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Going Medieval on Iraq

By Meredith Clermont-Ferrand

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"Who knew that Kofi Anan could force us to marry Hafez and Tariq Hussein?" Jenna Bush-Hussein grumbled as she threw her makeup case onto her silken bed in the heart of Baghdad's most opulent castle. "It's absolutely medieval!"

Indeed, an obscure clause in the United Nations charter, based on the medieval practice of forging a peace through marriage, is what brought Jenna and Barbara, the twin daughters of President Bush, to the presidential palace in Baghdad, Iraq.

Jenna Bush-Hussein was the "bubbly" twin, and not just because she enjoyed Veuve Clicquot and Bollinger. Blond and cheerful - she was a blue-jeans-and-T-shirt kind of gal, and the "wild one" of the twins. Even Democrats considered her an honorary Kennedy.

Jenna's twin sister Barbara dropped down on her sister’s bed, beside the makeup case. "That's what happens when you let that guy who wrote those Hobbit books also write part of the U.N. charter."

More conservative than her sister, Barbara did not wish to hyphenate her name. She now wished to be known simply as Mrs. Hafez Hussein. She was the brunette, like her mother Laura. But she carried carrying some of her father's athletic traits. In college she played softball and ran cross-country, and like her Dad, President Bush, she often had to remind people that her middle name was not Anheuser.

Lying down beside her sister, Jenna fingered the lock on the makeup case absently. The twins had traveled with so many people; the new American Embassy staff, Kofi Anan, his staff, the U.N. weapons inspection team, and even Jenna’s music teacher, Officer McStagger, who was teaching her to play the Breathalyzer.

"Why do you think Dad agreed to this?" Jenna asked. "Was it because the United Nations forgave the U.S. the 1.6 billion dollars of back U.N. dues?"

"No" Barbara smiled. "I think it was Vicente Fox's promise that he would guard the Mexican border so Dad would not have to worry about Manuel Recount screwing up the next election results."

Then both girls looked at each other and burst into giggles.

"Well, at least the ceremony was nice," Jenna said.

"Yeah," Barbara pushed on her sister's arm, "until you asked the band to play Hava Naguila."

"Dr. Kissinger said it would be a good dancing song!" Jenna unfastened the lock on her makeup case and flipped it open. She pulled out a half empty flask of Smirnoff.

After taking a quick swig she passed it to Barbara. Barbara took a healthy swallow herself and sighed "Ted Kennedy said that things will be different here. No alcohol."

"I'll drink to that!" Jenna took the bottle back from the other Mrs. Hussein.

The girls and their husbands had been brought to spend their wedding night at the Al-Sijood palace, Saddam’s favorite royal residence in Baghdad. The Al-Sijood was one of the most famous masterpieces of Iraqi art and architecture, spacious and well decorated, overlooking flowery gardens.

The Al-Sijood also boasted a large park reaching down to the Tigris River. Carefully planted in extremely diverse sections, there were formal gardens, as well as fruit groves of mangoes, guavas and citrus trees.

The Bush girls’ wing of the palace was built in white marble, with a loggia and a balcony adorned with metal and stucco arabesques. The colonnades that flanked the building were enclosed on the garden side by a wall composed primarily of amber-colored windows and four doorways opposite the surrounding terrace. The ceilings were painted with decorative motifs, among which there is a portrait of Saddam set in a medallion, and in the opposite ceiling across the water, a corresponding one featuring his two of his favorite sons and the girls’ new husbands, Tariq and Hafez.

The flask of Smirnoff was emptying quickly. "Where's the Jack Daniel’s?" Jenna hiccupped.

"In one of the diplomatic pouches," Barbara said as she motioned toward a group of suitcases from the newly reopened American Embassy. Then she turned toward the television and flipped on CNN. She and her twin played a drinking game in which every time their dad used the word "evil" in public, they could down a shot.

Jenna opened one of the diplomatic bags hastily. In it, she found nothing but important looking papers. Deflated, she tried another. Then, more frantically, another. "I think the ambassador got our diplomatic pouch and we have his. There’s nothing but papers here."

"What are those papers?" Barbara asked flipping off the TV.

"They’re not in English."

"Well read them," Barbara urged.

The only liquor store in Austin that would sell to the twins before they turned 14 had been run by an Iranian family. And they gave them double back on their keg deposits for every Arabic word they learned.

Both were fluent in Arabic.

"They look boring—tests of…soil, I think." She handed a fistful of papers to her sister and flipped a few pages of her own. "These are air radiation tests from the nuclear site that the Israelis bombed years ago."

"Boring U.N. stuff. What’s in that bag?"

"More papers. But these pages are in English." Barbara held them up. "It says ‘Orange Apron Expenditures.’" She rifled through some more. "’Overcoming the Estrogen Factor,’ ‘Dresden Concept of Stock Storage,’ ‘Code Orange’. Must be code names for military equipment or operations."

"Must be," Jenna agreed.

At that moment the American ambassador knocked discreetly on the door. "Excuse me, ladies?" he said with a nervous smile. "I think you have my bags." In a most undiplomatic manner, he grabbed all the papers from the twins and stuffed them back inside the bag.

"And you have ours!" Jenna hurriedly grabbed for the bag he was holding and the bottle of Jack Daniel’s packed just inside the diplomatic pouch. Knocking the ambassador off balance, she quickly unscrewed the lid and took a long satisfying swig. Then, she passed the bottle to Barbara.

The Ambassador scowled. "Remember the warning your father gave you."

"We know, we know," Barbara said, wiping her mouth, "beware of pretzels."

"No, no, no! You have to blend in as much as possible so you can find evidence of weapons of mass destruction. Keep your eyes open."

Both girls became solemn. They took their responsibility to the United States seriously. Jenna, who had been voted most-likely-to-affect-a-regime-change-at-TGI-Friday’s, was especially ready for the challenge.

The ambassador launched into a long, well-rehearsed speech about Iraqi customs, trying to orient the two young women with the foreign culture they found themselves married into.

He dropped the girls’ bags onto the bed and began to unpack them. "Now, Jenna, Barbara, you will see here that your new clothes are decorated with tribal motifs, coins, sequins, metallic thread and appliqués."

Barbara fingered the gold and silver appliqué. "We would have gotten served underage at Chuy Bar wearing clothes like this."

"They are very pretty," Jenna agreed.

The ambassador managed a dyspeptic smile. "Unfortunately, only Tariq and Hafez - your husbands - will get to see you in all your glory. As Iraqi women, you must wear a black cloak and veil that’s called an abaya when you leave the palace, to protect your modesty."

"I guess he doesn’t know about the website nakedtwins.com," Jenna whispered to Barbara in Arabic.

"Best not to tell him just now," her sister responded, "He seems the nervous sort."

The Ambassador took the bottle of Jack Daniel’s from Jenna’s hand and snarled, "and Islamic law forbids drinking alcohol."

A soft voice interrupted them. "I think the new brides have had enough diplomacy for one day," Kofi Anan stood at the door.

"Hello, Barbara, Jenna. I hope you are well."

"Hello, Mr. Secretary," both girls replied simultaneously.

"Have you forgiven me for encouraging a wedding rather than your father’s solution?"

Barbara and Jenna exchanged glances. They might, but Dad was going to be harder to convince. And Grandpa had threatened to write them out of his will.

Sensing their reluctance, the Secretary tried another tactic. "Come with me to the window."

The girls rose and joined him at the window. Eucalyptus trees swayed in the wind, the mango trees with their thick, handsome foliage cradled big sacred beetles moving clumsily in their shade. Elegant, scented pine trees were silhouetted against a striped evening sky.

"What do you know about Iraq?"

"It’s evil," the twins replied in unison.

"What else?"

Both girls shrugged, "Not much."

"This region is known as the Cradle of Civilization; an advanced civilization flourished in this region long before that of Egypt, Greece, and Rome. Writing evolved here. The wheel was invented here. The earliest literature -Gilgamesh - was written here."

"Was he the guy stranded with the Skipper and Mary Anne?" Jenna asked.

"I loved that show!" Barbara exclaimed.

The Secretary General continued, "The laws and edicts of the Babylonian king Hammurabi, the earliest comprehensive legal code known in history, were written here. Many scholars believe Baghdad is the biblical spot known as the Garden of Eden."

"Wow," both girls breathed.

The Secretary General took the near empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s from behind Barbara’s back.

"Read this please."

"80 proof."

"Even the numbers on your bottle are called Arabic numerals, and they have their history in this beautiful place."

Looking out over the fertile valley to the mountains that seemed to protect her from all sides, Jenna whispered, "Dad didn’t tell us any of this."

"Dad thinks the Secret Service officers are his designated drivers," Barbara answered.

"I don’t know what to think—but this guy is totally harshing my buzz. We have to get rid of him."

As if on cue, two young men knocked on the door. It was Tariq and Hafez. The handsome young men smiled at their new wives.

"Please, come in gentlemen," Anan said. "I was just giving your new brides some information about their new home."

Tariq and Hafez were not interested in giving their new wives history lessons (they had just visited nakedtwins.com), but they were willing to honor the Secretary General. The weddings had bought their father Saddam more time to continue his quest to triumph over American capitalism.

"Please, take each other's hands," Anan requested.

When the two couples did, the Secretary General said, "I know this is an unusual solution to the standoff between your two nations. And I know the entire world appreciates your willingness to undertake this attempt at peace. I hope you find enough between you to help sustain their hope for a peaceful solution."

Jenna looked at her husband Tariq. He was tall, with dark hair. He was slender and long limbed. Just the sight of him made Jenna’s mouth water. She knew tall, wiry guys were endowed like a Hagia Sophia minaret.

Hafez, Barbara’s new husband, was also very tall. But he was broader and heavier than his brother. That suited Barbara just fine. Not for the first time did she admire his muscular ass. As she had always told her sister, a man can’t drive a spike with a tack hammer, Jenna!

The Secretary General cleared his throat. "I will leave you with this wish - a long and happy life together. May your love for each other extend to both of your nations." Then he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

"Man," Jenna grumbled after the door closed. "He sobered me up faster than flashing lights in my rearview mirror."

Hafez smiled, "I am a little nervous myself. Do you have any liquor?"

Barbara tipped the empty Jack Daniel’s bottle upside down. A few sad drops fell to speckle the marble floor. "The ambassador took the rest."

"There has to be some liquor in this place," Jenna said with resolve.

Tariq shifted uncomfortably, "My father doesn’t keep alcohol in the palace."

"Oh, shut up!" Barbara gave her new brother-in-law a playful push on the arm.

Tariq Hussein rubbed his shoulder, glad his wife wasn’t the athletic twin. "Excuse me?"

Jenna stepped in quickly to soothe her new husband's feelings. "It's just an expression Tariq--like 'never mind' or 'Insh’allah.' Why don't you show us where you think would be the most likely place to find some beer?"

Hafez and Tariq had been warned by their father about the low morals of American women. Both young men were looking forward to finding out just how low their new wives’ morals were. Alcohol could only speed things along.

"I don’t know. But we should look. Let’s separate and search around. We’ll cover more ground that way," Hafez suggested.

"That's way too Scooby-Doo for me," Jenna replied. "Let’s go together."

Barbara pushed on her sister’s arm and hissed, "We have to do what the ambassador asks. Alone, we’ll be able to discover more."

"Alright," Jenna whispered back. Then she stood on tip toe to give her handsome new husband a kiss. "We’ll meet back here in half an hour."

"Fine," Hafez said, "we will head east towards the inner courtyard and you head west towards the palace gardens."

"Good," the girls agreed, and set off west through the Al-Sijood’s massive corridors.

Like most Arab palaces, the Al-Sijood was built gradually, without a predetermined plan. Rooms of unequal dimension were connected with corridors and secret stairs.

And like all of Saddam Hussein’s palaces, the Republican Guard was out in full force. As the girls passed, the guards whispered to each other.

"They think we're just snooping for weapons of mass destruction," Jenna reassured her sister.

Barbara flashed them a winning Bush smile. "Remind me to buy them a drink."

Despite the stares of the Republican Guardsmen, both young women walked confidently down the marble hallways. The air got cooler and the click of their footsteps echoed louder and louder. The mass of guards thinned out until the girls found themselves alone at the end of a long hallway.

"There’s nothing down here," Jenna grumbled.

"Wait, listen."

Both girls strained their ears. They heard a faint rhythmic beeping.

"It sounds like a truck backing up."

Barbara craned her neck. "You’re right. And it’s coming from behind this panel."

Jenna pressed her ear to the wall. "I hear more noises."

Barbara joined her sister, pressing her own ear to the door. "It doesn’t sound like martini shakers. But I think, for the ambassador’s sake, we have to go in."

"How?"

"There must be a way. Check the seams around this panel."

Both girls ran their hands along the molding. Barbara pressed on an intricately carved corbel. The panel began to slide into a recess. When it had fully receded the girls could see into an enormous underground labyrinth.

"Wow!" both girls breathed.

"Should we go in?" asked Barbara

"We have to! Think of what we'll be able to tell the ambassador!" said Jenna.

"Okay," Barbara said reluctantly, "but you first."

Initially, the smell of sawdust was overwhelming. Huge metal skeletons rose to the distant ceiling, piled high with terrifying looking bars, boards, tools, and God only knew what else. Men in orange aprons whizzed by, ignoring the girls. The noise of crashing wood, trucks beeping in reverse, and men shouting was overpowering. The air was filthy with the smell of sweat, sawdust and blue-collar busyness. Open mouthed, both girls studied the warehouse. It was a Mobius strip of construction materials, with no beginning or end.

"What is this place?" Jenna whispered as another set of orange-wrapped men whizzed by without stopping.

Barbara covered her mouth. Pointing to the farthest wall she motioned her sister to look. On the wall was a huge portrait of President Saddam Hussein wearing a saucy smile and an orange apron of his own. A wrench beside his face pertly pushed up the brim of his orange baseball cap.

"Oy gevolt," Jenna whispered.

Barbara pushed her.

"What!? Dr. Kissinger taught me that!" Jenna pushed back.

Their shoving loosed a pile of hammers. They rattled and then clattered to the floor beside the twins’ feet. Two more men in orange aprons scurried by. Neither noticed the two new Mrs. Husseins.

"Jenna! Don't you see? The orange aprons? The way they ignore women? The unsafe shelving? It's Home Depot's World Headquarters! This is how Iraq is trying to dominate the world. Saddam and the Iraqi Republican Guard are the brains and the corporate brawn behind Home Depot."

"Jeez. There are probably only a handful of Americans that can honestly say they've never been in a Home Depot."

Barbara nodded, "People spend thousands of dollars on things they've bought from there."

"And then spend thousands of hours working on the projects they take home from here."

"So Iraq controls American commerce and leisure time."

"And only for good measure do they sell us the gasoline to drive there."

Barbara shook her head. "My God, Jenna! Dad got it wrong! Iraq is producing weapons of mass construction!"

"So those reports in the diplomatic pouch that the Ambassador wanted back so desperately..."

"...Shows that Dad's low reading comprehension could start World War III!"

A dusty pile of sheet rock tumbled from one of the high, unsteady shelves and landed beside Barbara. The sisters hugged each other close.

"What do we do now?" Jenna whispered in her sister’s ear.

At length Barbara replied, "We have to tell the Secretary General."

Jenna looked at her sister. Then she looked up at the picture of her father-in-law, Saddam, beaming from beneath his cheerful cap. She lowered her eyes to survey the orange-aproned Republican Guardsmen whizzing around the huge warehouse. One dashed by, fixing something in his tool belt.

"Women," he muttered under his breath in Arabic.

Jenna sighed, "It's certain no one will talk to us here. Let's go find the Secretary."

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Meredith Clermont-Ferrand received her Ph.D. in medieval literature from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst. She is currently an English professor at Eastern Connecticut State University, and the editor of "Connecticut Review."  She may be contacted at [email protected]. 

© 2003 Me Three