Princess Sultana's Daughters Read Free

told of the book!
    Imagining suffocating confinement in a
subterranean dungeon, deprived of my beloved children, I surrender
to my agitation for a moment, and in a thin, high voice that bears
no similarity to my own, I implore, “What has happened?”
    Kareem shrugs his shoulders, answering, “Who
can know?” His nostrils flare with irritation when he remembers, “I
informed your father that I have an important appointment in Zurich
tomorrow, that you and I could see him when I return, but he was
adamant that I cancel my plans and escort you to his home this
evening.”
    Like a windswept figure, Kareem charges into
his office, exclaiming, “Three meetings have to be canceled!”
    Weak-kneed, I collapse on the sofa with
relief, thinking that all conclusions are premature. Kareem’s anger
has nothing to do with me! My courage flickers hopefully.
    Still, the threat of discovery persists, and
I have many long hours before the unexpected family meeting.
    *
    Feigning a gaiety I do not feel, I smile and
chat as Kareem and I walk through the wide entrance hall, over the
thick Persian carpets, into an enormous and grand sitting room in
my father’s newly constructed palace. Father has not yet arrived,
but I see that Kareem and I are the last of the family to make an
appearance. The other ten living children of my mother, without
their spouses, have also been summoned to my father’s home. I know
that three of my sisters had to fly into Riyadh from Jeddah, while
another two sisters flew in from Taif. Looking around the room, I
verify that Kareem is the only outside member of the family
present. Even Father’s head wife and her children are nowhere to be
seen. I surmise that they have been dismissed from the
premises.
    The urgency of the meeting leads me back to
the book, and my chest tightens from fear. My sister Sara and I
exchange worried glances. As the only member of my family aware of
the book’s publication, her thoughts seem the same as mine. Each of
my siblings greets me warmly except my only brother, Ali, and I
catch a glimpse of his sly eyes following me.
    Within moments of our arrival, Father enters
the room. His ten daughters rise respectfully to their feet, and
each of us expresses her greetings to the man who has given her
life without love.
    I have not seen my father in some months, and
I think to myself that he looks exhausted and prematurely old. When
I lean to kiss his cheek, he impatiently turns away, failing to
return my greeting. Giving my fears full range, I know at that
moment that I have been naïve, thinking that the Al Sa’uds are too
busy accumulating wealth to care much for books. My trepidation
mounts.
    In a stern voice Father asks us to sit,
saying that he has some disturbing news to relay.
    Lured by a stare, I see that Ali, with his
morbid interest in the suffering of others, is gloating, regarding
me with a pitiless stare. There is little doubt in my mind that Ali
is privy to the evening’s business.
    Father reaches into his large, black
briefcase and retrieves a book none of us can read. It is written
in a foreign language. My mind in conflict, I think that I have
made a mistake with my earlier fears, wondering what this
particular book has to do with our family.
    In a voice filled with undisguised rage,
Father says that Ali recently purchased the book from Germany, and
that the book tells about the life of a princess, a stupid and
foolish woman who is not aware of the royal obligations that
accompany the privileges of royalty. Circling the room, he holds
the book in his hands. The picture on the cover is plainly that of
a Muslim woman, for she is veiled and is standing against a
backdrop of Turkish minarets. I have a wild thought that an aging,
exiled princess from Egypt or Turkey has written a revealing book,
but quickly realize that such a tale would hold no interest in our
land.
    When Father steps closer, I read the title: Ich, Prinzessin aus dem Hause Al Saud .
    It is my story!
    As I had