Unfortunately, exactly two months after I got this new job, my mother fell sick and stopped working. So I had to provide for everyone and bear the cost of medication and other household expenses, which compelled me to sometimes ask for help from Saeed, who began to get nervous about my endless demands.
One romantic night, while Mr. Philip was away in Paris to attend the funeral of one of his friends, we were making love in one of the luxury rooms at the Riad of Dreams. Saeed, to my surprise, said: “I have an idea for us to break out of this misery. You just need to make Mr. Philip fall in love with you and marry you... Then, Scheherazade can become the lady of the riad. Imagine changing its name to Riad Scheherazade. This can happen if you truly help me realize our dreams.”
I was shocked by the suggestion. “How dare you ask me to marry him! What’s in it for you? Wouldn’t you be jealous? And what about our marriage?”
“I doubt his sexual potency,” he laughed. “Of course we’ll marry after we get rid of him and you inherit everything.”
“What do mean by get rid of him?” I asked, terrified.
Saeed stroked my hair lovingly. “Honey! Don’t you see that he’s already one inch away from death? But that’s my job. All you have to do is to make him fall in love with you and propose to you. After that, you’ll see good things happening, my dear Scheherazade, my Lady of the Riad.”
At that very moment, the face of Aunt Mannana the fortune-teller took hold in my mind. She had stared at the lines of my palm and said: Your good fortune will come from beyond the seas. He will be older, wealthy, and renowned... but the secret is in the fingertips. I wondered, What if this really is the destiny written in the lines of my palm? Who can escape destiny?
I admit that I actually dreamed of becoming the Lady of the Riad, especially since my life obligations were tearing me apart: moving daily from the choking misery of my family’s home to the luxury of the riad and its clients who were obsessed with their bodies; tumbling between traditions, beliefs, and my veiled sisters who were submissive to the authority of my brother and his scary asceticism, and the world of massage and its licentiousness.
Back at home, together with my sisters and my mom, we would pray behind my brother, who enjoyed his role as imam. None of them, however, knew about my inner suffering.
I believe in God, but my brother’s ambivalence was not a good thing, as he saw no problem in his reluctance to work or continuing to take pocket money from me. He also began to incessantly ask me to help the brothers who had also stopped working and devoted their daily lives to worshipping, even though working was an act of worship in our religion.
Plus, my mother pestered me with her usual question: When will Saeed propose to you? Your brother is upset with people’s gossip...
I’m not the type of person who cares about gossip. I’d realized at an early age that I would either care about myself or about people’s gossip, and it didn’t take me long to make my choice. I started to enjoy the idea of being the Lady of the Riad. I would take quiet time to gaze at myself in the mirror. I would see myself as a princess strutting around in my own palace. Why not? Do luxury and beauty not go together? However, I wanted no harm done to Mr. Philip. He’d always been nice to me and preferred me to his other masseuses, saying that I was more beautiful and intelligent than any of them, and that I had the admiration of all the clients. But who knows? Maybe he hadn’t even thought about the idea of marriage at all.
Saeed and I schemed together so that things would later take the course we had planned. It wasn’t difficult to seduce Mr. Philip, who Saeed prepared slowly, the way Marrakech people prepare tanjia. After a few weeks, Mr. Philip came to our house to propose to me, carrying a bouquet of red flowers and red with embarrassment. He was led by Saeed, who was walking proudly and looking relieved.
My brother, who we didn’t take into account, opposed the marriage, and threatened to burn down the whole riad. He was shaking with anger as he cursed Saeed: “How dare you do this, you villain? You are not a man... Having had enough of her, you now pass her on to an old Nazarene the age of her grandpa.”
Saeed snapped back in the same violent tone: “It’s you who is the villain... You just want your sister to keep supporting you and the family. If you were a real man your sister wouldn’t have had to go to work in the first place!”
The marriage proposal turned into a brawl. At one point my brother tried to grab me and threatened to kill me, while my mom cried and begged him to calm down. I don’t know how I suddenly got the courage to stand up to him for the first time in my life.
“How dare you deny what Allah has permitted?” I bellowed. “Philip agreed to convert to Islam. Since I’m not a minor, the new family law says I don’t need the permission of anyone. You’ll keep receiving your pocket money as usual. As for me, I embrace my freedom whether you like it or not!”
We left the house — Philip, Saeed, and I — escorted by my mother’s tears and my sisters’ laments.
I married Philip after he converted to Islam by saying the shahada; we married before a cleric and two adls: There is no god but Allah, and Muhammad is the messenger of Allah. I never imagined things would be so easy, especially since I knew Philip to be an atheist. After the wedding, which was quite intimate, I became the Lady of the Riad but severed ties with my family — my brother disowned me and forbade my mom and sisters from having anything to do with me.
Philip was happy with our relationship and did everything to make me happy too, as I gave his life a sense of plenitude. One day, he confided in me about his past life in a tone verging on bitterness: “I was a bank manager and I had so many friends, but retirement revealed my shallow relationships with my colleagues. Once one retires, work-based relationships also retire. Those human ties rarely survive outside the walls of administrations and offices. Like chairs and files, they depend on space, not people. Only my relationship to my late wife grew stronger after my retirement, which is the reason why we decided to leave Paris.”
While Philip was enjoying his new life, I was striving to convince myself that I’d made the right decision. A decision now spoiled with the taste of fear and anxiety, especially as Saeed’s material demands and greed grew with time. Saeed asked to work at the reception desk next to Leila, so he would know every penny that entered the money box. I never liked Leila, there was something mysterious in her behavior that hinted at a big secret in her life, and, frankly, I didn’t like her way of flirting with Saeed. She wasn’t beautiful. She was one of those Marrakech girls with brown skin and curly hair, but she was attractive and witty in a way I could not be. Everyone called her Flifla, which meant hot little pepper — because she was so hot and sexy.
Longing for my mother and sisters began to tear me down, and I felt increasingly trapped by Saeed. He no longer showed any interest in my body. He justified that by saying he didn’t want to draw attention to our relationship, since to Philip I was Saeed’s best friend, and his flirting with Leila was only a cover.