Princess by Jean P. Sasson Read Free Book Online

been veiling since her menses, two years earlier. The veil stamped her as a non-person, and she soon ceased to speak of her childhood dreams of great accomplishment. She became distant from me, her younger sister who was as yet unconcerned with the institution of veiling. The sharpening of Sara’s distance left me longing for the remembered happiness of our shared childhood. It suddenly became apparent to me that happiness is realized only in the face of unhappiness, for I never knew we were so happy until Sara’s unhappiness stared me in the face.
    Sara was lovely, much more beautiful than I or my sisters. Her great beauty had become a curse, for many men had heard of Sara’s beauty through their mothers and sisters and now wished to marry her. Sara was tall and slim and her skin creamy and white. Her huge brown eyes sparkled with the knowledge that all who saw her admired her beauty. Her long black hair was the envy of all her sisters. In spite of her natural beauty, Sara was genuinely sweet and loved by all who knew her. Unfortunately, not only did Sara acquire the curse that comes with great beauty, she was also exceptionally bright. In our land, brilliance in a woman assures her future misery, for there is nowhere to focus her genius.
    Sara wanted to study art in Italy and be the first to open an art gallery in Jeddah. She had been working toward that goal since she was twelve years old. Her room stayed cluttered with books of all the great masters. Sara made my head swim with descriptions of the magnificent art in Europe. Just before the wedding announcement, when I was secretly plundering through her room, I saw a list of the places she planned to visit in Florence, Venice, and Milan. Sadly, I knew that Sara’s dreams would not come true. While it is true that most marriages in my land are guided by the hands of the older females of the families, in our family, Father was the decision maker in all matters. Long ago, he had decided that his most beautiful daughter would marry a man of great prominence and wealth.
    Now, the particular man he had chosen to marry his most desirable daughter was a member of a leading merchant family in Jeddah that had decided financial influence with our family. The groom was chosen solely because of past and future business deals. He was sixty-two years old; Sara would be his third wife. Although she had never met the old man, he had heard of her great beauty from his female relatives and was eager for the wedding date to be set. Mother had tried to intervene on Sara’s behalf, but Father, as was his way, responded without emotion to his daughter’s tears. And now Sara had heard she was to wed. Mother ordered me to leave the room, but her back was turned; I tricked her by making noises with my feet and slamming the door. I slid inside the open closet door and wept silent tears as my sister cursed our father, our land, our culture. She cried so hard that I lost many of her words, but I heard her cry out that she was sure to be sacrificed like a lamb.
    My mother wept too, but she had no words of comfort for Sara, for she knew her husband had the full right to dispose of their daughters in any marriage he liked. Six of their ten daughters were already married to men not of their choosing. Mother understood that the four remaining daughters would follow that darkness; there was no power on earth that could stop it.
    Mother heard my squirming in the closet. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head when she saw me, but made no effort to make me move. She told me to bring cold towels, and then she turned her attention back to Sara. When I returned, she placed the towels on Sara’s head and soothed her to sleep. She sat and watched her young daughter for many minutes, and finally, she rose wearily to her feet. With a long, sad sigh, she took me by the hand and led me to the kitchen. Although it was not mealtime, and the cook was napping, Mother prepared for me a plate of cake and a glass of