Chapter 3

(Main sitting room of Grandfather's house)

Kamal...

I was happy when the old man's Janazah (funeral) was finally over and I was more than overjoyed to get away from the scrutiny of all the tyrants judgemental friends and business associates. My brothers and I were practically challenged to return the repeated Islamic greeting of, "As-salamu alaykum," to those friends and associates that were in attendance for his final journey.

We witnessed several disapproving eyes glaring in our direction when we didn't actively participate in the Salah (prayer). My father as the son-in-law and closest male relative to the deceased had to place the soil markers for grandfather's body to rest on when he was placed to face Mecca at the Al-dafin (burial).

Our grandfather's circle of friends and business colleagues were very much aware that my siblings and I were not Muslim, and they disapprovingly censored every move we made throughout the entire ritual of laying the man to rest. I found it ironic that those same self righteous old bastards will be simpering at my feet at El-Sayed Enterprises headquarters at the Al Faisaliyah Centre when it becomes public knowledge that my family's company has taken control of Shariff & Company Ltd.

Almost all of those same men viewed my father and his children as our late grandfather viewed us, as outsiders. We were supposedly skirting the Muslim laws by a mere thread and the prestige of much respected El-Sayed family name. The contention between our maternal grandfather and my father started well before we, the children came along. Especially me, the accursed sodomite as the bastard had so venomously labeled me.

Grandfather's displeasure began when his only child, a daughter that he never paid much attention to because she was unfortunate enough to be born female, and the only offspring that came from his marriage who was matched by his equally neglected wife in an arranged marriage to my father, one of the El-Sayed eligible bachelors who was never a Muslim to begin with. A match he had resentfully consented to because of the old influential family name and financial standing which was too lucrative for his greedy blackened heart to pass up on.

Also grandfather's ruffled feathers were somewhat soothed for the fact that for my father it was love at first sight when he first laid eyes on our mother. He was so smitten with her that he chose to embrace Islam in order to make her his wife. Otherwise their union would have been forbidden. That was another reason I chose Christiany.

Our father was not born in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. Malik El-Sayed was born on British soil, a proper English gentleman born to lovingly blissful married couple. A pretty Caucasian Englishwoman and a proud Arabic businessman. Our paternal grandfather had passed on before his son was even born of an unknown fever when he traveled to Kuwait to conduct business. Our widowed grandmother raised her son in her Anglican faith. It wasn't until the boy was three years old that the wealthy cousins of her deceased husband reached out to her after a lengthy search and the child that was my father was introduced to his Arab lineage.

As the honored wife of my paternal grandfather, my grandmother along with her son were brought to Riyadh and resided in her late husband's family's household where she lived in comfort for the remainder of her days. Our father was raised along with his multitude of cousins as the privileged princes they were supposed to be. They were educated in the very best schools both in England and America and they have built upon the already growing El-Sayed empire.

Our father loved the land and the culture so much that he had rarely strayed far from his desert homeland for long periods of time. He remained Christian though, stating that he is who he is and he believed in God, no matter what he was called, and that was how we were raised. That was until he met our mother who wanted to remain Muslim and practiced all the rituals and laws of the religion so our father happily converted to be with her and it can never be said that my father was guilty of Proselytism (converting our mother to another religion), which is considered illegal in the Kingdom.

The maternal side of the family thought it was blasphemy that our mother married a man not born into the Islamic faith, like he wasn't pure blood enough or something.

They felt that we were just skirting the forbidden, but my parents didn't give a crap what those judgemental bastards thought. Their union soon turned from that of an arranged marriage to one that was truly based on mutual love and respect. My father doted on our mother like she was a Queen, and our mother worshipped the very ground my father walked on. My parents are awesome and I thanked God for them everyday, that was until they summoned me home to endure my current situation.

I stared dispassionately out of the car window as the vehicle brought me closer and closer to the monstrosity that was my grandfather's house. The thing was huge, sixteen bedrooms and bathrooms, two kitchens one indoor and one outdoor, three swimming pools, one of them inside the house, a movie theater, library and blah, blah, such sheer extravagance for only one person.

When I was younger and I had first laid eyes on the house, I thought that it a hotel until mother had explained that it was actually her parents home. I had childish dreams wondering if the man was a Sultan or something, but those dreams had crashed and burned when I was introduced to a vile bitter man that looked upon us like we weren't good enough to be in his presence.

"Ugh...look at that excessive excuse for architecture, good Lord, I do not envy you this task." Farooq commented from beside me and I looked up to see the house in question looming closer and closer as we made our way towards it. Hamid had outright refused to come along, but trust nosy as Hell Farooq to pass up the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity. He couldn't help but to come to see the inside of the house we haven't set foot inside of since that fateful day Farooq had visited to pay his respects and almost met his unwanted bride to be.

I wondered if grandfather had changed anything on the inside of his home since we were last there. I mean he had no need to since everything in the interior of that house had cost a small fortune. Most likely it all added up to GDP of a small country. I remembered gleaming marble floors, expensive persian rugs, solid silver hookahs, and pillars lined with rich emerald silks and gold accents.

Jesus, just thinking of the small army of servants it took to run that house and having to either find them other employment or even retire some of them made my head hurt, but my father's instructions was very clear, and that was to put the house on the market as soon as possible. Neither he nor my mother wanted anything to do with it.

The car pulled through the ornate iron gates and into the semi circular drive of the extravagant estate. Already the head servant was awaiting our arrival on the front steps of the house. As we got out of the car a hot burst of gritty wind made our cultural Thawbs (robes) billow out behind us and earlier I resented having to wear our Keffiyehs (headdresses), but being out with the heat of the afternoon sun for just the few minutes it took us to alight the front steps and step into the air conditioned grand foyer of our grandfather's home was enough to make want to strip naked and sit in an ice bath.

I would have much prefered a pair of lightweight gym shorts and a tank top with a pair flip flops rather than the billowing cotton of our robes the layers of our head dress, but since we were out in public for most of the day, it is simpler to dress in our native attire. It's hard enough to have to explain to the Haia (religious police) why we are not observing salat (prayer) five times a day if we are caught and about during prayer time, something we avoided at all cost.

We made sure that we personally as well as professionally followed every law and ritual of the dominant religion and culture in this country. We followed everything from dressing, to allowing our employees 30 to 45 minutes three to four times a day for prayer. We have people in place to make sure that happened for one wrong move by you or someone representing you can have you finding yourself in the middle of the city being stoned to death like you were locked in some kind of medieval nightmare. That was the nature of the Kingdom, "enjoying good and forbidding bad."

Our grandparent's long time house man bowed low in respect before solicitously inquiring about our health and our family, in which we answered him and returned the favor. Once the niceties were completed it was off to have an afternoon repast where we will wait for both sets of attorneys, grandfather's and ours as we catalogue the house, the servants, and the contents within. It was going to be a tedious task that will no doubt take a few days to complete.

Farooq and Hamid were leaving the next day to go back to the United States. My sisters were not allowed to have anything to do with this situation and my shoulders slumped about spending that much time the this luxuriously cold but ornate dwelling. I guess it could be worse. It was hard to remain positive when with each maid or employee I passed eyed me like a was a viper in their mists.

For some reason the house man seemed nervous and kept glancing at me like he expected me to turn into some kind of pumpkin or something. Even Farooq picked up on the air of agitation running rampant in the atmosphere by the frown creasing his handsome face.

We were served rich dates with of course, Al-Qahwa (Saudi coffee) on elegant silver service trays. I really didn't have too much of an appetite feeling as unsettled as I was. I couldn't to get this over with fast enough. Maybe I should have waited for another day or so to tackle this endeavour, but as usual I wanted to hurry up and get it over with so I can see to my own affairs and interests. Sighing heavily and resigning myself to my fate, the only thing I could do was work the Hell out of Farooq while I had him. I couldn't help the smile that split my face as my gaze turned towards my big brother.

"If Mama saw you stuffing your face like that she would be mortified and box you over the head." I said as I watched him stuff another date in his mouth.

"Have you tasted these, my God, it's like ambrosia." He mumbled around a mouthful of sweets.

"Well, eat up brother dear because I got plans for you." I gave him my most engaging smile, full of teeth and innocence. Farooq just blinked at me then he groaned and shrugged his wide shoulders before continuing to stuff his face.

I mentally catalogued what I wanted to accomplish today once the solicitors arrived. The first place we will begin this arduous task was the old man's inner sanctum, his oppressive office.