Trump at Guantanamo-Preview Chapter 3

Google Image Search-Underground Cuba Travel Guide

Disclaimer: Trump at Guantanamo is a Trumpian Fantasy. It is fiction. Although Trump is the main character, this is a hypothetical Trump, based on the real one, but since the story takes us to the year 2028, and since the author cannot actually know the future, this is just a projection of a man who already keeps reinventing himself. Perhaps a warning, perhaps simply because she can’t help herself, this story insists on being told.

Chapter 3

Day 2, Guantanamo

Melania, determined to keep up appearances, got fully groomed and dressed before she wandered downstairs but she was still the first one up. There were all their portable possession piled up in the foyer. She separated her things into a pile near the pedestal table. She picked out a few outfits to wear in the coming days, hung them on the pegs off to the side of the foyer until she was ready to go upstairs again and made her way to the kitchen. It was looking like the kitchen would be a popular room for gathering, although they were not normally a gathering type of family. They usually operated more like billiard balls on a pool table, bouncing off one another and coming to rest in their separate corners. 

Barron was the next person to arrive in the foyer. (person, man, woman, camera, tv) He found his stuff and moved it to the blank wall in the foyer. He decided to come back later to see if there was anything he needed. Then Barron continued on to the kitchen. 

Melania was trying to find the proper kitchen appliance for making coffee. Were there any of those pod things? Was there any ground coffee? Where were the sugar substitutes? Was she humming, Barron wondered, as he entered the kitchen? Well, that was new. Was his mom a secret housewife? But Melania kept getting distracted by other discoveries as she worked on getting a coffee service together. She was distracted by taking stock of the pantry, by looking out the window over the sink, by a flock of parrots in a stand of palm trees, by the pastries someone had left on the counter in the pantry. 

Fortunately, Ivanka wandered in and took charge of the coffee endeavors. Ivanka had more recent experience in kitchen tasks, although not much as the kitchen staff usually took care of such matters. Her children were younger than Barron though, so sometimes Ivanka had done kitchen duty. 

Barron placed the pastries on the island, and set about finding coffee mugs, filling a creamer he found, and setting out the sugar cubes and fake sugar packets. He found some paper plates and added them, and he turned some paper towels into napkins. Looking over the pastries he picked a glazed apple fritter and started to devour it. This family, except his father, was not a pastry family. His mother and Ivanka both rarely ate anything worth mentioning. Donald was not supposed to indulge in sugar but to stop him they would have to hide all traces of the pastries before he joined them. Barron could tell that everyone would treat themselves for this one strange morning.

Donald came downstairs bellowing. “Where the fuck are we? Where is everyone? No one came to wake me up. There is no radio, no TV. I’m the United States President. Where’s my body man?”

They could tell when Trump arrived in the foyer because he was quiet for a few seconds. Then came the explosion, “What is all this crap? Someone clean up this mess?” 

No one stopped eating and the coffee was now ready so mugs were being filled, although no was willing to be the first one to taste the coffee. Trump found the kitchen by smell and started ranting some more. “Melania, why didn’t you wake me? You need to clean up that mess near the front door.” 

“Donald, sit down,” soothed Melania, “you can have a pastry this morning. Here’s your coffee.” The coffee had apparently passed the taste test.

“I don’t want coffee. Are there any Cokes in the refrigerator? Someone prepare one for me”, he looked around at who was present and reluctantly added a “please”. He was handed his Coke in a glass, no ice.

Jared, just entering the kitchen thought, ‘oh, oh, this patient version of Melania will not last. She does not like taking orders and she doesn’t like domestic labor.’ He wasn’t even sure what Melania did all day. He took a seat at the counter by an unclaimed mug and Ivanka filled it with coffee. Jared hid his shock and offered up a thank you instead of a cynical remark. ‘What was happening to this family? Maybe isolation was going to bring them closer together. Of course, it was only day two,’ Jared thought as he reached for a pastry.

“What should we do today?” Ivanka asked. “I want to go for a walk, and then maybe a swim. Anybody up for that?” Ivanka had found a note in her pile of possessions that said she would see her children soon. She was happy about not having to keep fighting with their ghost hosts about this. 

“I think I might take one of those golf carts and go play a few holes,” Jared said, “Dad, do you want to go?”

“Someone has to help me get dressed,” Trump grumped.

Barron surprised himself and everyone else once again by volunteering to help Trump sort himself out. “Then Dad and I will both go golfing with you, Jared,” Barron added.

Everyone cleaned up the kitchen, except Donald, of course, and retreated to their rooms to dress for their planned activities. Melania had to make another deep dive into her belongings in the foyer to pull out exercise clothes and a swimsuit. She also grabbed the outfits she had hung on the hooks and this time she took the elevator. Barron was already wearing casual clothes and, in fact, had thought to put his bathing suit on as his shorts. He trailed behind Donald into the foyer, helped him pick out appropriate clothing and by then the elevator was back on the first floor waiting for them. Fortunately, Donald did not need help grooming or shaving or even dressing. He simply did not know how to pick out an outfit to wear and he would sit down and never bother to get dressed at all if left alone. So, Barron ended up being sort of a cheerleader handing wardrobe items to his dad one at a time.

Barron and Donald picked up their golf bags from the foyer on their way out. The ladies were just leaving also and Jared was already sitting in a golf cart. Barron and his dad climbed aboard another golf cart and the guys left for the course. Melania and Ivanka set off on a brisk walk but soon slowed down. It was really hot. If they wanted to walk fast they would have to get up earlier. They didn’t stay on the perimeter road. They decided to walk the streets around the barracks and other buildings. The base was deserted except for them, and a bit eerie. It was sort of post-apocalyptic. 

In a strange way the privacy was a welcome relief from the usual chaos that surrounded Donald Trump. Eventually they reached the pool by a circuitous route. There it sat with all the pool furniture around it like survivals of a nuclear disaster. They swam and stretched out and then repeated that pattern, hardly in a hurry since they had nothing else to do. Neither of them even had a book or a magazine. They did not intend to do any cleaning, their were no electronics, no movies to watch, no music to listen to. They might have been inclined to decorate the houses they were living in but there were no shops, no online buying, no Home Shopping Network. 

“Next time we do this we’ll have to remember to bring water with us, said Melania.

“Let’s look in that pool house on the other side of the pool,” Ivanka said.

Sure enough, there was a mini fridge in the pool house with water and Coke and even some lovely green grapes. They took their loot back to their chaises and enjoyed the cool water in the pool for a while longer.

When Barron, Jared, and Donald arrived at the small golf course and started to play, they had a hard time adjusting their strokes to the new measurements; their balls traveled too far at first. After a while their perceptions obeyed the new dimensions. It was very hot though. They found a little air-conditioned club house at the fourth hole and it had a manly bar with all kinds of liquid refreshments and card tables equipped with cards, poker chips and dice. Trump grew expansive and tried to guess what was happening outside these walls in the Confederated States of America. 

“Why did they have to rescue us,” he asked, “What was the danger? Everything seemed fine until they landed at Mar-a-Lago. Sometimes I wish I didn’t shut down Twitter. No one gave me any intelligence reports about unrest or resistance. We had our people everywhere. We would have known immediately if something was going on. This is all very strange,” Trump talked it all through as he paced the small club house.”

Then Trump lapsed from this super lucid state into exhaustion. “We had better head over to the pool and meet the ladies,” said Jared. “The women are probably lobsters by now.”

“Those two can take care of themselves,” said Barron. “Com’on Dad, let’s get in those golf carts.” Barron helped him along by putting an arm across his father’s shoulders.

The pool led back to their patio where the unlocked patio doors opened into the cool interior of the house. They left the golf carts parked on the patio. 

“We all need showers,” Melania said, “I’ll be in the kitchen after I clean up.” So, they all kept moving past the very beige, beckoning furniture and went to their bedrooms. Barron followed his dad so he could put out some fresh clothing for him. His father was oddly compliant.

When they got to Trump’s bedroom Trump brightened up. “Look,” he said, “there’s a TV in here now. Where did that come from?” 

Jared stuck his head in the room to see how his father-in-law was doing. When he saw the TV, he got a few goose bumps and the fine hairs on his arm rose. They were not alone he reasoned. Someone knew exactly what they were doing and  the things that appeared in the house would only arrive when no one could see how they got there. 

The whole thing felt a lot more like prison than it did like protection. Jared had spent lots of time in Iran which made him very aware of what a surveillance state was like. Hadn’t Trump set up a surveillance state in what used to be America? Of course, Jared, Trump’s right-hand man had helped him do it. Keeping track of how many white children were being born. Making sure that any minority children were spirited away with no records kept and each of the moms were imprisoned or sent into white families to serve as maids or nannies.

Jared did not want to think about some of the policies he had helped Trump implement. If there was a rebellion, and he had heard rumors that there was before they were hustled away from Mar a Lago, it’s possible the family would remain in this expensive ‘prison’ forever. Who knew where they were? Did they still have allies? Hell, he didn’t even know where they were. Would the Saudi King help them now? How about Netanyahu? How about Trump’s shady pals?

Trump had put a comfortable armchair in front the TV and he was happily watching the very sparse offerings, which seemed to be one news channel and one movie channel. Trump said, “tell Melania I’ll eat up here.” 

“I’ll tell her,” promised Jared, but he hoped Barron was still in the mood to play good son, because he was pretty sure the duty would fall to him.

When Barron left Trump in front of the TV, arrived in the kitchen and told Melania about Trump’s expectations, he was given his mom’s evil eye.

“I think I’ll go up and have a talk with your father,” Melania said carefully controlling her emotions. Donald did not respond well to anger. You had to use psychology. Melania had tons of practice.

After a while Trump appeared in the kitchen cleaned and casually dressed followed by a grim Melania. It turns out that a TV had been placed in the kitchen also so the promise of both food and news had done the trick. In fact, there were TV’s everywhere now.

Outwardly peace reigned once again in the Trump family, but inwardly several family members had lost their peace of mind.

Trump at Guantanamo – Preview

From a Google Image Search – The Telegraph

Trump at Guantánamo © 2021

This is an excerpt from Part 2 of a Trumpian Fantasy that is set in the future (2028). 

Chapter 1

Where Are We?

March, 2028

When the army helicopter landed in the officer’s compound at Guantánamo, the Trump family seemed dazed. They relieved Donald of the strait jacket, which the 10 th Army Division had told him was needed to protect him from Antifa. He wandered around the landing area like the bewildered old man that he was. The meds they gave him to keep him calm when they removed the strait jacket had kicked in and contributed to his disorientation. But, thankfully, he was docile.

Melania moved off in the opposite direction from Donald, turning in a slow circle to take in their surroundings. The helicopter had already lifted off. Ivanka’s movements inscribed that same slow circle as Melania’s. Jared was trailing after Donald, and Barron was trying to get his phone to work but could not find even one bar. These were the only family members at the Southern White House when the “rescue” took place. The question “where are we” was written on every face? The flight had not been long.

Clearly they were in a walled compound, and that made it hard to tell where they had been set down. There were few geographical clues. After wandering a bit, the family could see that there were buildings if you wandered away from the wall. The buildings were obviously the sorts of buildings the US military builds on bases around the world. The buildings nearest the landing platform looked utilitarian with some personnel barracks off to one side. There were golf carts nearby. There were palm trees and the air was moist and tropical. Perhaps they were simply in another part of Florida. 

Someone dressed as secret service appeared on his own golf cart. He told the family to follow him and he would give them a tour of the compound. They set out in their separate golf carts in parade formation down the main road that divided the buildings. It was hot and humid. The roads were made of concrete so that melting tar would not be a problem. 

Their guide drove around the perimeter, which was a long drive, and stopped at the recreational facilities where there were tennis courts, and a swimming pool visible in the distance. He drove around an abbreviated 9-hole golf course. After checking out the amenities they traveled back towards the landing pad. The guide turned down the tree-lined main road, traveling straight ahead rather than turning left to trace the perimeter. Eventually, he pulled up in front of a pair of buildings obviously built to house officers. He dropped Ivanka and Jared off at the smaller house and then left the Trump family at the door of the larger building.

The family had tried to pepper their guide with questions but his answers were surprisingly slippery. He never did tell them where this compound was located or why it had been built. He didn’t have any idea where their belongings were, if or when they might arrive. He never would discuss why they seemed to be the only people here. Donald repeated often that he was the President of United States and people did not keep secrets from him. He demanded that the uniformed man answer his questions but all his allies were gone. He was only one old man with his useless son-in-law, both unarmed; his only tool the imperious voice Trump had learned to wield when his power was absolute.

“Donald”, said Melania petulantly. Let’s just go in that building for now. I am hot, I am thirsty, I am hungry, and I am tired. There must be a staff in there to take care of us.”

Donald did not answer but he began to move in the direction of the front door to which a White House style portico had been added. They kept expecting a butler to appear to welcome them. When that did not happen Barron finally opened the door. The cool air that escaped lifted their spirits. Baron led his befuddled parents into a foyer centered by a round pedestal table topped with an enormous fake floral arrangement and resting on a Turkish-style carpet. Off to the side was a line of hooks for outdoor accessories and a thick absorbent mat for wet footwear.

They wandered further into the dwelling and came across the living room, large and very beige. The couches were comfortable and expensive looking. There were three couches and four matching chairs. Various tables were arrayed around the walls of this very large room and held lamps and a few unartistic items of décor. The sofas faced a line of patio doors that could be left open at rare cool moments. The pool was on the far side of the patio. Trump sat on a sofa and waited to see if any staff would appear. Melania continued to explore, wandering towards a dining area and an enormous chef’s kitchen. Barron trailed along behind Melania. He opened the refrigerator and found bottles of water. 

“Mom, do you want a water?” Barron asked. 

“Oh sure, honey.” Melania answered, although she was distracted by the absence of any kitchen staff.

When they returned to the living room Trump was beginning to come out of his docile state.

“Did you find anyone to make a meal or bring us some food?” Donald asked. “Why isn’t there any TV? Why doesn’t my phone work? 

Donald was getting agitated and cranky. Melania told him she would bring him some water and quickly exited the living room. It began to dawn on her that she might be expected to cook. She knew how to cook but she did not want to take on that role without putting up a fight. She was, after all, the First Lady. 

Fortunately, Barron had already investigated what the freezer had to offer and he had microwaved some pizza snacks which he was happily eating. Melania stole one from the stash and gave him a little grin. She ate half and set it down on the table. She wasn’t quite hungry enough for pizza snacks yet. So, she grabbed another water bottle for Trump and returned to the living room where she sank into a chair as far from Donald as possible.

“Something’s not right,” Donald stated. Well, that was obvious even to Melania who said nothing. “What happened that we needed to be protected from? Where are all our Secret Service people? Why isn’t this place staffed?” Donald rose from his seat on the sofa and started to pace the room, his mood escalating towards anger. He would begin venting at any moment and then move on to a massive temper tantrum which might cause a mini stroke. Melania was getting worried. There were no doctors here. Where were Donald’s meds?

Melania said, “Donald, I think we need to go find the bedrooms and unpack those overnight bags that they had the staff pack for us. Then we should go to the kitchen and maybe make a sandwich or something and just go to bed until morning. By then the rest of our belongings and our staff may have caught up with us.”

Presenting Donald with a plan seemed to short circuit his impending rant, for now. The bedrooms were on the second level and each bedroom had its own bathroom. Donald took the one that seemed most palatial, perhaps intended for the base commander. Melania took one closest to the stairs and the elevator. The rooms were also beige with army green blankets on the beds, but they were nicely furnished, had good-sized closets, and the bathrooms, while not designer spas, had everything necessary for comfort. Donald and Melania had not shared a bedroom in quite some time so this arrangement would not seem odd to Barron who must, at this moment, still be in the kitchen.

Melania appeared in her husband’s bedroom and unpacked his overnight bag. Just as she thought. There were his meds. As in a hotel there were glasses on the dresser and an ice bucket. There was also a mini fridge filled with water bottles. She collected his pills in the palm of her hand, grabbed a water bottle, and he absent-mindedly swallowed the pills. The army personnel on the helicopter had given her a small number of tranquillizers in case they were needed. Melania had added one of these pills to the others. After distributing the contents of the overnight bag around Trump’s room she took his hand and led him off towards the kitchen.

When they got to the kitchen Barron was already there. Ivanka and Jared were also there. Everyone was sitting around the large granite island in the center of the kitchen but nothing had been done about dinner.

“You know these doors don’t lock,” said Jared. “I guess with the 20-foot walls around this place locks are unnecessary.”

“Is it possible that we’re prisoners?” asked Ivanka. 

Melania looked at Ivanka and lifted her carefully penciled eyebrows, tilting her head slightly towards Donald.  But the tranquillizer had kicked in and Ivanka’s father was tuned out. 

“Let’s talk about that later,” said Melania as she opened the big double doored stainless-steel refrigerator. “I think we should just have sandwiches tonight and then get sleep.”

The refrigerator was not full but it held a few staples. There was some cola for starters so Melania poured Donald some in a glass she found in a cupboard. Someone had left them a fresh-baked loaf of bread in the pantry, a small room next to the stove. There was deli meat-both turkey and beef, along with lettuce and tomatoes and mayonnaise. Melania placed all of these things on the counter. Everyone else was just sitting there waiting to be served. 

“Ivanka, get some plates and silverware please. Jared, find a board to cut things on and a sharp knife, not too big. Barron, you just ate. Do you want a sandwich also?” Melania said all this with a bit of a scowl. When she married Trump, she had thought she was done with kitchens. But everyone jumped up in satisfying fashion and hustled to do the chores they were given.

Soon they were cutting bread and tomatoes, slathering mayo on bread and building their sandwiches. Donald seemed to be somewhere else. 

“What’s wrong with Dad,” asked Ivanka. 

“The man who brought us here gave me some extra pills for your father. He was upset so I gave him one. He can’t have a stroke right now, there is no doctor here, our phones don’t work, we don’t even know where we are.” Melania was usually pretty silent. This was a long speech for her. 

Barron made his father a sandwich and Donald did focus enough to eat it. “I’ll clean up,” Barron said and got a grateful smile from his mom. Barron, at 22, should not even be here, but he had been home on a visit from graduate school and got scooped up with the rest of the family. He seemed pretty calm considering. 

“We can’t stay here without the children,” Ivanka complained. Why are we all here in this godforsaken place anyway? What will happen to us?”

“Maybe we’ll get some answers tomorrow when they bring our belongings. Let’s go try to get some sleep,” said Jared.

You might want to check out Part 1 of this Trumpian Fantasy, 2028: The Rebellion

https://www.amazon.com/author/nlbrisson

White Rose, Black Forest by Eoin Dempsey – Book

White Rose

White Rose, Black Forest by Eoin Dempsey starts with a real resistance movement inside Germany, the White Rose Society, and builds a novel around it. We can imagine that there were Germans living in Nazi Germany who did not buy into Hitler’s racism, his use of fear and instant retribution, the way he used his paranoia about what people said and did in privacy to justify invading everyone’s privacy, and setting neighbors to spy on neighbors.

In White Rose, Black Forest we meet a young German woman who was imprisoned for a short time because she had a boyfriend in the White Rose Society, the German resistance group which published underground news sheets called “The White Rose”. Franka Gerber, our young lady, a nurse in Munich, actually helped write that flyer and distribute it but was assumed to have been naively led astray by her boyfriend Hans. After serving time in prison she is now considered an outcast.

Now with all her family dead Franka lives alone in the family’s cabin in the Black Forest. She is devastated by the things that have happened to her family and the rumors of the terrible things happening to the Poles and the Jews. She sees no way forward for herself. She is planning to shoot herself out in the Black Forest with her father’s gun. It is the middle of winter and winter snows are deep on the ground, the cabin in a remote location, the roads closed due to the snow.

Her suicide is interrupted when she stumbles on a Luftwaffe officer attached to a parachute and unconscious, with two broken legs, who despite his extensive training speaks to her in English. This is where the story goes a bit off the rails. Some of the author’s explanations for what Franka does require a bit too much suspension of disbelief. Although the snow is a great device to buy her parachutist, John Lynch aka Werner Graf, time to heal.

What I did find relevant and worthy of attention were Franka’s interactions with her neighbors dished out in flashbacks to her years as a young girl when she joined the Hitler Youth movement, and with her earliest friends and her first boyfriend who shared these experiences with her. She eventually turned against Hitler and the Nazis, but her old beau, Daniel Berkel, became an agent of the Gestapo, became a loyal Nazi, and with promotions and power became quite a menacing figure.

Much is revealed about the role of women under Nazi rule which was defined by Hitler. Women were house frau’s and child bearers and kept an eye on their neighbors and reported their behavior when it seemed suspect. Women, unless single, did not work outside the home. However many German women became very good Nazi citizens and supported the regime in every way. Others obeyed because the penalties for not obeying were very steep, often even life-threatening.

White Rose, Black Forest by Eoin Dempsey is a very readable story, but not a polished literary novel. We do end up on the edge of our seats, and you might want to see if they are able to escape their very precarious situation.

From Wikipedia – “The White Rose (German: die Weiße Rose) was a non-violent, intellectual resistance group in the Third Reich led by a group of students and a professor at the University of Munich. The group conducted an anonymous leaflet and graffiti campaign that called for active opposition to the Nazi party regime.”

You can also find me at:

https://thearmchairobserver.com

www.tremr.com as brissioni

Goodreads.com as Nancy Brisson

 

A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles – Book

We live in a time when civility and charm seem difficult to find and tempers are on a short fuse. Even a trip to the grocery store can seem like negotiating a mine field of human hostility. People disconnect from fellow shoppers and single-mindedly rush to get items crossed off their errand list. All they long for is to get home to their personal sanctuary. In times like these, Amor Towles is just the antidote required to inspire introspection and self-evaluation. Perhaps he will even help us change the way we relate to the world. A Gentleman in Moscow, although just a fiction story, makes a point that could transform us all.

Our gentleman in Moscow, Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov, recipient of the Order of Saint Andrew, Member of the Jockey Club, Master of the Hunt, is 33 years old when we first meet him in 1922. He is a man caught between two ages in Russian history so disparate as to induce whiplash. He is an aristocrat who returns, to his peril, to Russia from Paris in 1918, which if you know your history, is just after the Russian Revolution when Russian society gets turned over like a compost pile. What was on the bottom is now on the top and what was on the top is now, for the most part, either dead or in Siberia.

But Count Rostov is such a benign style of aristocrat that he manages to wend his way through the anger and revolutionary righteousness of the new Communist state, not completely unscathed, but as a permanent resident of a luxurious Russian hotel right near the center of Moscow. Rostov has never held a job, has never been a worker, but he is trained by his former lifestyle to have skills that are quite useful to have. He is a great judge of human interaction and he knows how to arrange people at a state dinner or in a well-run restaurant so that any strife is defused and affairs run smoothly. Besides this talent he is charming and amenable and flexible in the face of change. His good nature is adaptable but he is not a chameleon; he is always himself.

Count Rostov’s punishment for coming back to Russia at exactly the wrong time is that he is imprisoned in the lovely Metropole Hotel where he has been living for four years. When asked by the tribunal why he came back he says he missed the climate and they all shake their heads in understanding. He has to give up a large suite of rooms with excellent views that he has been occupying and move into servant’s quarters in the attic. If you think that once sentence has been passed this tale will turn gloomy and scary then you have not yet met our Alexander. He’s in a hotel. Things happen. You may find that you have to “suspend your disbelief” a bit but it will be well worth it.

Amor Towles, author of Rules of Civility writes like times that are past and gone, like one who is on earth to remind us of slower times when people were kinder and more (heaven forbid) socially correct. It was a balm to my spirit to read A Gentleman in Moscow at this particularly pugilistic moment in the history of our nation.