A white-jacketed steward served champagne and borek, cigar-like dump- lings filled with cheese and various fillings. Then came vine leaves and artichokes in oil, followed by lamb kebabs prepared with yogurt. Dessert was flambé fruit.

“Simple food but quite good, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Amira agreed. “If you like, I could prepare this at home.” “We already have a Turkish cook in the royal kitchen,” he said. Then, seeing her crestfallen expression, he added, “But it would make me very happy if you were to supervise the menu for our private meals.”

“As you wish,” she said with a smile.

When the dishes had been taken away, they reclined on cushioned bolsters, lulled into a pleasant drowsiness by the motion of the boat and the wine. He stroked her hair, and as the boat pitched gently back and forth, she fell asleep, wondering how long it would take to understand her handsome but rather puzzling husband.

14. Marriage

Marriage

Lazy, languid days and long sleepy nights—these were the rhythms of Amira’s life in the palace. And how quickly she adapted to it—as if there had always been a masseuse to pamper and soothe her muscles, a fortune teller to entertain her with predictions and prognostications, a hair- dresser and cosmetician to carry out her daily beauty routines.

Life at home had been very comfortable, but this was beyond imaginable. It was, Amira decided, even decadent—a word she’d read but didn’t really understand until now. Any material thing she wanted was here. If it was lacking, all she had to do was ask, and it would be flown in. Food, clothing, electronic equipment, toys and amusements, they were all hers for the asking. When Ali went abroad, she went, too. She saw concerts, operas, and ballets, visiting all the legendary places she’d imagined as a young girl, enjoying the freedom of appearing unveiled. These trips were like a dream come true, yet when she returned to her luxurious cocoon in al-Remal, she often asked herself which was reality and which was the dream.

In the palace, she was rarely alone, but often lonely. The king’s various wives and concubines, their daughters and daughters-in-law, all these women were like a country within a country. Even Zeinab, who had a spacious villa of her own nearby, spent most of her days here.

At the heart of the women’s country was the queen, Faiza. It was she who had built the communal hammam, where Amira now reclined on a bench of marble. The room was large and airy with diamond-cut skylights, the walls covered with intricate mosaic tiles in jewel-like tones of blue and green. There were several tubs for bathing; along one wall, a battery of nozzles regularly released powerful bursts of steam. Throughout the day, an elaborate music system piped in the queen’s favorite “easy listening” music.

The hammam, Faiza often said, was an old custom worth keeping.

“Nonsense,” said Zeinab, who reclined on a neighboring bench; the hammam was simply another of Faiza’s devices for snooping and prying.