Ironically, he now demanded her body nearly every night. That, too, had become a hell. Before, she had endured occasional cruelty; now there was out- right sadism. She knew the term from her psychology books, but it had never seemed quite real. How could anyone take sexual pleasure in the pain of others? Well, Ali did. Yet, even that was deteriorating. More and more often, like tonight, he could not become aroused no matter how much he abused and humiliated her.

Maybe he would just give up, go back to his boys. No. That wouldn’t hap- pen. The violence would grow until, sooner or later, he killed her. She was sure of it. Deep in his mind he wanted it. If for no other reason, wasn’t she the only witness to his crime?

What am I going to do? She was more alone than ever, cut off by the enormity of what Ali had done, was doing. If she told the truth, every syllable of it, who would believe her? No one in al-Remal, not even her father. Malik would believe, of course. But she couldn’t tell him. She knew how he would react, and she knew Ali’s power—the royal family’s power. To tell her brother would be to sentence him—as well as herself—to death.

It was the same with Philippe. He would believe her. But what could he do?

Nothing. Nothing that wouldn’t bring him to harm.

She went to the side chamber where Karim slept when Ali made his con- jugal visits. Incredibly, that was just what the child was doing—sleeping. Had he been awake earlier? Other times? What had he heard? What would he remember when he was older, whether he knew that he remembered it or not? She touched his brow, and he murmured in his sleep. It was not just a mother’s prejudice, she thought: he was beautiful. He would grow up to be a hand- some young man. Suddenly a thought came to her that she had never had, and it made her nearly sick with fear. Her husband’s predilections, the way he treated her: if she was gone, what might he do with Karim someday? No, surely not— not even Ali.

Oh, God, I’ve got to get us out of here. But how? There was no way. There must be a way. She couldn’t think of it tonight. She was too tired, too confused. Sleep. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would find a way. It was a promise she had made to herself every night since Alexandria. Hating the smell and feel of her bed, she fell exhausted on it. Everything was quiet. Maybe for once the liquor had won out over the black pills. She turned out the light and closed her eyes.