife or daughter
for the crime of “indecent behavior.” The mere suspicion of sexual
misconduct, such as kissing, can bring death to a young girl. In
addition, public congratulations are given from the men of religion
for the father’s “notable” act of upholding the commands of the
Prophet!
    Nura and Ahmed were in the midst of
constructing a palace and Nura wanted to travel to Europe to
purchase Italian furnishings. On the way, we were to stop off in
Egypt so that Nura’s young children could view the pyramids.
    Father, with twenty-two daughters from four
wives, was often overheard muttering, “Women are a man’s curse.” It
did not help his attitude that his younger daughters were in a kind
of rebellion against the absolute rule of men. Our talk and actions
were unprecedented and unappreciated. Knowing full well we would
never reach the heights we desired, our talk alone was a victory of
sorts, for no Saudi women had ever approached the topics we
discussed with such great abandon. Nura wanted Mother to go abroad
with us, but Mother had been strangely quiet since Sara’s return.
It was as if her one great rebellion against Father’s rule had
drained her life’s blood. But she encouraged the trip, for she
wanted Sara to see Italy. She thought I was too young and should
stay home, but, as usual, a temper tantrum accomplished the result
I wanted. Sara showed little interest, even in the possibility of
seeing the artistic wonders of Italy, but I was out of control with
happiness.
    My joy was shattered by Ali’s smug
announcement that he was going with us. Father thought I needed a
chaperon. In an instant, I lost my mind at the thought of Ali’s
treacherous presence ruining my vacation, and I was determined to
insult him in the worst way. I grabbed his new ghutra (headdress)
and igaal (black cord that rests on the top of the ghutra) and
raced through the house to my bathroom. I had no notion of what I
was going to do with them, but a Saudi man is highly offended if
anyone even touches his headdress. I felt an urge to hurt Ali as
quickly as possible.
    When Ali followed, shouting that he would
tell Father, I slammed the bathroom door on him. Since he was
wearing sandals, Ali’s big toe was broken, and his hand was
bruised. By his shouts and moans, the servants thought I was
killing him. No one came to Ali’s rescue, though.
    I don’t know what came over me, perhaps the
sound of the big bully groaning and begging for sympathy, but I
flushed his headdress down the toilet. The igaal would not flush,
even as I frantically pushed it with the plunger. The sodden cord
became stuck in the toilet! When Ali saw what I had done, he lunged
for me. We were struggling on the floor when I got the best of him
by pulling and twisting his broken toe. Mother, hearing Ali’s
screams of agony, intervened and saved him from my years of pent-up
wrath.
    I knew I was in big trouble. I rationalized
that my situation could not be any worse, so when Mother and Omar
took Ali to the clinic to get his broken toe wrapped, I crept into
his room and gathered up his secret hoard of “treasures” that were
forbidden by both our religion and our country.
    These “treasures” were the usual objects that
all young boys