cover the body of one I so adored, I suddenly remembered a beautiful verse by the great Lebanese philosopher Kahlil Gibran: “Mayhap a funeral among men is a wedding feast among the angels.” I imagined my mother at the side of her mother and father, with her own little ones gathered in her arms. Certain at that moment that I would, another day, feel the loving touch of Mother, I ceased weeping and walked toward my sisters, shocking them with my smile of joy and serenity. I quoted the powerful verse God had sent to erase my pain, and my sisters nodded in perfect understanding at the wise Kahlil Gibran’s words. We were leaving Mother behind in the empty vastness of the desert, yet I knew it no longer mattered that there was no stone placed to mark her presence there, or that no religious services were held to speak of the simple woman who had been a flame of love during her time on earth. Her reward was that she was now with her other loved ones, waiting there for us.
Ali seemed at a loss, for once, and I knew his pain was keen also. Father had little to say and avoided our villa from the day of Mother’s death. He sent us messages through his second wife, who had now replaced Mother as the head of his wives. Within the month, we learned through Ali that Father was preparing to wed again, for four wives are common with the very wealthy and the very poor bedouin in my land. The Koran says that each wife must be treated as the others. The affluent of Saudi Arabia have no difficulty in providing equality for their wives. The poorest bedouin have only to erect four tents and provide simple fare. For these reasons, you find many of the richest and the poorest Muslims with four wives. It is only the middle-class Saudi who has to find contentment with one woman, for it is impossible for him to find the funds to provide middle-class standards for four separate families.
Father was planning to marry one of the royal cousins, Randa, a girl with whom I had played childhood games in what seemed like another lifetime. Father’s new bride was fifteen, only one year older than I, his youngest child of my mother. Four months after the burial of my mother, I attended the wedding of my father. I was surly, and refused to join in the festivities—I was awash with pent-up emotions of animosity. After the birth of sixteen children and many years of obedient servitude, I knew that the memory of my mother had been effortlessly disregarded by my father.
Not only was I furious at my father, I felt overwhelming hatred toward my former playmate Randa, who was now going to be the fourth wife, filling the void created by my mother’s death. The wedding was grand, the bride was young and beautiful. My anger toward Randa collapsed as my father led her from the huge ballroom to the marriage bed. My eyes widened as they saw her worried face. Her lips trembled with fear! As a roaring flame is instantaneously extinguished, the sight of Randa’s obvious
despair quieted and transformed my passion from black hate to tender commiseration. I felt ashamed of my hostility, for I saw that she was as the rest of us, helpless in the face of towering, dominating Saudi manhood.
Father traveled with his virginal bride on an extended honeymoon to Paris and Monte Carlo. In my propitious change of emotion, I waited for Randa’s return, and as I lingered, I vowed to awaken Father’s new wife to a path of purpose: freedom for women in our land. Not only would I provide Randa with new challenges and dreams of power, I knew I would wound Father in the political and spiritual awakening of his young wife. I could not forgive him for so easily forgetting the wonderful woman who was my mother.
Chapter Eight: Girlfriends
Upon their return from their honeymoon, Father and Randa moved into our villa. Even though Mother was no longer with the living, her younger children continued to reside in Father’s villa and his new wife was expected to assume the duties of a
Ali seemed at a loss, for once, and I knew his pain was keen also. Father had little to say and avoided our villa from the day of Mother’s death. He sent us messages through his second wife, who had now replaced Mother as the head of his wives. Within the month, we learned through Ali that Father was preparing to wed again, for four wives are common with the very wealthy and the very poor bedouin in my land. The Koran says that each wife must be treated as the others. The affluent of Saudi Arabia have no difficulty in providing equality for their wives. The poorest bedouin have only to erect four tents and provide simple fare. For these reasons, you find many of the richest and the poorest Muslims with four wives. It is only the middle-class Saudi who has to find contentment with one woman, for it is impossible for him to find the funds to provide middle-class standards for four separate families.
Father was planning to marry one of the royal cousins, Randa, a girl with whom I had played childhood games in what seemed like another lifetime. Father’s new bride was fifteen, only one year older than I, his youngest child of my mother. Four months after the burial of my mother, I attended the wedding of my father. I was surly, and refused to join in the festivities—I was awash with pent-up emotions of animosity. After the birth of sixteen children and many years of obedient servitude, I knew that the memory of my mother had been effortlessly disregarded by my father.
Not only was I furious at my father, I felt overwhelming hatred toward my former playmate Randa, who was now going to be the fourth wife, filling the void created by my mother’s death. The wedding was grand, the bride was young and beautiful. My anger toward Randa collapsed as my father led her from the huge ballroom to the marriage bed. My eyes widened as they saw her worried face. Her lips trembled with fear! As a roaring flame is instantaneously extinguished, the sight of Randa’s obvious
despair quieted and transformed my passion from black hate to tender commiseration. I felt ashamed of my hostility, for I saw that she was as the rest of us, helpless in the face of towering, dominating Saudi manhood.
Father traveled with his virginal bride on an extended honeymoon to Paris and Monte Carlo. In my propitious change of emotion, I waited for Randa’s return, and as I lingered, I vowed to awaken Father’s new wife to a path of purpose: freedom for women in our land. Not only would I provide Randa with new challenges and dreams of power, I knew I would wound Father in the political and spiritual awakening of his young wife. I could not forgive him for so easily forgetting the wonderful woman who was my mother.
Chapter Eight: Girlfriends
Upon their return from their honeymoon, Father and Randa moved into our villa. Even though Mother was no longer with the living, her younger children continued to reside in Father’s villa and his new wife was expected to assume the duties of a
Similar Books
