Short Story: The Day of Atonement.

It started to dawn and Fatima awoke to the chirping of a

rust red- breasted robin. She yawned and stretched to the

rhythmic melody of the song bird. Fatima touched the side of

her bed, the oak wood hand-crafted in fine detail and scrolled

in lavish designs of ornate lions feet and eagle type wings. With

her right foot, she gently feels felt the hand-woven carpet and

with her left foot, she followed the circle of the colorful mosaic

patterns. Gently, she placed her right foot and stands stood in a

ballet type position. Stretching her arms high and taking a deep

breath on her toes, Fatima danced to the canopy and wrapped

her bosom and waist in silk flowing linens embroidered with

yellow, lavender, sage, and pink flowers. She loosened the silk

around her bosom, and walked to the huge window, and drew

a light type tapestry blind. She sat down on her satin chair and

opened her eyes wide, admiring the landscapes embellished

with camel daises and perrenial flowers and plants of all sorts.

The landscape of Fatima’s home was like a brush stroke

of a painting only seen in an upscale gallery. She is a girl who

recognized with gratitude living in America and appreciated the

things she never had in her home land. She looked as if she

were in a dream.

And after her morning prayer Fatima prepared the setting celebrating the

last day of Ramadan, the day of atonement. She polished the silverware,

and made sure the crystal glasses reflected a sparkling light. The dining

table lookeds gorgeous. It was midday and the phone rang. Fatima picked

up the receiver.

"Hello," she said, keeping the fingers on her left hand on the arm of her

satin chair.

A man’s voice came through,: "Fatima, is that you?"

Fatima turned the receiver slightly away from her ear. "Yes, Father it is I."

"You sound just like your mother. Where is she?" her father asked.

"Mother is at the bakery picking up the desert," Fatima replieds.

Father said in a serious voice, "Today is the day last to offer atonement."

"What do you mean? Father," Fatima asked.

"My Fatima, for years my memory has failed to erase that atrocious day,"

Father said tearfully.

"What day, Father?," said Fatima very concerned.

Father responds: "Fatima, your mother was mocked as a criminal in front

of hundreds of folks. Not only your mother but forty- six young women

hand-cuffed and hauled to jail".

"What are you talking about, - Mother mocked arrested and hauled to jail?.

For what?" asked Fatima.

"The protest to drive an automobile back fired and the media, newspapers,

television, and radio served against your mother and forty-six women. My

daughter, seventeen years of silence and no atonement has been paid,"

father answered.

"How can you atone for something that happened seventeen years ago?,"

she asked.?

"Fatima, what is on the menu?," asked Father.?

"One of your specialty dish. It is a secret, " she responded.

"Okay, need to go back to work. Bye," he said quickly.

"Bye Father," Fatima said.

She put down the receiver and remembered the moral police. The legal

authority and the moral police. They would arrest anyone that would not

live up to the Sharia Law. All the shops closed, and strict observance to

prayer laws facing Mecca five times per day. She remembered her mother

putting on black gloves and her abaya, a black cloak. Fatima remembered

the day she was with her mother and a Saudi man was arrested for having

a foreign woman drive. She remembered the foreign woman was ordered

out of the car, arrested, and her foreign driver’s license seized, plus her

passport. She remembered the moral police held an open meeting mocking

the Saudi man, pointed out that not even a foreign woman had the privilege

to drive, and be seen without a chaperone.

Fatima’s mother returned from the bakery with baklava. The table was

eloquently set, the finest silverware, china, and glass-ware. She placed the

pastry placed in a mosaic colored plate with three matching plates and

three silver forks.

"Mother, Father should be home soon. Come and let us sit together.,"

Fatima glanced towards her.

Her mother nodded and they sat on the couch. Fatima took her hair and in

one twist placed it in an up sweep and used a red comb to fasten and

secure her hair.

Looking at her Fatima asked "Mother, you look great. Let me put your hair

in an up sweep and put a beautiful royal blue comb in your hair."

Fatima took her mother’s hair and twisted her hair it into a gorgeous up

sweep. She then fastened it with a royal blue comb. to fasten her hair,

"Mother, what happened on the day you were arrested?"

"That was many years ago. You were only nine years old," she replied as

if her soul was shot by this knowledge attained by her daughter.

"Tell me, Mother, what happened?. You never want to talk about it. I

would like to know," Fatima pressed.

Mother lowered her head and clutched her hands, "On the last day of

Ramadan forty-seven young women drove their automobiles to the

Ministry of Interior, a huge gathering of people, and we protested the law

against prohibiting women prohibiting to drive. With a foreign driver's

license, a woman could drive, but the Kingdom in 1990 supported a law

that would prohibit a woman to drive regardless. So, we drove to Riyadh

and protested, but it back fired. All of us were handcuffed and arrested.

We were mocked in front of a huge crowd and hauled off to jail. We were

released to our husbands and ordered to obey and be silent. The condition

of our release was unjust. The abaya, the black cloak, veil, and hands

covered with black gloves were our fate,. also, a promise never to drive,

or challenge the Kingdom for such a privilege. To be chaperoned like

children a child because of my anatomy was my future destiny. The

Kingdom silenced us and we were monitored all the time. My brand new

Mercedes with royal blue leather interior was seized by the Kingdom and

never returned."

"Oh. How awful, Mother, was that your car?," asked Fatima.

"The car was a gift from your father, and he encouraged me to drive. The

foreign driver’s license was obtained in Belgium. Silenced for seventeen

years. Never. My hands will never touch a car. Your father did nothing,

absolutely nothing," Mother responded.

"Oh, Mother, you have suffered and how brave to protest to have your

rights to be known to the Kingdom. Imagine protesting, driving without the

abaya and veil protesting." Fatima smiled.

Fatima's mother smiled joyfully.

It was almost time for Father to come home; the burnt-orange horizon

peacock and faded slowly. This was the last day of Ramandan; a time to

fast, pray, and atone. The drapes were drawn and candles are lit after

sunset. Fatima and Amira bonded, and quietly pondered the day of the

protest while waiting for Hassan to come home.

Fatima was the first to greet her father, "Hello, Father."

"Hello, my daughter.," Father drew the curtain and sat at the head of the

table. Fatima was on the right and Amira on the left.

After moments of prayer, Fatima brought in the Baklava and served.

"Father, today is the last day of Ramadan. Is there anything you want to

say?"

"Yes, Fatima I do.," He tried to hold back the surprise as much as

possible. "Amira, a great injustice took place seventeen years ago. I

admire your bravery protesting women's suffrage to the Kingdom. For

years, you were denied the privilege to drive, seen, and be heard. For

years your life was controlled by the moral police and your husband.

Seventeen years of silence, but today my love, my atonement.," Hassan

eyed his lovely wife.

"What do you mean, honey," she asked.

Father walked to the huge window and drew the large drape. In front of the

window wrapped in a massive yellow massive bow sat a stately

Mercedes Benz.

Fatima took her mother's hand and stepped outside, standing underneath the

willow tree.

Fatimas placed her hands on her face. Joyfully she whispered, "Mother,

the same Mercedes Benz as you described. Beautiful and in splendid

condition. The royal blue leather interior is so rich in color. Not a scratch.

Oh, Mother." Fatima’s eyes opened wide and she gasped for air., "How

did you get the car, Father?"

Father embraced my mother Amira., "For seventeen years you were denied

and my mouth did nothing., and My actions were cowardly and shameful.

Forgive me, my love. Even so, today, an atonement, a restitution. Here,

are the keys.: Drive, my love."

Amira took the keys and carefully sat in her Mercedes delicately touching

delicately the royal blue leather. She smelled the leather and puts her face

on the leather and gently touched her right cheek and thean her left cheek to

feel the leather. She took her left hand to her hair and her right hand

unfastened the clip to let her hair flow. Feeling the breeze on her cheeks,

she slipped her key in the ignition and started the car, driving and enjoying

the family’s estate of ten acres of beautiful land.

Fatima, in awe at her Father's atonement, puzzled, a "Father, how did you

get mother's car to America? How did you get the car from the Kingdom

after all those years?"

"It took much effort to buy the car back from the Kingdom. Six months ago,

I received a call from the Minister of Interior and the Prince asked for a

payment. The payment was for storage and fines. The Prince cooperated

and agreed that women must have the privilege to drive and not depend on

a male driver. The Prince added publicity to transport the car to America

had to be cut short, and we decided to close the deal immediately. The

clerics protested, but their efforts boomeranged. Most of the clerics who

challenged your mother's protest requested the Mercedes to be a symbol of

Islamic law. The clerics have a way to manipulate. The Prince quickly

resumed the task," Hassan, holding Fatima's, hand replied in a soft voice.

"What about transporting the vehicle and the effort of going through

customs?" Fatima asked her Father.

Hassan in a soft spoken voice, "The Prince of the Ministry of Interior took

care of the details because he remembered your mother that day of the

protest. Your mother was magnificent, splendid, and brave. The Prince is

also making efforts to change the driving law and the dress code. In his

business the ladies are allowed to wear their own clothes. The Prince’s

continuous efforts are references in the Holy Quran, verses, that God

favors equality. Because of his insight and generosity, the Mercedes is

returned. The Prince arranged with customs, and the Prince paid for the

expense in transporting the car. That was his personal atonement for your

mother and the Kingdom.

"Thank you, Father, for this blessing on the day of atonement.

Now, I deeply understand the significance to atone."

Fatima smiled.