Princess Sultana's Circle by Jean Sasson

me!” Maha
wailed.
    “ Yes, you, too,
Maha.”
    When Maha bent to kiss me,
she whispered, “Don’t worry about Amani, Mother, I know how to
quiet her foolish tongue.”
    The expression in my eyes
must have betrayed my curiosity, for Maha clarified, “I’ll threaten
to tell all Amani’s religious friends that she wears revealing
clothes and flirts with boys!”
    Even though this was not
true, I knew that such a warning would cause Amani grave concern,
for her reputation is that of a true believer who could never
commit a single sin. I knew this was wrong, but I also realized the
graveness of my current situation should Kareem be alerted to my
weakness. Therefore, I did not reprimand Maha, but I gave her a
tight smile which she might take to signify reluctant
approval.
    As she left the room, Maha
struggled to push the heavy wooden door against the door facings
which I now noticed had been shattered.
    Sara answered my unspoken
question. “When you would not respond to our cries, I ordered one
of the drivers to knock down the door.”
    Tears of humiliation came
into my eyes.
    “ You lay like one dead,
Sultana,” Sara said as she picked up a cloth and began to wipe my
forehead. “I feared the worst,” she said with a great sigh. She
then took a glass of tomato juice and encouraged me to sip a little
through a straw. “Your silence frightened me out of my wits!” She
plumped up the cushions under my head before sitting beside me on
the bed.
    Sara took a deep breath
before saying, “Sultana, you must tell me now,
everything.”
    Although Sara appeared
unperturbed, I could tell she was steeped in disappointment,
because it was reflected in her dark eyes. Feeling that death would
be welcome for one as wretched as I, my shoulders shook as I began
to weep in earnest.
    Sara stroked my face and
arms. Her voice was gentle as she told me a grim truth, “Sultana,
your daughters, and your servants, all tell me that you have begun
drinking a great deal of alcohol.”
    My eyes flew open. So, my
furtive drinking had not been so secret after all!
    Sara was waiting for an
explanation. At that moment, I knew that my sister could not
understand the true source of my pain. I cried out, “You still have
little children who need you!”
    I could tell by the
bewildered grimace on Sara’s face that she was beginning to fear
for my mental, as well as my physical, well being.
    Frustrated, I wailed, “And,
you have your books!”
    It was true! Sara had a
great love for collecting books on a wide range of topics that
interested her. Her life’s hobby, collecting and reading books,
gave her endless hours of joy and contentment. Sara’s valuable
library consisted of books in Turkish, Arabic, English, French, and
Italian. Her art books, stored in their special bookcases, were
lovely beyond description. She had also amassed a priceless
collection of ancient, handwritten manuscripts describing the
golden age of the Arabs. I knew that if a great cataclysmic tragedy
should ever leave Sara alone in the world, she would seek and find
solace in her stacks of books.
    “ Sultana. What are you
speaking about?”
    “ And your husband never
leaves on long trips!” Asad’s work rarely took him from his home,
as did Kareem’s. “And Asad loves you more than Kareem loves
me!”
    Sara was married to
Kareem’s brother, Asad. I had known for many years that Kareem
would never love me as intensely as Asad adored my sister. While I
had never begrudged Sara and Asad’s great love, I often wistfully
yearned for the same devotion from Kareem.
    “ Sultana!”
    In between sobs of
self-pity, I began to explain. “My children are nearly grown—they
no longer want their mother in their lives.” What I said was true.
Abdullah had recently turned twenty-two, Maha was nineteen, and
Amani was seventeen. Three of Sara’s six children were young enough
that they still required their mother’s daily attention.
    “ Sultana, please. You are
not making