Gitmo 54: Consolation

People were pissed. I thought maybe Hamdi was going to get his riot after all. But I had an idea. It wasn’t, it couldn’t make up for the loss of the monument. But it was a compromise, or at least a consolation prize.

I asked people to come to the mosque. There was confusion in that, because I wasn’t compelling anyone. It was an invitation. Once I got that idea across, it turned out not that many people actually wanted to come.

The only ones who showed were the ones who were already in it deep, and maybe looking to buy a little lenience, like Mustafa, and those who I think liked me on some personal level. Like Ismail. I mean, he hated me, too, but that didn’t stop him from also liking me.

And Omar. Who had never even been on my radar until he saved me from Hamdi. Who I couldn’t figure out.

But in front of them, I suddenly felt foolish; I was trying to give a speech about communication at my community college and muttering every third word. “We know what happened to the monument. None of us are happy about it. But it’s done. And what I’d propose, instead of a new structure, that we use this building, behind me, as our dedication.”

“I’m not mandating this. This is your place of worship, and I would never try to take any part of that from you. But with the monument, I promised more than I could deliver. But I think this is something we can do.”

There were a few mumbled words from the crowd, then they dispersed faster than I’d ever seen happen at a gathering. Omar alone locked eyes with me, and approached. “You attempted to keep your word, and we appreciate that none of us here are entirely our own masters. It’s a nice gesture.” But inadequate, is the subtext. But he’s the only one who talks to me.

He and Ismail exchanged a nod, and our plumber took the plaque from me, and took it inside.