Eight Months on Ghazzah Street: A Novel

“I understand what the word means.”

“Of course you do, I don’t mean to patronize you. But it is not a question of choosing between doctrines, or feeling that one should have less of something, or more of something … It is a matter of being true to the essence. Things like the veil are only a symbol.”

“A symbol can be a very powerful thing.”

“That is quite true. And I said that it was a symbol, I did not say that it was a side issue. To Westerners the veil seems ridiculous, but we cannot just fall in with your prejudices. It is simply not possible for us to look at the Western world, to look at other religions, and say, yes please, we will have this from you, we will have this, but we don’t want that. We cannot take your bits and pieces and fit them into Islam. You see, everything that you hold— what is it the Americans say?—that you hold self-evident … that democracy is good, that liberalism is good in itself … we have never taken these ideas as naturally true.”

“They’re not part of your mental furniture.”

“Yes, that is right. You grow up with them, we do not. That is why it is so very difficult for people like me, who were educated in the West, and for people like Raji, leading his kind of life. Even those things that you are quite sure are virtues—let us say, tolerance—they are not necessarily virtues for us.”

“I understand that. I’m never sure myself if tolerance is a good thing. There are some things that are intolerable.”

“You think, no doubt, that you have seen some of them in the Kingdom.”

“I’m not one of those people who think that when you go to a foreign country you must leave your judgment at home.”

“And you would impose your judgment on us?”

“Probably. If I could.”

Shabana smiled slightly. “It is people like you, Frances, who led the Crusades.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“And you and Yasmin have an instinctive sympathy, I suspect.”

“That’s why we’ve become friends.”

Watching her, Shabana played with her bracelets. She teased each one with her finger and thumb, pushing it a fraction of an inch along her arm, and letting it fall back, with a little clink of gold against gold. I hope, Frances thought, that the religious police don’t spot you on your way home.

“But I am getting diverted,” Shabana said. “Their marriage—Raji and Yasmin—was a very suitable one of course. He was a very good catch for her. But this is what may happen, in the very best arranged of marriages, that the two partners don’t have this sympathy … they may seem to agree on most things, but they don’t have just the same idea of how to manage life.”

“Andrew and I are like that.”

“You have found it?”

“Yes, we tackle things differently. He waits, and I act.”

“Then you may say he is at danger of being crushed by circumstances, but you, Frances, are at danger of collisions. If I may say … do be careful. This is not a good country for people who act.”

“Which sort of person are you?”

“Oh, I am your sort. That is why I came here today. I thought, Yasmin is my friend, she is unhappy, I will talk with her other friend, and maybe between us we will explain the situation.”

“And do you think that we have?”

“I think we may have explained one or two other things.”

“There isn’t much we can do to help.”

“I have thought of going to Raji, to ask him to accept that she may wear the veil, if that is what she feels she must do. But you see, Raji’s Minister is one of the modern faction. He is a man of progress.”

“It would be a political embarrassment for Raji.”

“Certainly. You see, this is not a good time for the Saudis. They are not so rich as they were, and this causes squabbling. Some of the senior princes are in poor health, this is no secret. People are wondering, which way is the country going to go? Yasmin is not alone in her opinions. I think she may despise her husband, because, you are aware, all the Westerners know Raji. He has done deals with them. He is a kind of symbol in himself.”

“You think he has a lot of enemies?”

“Oh yes. Yes indeed.” Shabana gathered up her abaya. “But now I must go. And I will give you my phone number. Then if you think that there is some crisis with them, if you hear quarrels, perhaps, then you may please telephone me.” She smiled brightly as she swathed herself in black. “And I will try to do the marriage guidance, before it is too late.”

Frances got up. “Here.” She proffered a pen. “Write it in my book.”

Shabana did so. “Do you know,” she said, “what will do her good? If she can move from here. Get away from these walls and doors, and being shut up with other women. Our own culture does not demand that. She is always with the Arab girl, I think she is a bad influence. You know what is the life of the Arab girl, Frances. Not like you or I.”

“She said she might like to move.”

“Did she? Well, that is an advance. Perhaps there is hope then.” Shabana arranged a flimsy token veil over her