Week Forty Two
The Snows of Baghdad
He grew up in the shadow of the stacks. Giant twisted industrial tumors that ripped into the green hills of the Pennsylvania countryside and expanded outwards into the waters of the Lehigh River. Bethlehem Steel was always there. A lumbering presence that chugged away in the background and fueled the town’s economy. But when steel manufacturing went overseas, and along with it jobs, the town of Bethlehem lost its critical I-beam.
Tony grew up assuming he’d work at the steel mill just as his father and grandfather had before him. But when they closed the factory in 1995, he discovered that he’d have to find another employment option after high school. He spent four years working on cars, staying just-this-side of trouble, and dragging his feet aimlessly into the future. And when the World Trade Center fell, he found an out. He signed up for the Army National Guard, not out of any sort of patriotic duty, or a call to arms, but because it gave him something different to do.
He’d never been east of New York City let alone across the ocean. But Tony found himself sitting on a plane heading toward Iraq with the single drive to exist outside the shadow of Bethlehem - and if he happened to kill a Taliban or two, well that would just be an added bonus.
———
He was referred to as “the Asset” and Tony was instructed to never call him by his first name. He’d been stationed at Camp Cropper for more than three months, and in that time, he’d only caught a few glimpses of the man. Tony received word that he’d be rotating to direct guard duty - meaning he’d be stationed just outside the Asset’s cell.
Tony was introduced to the man who looked older and more fatigued than the news footage made him appear. He spoke with an accent, but Tony was surprised by the the Asset’s knowledge of English.
“Hello Tony. I’m Saddam,” the first words the dictator ever said to the boy from a town in eastern Pennsylvania. The rest of the day, and into the rest of the week, Tony and Saddam simply stared at each other - feeling each other out.
At night, Saddam would light up a cigar and listen to the radio, and during the day he’d read from the pile of books he kept next to his bed. It was during one of Saddam’s nightly cigars that he finally broke the silence.
“Tony, would you like a cigar?” he asked, gesturing an unlit cigar toward the soldier? Caught off guard, Tony stuttered out, “Uh, no. No thank you, sir.”
“Too bad. These are Cohibas! Best in the world!”
“I’m sure. But no thank you.” Saddam placed the cigar back in its box and walked over to the bars, letting a small cloud of cigar smoke twist in the wind as it flowed behind him.
Leaning on the bars, Saddam asked, “Where are you from Tony?”
“Pennsylvania, sir.”
“Does it snow in Pennsylvania, Tony?”
“Sometimes. We’ll usually get a few snowstorms each year.”
“Excellent. I’ve only seen snow a few times. It’s a beautiful thing. It makes the world quiet. Nothing else can do that and be so beautiful.”
“I suppose so, sir.”
“I’m not one of your superiors. You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ Tony.”
“Right, sorry sir,” Tony’s time in the Army couldn’t shake him of formalities.
“Do you have a girl back in Pennsylvania?”
“Uh. I had one. We broke up a few months after I deployed.”
“What was her name?”
“Chris. Christine.”
Saddam stubbed out his cigar and gave one last exhale, “Sorry about Christine, Tony. Any girl who won’t stick around with you while you’re in the Army probably isn’t worth it anyway.”
Sergeant Hicks walked in, and Tony stood at attention.
“Everything alright here Private?” Hicks looked directly at Saddam, “This guy’s not giving you too much trouble?”
“No sir,” Tony responded, “All is well, sir.”
“All is well, huh? Well alright,” and Hicks walked away. Saddam winked at Tony and went back to reading his books.
———
Saddam returned from one of his many “trips” during his incarceration. These were almost always his many times to stand trial for his various crimes. Each “trip” would occur at random times, and take random routes under heavy guard to throw off would-be assassins. When he got back to his cell, his worn and frayed suit hung off his thinning body. He sunk on his his bed and rubbed his eyes.
“Tony, is your father proud of you?”
“I don’t know. He left when I was young.”
“So he doesn’t know you’re in the military.”
“No, at least not that I know of.”
“I bet he would be proud. You’re a good child.”
Images of Uday and Quesay, Saddam’s sons and their grisly deaths flashed before Tony’s eyes. Tony had wanted to tell Saddam he was sorry about his sons. Sorry about his grandson. But he didn’t know how the old man would react, and he lacked the confidence to say anything.
———
Saddam was talking to Private Coppola, and they were both laughing, when Tony walked in.
“…He was mean. But he was funny,” Saddam trailed off as Tony entered.
“Tony, you’ve got to hear his stories about Castro. They’re legendary,” Coppola was hanging on one of the prison bars.
“Mean man” Saddam repeated.
“Alright, I’ve got to take off. You’re in good hands with Tony,” Private Coppola gave Tony a friendly slap on the back and walked away.
Tony sat down in the chair outside Saddam’s cell, and stared at him.
“Tony? Everything alright?”
Tony had heard more and more about the crimes being leveled against Saddam. The news was flooded with them lately. Unspeakable atrocities that Tony struggled to attach to the man he knew. The man he was supposed to protect with his life should anyone overthrow the compound.
“I’ve heard some things, man. Things that they’re saying you did.”
“There’s a lot of stories. Some of them true. A lot of them not true.”
“But how could you live with yourself?”
“Being a leader is hard, Tony. You can’t make everyone happy.”
“There’s making people happy and then there’s killing people.”
“Yes, I believe it was more in the hope that things would be better for more people in Iraq if a few people died. Politics is never clean. Someone has to get hurt.”
“But those people…”
“Look where I am, Tony,” Saddam cut him off, “I spent the last year moving undercover. My family is gone or dead. I’m in a cell, and in a few short months, they’re going to execute me. I’ve done some awful things. I have regrets. And I suffer because of those regrets.”
“They say you’re a monster.”
“I AM a monster. But to lead these people. To lead this nation, you need to be a monster. You need to be forceful.”
“By killing your own people?”
“My own people? They weren’t my people. This country is not filled with my people. Before the First World War, Iraq was full of different tribes. But it was the British and the French who got together and decided where and who to put into this country. We didn’t choose. One day, Iraq was just here. And people who’d spent centuries fighting each other now had to be part of the same nation? It didn’t work out nicely like that.”
“OK, then why did you kill MY people?”
“Tony. I didn’t kill your people. In fact, I kept those who wanted to kill your people from committing such terrible acts.”
Tony felt himself getting heated. He opened up his bag and took out the book he’d been reading - a thriller sent by someone back home. It was all he could do to end a conversation he didn’t feel like losing.
In front of him and behind bars, he heard Saddam shuffle back to his chair and exhale loudly.
———
Rotations came and went, and it was in mid-December that Tony got word of his. The past few weeks, things had been tense between he and Saddam. They’d rarely spoken. He sat in his chair and took out his book. Before he’d even read a single word, he heard, “Tony? Tony?”
Tony looked up and saw Saddam standing at the bars looking at him.
“Tony, someone said you’re leaving. You’re heading home.”
“I am.”
“I will miss you, my friend. You are a good person, a good son, and you’ve been very kind to me.”
Tony was taken aback. He wanted to apologize for the way he acted. The actions this man had done made him seethe with anger, but he knew only of this worn and feeble old man. He found it so hard to equate the two.
“I’ve enjoyed our time together, Saddam. I hope we’ll see each other when I return.”
"Saddam smiled a knowing smile, “Yes, I’d like that.”
———
During the ride back from Newark International Airport, Tony stared out into the leafless trees that lined I-78. These leaves had fallen, and Tony let out a muffled laugh when he thought about how they’d just get replaced in the spring. As if the fall never happened.
When the truck pulled off the highway and made its way into the steel grey cold of the December Pennsylvania countryside, he wondered how he’d ever fit in here again. Everything was the same here, but he’d seen the world. He’d done more than he ever imagined he would. How would JJ at his old mechanic shop react when he told him he guarded Saddam Hussein? Hell, how he’d become friends with one of the most powerful men in the world? JJ would probably float a racist comment, shrug his shoulders, and wonder where the party was happening that night.
Tony woke up in the morning of December 30th and walked into the living room and found his mother watching the news.
“Tony. Come here! You’re going to want to see this,” she said, gesturing him to sit on the couch next to her.
He squinted toward the television and caught view of grainy footage of a man putting a rope around Saddam Hussein’s neck. He picked up the remote and turned off the TV despite his mom’s objections.
Tony walked out into the cold December morning, looked up in the sky, and felt wet flakes of snow land on his face. He watched as they swirled in the wind and blended into the white oblivion.
