Princess Sultana's Daughters

moment.
    We had arrived at the private clinic that Ali
said was owned jointly by a Lebanese and a Saudi Arabian. The
clinic was one often frequented by royal family members when
confidentiality was desired. I was acquainted with three princesses
who routinely entered the clinic for treatment of drug and alcohol
abuse.
    Our family was escorted inside the building
through a little-used door; we were met there by one of Reema’s
physicians. The man informed us that he was an internist, a
specialist from Beirut, and had recently been hired by the owners
of the clinic to care for members of the royal family. It was easy
to see why he had been selected to treat influential Saudis, for he
was a tall, attractive man, deferential, yet with an air of
competence that provided us with a sense of confidence in our
sister’s safety.
    The physician walked between Nura and Ali,
and though I made an attempt to lean forward and involve myself in
their quiet conversation, I failed to hear the words that he spoke.
We passed a group of Asian nurses who were clustered around an
elongated nurse’s station. I could tell by their accents that they
were Filipinos.
    The windows in Reema’s room were still
closed, but the blinds were slightly open, allowing a small amount
of the sun’s glow to penetrate and wash the room in a soft light.
The room was completely white, and above Reema’s head hung a large
pearl-white chandelier that looked strangely out of place in this
clinical setting.
    Reema was resting, but when she heard us she
opened her eyes. I could see that my sister suffered a moment of
confusion before reality rushed back to her. Her face was extremely
pale, and her eyes were those of a frightened child. My sister was
receiving fluids from bottles hanging from metal stands, and I
could not count the tubes that had been placed in her arms and
nose.
    Nura rushed to her side, placing her arms
around the form that was Reema. Sara and Tahani held hands,
fighting back tears, and I could scarcely see as I flung myself
into a white armchair. I bit my lips until I tasted blood, and I
pressed my hands into the arms of the chair with such force that I
broke three fingernails.
    Ali, uncomfortable with our display of grief,
whispered to Sara that he would return within the hour to escort us
to our homes. Before leaving, he reminded Sara that it was
imperative she see Nada that very evening.
    I was seething with rage at the sight of my
wounded sister and thought to myself that I would like to send the
hottest fire raging throughout the whole country. Let the evil of
my land die with the flesh of those Saudi men who dared to use the
holy Koran as a basis for molesting those of my sex!
    I attempted to calm my thoughts, for there
was no purpose in creating chaos and adding to Reema’s pain. I
remembered the Prophet’s promises of punishment to those who so
sin, but my religion could not soothe me, even in the knowledge
that Saleem would suffer everlasting agonies in hell for what he
had done to my sister. I had no patience to wait for divine
intervention. Nothing would cool my boiling blood but the sight of
Saleem’s mutilated remains!
    Once comforted by Nura, Reema spoke with each
of her sisters in turn, pleading with us to treat Saleem with the
same courtesy as before, reminding us that one of the duties of
good Muslims is to forgive those who do wrong. Seeing the anger in
my face, Reema quoted a verse from the Koran. “Sultana, do not
forget the words of the Prophet: Forgive, even when
angry .”
    I could not hold back my words. Remembering
the text of the Koran that followed, I replied, “ Let evil be
rewarded with evil .”
    Sara pinched me on my buttocks, reminding me
not to cause further anguish to our sister. I left Reema’s side and
stared out the window, seeing nothing of what I was looking at.
    Reema began to speak once again. I could not
believe what I was hearing and was chilled by Reema’s words, which
were delivered with the impassioned eloquence of a woman whose
reason for living was at stake.
    I returned to my sister’s bedside and stared
at her face.
    As the intensity of Reema’s feelings
increased, her brow became furrowed, and her lips grew tight with
determination. My sister said that Saleem had repented and had
promised there would be no other violence. She was not going to be
divorced, nor would she seek a divorce.
    Suddenly I realized what was in Reema’s
heart. My sister’s only fear was deprivation of her