by M S James
Later, probably early the next morning, the animals began to move and I found myself standing alone except for a man who was looking after the sheep. After that, nothing made sense. We walked with the sheep until another man took me in a car to a house, and there I stayed for a very long time. It might have been hours or days. I was too distraught to know what was happening to me. At some point, I was moved to another house, the home of my new parents. As I was growing up I tried to piece together those chaotic events to make them coherent. Nobody could tell me how I had left my old family and become a member of another one. I always knew that I had had another family but could not understand what had happened to it. Looking back, my lack of Arabic only added to my confusion. Both my new parents could speak English and would have been able to communicate with me – but didn’t. This is something they have never explained. They were childless and much in need of someone on whom to bestow their loving instincts. I was cursed by the fates to be taken from my first family but blessed by being given to another which wanted to cherish me. In hindsight, my parents’ failure to search for my old family was very wrong but I could have been given to a less loving family or worse. I have heard that young girls, little more than children, are sometimes married to men old enough to be their grandfathers. Through my mother’s and father’s care I gradually adapted to my new life. I was young enough to quickly absorb a new language although I never lost the ability to understand English. It was deeply buried in my memory so, when I started to learn English at school, it came very easily to me. In fact, when other members of my family spoke English or I watched a cartoon film on the television, I could understand what they were saying. In this way I picked up things that I was not meant to hear.
The one thing that always brought back memories of my first life was my pair of flower earrings. Having them put into my ears, not long before I was lost to my first family, made a lifelong impression. I was so surprised by the unexpected pain I would never let anyone ever remove them in case the removal would be equally agonising. This event reminded me of my previous life – my mother and father and Jake; my brother was more adventurous than me so would always be available to blame when I was in trouble! I remember smashing a glass table by dropping a glass marble onto it. ‘Jake did it!’ I explained. But he was away from home at the time so I had to resort to the usual childish tactic of crying copiously.
Soon after I arrived, my new parents and I moved to Jeddah. My father and his brother ran an engineering consultancy and my father took over the Jeddah office. I can’t help suspecting that my parents wanted me away from Riyadh. They were always very reticent about how they acquired me. The most I could get from them was that relatives had taken me in but there had been a death in the family so they stepped in to help. I had to rely on my cousin for an alternative story.
Unusually, our family was very small, just my mother and father and me. My mother had given birth to two sons, two years apart, but both had died from spinal muscular atrophy. Only in recent years has it been acknowledged that children born to close relatives often suffer genetic disabilities. Consanguinity or cousin marriage is very common in Arab countries, particularly in Saudi Arabia. My parents are first cousins and it is possible that their sons inherited recessive genes through both parents. Also, unusually, my father did not take another wife. He could have blamed my mother for not giving him healthy children but perhaps he did not want to add to her misery of losing the children and make her feel discarded as well. They were always affectionate towards each other, so my addition to the family must have been a comfort to them.
My childhood in Jeddah was very pleasant. New kindergarten schools were being opened in all cities, and mine in Jeddah was probably one of the most highly regarded. My parents not only approved of female education but could afford the best. Ummi could well have kept me at home since she did not have other children, but seemed determined that I would get the best of what was on offer. Jeddah is a much more relaxed city than Riyadh and where families enjoy living by the sea. We could never go sea bathing, of course, but we could take walks along the shore when the weather cooled in winter. The summer was hot and muggy so my mother and I would go to Switzerland to escape the heat. Sometimes my father would join us for a week or so. They rented an apartment by Lake Geneva where we and our maid settled in for the summer. Every year my parents enrolled me on an English language summer course to improve both my spoken and written English. This paid huge dividends later in my educational aspirations. My Aunt Salma often joined us with her three children to escape the suffocating furnace of a Riyadh summer. Their apartment was in the same block so we were always together.
This should have been a lot of fun but my cousin Amal took against me from the start. I cannot account for this; we only met on these summer breaks in Switzerland and on our visits to Riyadh or when they came to Jeddah. Our extended meetings in Montreux eventually became occasions to fill me with anxiety. I had become used to people saying nice things to me or giving me gifts in my old life and so it continued in the new one. I did not know this was unusual and assumed that all small children had similar experiences. All the visitors to the house commented on my appearance and my mother was always pleased to have a well-regarded child – even though she had not in any way contributed to my looks or abilities. Amal took my compliments with irritation. ‘Ummi, I am pretty too?’ she would ask Aunt Salma, who of course said that she was. Indeed, she was an attractive child but she resented people praising me.
As we grew older she began to insinuate that there was something wrong with me, though this was done whilst we were alone.
‘You are not a proper Saudi. In fact, you are not even a proper member of our family,’ she confided on one occasion. ‘Ummi says Aunt Noura took pity on you because your other family didn’t want you anymore.’
I had distant memories of my previous life so knew I had been adopted. But it was deeply upsetting to hear that my first family had abandoned me. I think I may have cried and she knew she had scored a direct hit. From then on, I was constantly made aware of my shortcomings. My mother brushed aside her remarks and said I was not to pay them any attention but, as she was reluctant to explain fully how I had been taken into the family, she never put my mind at rest. However, I overheard my mother and Aunt Salma having a heated conversation which suddenly stopped when I entered the room. My aunt left saying she would speak to Amal.
It was during our stay in Montreux that I first met my cousin Faisal. Of course, he was not my real cousin and not even a close one. I think we are officially second cousins on my father’s side. There is so much marriage between cousins in my family, it is hard to work out our exact relationship.
Faisal is eight years older than me, so was a teenager when his summer stay coincided with mine. He and some other cousins were stopping over on their way to Verbier where they could enjoy cycling down the mountains. This sounded amazingly courageous and I regarded him with awe. So did Amal, who confided to me that she and Faisal were to marry one day.
‘He is from my family and we are proper cousins. Our parents will want us to marry.’ She wanted me to understand that I didn’t rate as a candidate. I told her that I was determined to be a teacher and that she was welcome to him.
Aunt Salma and my mother decided to take a day trip by train to Verbier so that we could watch our cousins risking their limbs in this crazy sport. The prospect of going up the mountain in a cable car was thrilling and we all set off in high spirits.
Verbier is dedicated to sport in both winter and summer. In summer, the ski pistes become cycle runs for young men (I even saw girls riding on one occasion) hurtling down at breakneck speed on their mountain bikes. However, they have their bodies well protected by pads attached to every part that could be damaged. Helmets complete the outfit making them look like space warriors. Our party looked down at the starting position and we cheered each cousin as they careered off. We went to the café unti
l they all came back up again on the cable car for their next turn.
As they assembled for the next run we watched fathers and children setting off together on scooters made for two. Faisal must have noticed how much I was taken with this activity and said, ‘Hannah, would you like to go?’ I was astounded and looked to my mother who was appalled. ‘No, she can’t!’ she exclaimed. ‘It is far too dangerous.’
Faisal cheerfully poo-pooed her objections, saying he would go down carefully. I would have a helmet on and would be totally safe. Aunt Salma joined in with her objections. This expedition was not going the way she had intended. Being a male, he was able to override the women’s objections and before I knew it, I was helmeted and standing on the footplate between Faisal’s arms as he took hold of the handlebars. I glanced at Amal who was looking at me with unconcealed fury. ‘See you at the bottom,’ called Faisal to Ummi and Aunt Salma. ‘Look out for us from the cable car!’ And off we went.
The ride down was one of the most exhilarating things that had ever happened to me. I had never been on a bicycle (my parents had never bought me one and our garden was not really big enough to cycle around) and the speed of our descent of the mountain was terrifying; my knuckles were as white as if I had developed rigor mortis. As soon as we arrived in the square below, I collected my wits and asked Faisal if we could do it again. He laughed and said that he was glad that I had enjoyed it. He bought us both ice creams to eat whilst we waited for the others to come down in the cable car and I suppose it was then that I fell in love with him. This was to be my secret, never to be shared with anyone, especially not with Amal.
A Grecian interlude
Athens was pleasantly cool after Riyadh. Although the temperature was in the high eighties the sun didn’t have the harsh intensity that we had become accustomed to. I looked forward to exploring the city with Jake and, hopefully, with Philip, in the coming week. As soon as we had settled into our room I dialled the phone number of our villa in Riyadh.
‘Hi, sweetheart, we are in our hotel. Everything is fine here. No news of Anna, I suppose?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. I called in at the police station this evening and they gave me the usual glum expression. They seem genuinely embarrassed that they have no idea where she is.’
‘Have they found your passport yet?’
‘Yes, it was propping up the visa official’s desk along with several others. But you won’t believe what’s happened – the King’s died. The airport has been shut down for the next week. Nobody can get in or out of the country.’
It was a good thing I was sitting on the bed otherwise I would have collapsed onto it.
‘For God’s sake!’ I exclaimed. ‘What do we do now?’
‘Well, you will just have to stay in Athens until the airport reopens.’
‘Why do they have to shut the airport just because the King has died?’
‘You know how this place operates. Always expect the unexpected. I suppose there will be a period of uncertainty whilst all the top princes move up the pecking order. The Crown Prince will become the new King and I think Prince Abdullah, the Head of the National Guard, will become the new Crown Prince. And so it goes, down the line of the sons of Abdul Aziz.’
‘OK, darling,’ I sighed. ‘We’ll spend the time exploring Athens. I’ll ring you every day at this time.’
The following week passed pleasantly. I could not stop myself from raking every street scene for small dark-haired girls and then peering intently at them. Rationally, it was not possible that she was in Athens but it had become automatic for me to look for her. Jake and I wandered around the Plaka, the old central marketplace that had existed in ancient times. It nestled under the Acropolis and we could see the Parthenon perched magnificently on top. It was great to wander around in shorts and a T-shirt without fear of being upbraided for indecency. I caught up with the news from home, free from the accustomed Saudi censorship of the British press. The Saudis had a department entirely dedicated to blacking out with felt pens any photographs they considered immodest. This included Princess Diana in a low-cut evening dress. I wondered what effect it had on the poor chap who had to spend hour after hour blacking over Princess Di’s décolleté. As we sat drinking coffee and orange juice in shady cafés in the Plaka, the only news in which the British press was interested was the imminent birth of the next in line to the British throne. Princess Diana’s first baby was due any day and the press were agog to see what she would produce.
We climbed the Acropolis and viewed the Parthenon. Thank goodness Lord Elgin had removed the marble frieze from around the top of the Parthenon to the safety of the British Museum. Apparently, in Elgin’s time, the Turkish army had used the Parthenon for target practice. If Elgin hadn’t removed the Marbles, not only would the Greeks not have them, nobody would. There were numerous ancient buildings and structures littered around the Plaka area. One marvelled that they had lasted so long. Every evening, Philip said there was still no news regarding Anna or the reopening of the airport so Jake and I would look at the map to see where we would explore the following day.
‘Look, Mum!’ exclaimed Jake. ‘We’re near the sea! Can we go to the seaside tomorrow?’ I had noticed a car rental shop next to the hotel so first thing the following morning I hired a car for the day and we drove down the coast to Voula. It was exciting being in charge of a car again and slightly terrifying engaging with the local traffic. It was not unlike the dodgems but without the bumps. I was pulled over by the police at one point but when the officer discovered I was English he gave up and waved me on. I had no idea what the problem was but it couldn’t have been too serious.
I paddled in the sea and Jake swam in his underpants. We indulged in ice creams and enjoyed moussaka for lunch. I could feel the oppression of Saudi lifting.
A nice young man joined us and chatted for a while. ‘Would you like a trip out in my boat?’
‘Yes, Mum!’ cried my young adventurer. After ensuring that our skipper had a life jacket for Jake, we scrambled into the boat and the young man waded through the surf to push us off the sand.
Throughout the afternoon I was expecting a request for an evening date or my phone number or some other suggestion that I would have to refuse, but none came, which made the whole enterprise even more pleasurable. When we had landed he bid us goodbye and we headed back to Athens. What a nice day out.
That evening, Philip had good news. The airport would reopen the following day and he would do his level best to be on a flight to Athens. After an early message to say All Systems were Go, Jake and I made our way by bus to the airport to meet the afternoon flight. He and I chatted away whilst waiting for Philip to appear. I suddenly felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see a beaming middle-aged woman. In what I took to be a Texan accent, she said, ‘I heard from your accents that you are British?’ I smiled encouragingly at her. ‘You have wonderful news! You have a new Crown Prince!’ I wondered how on earth she knew we had come from Saudi. ‘Er, um yes, Prince Abdullah.’ She looked very puzzled and said, ‘No, I think he’s called William.’ The penny dropped – ah yes, that Crown Prince! I thought I would clear up the misunderstanding with a nugget of information on Royal Family titles.
‘Actually, the British Royal Family doesn’t have crown princes,’ I began. ‘The heir to the throne is called the Prince of Wales; all other sons of the Monarch and the Prince of Wales are just common-or-garden princes.’ She looked dubious. ‘Crown princes belong to other royal houses such as Denmark and Saudi Arabia,’ I added.
‘Oh,’ she replied but was obviously thinking, Huh! What do you know? You thought Princess Diana’s baby was called Abdullah. Fortunately, our very own VIP appeared at that moment through arrivals.
‘Daddy!’ Jake ran over to greet him and I waited until Philip had disentangled himself from his excited son. ‘Hi, sweetiepie.’ We kissed and hugged, so pleased to be together and out of Saudi’
s clutches for the time being. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘We’ve been out in a boat at the seaside!’ Jake told his father. This was obviously more momentous than any old ruins we had visited.
‘Who with?’ asked his father.
‘Mummy was talking to a man at the seaside and he took us out.’
Philip laughed and said to me, ‘Glad to see you’re keeping your hand in!’
For the rest of our stay in Athens we visited the ruins again and ventured further afield in a hire car to the Peloponnese to visit Mycenae. The ancient ruined city had such an evocative atmosphere. We peered down from the highest point into the ravine through which the River Chaos ran. I marvelled at the ruts in the stone pavement under the Lion Gate, the ruts dating back to when King Agamemnon rode his chariot through it. One grey-haired woman was on her knees peering at the ruts. ‘Look, darling!’ she said to her husband. ‘These are the very ruts made by Agamemnon’s chariot!’ Further up the slope was another English woman parked on a stone wall with her arms folded. ‘Well’, she opined, ‘if you’ve seen one block of stone, you’ve seen the lot!’ It takes all sorts. The short cruise to Mykonos and Delos were full of interest, good food and legal alcohol. Sitting on the open decks of the ferries, we turned from being tanned to dark brown. Jake’s hair was bleached white blond and we felt fitter than we had for some time.