Throwing Sparks by Abdo Khal

anchorage of The Dazzling Beauty, the most luxurious of the yachts anchored there by Jeddah’s business elite. From the marina, yacht owners ran regattas, threw raucous parties and set off fireworks. To the oldest residents of the Firepit, Umm al-Qumari remained a landmark, the springboard from which their most rebellious children had learned to jump.
    Piloted by Sheikh Omar, The Dazzling Beauty set out on its excursion two hours later than scheduled. The guests were unable to disembark or even change places during that time for fear of provoking the organisers, and everyone now knew better than to ask the ship’s captain the reason for the delay.
    The Master had appeared at the appointed departure time, only to retreat to his cabin where he could unleash his fury, unobserved.
    I was at the receiving end of his profanities over the interphone.
    ‘Where is Maram?’ he barked irately.
    The fact that I did not know did not stem the tidal wave of obscenities.
    ‘I’ll fix you later, and then you’ll be sure to know how to do your job.’
    A good many phone calls had to be made before Maram finally emerged from the Palace and, as soon as she stepped on board, the Master dashed over, grabbed her hand and led her directly to his cabin. Despite speaking in hushed tones, his features clearly revealed the extent of his exasperation at the wait he had endured.
    Only Maram could still ignite such passion in his otherwise cold and lifeless body.
    She was his dazzling beauty.
    Until her arrival at the Palace, the Master would spend every night in the company of a different girl.
    All that changed with Maram. After just one night in her company at the last New Year’s Eve party, he could no longer bear to carouse if Maram was not there with him, at the centre of the gathering.
    Before her, he had spent New Year’s Eve in Geneva or Madrid or on the French Riviera, but after meeting Maram he lost all interest in travelling to distant places. Now, wherever he went, she had to go, too.
    Until Maram stepped into the Master’s life, he had needed a steady supply of new girls, deploying teams of scouts across the city to pimp for him. At the head of each team there was always an achingly handsome young man who sweet-talked nubile girls with amorous banter.
    The love games were practised with an old whore who had been the Master’s lover when he was young. Having grown bored of her, both in body and spirit, she was nonetheless able to strike a deal whereby he promised not to discard her if she, in return, kept him supplied with young women to invigorate his jaded appetites. She spent her last years catering to his whims and dedicated herself untiringly to procuring all kinds of girls, whether she knew them personally or not.
    The Palace staff never used her real name and only referred to her as ‘Madame’. When it became my job to hand out payments to the young women who were in charge of the entertainment at the parties, I’d try and spot Madame among the women parading themselves before the revellers.
    Before the teams of young pimps were deployed through the souks of the city, it had been her job to scout for girls. She would go out every night accompanied by two black women who walked behind her and referred to her as the Sheikha , implying noble lineage.
    She spoke little and with a mere gesture could convey to her assistants when her observation should be interpreted as a command. Her bearing was such that people did her bidding unquestioningly. At every stop they made through the souks, people whispered with excitement, ‘The Sheikha is coming’ or ‘The Sheikha is leaving.’
    She made the rounds in places known to throng with young women such as weddings and malls, and enticed them with descriptions of fairytale nights at the Palace where they would be safe from scrutiny or detention by the ubiquitous religious police – the roving squads from the Commission for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice.
    For a