Arafat lay dying on his bed.
His wife, Suha, was maintaining a candlelight vigil by his side.
She held his fragile hand, tears running down her face. Her praying to Allah roused Arafat from his coma.
He looked up, and his pale lips began to move slightly.
"Suha, my darling," he whispered.
"Hush, my love," she said.
"Rest, don't talk."
He was very insistent.
"Suha," he said in his tired voice.
"I have something that I must confess."
"There isn't anything to confess," replied the weeping Suha,
"everything's all right, go to sleep."
"No, no, I must die in peace, Suha.
I slept with your little brother, a young male aide and his best friend, and even your father!!"
"I know," whispered Suha,
"just relax and let the poison do its job"
