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I
knew that the true Bedouin tradition treats guests with great respect.
Even a mortal enemy is permitted three days of grace—even after
departing the boundaries of a Bedouin tent. Faten’s
face had reddened with each word I spoke, and now her black eyes were
tremendous with a threatening look.
But, she made no further advance toward me. The
Bedouin women began to laugh hysterically at Faten’s defeat. Nura
and Tahani rushed to brush the sand from my face and hair.
Tahani
cried out, “Sultana!
Did she hurt you?” I
laughed, “No.” When my eyes locked with Faten’s eyes in mutual
hatred, I flung her my final insult.
“This Bedouin fights like a small child.” Quickly
fastening our veils over our faces, the three of us followed Sara and
Haifa as they hurried out of the tent. Meanwhile,
the men had heard the commotion, and spilled out of Fahd’s tent, looking
around in confused concern. As
we approached our husbands, and were about to explain the situation, a
wild scream exploded from behind us.
What
was happening, now?
I wondered.
I
turned to see the sands swirling from the force of Faten’s running
footsteps.
The crazy Bedouin grabbed two fistfuls of sand and rushed toward
me. Before
I could move, she had thrown the sand on my head, screaming, “My
Allah pour all his punishments upon your head!” Words
failed the men.
They were struck dumb at Faten’s outrageous gesture of contempt. My
blood ran cold at her curse, but I was dignified and silent as I leaned
forward and brushed the sand from my head and veil.
Let Faten appear the villain. With
great satisfaction, one of the older Bedouin women explained to Sheik Fahd
that his new bride had physically assaulted his guests. “Sultana!”
Kareem rushed toward me.
“Were you harmed?” |
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