Girls of Riyadh

The series of enticing offers continue, as do all sorts of propositions, and I cannot distinguish the sincere from the scam. One Saudi producer sent me a proposal to transform my e-mails into a Ramadan TV series of thirty episodes! Why not? If we were already talking about publishing it as a novel, why not film it for TV? I concur with our own Abdullah Al-Ghadhami,* that the literature of the written word is bourgeois while the image is democratic. I prefer the series to the novel, because I want the stories of my friends to reach everyone. This would certainly be a beginning.

But here the crucial question intrudes. Who will agree to act in my series? Must we rely on actresses from the neighboring Gulf states and lose the grand and refined Saudi accent of give and take that underlies the plot? Or will we disguise Saudi boys to take on the roles of young women,** and thereby lose the audience?

The home of Sadeem’s senior uncle on her father’s side filled with mourners. Sadeem’s father, the much-respected Abdulmuhsin Al-Horaimli, had passed away in his midtown office following a sudden heart attack that did not allow him much time to linger on death’s door.

In the most out-of-the-way corner of the reception room sat Sadeem. Gamrah and Lamees were on either side of her, trying to comfort her even though their tears were flowing more abundantly than hers. How would Sadeem live now, already without a mother and suddenly without a father to watch over her? How would she sleep at night when there was no one with her in the big house? How would she manage living under the care of her uncles, who without a doubt would force her to move into one of their households? These were questions they couldn’t answer, even though, at this awful time, they could not help but ask them. Her mother had died before Sadeem could even know her, while her father had died when she was most in need of him. Verily, we are God’s, and to God all must return, and to that there can be no resistance.

Um Nuwayyir stood beside the wives of Sadeem’s paternal uncles and her maternal aunt, Badriyyah, to receive all the women who came to mourn. Frequently her eyes sought out Sadeem, wanting to see how she was bearing up under a trial that was enough to tear a person’s heart in two.

Sorrowfully, Sadeem examined the women crowding the room. No signs of true sadness showed on any of their faces. Some had come made-up and dressed to the hilt. Some shamelessly lost themselves in meaningless chitchat. She could hear suppressed laughs coming from various parts of the room. Were these the people who had come to keep her company in her awful loss? Was she sitting there to receive the condolences of people who in fact had no sympathy for her at all, while others who felt her grief could not get close enough to embrace her?

Sadeem fled from this room where no one felt the pain squeezing her heart. The only person who understood her was her Firas. No one really perceived how strong her relationship with her father had been except Firas. He alone would be capable of lightening this awful load; he was all that was left to her after her father’s departure. How much she needed him!

His text messages on her cell phone didn’t stop. He tried regularly to make her feel his presence at her side and to remind her that he shared her grief and sense of loss. Her father was his father, and she was his soul, and he would not abandon her, no matter what.

In the late hours of the night, on the phone, Firas grasped hold of a book of prayers and began reciting to Sadeem, asking her to say Amen after him:

“God, may Abdulmuhsin Al-Horaimli be in your care…”

Firas recited the prayer for the dead in a hoarse voice, his heart breaking at the sobs of his Sadeem. But he did not despair of trying to save his beloved from her bereavement. He went on trying to console her with paternal tenderness and utter self-denial, as though he were exclusively there for her, a servant to her every need. Not for a moment did she sense his distance or any inability to truly embrace her.

Firas remained on call for his little Sadeem until she could swallow the first big bite of grief. After that he continued his support, helping her until she could stand on her own and get through the days of her suffering.

35.

To: seerehwenfadha7et@yahoogroups.com

From: “seerehwenfadha7et”

Date: October 8, 2004

Subject: The Aquarius

After my previous e-mail, let me take you away from your grief by invoking a blessing on you this week, on the occasion of the approach of the first day of Ramadan. God has given this blessed month to us yet again, to us and to all Muslims, as He has given us His aid that we may fast the daylight hours all through it and uphold it.