It was a seedy little cafe in a back alley in downtown Baghdad. Even in the dim lighting, Reinhardt Hoffmann could see that Tolfah’s eyes were alight as he greedily thumbed through the stack of Iraqi dinars the German had just handed to him across the dirty little table. “There will be more at the appropriate time,” the Nazi said in a hushed, low voice. Tolfah stuffed the wad of bills into his robe.

“Leave it to an Arab to sell the newborn flesh of his own family.” A strong tone of contempt permeated Hoffmann’s voice.

“Leave it to a German to buy such a commodity,” Tolfah retorted.

The two men stared at each other uneasily.

“Look at it this way, Hoffmann, since it’s my family, I can now personally guarantee the quality of the woman who will be getting your child.”

“Family or not, Tolfah, how can you be sure she’s going to birth during April as we require?”

“You just let me know when you want it, Hoffmann, and that’s when you’ll get it! Even if I have to pull the baby out of her myself.”

The German nodded authoritatively. “See that you do, Tolfah, see that you do because when the day comes, you’ll find my tolerance for failure or deception to be quite lacking.” Hoffmann’s hard eyes drove his message home. “And I plan to personally deliver the newborn child directly to your sister’s side!”

Anger and distrust of the German quietly seething through him, Tolfah nervously glanced around the cafe and then back at Hoffmann. “Are we finished?” Tolfah asked bitterly.

Hoffmann carefully studied the Iraqi’s face. Finally, his head nodded slowly in answer to Tolfah’s question.

Khair Allah Tolfah pushed away from the table and started walking away.

“Arab . . .”

Tolfah stopped and looked back over his shoulder at Hoffmann.

“The corpse of the newborn—I want to see it. You’re not going to forget to display it to me that night, are you?”

After a long moment of staring at the smug Nazi, Tolfah shook his head contemptuously. “No,” he said bitterly. “No, I wouldn’t dream of depriving you the pleasure.”

“Sweet powerful Allah! He is your son!” Sajida screamed bitterly.

“He has betrayed me!” bellowed Saddam.

“As you have betrayed me!” snapped Sajida bitingly.

Saddam ignored the accusation from his irate wife. “Without cause, he has murdered one of my most trusted aides!”

“You mean your damned pimp!” Sajida’s fists were clenched, her indignation and rage being punctured by the sorrow rending her heart. Her voice quavered. “I’ve been such a fool!” Sajida’s swollen eyes leaked liquid sorrow as tears streamed down her cheeks. “All these years, I never . . . I mean, who would have ever suspected that your . . . your ‘procurer’ was your filthy queer valet!”

Sajida turned her head aside and squeezed her eyes shut in anguish. “It is bad enough that you have disgraced me! But I will not let you now condemn your own son to death!”

“He killed a man!” growled Saddam.

Sajida shot her angry eyes back at her husband. “My god, Saddam! Is it the first time someone in this family has killed? Will you now condemn him for being too much his father’s son?”

“Stay out of my affairs, woman!”

“It is your ‘affairs’ that are now threatening to destroy us!” Sajida screamed, “I will not permit you to publicly execute our son because he tried to protect his mother’s honor! He tried to protect me from the shame of your secret slut and the bastard child she has breached for you!” Sajida took several defiant steps toward Saddam. “From the beginning, I have devoted my life to you! When you were nobody—a political pariah, exiled in Egypt, left there to rot into oblivion! I gave myself to you!”

Sajida stopped directly in front of her husband. “And when you returned to Iraq, I stayed by your side! I fought the revolution with you and bandaged your wounds when you were hurt! I loved you! I married you! I bore you ample fruit from my womb!” Sajida’s swollen eyes burned into Saddam’s. There was torment in her voice. “I willingly pleasured you always with my body, pleasured you in abominable ways that I will surely burn in hell for!”

Sajida paused and stared piercingly at Hussein for a long silent moment. “They tell me your bint is beautiful.” Angry tears of frustration welled up in Sajida’s eyes. “Am I to take it, then, that you no longer have any use for . . . for . . .” The tears streamed down her cheeks. She bitterly grabbed at her clothing and started to rip it from her body. Sobbing freely, she pulled violently at her garments, wildly shredding them as they came off her in pieces, which she threw angrily to the floor at Saddam’s feet.

Weeping bitterly, she stood there proudly, a great deal of her shapely body now exposed to Saddam’s eyes. “Are you finished using these goods? Because if you are, damn it Saddam, have the decency just to tell me, instead of making a mockery of my love of you!”

Angrily, Hussein brought his backhand across Sajida’s face. She stumbled from the blow but defiantly stayed on her feet. “Go ahead, you bastard! Strike me! But I swear to you that you will not harm Uday!” she screamed.

Saddam started to raise his hand to strike her again. “Kill him and I’ll . . .” Sajida’s interruption froze Saddam’s swing in midair, and he stared at her. “Kill him and I swear I’ll shame you publicly to the point you’ll have to kill me too!” Sajida challenged through her sobs.

Saddam stared unsurely at her display of strength and slowly let his hand drop. Tattered shreds of clothing still hanging off her, Sajida stoically stood her ground. The side of her face where Saddam hit her was starting to welt up. “You’re going to release Uday!” Sajida said bravely, her breath coming haltingly.

Saddam stared wordlessly at the defiant woman in front of him. “And if I don’t?”

Sajida’s eyes displayed the bitter hurt and anger inside her. “Then, I swear on my life that they will find the wife of the president of Iraq at high noon in Liberation Square, naked and on her back, servicing the male population of this country you claim to rule!”

Sajida’s tormented eyes burned into Saddam as he contemplated the scandalous specter Sajida had just conjured up for him.

Sajida clutched at the torn material still hanging from her shoulders and tried to pull it over the front of her body in a vain attempt to cover some of her nakedness. She turned briskly on her heel and walked away from Saddam. “Now get out!” she screamed, her broken voice on the verge of sobbing again.

Saddam didn’t move as Sajida came to a stop in front of her dressing table, her back still to him. Not hearing him exit, Sajida’s agonized face peered over her shoulder. Flying into a rage, she grabbed a large silver jewelry box off her dressing table and flung it violently at Hussein. “Out! Out! I said, get out!”

Quickly, Saddam Hussein exited the room.

The Coming Of The Reichchild