Cion by Zakes Mda Page B

relative who was mercilessly murdered by slave catchers. He really did not have any intention of committing a crime. All he wanted was to scare the girls, and then proceed to the Court Street parades to enjoy the evening.
    After Beth Eddy has expressed her own feelings about the incident—how she felt soiled and violated by it and how she thought her life was in danger—the mediators ask the parties what they think the solution should be. To my surprise Obed expresses his remorse and asks to be forgiven for his foolish and thoughtless behavior. He vows that never again will he play such dirty tricks on anyone as long as he lives, and he is willing to put that in writing, provided Beth puts it in writing that she will withdraw all the charges she has laid against him at the police station. Beth is ready to forgive him unconditionally when I butt in. Surely the young man must not get off so lightly. I remind Beth: “When I spoke with you yesterday you said there should be some restitution before you withdraw the case.”
    “He has shown remorse,” says Beth.
    “Obed and I think that is not enough,” I insist, looking at Obed for confirmation. “We think there should be some kind of restitution.”
    “We don’t think no such thing,” says an indignant Obed.
    “Oh, yes, we do!” I stand my ground.
    “Hey, you ain’t even supposed to be here,” he screams at me.
    “Perhaps he can paint your sorority house,” I suggest. “Why don’t you discuss it with your sisters? I’ll help him if he needs an assistant.”
    The woman mediator does not think it’s a good idea to let Obed loose anywhere near the sorority house. Who will guarantee the girls’ safety?
    Once again Beth surprises me.
    “I think it is a good idea,” she says. “I’ll call you after talking with my housemates.”
    The mediators incorporate that in the agreement and both parties sign. The mediators are happy. Especially the man. The mediation has been a great success. We all shake hands. Beth and the female mediator are the first to leave while the man asks me about my origins and what I think of their beautiful city and the fine weather that was quite foggy in the morning. As we walk out of the office Obed glares at me and mutters: “I thought you was my friend, man. I thought you was my freakin’ friend.”
    “I think I am your freaking friend, Obed,” I say, chuckling to myself.
    The man stands at the door and calls after Obed: “Hope you’ve learned your lesson, Mr. Quigley.”
    “I sure have. No more playing with them girls’ breasts.”
    “And no more dumping bottles at Kroger,” says the man, wagging his finger at him.
    Obed is slightly taken aback. He didn’t think the man had recognized him. He didn’t imagine he remembered after all these years.
    “Come on, man,” he says. “I was only a kid.”
    Out on Court Street it is after midday and the sun has become the sun again. Yet its rays do not reflect any joy on the people’s faces. Men and women are walking in a daze, shoulders drooping and faces crestfallen. Their gait is that of mourners. Ohio has once again given America to George W. Bush and Athens’s world has come crashing down. Athens, the only county in the state to give John Kerry a landslide vote. And now, on this beautiful November 3, Kerry has conceded defeat and gloom has fallen on the Athenians’ lives. Ruth must be celebrating back in Kilvert.
    Crowds have gathered on the steps of the courthouse, spilling to the sidewalks. Some are milling across the street in front of the bank. There are those who cannot contain their emotions and are weeping openly, while others are resorting to group hugs as some form of consolation.
    It beats me how a rally has been organized so fast. The elections were only yesterday. The Democratic Party candidate conceded only a few hours ago. Yet here we have multitudes gathered and equipped so well for the mourning of their hero’s defeat. This has turned into an anti-war