Laila smiled and hugged her. “Why not? Do it, sparrow. You’ll be married, too, before you know it, and then it’ll be too late.”

O

Malik came home early that year. Israel and Syria had been trading artillery shells and bombs for months, and the universal belief was that the Israelis would attack Egypt next—or that Egypt would strike first, in self-defense.

In mid-May, President Nasser mobilized his nation’s armed forces. Malik got out on one of the last flights from Cairo and barely had time to unpack his bags before the Six Day War was over.

Sabers rattled mightily during those few days, but there was never the possibility that al-Remal would join the fight. The Remal king fulminated bitterly against the Israeli aggressors yet made it clear that their great allies, the Americans, were welcome and honored guests in the country and should be treated accordingly. At the same time, he canceled all official appointments with Americans—and, of course, anyone who had invited an American to a private party followed suit.

It was a difficult time for everyone. The precipitous defeat of the nation that all the Arab world looked to for leadership was depressing. Even Malik was moody and irritable, a state in which Amira had rarely seen him. She thought, at first, that it was only part of the general gloom; then, too, he was at an age when boys seemed to become moody. At last, it came to her that his discontent might have to do with Laila’s upcoming marriage.

O

“My friend, Abdullah Sibai, has chosen wisely for his daughter,’’ said Amira’s father, as the Badir family sipped their coffee after the evening meal. “General Mahmoud Sadek is renowned for his piety. And he is a formidable horseman and hunter.”

“He has a good appearance,” said Jihan agreeably. “And I’m told the king regards him as a good friend. But I wonder if he might not be a bit old for Laila. She is so high-spirited, and he is, after all, in his fifties.”

An old man, Amira thought. Her friend was going to marry an old man!

What must she be feeling?

O

But when Amira questioned her friend, Laila’s enthusiasm for her upcoming marriage was unbounded. “He’s very rich. And very generous. You should see the gifts he’s been sending to the house. A jeweled belt from Beirut. A gold mesh handbag from Tiffany in New York! A magnificent silver tea set from London. Something new every day!”

“That’s wonderful, Laila, but—”

“And he’s had the most tragic life,” Laila continued. “He’s lost two wives in childbirth, can you imagine? My mother assures me that if I give Mahmoud a son—or even a daughter—he’ll treasure me until the day he dies. Isn’t that romantic?”