The gala to celebrate the opening of the al-Remal Cultural Museum was a glittering but fairly subdued affair. In honor of the Western guests—oil- company executives, foreign diplomats and their wives—Ali had arranged for a British orchestra, but they would play only classical music, for there would be no dancing here, no public touching between men and women. It went without saying that there would be no alcoholic beverages.

Thanks to Ali’s powers of persuasion, however, the queen and assorted princesses were also present, albeit properly robed and veiled and segregated from the foreigners. Since Amira could not properly speak to anyone outside the palace group, she tried to engage her sister-in-law, Munira, in conversation. “I’ve just had a lovely note from Karin Vanderbeek, the woman who used to be my nanny. I want to invite her to tea next week, and I thought you might enjoy meeting her. She’s very intelligent and very beautiful.”

“A beautiful woman can’t really understand the life of the mind,” Munira said decisively.

“But how can you say that?” Amira protested. “There have been many accomplished women who were beautiful, as well.”

“Accomplishments alone are not the hallmark of the true intellectual.” “Well, then, what is?” Amira pressed on, not liking Munira’s pontifical tone. Munira shrugged, as if to say: You couldn’t possibly understand.

“Don’t mind her,” said good-natured Zeinab. “She’s just jealous because you’re beautiful and married and clever, too. But she can’t very well admit that you could be all those things, can she? Then life would be truly unfair.” Munira shot her sister an angry look and said nothing. Reluctantly, Amira accepted Zeinab’s explanation, for she had tried hard to win Munira’s affection and respect. Ah, well, she thought, perhaps in time she might yet succeed, for Munira would be an interesting companion, someone who might understand Amira’s interest in books and learning and the world beyond the palace walls. At least Ali seemed to be having a good time, she thought. Surrounded by reporters from the foreign language weeklies who served the country’s expatriate workers and the cameras of al-Remal’s single television station, he was explaining how important the new museum was.

“For us in the so-called ‘developing nations,’ it’s important to know that on our land once stood a great civilization. By displaying its artifacts and teaching our children the lessons learned from our past, we may yet, inshallah, regain our national pride and dignity.” Ali’s remarks were well received, and the museum itself—a modern sand-stone structure with a vaguely Eastern cast—was enthusiastically applauded by the foreign visitors. By the time the reception was over, Ali was in a fine mood. “Did you enjoy yourself, my dear?” he asked Amira. “I thought the evening was a great success.”

“I think so, too,” Amira said. “I just wish …” “What? What do you wish?”