“—or for other reasons that only God understands. It’s said that the excitement of the occasion itself undermines some men’s powers. But the point is that the affliction, through God’s grace, is often only temporary.” That set off a discussion of how long a man should have in which to overcome such a condition before it was considered permanent and therefore actionable. The consensus was that a month, perhaps two, was proper, although someone said that, in the Trucial States, as much as a year was customary. In the end, one of the older women, by stating the undeniable truth that whatever happened was by God’s design, for all power was his, signaled that the subject was exhausted.

Amira had listened intently—not out of titillation, for nothing could be more ordinary than talk about sex (one of the first things to perplex her about America was the existence of a debate about something called “sex education”). Nor was it a matter of learning a potentially important lesson—for, like any young girl, she was certain that her husband would never suffer from a lack of passion.

Looking back across a gulf of lonely time, Amira-in-exile could see that what counted was simply being part of it all, of the circle of relatives and friends in the women’s country. Never since those childhood days had she known such a sense of belonging and acceptance.

O

The first cloud over Amira’s young life came from the other world, an entirely different world that occupied the same house, the men’s world, a place she rarely saw and in which things happened that were as beyond her control and understanding as the ways of God himself. The cloud came when Malik, who had been in conference with their father—an event in itself—burst into the kitchen with astonishing news: “Little sister! I’m going to Egypt, God willing! To Cairo!”

“Is Mama going with you?” It was all she could think of to say. She was six. The only thing she knew about Cairo was that her mother came from there.

“No, idiot. I’m going to Victoria College.”

“What’s that?”

Malik spread some brochures on a table. “Here. Look.”

There were large stone buildings and green lawns, and among them boys in strange clothes—jackets and ties like the oil-company foreigners some- times wore.

“Who are all these boys?” Amira asked.

“Students, just like I’ll be. People who go to school to learn things. Look, that’s the British flag. It’s a British school.”

“These are British boys?”

“No, they’re Arabs, just like me. And Egyptians, of course. And some Persians. It’s a British school in Egypt.”

Amira contemplated this information, “When I’m as old as you, can I go there?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not stupid. Why can’t I go?” “Because you’re a girl, silly.”