An Eternal Reward

Saddam Hussein had no idea how he came to find himself in such a strange place. It was an unfurnished and utterly characterless expanse, though it seemed to be indoors, in which he could not even trace the source of that strong but shadowless light, which made his hands look as smooth as a child's.

Surreptitiously, in case anyone should see, he held up his polished watchband, and tried to look at his reflection. It was more than illusion, he thought. From his face, the effect of decades of sin, cruelty, sleeplessness and fear had fallen away, to leave a wiser, more knowing version of the young man who had left Takrit so long ago.

There were stranger things to come. He thought of the sort of place he would feel most at ease, and it was as if his thoughts brought a military headquarters into being around him. As if from the corner of his eye, he thought he half-saw uniformed figures passing and repassing in the distance, and he could hear a distant chatter of male voices, and the sound of heavier boots than his associates wore.

Turning around, he almost bumped into a desk which had not been there before. A young man rose to his feet and saluted, with the unforced respect which Saddam had heard of, in the days when he still read books. He was uniformed, though with no badges of rank, and his face and form were of an almost unearthly beauty, his manner that of an extraordinarily good aide-de-camp.

For a moment Saddam bristled with the resentment he felt around taller men than himself, but that must have been some kind of illusion, for the man turned out to be just his own height, or perhaps a little less. Or had Saddam somehow thought the man smaller? He would have preferred him to be less handsome, too... And this time there was no mistaking it. The man's face had somehow grown coarser and less benign, in response to Saddam's will. Perhaps he was turning into a god - which did not, when he thought about it, seem such an unreasonable thing.

"You!" Saddam bellowed. "Where... Ah, what's going on?"

"You don't know, sir? They very often don't. You're dead, sir."

"Dead? That's impossible! Why, just a moment ago I was in a meeting, with my family and friends... "

"Family, sir, yes. Not friends, as it turns out."

"Oh, I see. I'll kill them, the traitors! No, worse than killing, I'll - "

"No, sir, I'm afraid you can't do that. You're dead."

"All right then, I'm dead," said Saddam, who was, if you make your definition narrow enough, a brave man. "So what am I doing here?"

"Surely you must realise, sir? We have to make sure you get what's coming to you."

"Oh."

Saddam, who had kept his composure through years of fear, mistrust and, he supposed, guilt, was for a moment overcome. He had, of course, been exposed to his religion's very literal concept of Hell, and had long since dismissed it as a myth. But death is no time for denial, and for a moment he saw, heard and smelt the eternal fires, and felt their searing breath.

"So what are you going to do to me? Where are the... the arrangements?"

"That depends entirely on you, sir. You can have anything you like."

"Anything I like?"

"Oh yes, sir. You must have seen it starting to work already?"

Saddam had once seen a colleague help an assassin to his feet, and hand him back the pistol he had dropped. Stress distorts our judgment, and for a moment he almost told the young man that a mistake must have been made. But he restrained himself, feeling ever so cunning, and tried to think what his good fortune might mean.

"I can't think of anything I'd like better than being President of Iraq," he said, to snatch a few seconds for thought. "Why, if you knew the things I've had to do... "

"I think you'll find we know a very great deal, sir. President of Iraq? Very good, sir. Of course it won't really be Iraq, but you'll never notice any difference."

"I'll have complete power?"

"Yes, sir."

"Nobody can kill me?"

"Naturally, sir. You're dead already."

"No insurrections?"

"Unsuccessful ones, sir."

"Splendid! I enjoy a good insurrection, if I get to settle accounts afterwards."

"Very good, sir. And of course there's no chance of another war -."

"WHAT WAR?"

"I beg your pardon, sir. We do try to avoid giving offence. There won't be any more foreign acts of aggression."

"And about women? I can...?"

(Saddam Hussein described several things which cannot be printed here. The young man at the desk, whom wiser men know it is impossible to deceive, has heard most things. But he reflected that this was one of his bad days.)

"Unusual, sir, I admit. You will remember that some of our other guests might not take kindly to the details? We have some quite formidable people in the back corridors. But yes, sir, the rules say anything."

"And when the traitors turn up? I can torture them?"

"Of course, sir. But you can't destroy any of the bits. Some of our gentlemen do find that rather frustrating at first. It isn't a rule - you'll just find they won't destroy. Then the next day, they're good as new again."

"What? So I can torture them over and over again?"

"Yes, of course, sir."

"In person? I mean, I'll have time on my hands... "

"Of course, sir."

"That's splendid. But won't the people hate me?"

"Every one of them, sir, of course. But they can't do a thing about it."

"I'll be President of Iraq forever, and nobody can kill me?"

"Yes, sir."

"For all eternity?"

"Yes, sir."

"Exactly as I was on earth?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, this is Heaven all right!"

"No, sir."