The Arab

Chapter 2.-2

“I did, but I have to fly to Europe.”

I came to America to negotiate an oil deal with the state. I arrived a month ago and I spent about twenty days in business meetings. Of course these were polite little meetings where I tried to sweet-talk the USA into buying Saudi oil at the best price. My family owns several oil fields; I was finding buyers for the oil produced at Khurais this time. It was an important issue because this field will most probably yield 27 billion gallons’ worth of oil. We closed the deal. New oil wells can lower the price, so it was not difficult to convince the Americans.

The king decided on the spur of the moment to start work on this oil field. The production takes place approximately a hundred and twenty kilometers from Riyadh, in the middle of the desert. Tunnels were dug from the Persian Gulf to the wells, so black gold (oil) can be recovered from the sea too. In the Middle East we meticulously manage the oil business, so I don’t understand why other countries keep repeating that there is an oil shortage. There isn’t! Not yet. I understand the business side of things, but my question is: if my country lowers oil prices due to the abundant supply available, why doesn’t the market follow a positive trend? Saudi Arabia has no interest in halting oil production, no matter what each barrel costs. Like it or not, our Minister of Oil Industry announced this to the West.

The main thing is, we closed the deal at last.

“I didn’t tell you to go to any business meeting in Europe. What are you doing there?”

Now comes the difficult part. My father always follows strict rules. He has a schedule almost a year ahead. He knows who he will deal with and which of his sons will represent him. My family is directly related to the king and we are wealthy beyond measure. I’ve had the title “Prince” attached to my name ever since I was born; even my mother called me “Prince Jamal” sometimes when she patted my head. But there are quite a few princes and princesses in my country. Every legitimate, royal offspring gets the title and a place in the line of succession. As we marry more than one wife and have large families, you can see why there are over seven thousand princes and princesses in Saudi Arabia. And the royal family counts over thirty thousand members. The family name indicates royal lineage, and being a royal comes with certain privileges. Most importantly: royal name, royal position. And royal salary of course. This gives rise to animosity sometimes, because the best positions are given to those with the title, not those best qualified.

“I was approached by a European company.”

“You mean they are begging for a sponsorship deal?”

Precisely. A car factory approached me from Central Europe, Hungary, to ask me for an investment. I talked to the brand management in Germany and they encouraged me. I’m not hoping for huge profit, but I’m bored of the oil business. Whatever happens I will be filthy rich, so it’s not like I’m taking any risks.

“Where are you going?” He sounds angry but he doesn’t want to reprimand me. He knows I’m different from his other sons.

“To Hungary.”

I can hardly pronounce it. I realize that I have no idea where it is. I don’t know the culture, the people, anything.… Really, what am I doing there?

My father laughs out loud.

“Well, you could have told me. I envy you.” I’m starting to believe that this country must be beautiful and precious, but then he clicks his tongue. “They have the most beautiful women in the world.”

Now I’m grinning too. I hope I will be like my father when I am that age. He is fifty-seven, but he is youthful and good-looking. He is as tall as his sons and has a flat stomach even at his age. Young women bat their eyelashes at him at every turn. He was nineteen and my mother was seventeen when they got married. A year later my sister Fatima was born, and the family started growing quickly. My generation has a bit more say on the future. We can decide when to marry and we have a say in who we want to marry too. I am in no rush to wed, but I don’t object to the brides chosen for me.

“How do you know? Have you been there?”

“It was a long time ago, son. A very long time ago. But I can assure you that I have the nicest memories.”

Nice memories can mean a lot of things, even children. Illegitimate ones of course. Only children born in wedlock are considered legitimate. My father has a few children by his mistresses, but he doesn’t show any fatherly affection for them. He provides for them financially, but nothing more.

“Amir will be coming with me. Ibrahim has flown ahead and taken care of the formalities.”

“Well done, son, you’re smart. You will need Ibrahim in that country.”

Well, I should be careful with Hungarian women then.

“Is Mother okay?” I ask, because my father would never talk about her unless I ask.

My mother is his first and favorite wife, but this doesn’t mean she plays an important role in his life. I have similar feelings concerning women, but still, I can’t imagine dismissing a woman so easily if she is my lawful wife who lives under my roof. I’m not talking about s*x, that’s a different matter. But I will respect the mother of my children. Or at least the mother of my sons.

“Of course she is fine. She misses you, so next time, if you call at a more reasonable time, you can ring her too.”

“All right. I will call her from Europe.”

“You haven’t told me anything about the Hungarian business, he adds when I’m thinking about hanging up.

“A car part manufacturer asked me for investment.”

“Do you want to sponsor them?”

“Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

He thinks it over, then replies reproachfully. “Why are you wasting your time? You are considering investments which might never make a profit, instead of concentrating on oil.”

“No, this is not so simple. This company is a sound investment, and their stocks are doing really well. The oil business can practically manage itself.”

My father knows very well that I’m right so he doesn’t argue. He is starting to accept the facts. I’m interested in a few other things too, not just oil and Saudi Arabia.

He asks me about Amir, and he promises to take people to the pilgrimage on our behalf. I breathe a sigh of relief and glance at the Koran.

There is a knock on the door, so I say goodbye and hang up. I open the door. It’s Amir and the woman in the red dress. His thick fingers hold on to her waist and a cheeky grin is plastered all over his face. He looks like a cat who caught something and brought it to its owner to show off.

“What is it?” I ask irritably. I am fed up with him for the day. He talks me into chatting up the blonde. It’s eight o’clock, she will be here soon.

“I got some lovely company to go with Monica.”

He is speaking Arabic, and the woman is smiling broadly. She probably knows what we are talking about, but she doesn’t look embarrassed. I think she might be a professional, but I’m not about to mention that to Amir.

“Enjoy yourself but remember, you are flying to Europe with me tomorrow. So pack your bags too.”

Amir pulls a disappointed face. He probably resents me for making him miss the pilgrimage. He doesn’t complain, just makes a snide remark.

“This is really the best time to tell me about it. Where are we going?”

“To Hungary.”

The woman in the red dress takes a step forward. Perhaps she wants to come in. She might be thinking about a threesome.

Yes, honey, a threesome indeed, but not with me.

I lean towards her; she takes a step back.

“Hungary? Where the f**k is that?”

“You will find out tomorrow, Amir.”

I bang the door shut in his face. He doesn’t mind. I can hear the girl as she walks away giggling. They go to Amir’s suite. I realize that I didn’t tell the reception desk about the two “ladies” we are expecting, so I give them a call.

It’s Steve, my favorite receptionist. He never bats an eyelid no matter what, and arranges anything for me, be it women or anything else. The other idiots hum and grin conspiratorially, like we are friends or something. Why can’t they understand that s*x is just simple business? The only business deal I would make with women.

“How can I help you Mr. Sudairi?”

My name sounds funny with his American accent. Servants back home call us by first name, but they add “Prince.” I don’t mention it. After all, I don’t own the world… just about half of it.

“Two women will be arriving at nine. Please direct the dark-haired one to my brother’s suite, the blonde one to mine,” I explain as if it was embarrassing to know their names.

I always call Amir my brother in front of strangers. Him and all my cousins.

“What are the ladies’ names? I need to register them on the visitors’ list.”

I nearly tell him, but that would really be embarrassing. Who cares about the names of two bitches?

“Believe me, Steve, you don’t have to register them.”

He sighs and quietly says, “I understand.” He adds that it is for my protection he wanted their details, so that they wouldn’t rob me or anything.

I don’t reply. I know they are coming to f**k, not to steal. They wouldn’t be that stupid. They will earn good money, excellent money in fact. I think I am a generous customer in every transaction anywhere in the world. This includes prozzies. These girls are not professionals, but I’m paying for the blonde’s body anyway. For her mouth, to be more precise. My stomach tightens at the thought that Ibrahim won’t examine her first.

Shit, I hope there are condoms in this suite somewhere, just to be on the safe side.

I open the dresser next to the king-size bed and yes, the drawer is full of condoms. I hadn’t noticed that. Good heavens, how much should I tip Steve?

Meanwhile Steve sends champagne and a small fruit basket to the room. The champagne scores no brownie point, as Muslims don’t drink alcohol. I start stuffing myself with grapes and I realize I have missed dinner. I always forget about food when I am abroad. There are no tasty falafels here like in Saudi Arabia. Some eateries make decent stuff, almost like the flavors back home, but as I have already said, I hate everything American.

All right…

Except dollars.

The kingdom has friendly ties with the USA, but I would call it mutual interest rather than friendship. Mutual support for power. In my opinion a Muslim state, such as Saudi Arabia only recognizes other Muslim states as friends. Business is a different matter. America only sees profit in Muslim countries. I mean oil-rich countries; Saudi Arabia has plenty of oil indeed, and we want to sell it. It’s that simple. And there is another reason for this cooperation: Iran. Iran is a Shiite state, and this means heavily critical views on Sunni Saudi Arabia. And the enemy of my enemy is my friend. It’s that simple.