At six, another knock at the door led one of the two servants to respond and there, in all his majesty and splendor, stood Ahmad, in full-length robe complete with an elegant Arab headdress, jewelry around his neck and on most fingers. He froze momentarily as he caught a glimpse of Françoise. She was stunning and like no one he had ever seen in his own country. He smiled broadly and she returned the smile with one of her own.
“Françoise, you are breathless, so very beautiful in your evening wear, my father will be pleased. Before we go, however, let me show you how to cover your face for now until my father instructs you to remove it. Otherwise, it would be difficult to eat that way, wouldn’t it?” he joked as he approached her.
She laughed out loud at this show of humor, something she had not as yet seen in Ahmad. He was pleased that she found this amusing and proceeded to have one of the servants affix the facial veil properly. He then held out his hand for her to accompany him as they left her room.
Françoise turned cordially to the servants and merely gestured, “Merci.”
As Ahmad led her from room to room toward the royal family’s private quarters and the dining areas for visitors, she kept glancing constantly at the immensely high ceilings and the paintings and ornaments hanging everywhere she turned. So much money and power, she thought, from such a gentle person. Hopefully, the king would be no different. They approached an entryway with servants on each side leading to a torch-lit room alive with servants everywhere, bustling about with a selection of dishes being brought to a spacious and gleaming wooden table that certainly could accommodate a dozen people or more. Seated at the far end of the table was Fatam with Answa and one of his wives to his left.
Ahmad approached his father. “Father, allow me to introduce Mademoiselle Françoise Dupont from the Louvre in Paris.”
Fatam replied ever so cleverly, “Why yes, my son, I know that the Louvre is in Paris. Welcome to my country and to my home, my dear Mademoiselle Dupont. I am looking forward to your assistance this week in finding out if these gifts I have been receiving for years have been worth hanging, or should I be thinking about hanging instead the ones who gave them to me.” His smile as he spoke immediately put Françoise at ease as he held her extended hand in both of his as a gesture of sincerity.
“Please call me Françoise, Your Highness, everyone does.”
“Only if you call me Fatam. You see, I am really not, Your Highness, am I? Old time customs and formalities sometimes are just that, old time. I am fortunate to be the son of the former king, it is not something I asked for, but if I must continue the line of rulers that goes back hundreds of years, so be it. Please, you may remove your veil. My son speaks highly of you, but he did not mention to me how beautiful you were. Beauty and intelligence. That is quite a combination I would say. You remind me of …,” the thought drifted away from Fatam as he asked Françoise to sit on the right by his side with Ahmad next to her.
Françoise did not remember what food was served that night, as she was more engrossed in the warmth of the conversation between her and Fatam, all to the satisfaction of Ahmad who watched calmly at how Françoise handled herself with his father.
Answa hardly spoke and appeared more puzzled at the attention given to a foreign woman. The wife at his side never spoke, which Françoise found strange. Perhaps women in Khatamori spoke only when spoken to or when given permission to do so, a custom not familiar to a French woman.
Later that evening, as Ahmad took Françoise for a stroll in the beautiful gardens within the palace grounds, she asked him about the silence and almost nonexistence of Answa’s wife at dinner.
“You must understand, Françoise, that many wives are allowed in our country and each has a purpose. This wife, Sakara, almost always attends the dinners and receptions at the palace. She hardly speaks and Answa likes it that way since she will never embarrass him in front of guests by what she says. Answa has no children from Sakara; his eight children are from Fari and Nalia. While it may seem strange to you, to Answa and many others in Khatamori, it is how it is done. My father, I suppose, is an exception. He has married but once, to my mother and, when she died five years ago, he could not see himself even looking for someone to replace her with.”
“And what of you, Ahmad, where is your wife, or should I say wives?” Françoise asked so innocently.
“I must be like my father more than I thought, because I have not wed as of this day, something that troubles my father greatly. Each generation of our family seems to be different than the last and I will marry the one who will be by my side and raise my children for as long as we both shall live.”
As they continued to walk toward the section of the grounds leading back to her room, they were both now quiet as they occasionally glanced at each other along the way. That night, Françoise slept very well.
The next several days encompassed a mixture of serious evaluating of the massive list of art throughout the palace and seeing as much of the sights of this tiny country as she could see with Ahmad as her guide. They visited the oil fields and refinery, the ancient burial grounds of his ancestors and even took time to visit small shops in the marketplace in Banra. The outer limits of Banra were primarily made up of small villages with simple dwellings of stone, but no areas looked ragged or downtrodden.
Each night, however, following dinner in the palace, sometimes with Fatam and on one night with Ahmad alone, they would return to the gardens where thousands of stars seemed to light up the night and provide them with perfect scenery. They were getting to know a great deal about each other and their relationship began to become more serious.
“What would you do, Françoise, if you were living here all the time and no longer had the Louvre in Paris to go to? How would you change things or what would make you happy in a place such as this?”
“I don’t know, Ahmad, I guess knowing that I could do something to make the women more respected and not just objects to be used as Answa does. I could never be happy without a way to speak about things that are important to me, and I don’t believe that women here seem to get much of a chance to do anything of importance in the country. Most do not appear to be encouraged to become educated, to become doctors, teachers, or heads of state. Where are they, Ahmad, who would I talk to if few are allowed to speak at all? Your father seems ready to accept changes; he has already broken some old customs by not remarrying or having several wives, hasn’t he? I see changes all the time at the Louvre, Ahmad, and so it must be in Khatamori as well if your country is to become truly rich in more than just oil. You are not the only one who needs to learn about what else goes on in the world. Others must be allowed to do the same.”
“To break this way of life is not an easy thing, Françoise, it has been this way for as long as I can remember and for as long as my father can remember. We are a peaceful country and very protective of our ways. Perhaps it is time to try a new way, perhaps.”
CHAPTER 13
“Father, Françoise will be leaving at the end of the week and there is something I need to discuss with you,” Ahmad said to Fatam after he returned from his daily early morning walk on the grounds of the palace. Fatam enjoyed the quiet and serenity at this time of day and often would reflect on his late wife and the years they had spent together raising Ahmad.
“What is it, my son?” Fatam asked as he put his arm around Ahmad’s shoulders.
The silence that followed only raised Fatam’s curiosity even more. “Tell me, Ahmad, something seems to be troubling you, I can sense it,”
“When you and my mother first met, did you know then that she would be the one?”
“That was so long ago, my son, but, no, I did not even think that we would end together. As you know, your mother was strong and no one was going to tell her how to do things and she was too outspoken for a woman in Khatamori where women’s voices are seldom heard or listened to. I think that is what first struck me about her; she was not to be just one of many wives to someone. Why do you as
k, or do I sense the departing of Françoise more than just news you want to share with me?”
“I once told you, father, that I would marry and give you a grandson before you left this place to be reunited with my mother, but that, like you, I would marry for love. I see Answa with his three wives and very little respect for any of them and I do not want this for my life. I say this, father, because I think Françoise may be the one but she is like my mother, wanting women to be treated with more dignity and respect then they have now. She would not be happy with just being a queen someday; she needs and wants very much to be more. Perhaps she is not aware of what she could do or be for the people here. I know she enjoys everything we have here, but I am not so certain she is ready to give up what she has for what she knows very little of.”
“Only Françoise can answer those questions, my son, and only when you are certain that it is time to hear her answers, even if the answers are not what you would like them to be,” replied Fatam. “A marriage is not to be taken lightly and, although your cousin shows little respect for his wives, they accept their roles and do not do or say anything that would make Answa angry. Your mother, on the other hand, was very different and we often had disagreements on her attempts to bring Khatamori women to higher levels of recognition. If she were alive today, I believe she would have succeeded. One of the biggest changes she made was in getting women more educated by starting their education earlier and encouraging them to seek positions in medicine, finance, and teaching instead of merely being used by their husbands to raise children. After she died, there was no one to continue what she had started, and we are back to our old ways with our women,” Fatam went on.
As Ahmad and his father strolled together in the gardens below, Françoise stood in her robe on the terrace of her bedroom and watched them. Such a relationship between father and son meant a great deal to her and she remembered her early childhood and the many strolls throughout Paris she had had with her own father years ago. Her mother and father were both retired now and leading a quiet life, totally unaware of the life Françoise had built for herself from her days as a bus tour guide. Her travels to this Middle Eastern country were already more than her parents had ever done and she was still only in her twenties.
Later that morning, she saw Ahmad by himself in the gardens and he appeared to be deep in thought. As she approached him, he turned to greet her with a vibrant smile and both hands extended to meet hers.
“I trust you slept well, Françoise,” he said. “I come here often; it is to me a very beautiful and quiet place for me to think about things. Things I would like to do, things I would like to say and wonder what will become of me today, tomorrow, and who knows when.”
“And what great words of wisdom have you come up with this day, Ahmad?” Françoise echoed smilingly.
“I believe I have a dilemma, Françoise, and I do not know how to deal with it,” he replied as he gazed toward the sun away from her. “There is a woman out there, a very lovely woman, who intrigues me to no end. She is intelligent, ambitious, and not aware of the different customs that exist outside her own country. She would fight to change some of these customs if she was given the chance to do so, perhaps too quickly, which would upset some people who want to keep the old ways. Because I have seen other ways in my travels, I have seen how change can sometimes be a good thing, and I believe that, in time, changes in our customs would be well-received, even if such changes were led by a woman, something that my mother began years ago but, that faded away as quickly as my memory of her has over the years.”
“This woman,” Françoise asked, “does she feel the same about you, that you are also intriguing, kind, intelligent, and very attracted to her, even though she needs to and would very much like to learn more about the ways of your people?”
“I don’t, know, Françoise,” Ahmad replied as he turned to face her, the morning sun radiating on her soft complexion. “I have grown very fond of her since we met some months ago and I have even brought her here once to see what Khatamori is like. She seemed to adapt very quickly and appeared to even enjoy the way women dress here.”
Ahmad now gazed at Françoise in a serious manner and continued, “I would need to know if she would like this to go further or if she wants to remain at home and not pursue this any longer.”
“And where is home to this woman you speak of, Ahmad?” Françoise queried in innocence.
“Home is now Paris, Françoise, but home tomorrow could be Khatamori,” Ahmad softly replied as he approached her tenderly.
Françoise’s face blushed so much that she began to hold her cheeks with both hands. She turned away from Ahmad so that he would not notice and her heart began to beat so fast that she began to lose her breath as she tried to compose herself.
She turned and they locked in an embrace that seemed to last forever as she gushed, “Do you know what you are asking, Ahmad, I cannot believe how foolish of me not to see this coming. I am overwhelmed and do not know what to say.”
“No words need be spoken for now, Françoise; I only know that we could be so much more to each other in time. I need only to know that one day we could have a life together here in Khatamori if there is a chance that you have feelings for me as I do so very much for you.”
Françoise put her arms around Ahmad and kissed him very passionately, her entire body now alive with emotion as she held nothing back. “Oh, Ahmad, I have had feelings for you since you wore the French clothing in Paris, since you would open doors to restaurants for me and pull out my chair at our table. When you left Paris, I was very sad to see you go, and when the letter came to the Louvre for me to come to Khatamori, my heart began to beat again. I do like your country very much and I do have strong feelings about your way of life, but I also believe in you and your father and your willingness to allow for change here. There is so much I need to know and learn about your people and how they would welcome a stranger, a foreigner, to be with you.”
“And what of the Louvre and your very successful career?” Ahmad asked as he continued the conversation, still clinging to Françoise, not wanting to let go.
“I must go back to Paris and see if my heart can free itself from there to be here instead. And now that I have seen Khatamori at a glance, perhaps in the remaining days before I go, you can show me so much more of the customs of your people. I would very much like to learn as much as I can until then.”
The remaining days that week were a whirlwind of activities: travelling throughout the country, visiting schools and businesses, and talking to as many locals as Françoise could. But the Friday arrived when she was scheduled to leave and her return flight had been booked weeks before. At the airport outside of Banra, Ahmad was terribly saddened by her departure and addressed her one last time before she boarded her plane.
“Françoise, these last few weeks have been more than I ever imagined and I realize now that you are the one who was chosen to be with me. My father sends his deepest wishes to you for a safe journey back to Paris and also will pray that you arrive at your difficult decision that would take you on an everlasting journey far beyond today. He has also grown quite fond of you and I have told him of my love for you, a love that I do not give so easily. You are the judge of your own destiny; I will be here awaiting your decision.”
“I have so much to attend to, Ahmad, so many duties that Claude relies on me to handle. I don’t know when or how I can end my life at the Louvre, or even if it is to happen at all. I need time to do all of this and I don’t know how long it will take for me to decide,” she stated as she held him with both hands.
Ahmad, as the royal prince, was not allowed to hug and kiss her in public though he found it very difficult to hold back as many observers realized whose presence they were in.
“Today is the twentieth of November and, in six months’ time, the twentieth of May of next year, I will be here at this very spot to greet you. I pray that you are here as well on that day. Until then, I will count the da
ys that we are apart,” Ahmad proclaimed.
With that farewell, Françoise boarded the plane back to Paris.
CHAPTER 14
May 20, 1957, seemed so far away that, in the following weeks and months since her return to the Louvre on November 20, Françoise was once again bombarded with various demands in her work.
Claude was enthusiastically pleased with the service she had provided King Fatam and showed her a letter of praise from the king that he had recently received. Following a board of trustees meeting at the Louvre in early December, Claude announced to Françoise that she had been promoted to Deputy Director of the Louvre. This announcement was splattered on the business pages of every French newspaper along with a photo of Françoise being congratulated by Claude.
Word of Françoise’s promotion reached Ahmad in Khatamori and he realized that her decision now would be even more difficult to make.
On her desk at the Louvre, Françoise had circled the date of May 20 on her calendar as 1957 began but seemed to evolve at a snail’s pace. This was a slow season at the galleries, after the Christmas holidays and before school breaks when many students visited the museum. It was a perfect time, however, for Françoise to begin delegating more of her duties to several other supervisors. As she did so, Claude began to notice that her attention to her new role did not meet his expectations and he confronted her to inquire about what seemed to be troubling her.
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