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People of the Book

By Kathi "Easy Writer" Macias

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Prologue

Farah Mohammed Al Otaibi lay bruised and bloody on the floor beside her bed. The image of her soft mattress floated in and out of her consciousness, but she had no strength to drag herself from her current position. Even the slightest movement brought stabs of excruciating pain, so she tried to remember to keep her breathing shallow and her body still.
How long had she been here? Hours, certainly. Days? She couldn’t be sure. Her father and brother had covered the windows with heavy, dark cloth, blocking out any light that might help her keep track of time.
Hunger wasn’t an issue, for who could think of food when the pain was so intense? But thirst? Oh, how she longed for just a sip of cool water! Surely her mother would sneak in soon and bring her some. She had always taken care of her before—
Before…
The memory was back, though she tried desperately to block it out. Impossible. She could never forget that moment in time, for it was the dividing line between the before and after of her life. Before the tragedy that led to her brother’s discovery. Before her father had flown into a rage over what he considered his daughter’s betrayal and treachery. Before they had threatened to kill her in order to preserve the family’s honor. Before her mother had tried to intervene…
Hot tears pricked the back of Farah’s eyelids, as the vision of her mother’s face before—and after—swam in front of her eyes. The pain in her heart at that moment far exceeded anything she felt in her body. Then suddenly, inexplicably, the meaning of her name—Farah, joy and cheerfulness—burst into her consciousness. Despite her agony and sorrow, Farah was unable to hold back the brief burst of laughter that exploded from her aching chest. How absurd that her parents had given her a name that implied happiness, and yet she now wondered if she had ever truly understood or experienced any of it in her not quite sixteen years of life.
But then she had met Isa, and everything—both good and bad—had changed forever….








Chapter 1

The dividing line between the before and after of Farah’s life had actually been drawn earlier than she realized, during Ramadan, the fifteenth such observance of the holy month during Farah’s brief lifetime.
For as long as Farah Mohammed Al Otaibi could remember, she had been fascinated with this most revered of Muslim holy days. Though women in the Saudi Kingdom didn’t observe Ramadan in quite the same way or to the extent that the men did, Farah took every opportunity during that time to fast and pray, to read the Quran, to perform acts of charity and kindness to others, and to draw closer to Allah and to the one true faith, Islam—even if she had to do most of it in the privacy of her room, rather than at the mosque with her father and brother.
Each year, as the month of Ramadan drew near, Farah’s anticipation level rose. Though she dared not voice her longing except in prayer, she hoped each year that this would be the time Allah would answer her petitions and make Himself real to her. She knew Allah was merciful. Why then should she not hope that He would extend his mercy to her, despite the fact that she was a female?
Perhaps it hadn’t happened to her before because she was still a child. Farah was late in becoming a woman, and she had only recently veiled. Now, shielded from prying, lustful eyes each time she left her home, she maintained her purity with honor, choosing to wear the most concealing abaya possible, as well as black gloves and stockings so that even the smallest portion of her skin would be not visible. Even the soaring temperatures of the desert summer hadn’t deterred her, though she opted to wear abayas made of cool silk during the year’s hottest season rather than one of the heavier materials more common to the winter months. She personally could not imagine why some women complained at the need to cover themselves in public. It was, after all, what the beloved Prophet Mohammed had commanded so that faithful Muslim women might remain chaste and virtuous. And wasn’t that much more important than wearing something only slightly more comfortable?
Ease and comfort were not Farah’s primary concerns. The stories of the great Prophet and his faithful followers were her passion, and she pursued her religion with a fervor seldom seen in Saudi women, including Farah’s younger sister, Nadia, and their mother, Sultana. As a result, Farah was her father’s favorite—next to his only son, of course. Kareem was the firstborn; he was also a male. That in itself was enough; he would always be the preferred child. But Farah’s devout and submissive spirit had earned her a place in her father’s heart as well, though he was restrained in his affections and compliments toward her. She understood without question that should she ever disobey or shame her family in any way, she would lose that favored spot and would be severely punished. But why should that concern her? She had no intention of ever being anything but the most dutiful daughter—and some day soon, a dutiful wife.
For now, as she observed her first Ramadan as a woman rather than a child, she concentrated on her prayers, ignoring the growling of her stomach as she fasted according to the requirements of the holy month. Who knew what Allah might choose to do on her behalf before the month was over? The possibilities transformed Farah’s gnawing hunger pangs to butterflies of anticipation. Surely this would be the year when she would draw closer to Allah and her life would change, once and for all!
***
Kareem knew that second only to his father, he was ruler in their home. His wants and desires would be met at the cost of his mother or sisters, and his word was considered law, so long as it did not contradict the teachings of Islam, the strict traditions of the Saudi Kingdom, or his father’s wishes.
Kareem knew too that though the family wasn’t wealthy, they were financially comfortable enough that he would have no problem obtaining the wife—or wives—of his choice when it came time to marry. He was also well aware that his tall, muscular stature and chiseled features created quite a stir among the eligible young women of Riyadh, and that they would welcome the possibility of becoming his bride, though in reality they would have little say in the matter. The mothers of the prospective couple would be instrumental in the matchmaking, but it would be the men in the families who would agree to and finalize the betrothals; brides were simply the chattel that completed the agreements.
But none of that was enough for Kareem. Though his father gave him the respect and honor due the firstborn and only son, and his mother nearly worshiped him, as did his youngest sister, it galled Kareem that his other sister, Farah, seemed content only to love and respect him. Unlike the other two females in the household, she did not worship him or hang on his every word. It was apparent to Kareem from an early age that Farah was much more devout in her religious beliefs and devotion to Allah than most females, reserving her worship for Allah. Though Kareem believed, as did all good Muslim men, that their women should be faithful and chaste, he also felt that too much devotion to religion would prevent women from serving men as they were so obviously created to do.
For that reason, he hated Farah, though she had never done anything but be kind to him. He also hated her because she had managed to earn a place in their father’s affections. Kareem knew it was lower than the place he owned, but it was higher than a woman deserved—higher even than Kareem’s mother or youngest sister. Therefore it was unnatural, and it bothered Kareem nearly to the point of obsession.
Even now, as he knelt on his prayer rug, his face to the ground, reciting his praise and petitions by rote, his mind was not on Allah or anything associated with the observance of Ramadan. It was focused on Farah, who no doubt at this very moment was herself kneeling in prayer in the solitude of her room. The darkness of his thoughts blocked out all else….
***
Ramadan. The very word sent a shiver of excitement down Farah’s spine, even as she knelt and listened…for what? She had no idea. Would Allah speak to her? If so, how? Would she recognize His voice? Understand His words?
She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut to block out all distractions. The very thought of hearing from Allah was overwhelming. Better to concentrate on the meaning of the holy month that was now well underway.
It had been an especially hot day throughout the sprawling capital city of Saudi Arabia, with temperatures far exceeding 100 degrees Fahrenheit. But that was no surprise. Ramadan often occurred during the hottest season of the year, and the very meaning of the word denoted intense heat and scorched ground. The residents of this part of the world expected nothing less, and the teeming millions who called Riyadh home were no exception.
Like the rest of her family, Farah had risen long before daylight so they would have time to eat Suhoor before the call to first prayer sounded from the minarets and the day’s fast officially began. Even the lightweight material of Farah’s abaya made breathing an effort, and sweat poured from her body as the blazing sun bore down from a merciless sky each time she stepped outside the confines of air-conditioned comfort. But Farah bore the difficulties without complaint, listening and waiting for the answer to her prayers. She hoped it would come before the end of the fourth prayer time, Maghrib, and the breaking of the day’s fast with dates and coffee prior to a complete meal known as Iftar. But if no answer came by the setting of the sun, she would not grow impatient. After all, the month was only slightly half over. Who knew what Allah might grant to her before Ramadan’s end at Eid ul-Fitr? And if she had no answer by then, she would continue fasting and praying throughout the six additional days of as-Sitta al-Bid. Surely Allah would honor her extra effort and reward her with a special blessing.

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