Girls of Riyadh

This time, observing his mother from a distance, Michelle remembered her overbearing power and dictatorial ways and also Faisal’s abjectness before her. Michelle would have expected to feel disgust and hate for this woman, and to wish her the worst that life could give, but in fact she found herself respecting her and feeling scorn for her weak son. She noticed that Um Faisal was examining her from afar and seemed to like what she saw. She imagined this woman considering trying to get her for Faisal’s younger brother who hadn’t gotten married yet, or maybe for one of her nephews! Ah, could fate be that twisted?

Michelle had decided that today she would announce her victory over all men. She would rid herself once and for all of whatever bits of Faisal remained in her heart and soul. She found herself heading for the long corridor of people preparing to dance. This was definitely a first: swirling around the dance floor on the day her true love married someone else.

It wasn’t as difficult as she had imagined. She had the sensation that she had lived these moments before in her mind, time and time again—so that this was merely a déjà vu. She felt relaxed and happy. That night she danced and sang as if she were the only person in that enormous hall. It was her own special celebration—a celebration in her honor—to acknowledge her survival and endurance despite everything. It marked her liberation from the slavery of deep-seated traditions, which had subjugated all the other miserable, pitiful women in the dance hall.

She imagined Faisal in bed that night with his bride, dreaming of reaching out to touch his love Michelle, while Shaikhah crouched on his chest with her large body, her folds of fat keeping him from moving and breathing.

The lights were dimmed in the other parts of the hall, leaving one strong beam spotlighting the entry. The bride crossed it, heading toward the dais, flashing smiles at the invited women, and even at Michelle, who quietly followed her progress from nearby. Michelle was filled with confidence, seeing the bride’s large body stuffed into the wedding gown, which was stretched tightly around her body unappealingly, creating un-sightly folds of skin at her armpits.

When it was announced that the men were about to come in, a truly devilish idea occurred to Michelle and she didn’t waste any time acting on it. She sent a short message from her mobile phone to Faisal’s: Congratulations, bridegroom! Don’t be shy. Come on in. I am waiting.

After her message, the men’s entrance was delayed by almost an hour. The hall was awash in the whispers and mutterings of the women guests, and the poor bride was in a state of confusion. Should she go out? Or stay where she was and wait for her groom who refused to come in? After what seemed an eternity the groom appeared, surrounded by his father, the bride’s father and her three brothers. He came in so quickly that no one could really see him. From afar Michelle smiled. Her plan had worked.

A few minutes later, as the photographer was taking photos of the bride with her groom and the family on the dais, Michelle rose, heading toward the exit, intending to leave. But she made very sure that Faisal would see her, more glorious than he had ever seen her before. She looked at his beard, which had altered the face she was accustomed to. He turned toward her, with a desperate look in his eyes, as if begging her to go away. She raised one eyebrow in challenge, not caring in the slightest about any of the women who were looking at her, and she went on standing there in front of the entryway, playing with strands of her short hair as if to annoy him with her new haircut before turning her face away in obvious disgust and making her way toward the door.

After getting into her car, behind the Ethiopian driver, she could not keep back her laughter as she imagined how the wedding night would go for Faisal after seeing her there. It would be a “night cursed by sixty curses,” as Lamees would have said. And that was the point.

Upon reaching the house, she realized that this was the first wedding since her separation from Faisal where her eyes had not become blurry with tears seeing the bride happy with her groom on the dais. Michelle knew now that behind their smiles, many of those brides and grooms were concealing their own sad and yearning hearts because they had been kept from choosing their life’s partner. If she had any tears to shed this evening, they should be for that poor bride whom circumstances would unite tonight, and all the rest of her nights, with a man forced to marry her, a man whose heart and mind were with that other woman, the one who had danced with such abandon at his wedding.

48.

To: seerehwenfadha7et@yahoogroups.com

From: “seerehwenfadha7et”

Date: February 4, 2005