Qabihah Says They Write My Name, Lady Of The Oleander, In The Red SandStone Arch
Dear Readers,
After my second suitor was killed and rumors about me started to be told around the city, my father laid low for about a year. I thought he would be too cowardly to try to marry me off again. I imagined he would let me remain single as I wished. But after a year was up he had dealings with a merchant who came through Cairo only about once a year on the caravan routes. He sold fancy oriental and Persian rugs to the best families and had not had a chance to be influenced by local gossip. In addition he was of a rather independent frame of mind.
I was astonished when the rapscallion merchant showed up in the garden in the atrium of our house one day and announced that I was to become his bride. I rang for the servants and asked them to put the man out, but they backed away and ignored me. The man quickly grabbed and kissed me. I smacked at him, but he only seemed amused. No one would come to my aid even when the man raped me and then promised to return tomorrow.
That night my friends and informants told me that he was boasting to everyone that he knew that he had tamed the shrew. I debated with myself about whether to go into hiding. Then I came up with a plan.
I had noticed that my oleander were in bloom. Large numbers of hone bees gathered around them and then flew off to pollinate other flowers in our garden. I followed the bees on their daily journeys and discovered that they were building a honeycomb behind the palm tree on the far side of the garden.
I harvested honey and had it made into honey sweets for my self-appointed fiance's next visit. I was waiting with a plate of them beside a cup of wine. He thought it was proof of how well he had conquered me when I smiled and handed him a candy.
The next day I learned that my third suitor was also dead, poisoned by the bees in the hive who had first flown to the oleander and then to the honeycomb. My father knew nothing of this. Neither did our neighbors. But the kitchen staff started even worse rumors about me and fled for fear of poisoning.
Someone carved my name in the red sandstone arch outside the city along the Nile River. They wrote:
BEWARE THE LADY OF THE OLEANDER! SHE WILL PREY ON YOU NEXT.
Sincerely yours,
Qabihah
P.S. You can read about my further adventures in Dora, Lady Ware's, fourth volume of memoirs entitled Hitler's Daughter.
After my second suitor was killed and rumors about me started to be told around the city, my father laid low for about a year. I thought he would be too cowardly to try to marry me off again. I imagined he would let me remain single as I wished. But after a year was up he had dealings with a merchant who came through Cairo only about once a year on the caravan routes. He sold fancy oriental and Persian rugs to the best families and had not had a chance to be influenced by local gossip. In addition he was of a rather independent frame of mind.
I was astonished when the rapscallion merchant showed up in the garden in the atrium of our house one day and announced that I was to become his bride. I rang for the servants and asked them to put the man out, but they backed away and ignored me. The man quickly grabbed and kissed me. I smacked at him, but he only seemed amused. No one would come to my aid even when the man raped me and then promised to return tomorrow.
That night my friends and informants told me that he was boasting to everyone that he knew that he had tamed the shrew. I debated with myself about whether to go into hiding. Then I came up with a plan.
I had noticed that my oleander were in bloom. Large numbers of hone bees gathered around them and then flew off to pollinate other flowers in our garden. I followed the bees on their daily journeys and discovered that they were building a honeycomb behind the palm tree on the far side of the garden.
I harvested honey and had it made into honey sweets for my self-appointed fiance's next visit. I was waiting with a plate of them beside a cup of wine. He thought it was proof of how well he had conquered me when I smiled and handed him a candy.
The next day I learned that my third suitor was also dead, poisoned by the bees in the hive who had first flown to the oleander and then to the honeycomb. My father knew nothing of this. Neither did our neighbors. But the kitchen staff started even worse rumors about me and fled for fear of poisoning.
Someone carved my name in the red sandstone arch outside the city along the Nile River. They wrote:
BEWARE THE LADY OF THE OLEANDER! SHE WILL PREY ON YOU NEXT.
Sincerely yours,
Qabihah
P.S. You can read about my further adventures in Dora, Lady Ware's, fourth volume of memoirs entitled Hitler's Daughter.
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