Two nights ago, I dreamt that my wife and I were invited to witness the execution of Saddam Hussein. We were given a call by a U.S. Government official and told to come down to the Barnes and Noble at a certain address in Brooklyn.
When we went inside the store, we were directed downstairs to the basement and then to a hidden chamber where we waited on the floor for the room to fill. We sat there, on the carpeting, for a few minutes and soon there were perhaps 20 or 30 other people in the room. I didn’t know what to expect and then all of a sudden a large, white sheet was pulled away from right to left and there was Saddam Hussein standing, staring, still. He looked very pale and looked straight ahead. He was tall and his hair was short and his moustache prominent.
I was astounded by his presence. My heart was pounding at that moment and my immediate thought was what happens if he tries to escape or kill or hurt one of us in the audience. Where were the guards? Where were the justices? They couldn’t be found. Yet I knew they were there. I woke up and I wasn’t sure how he was supposed to die, but it was clear that we were there to know his non-existence.