Black Book of Arabia (20 page)

My husband and I had been separated a few years by the time I succeeded in preventing Veronica's return. Once she was gone, Eissa tried to make things right with me almost immediately. He asked me to come back to our house, and I agreed for the children's sake and because I still loved him.

Still, I was broken by what had happened. I tried to convince myself that it was not his fault and to place the blame on everyone except him. His mother did not look after him closely enough, the maid was mad and controlling, and I was weak because I played the mother, wife and secretary role all in one. Veronica understood him better than I did, better than his own mother did, and probably better than he did, himself. She came from a poor background and was grateful for whatever scraps she would get of his time, and he would be calm with her and ever so content, whereas I always demanded quantity and quality time from him.

Yet having said and thought that, I was still hurt. I felt uprooted, betrayed, and taken for granted. My primary reason for coming back to him was the children, but it also was because he was all that I knew a man to be; I possessed too much love for him to simply leave. I needed him back for more reasons than reason could comprehend. With a broken heart, I returned to my traitor.

He apologized repeatedly, saying it was complicated and he did not know what to do. He wanted both her and me, but I was the one creating a ruckus. He blamed me for leaving, and I blamed Veronica. But Veronica was gone. It was the end of that episode. Defeating Veronica had been harder than defeating cancer in my book and measure.

The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world, one saying goes. Veronica the nanny had ruled my husband's world. The bond that had formed between them during Eissa's youth became so strong over the years that even the
sanctity of our marriage could not break it. I still dream of her every now and then. She is in her early sixties now and, thanks to my husband, is quite well off in her province with her family well-settled and taken care of.

Communication finally ceased between them after Shereena, our youngest child, fell sick and stopped speaking. We eventually took her to a therapist and after testing and reviewing her condition the doctor said that her silence was due to trauma induced by emotional instability and pent-up anger. I broke down that night and blamed Eissa for hurting her. He did not understand and thought that I was exaggerating. I told him that Shereena was emotionally scarred because he had abandoned her for years for his nanny.

The girl who was the sunniest and brightest of her classmates and chattiest of her siblings had retreated into a cave of rejection. She was ten years old and simply stopped caring for anything in the world. She developed anorexia and stopped eating. Her wrists had thin silver lines of small slits, cuts that she inflicted upon herself. Self-harm is one of the most unhealthy ways of dealing with pain, intense anger, and frustration. It brought Shereena a temporary sense of calm and a release of tension but would be followed by a vicious cycle of guilt, shame and a resurfacing of emotional pain. And scars that wouldn't fade. My only daughter, Shereena, was diagnosed with depression at ten years old. She seldom spoke and had no friends. It had taken a boulder to hit us for my husband to wake up from his late adolescence.

“What have I done?” he said as he sat one day, looking at pictures of Shereena's file from Hamad Hospital. “Do you know that when I spoke to her about why she was harming herself, she cried and begged me not to leave her again?”

“She was the most affected by you leaving, you know,” I said. “She stopped letting me read her stories because I would read them in your bed, where you would do the funny voices. I think it reminded her of you too much. You don't know how much your absence has hurt the kids. Your boys clean their own rooms and won't even see the maids now.”

I was honest, and did not feel the need to sugarcoat the fact that we were all reaping what he had sown.

“They are all still very hurt, both for me and for their own identity,” I said. “You were their idol, their father, and their rock. They feel cheated and are so afraid for me because of your immaturity.”

A tear ran down my cheek, all the way to my neck, and I did not bother to wipe it. How can one person ruin and burn a whole family with so many people involved? We, who had once decorated our walls in pride and love, had instead decorated our funeral pyre, creating a constant reminder of a love we once had for someone who clearly did not love us back enough to care.

Eissa severed all relations with Veronica, no longer calling her or wiring her money. Eventually, Shereena built herself up and stopped self-harming, but she was never as vivacious as she once had been. She wants to enter the healing
practice of either psychiatry or medicine when she is older. Her brothers are delaying marriage. As for me, my marriage is back on track. Eissa never speaks of the past, nor do the children bring it up. He constantly tells them that they are his pride, they are his rock, and they are the father because they are wiser than their years.

I prayed for him to come back, and I am grateful to have my life back to normal. We normally think of men warping the lives of young women by introducing them to sex at an early age, but my Eissa was living proof that a woman can do the same thing by sexualizing a boy when he is not mature enough to handle the contact.

Crazy for You

My husband Waleed was twenty-two when we married. He had graduated with a degree in business administration from a leading university in Boston. I, Rasha, was eighteen and fresh out of high school. We bought an apartment in Jeddah with a joint account to start our married life together. I became pregnant for the first time while at university studying and working, but with Waleed's love and support was able to finish the semester. I gave birth to twin daughters during the summer break. My husband hired a nanny, allowing me to go back to school in the fall. I became pregnant again my senior year but with the help of my husband and the nanny was able to graduate with my own degree in business. Shortly after finishing university, I had our third child—a boy.

As my husband was working his way up in his business, I wanted to help pay the mortgage on our beautiful new four-bedroom villa so I took a part-time job in the accounting department of a prestigious girls' university. I worked hard on my family and home, hiring and training a maid to keep the house exactly as I wanted it and coaching the nanny to help the children with
development games. I did everything I could to support my husband financially and emotionally, keeping a tight budget, avoiding frivolous expenditures, and saving as much as possible.

My husband was attentive to his family's needs while still making time to visit elderly members of the family and check on the academic and professional development of his siblings. He followed through with everyone: his friends and even the maid's daughter who was the first of her family to finish school thanks to his support. I would come up with ideas to efficiently help his friends when they would need money and guidance. Everyone would be invited to donate what they had, where and when they could, and every little bit helped. He was remembered for it and was a hero in everyone's eyes. They say that behind every successful man is a strong woman, and he knew it. We were a team, and a winning one at that, an example of happy and fruitful cooperation. We failed in some of our investments and succeeded in others but we learned to depend on each other as each of us was the other's better half.

Sometimes I missed our time alone together and felt that he was spending too much time investing in other people and living for the future. He always promised that he would make it up to me, and I saw in his success our ultimate satisfaction and victory. I envisioned our dreams for the future: travel, and tweaking our looks with minor plastic surgery, polishing our skills and boosting our confidence with self-help and development seminars. Paris in autumn
with fresh baguettes and cheese, walking along the Seine after placing a lock with my name and my husband's on it. I wanted to go on a pilgrimage of faith to Mecca where I would pray shoulder to shoulder with him and tell God how grateful I was for my health, wealth, beautiful children, and the opportunity to live life like we chose to. Hawaiian sun had always sounded like the dream honeymoon to start with after we actually had time and money.

Often, we would discuss how things would be easier once we were debt-free. Money was a continuous struggle, but we were organized, careful adults with measured and well thought-out plans. My husband dreamed of investing in his own business franchise and expanding it throughout the region. From his years studying abroad, Waleed had developed an interest in restaurant franchising. He saw how Gulf residents were flocking to Western restaurants and dreamed of building a chain of his own. The idea of introducing new cuisine to his homeland excited him. A humanitarian, he looked forward to employing migrant workers from Asia and Africa who were eager to better themselves and support their families back home. He admired American-style team building and had excelled during his internships in the United States. I saw the world through his eyes, and it was a vision I was proud to share. I learned to improve my English so I would be able to play a more active role in his world. I loved Meryl Streep, Audrey Hepburn, and Angelina Jolie. They were strong women, and I respected how they persisted, worked, and played the roles of mother and wife so elegantly.

Our joint loan on Waleed's franchise had begun to reap returns. The food industry is never a bad idea, and people always need to eat, even during an economic crisis. Our children grew up in and around the restaurants, learning the ins and outs of the business. Through his restaurants, Waleed expanded his circle of friends and associates and we were able to find outstanding matches for our daughters. The profits from the business also enabled us to send our son to the finest university in Australia.

Deena and Leena, my dentist daughters, had beautiful weddings a few months apart. Deena held hers at the beach which was uncommon, but she wanted a simple ceremony and close friends. Leena had a big wedding in a hotel with 700 guests. She insisted on a singer, which cost a fortune that was shared between us and the groom. The favors, cards, and centerpieces were exceptionally beautiful, with Victorian-themed details of velvet, lace, and rococo grandeur that demanded gilt, glitter, shine, and luxury. My son, Talal, had a dinner reception and married our neighbor's daughter, Yasmeen. He had always loved her, and her family was friendly, kind, and well-reputed. We were all delighted with the union.

As our financial burdens ebbed, our life began to get easier, and as we sat down to dinner one day I suggested to Waleed that maybe this summer would be a good time for us to finally take the round-the-world trip he was always promising. We had had children when we were young, when it felt like the natural and expected thing to do.
Now maturity called upon us to explore both new lands and ourselves. My husband thought the trip around the world was a thrilling idea. We talked about places we had never been but often thought about—South America, the Pacific Islands, much of Asia. As I was daydreaming about getting away from it all, my husband said he wanted to discuss something with me as well. I did not travel much, but loved the way his face would light up as he would share his traveling tales. I acquired his travel addiction and looked forward to it with him.

“Of course,” I said, excited to hear what he had to say.

“I want you to have an open mind,” he said.

“I don't know what that means,” I said. “I always have an open mind.”

“I don't want you to say no without thinking about it,” he said. “It's important to me.”

“If it's important to you, I'm sure it will be important to me.”

He smiled. “I want to take a second wife,” he said.

My heart stopped. He knocked the breath out of my chest, and I sat there staring. I wanted him to finish his sentence and say otherwise. I looked at him to see if he was kidding. “Sweetheart, you can barely keep up with the one you have,” I joked. “What are you going to do with a second one?”

“I'm serious,” he said.

“If you want another flavor, take a trip,” I said. “Satisfy your craving and come back.”

“It's not that,” he said. “I have fallen in love.”

“It
is
that,” I said, “and you are just telling yourself it's not so you do not feel guilty.”

“That's not true.”

“Who is it?” I asked. “Please tell me it's not someone I know.” I felt a knot forming in my stomach, threatening to reach my throat.

“It's not. She's a young entrepreneur who wants to launch a restaurant chain. She came to me for advice, and I have spent the last few months showing her my restaurants and scouting out possible locations for hers.”

“Have you slept with her?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady in spite of the shock and pain that I felt coursing through my body.

“No. You know me. I would never do that.”

“I thought I knew you, but now I'm not sure.” The man sitting across from me, my husband, suddenly seemed like a stranger, someone I could no longer fathom.

“Listen. Please do not think of this as any kind of criticism or dissatisfaction with you. You know I love, admire, and depend on you. But think about how much we enjoyed launching our business together. That is the stage that she is at. I want to recapture it. I want to relive it.”

“This is not about business.”

“Partly it is—sharing the adventure. I admire her. I've learned a lot from her. And I've fallen in love with her. Believe me, I did not intend to.”

“It just happened,” I said, anticipating the cliché. I felt waves of nausea churning my stomach.

“Yes! It just happened.”

“Is she beautiful?”

“Not as beautiful as you are.”