House of Many Tongues (3 page)

ALEX upstairs, writing.

Alex:
Melissa raises her skirt

and her legs shine

her two fingers point beneath her white underwear.

She has shaved so a man

can better understand

for to see is to understand.

Melissa:
“Clit-oris.”

Alex:
She says.

Clit-oris? I say.

What’s it do? I ask.

Melissa:
It
does
nothing. It
is
pleasure.

Alex:
You mean something exists only for the sake of pleasure?

Melissa:
Yup.

Alex:
(writing)
This is what the Zionists should be fighting for.

So where is it? I say.

Melissa:
Look close.

Alex:
She says.

I can’t see it, I say.

Melissa:
Look closer.

Radio sounds.

Alex:
Houston, this is Alex. We’re ready to establish contact.

Houston:
Copy, Alex. What’s your position?

Alex:
We’ve left the stratosphere and are approaching the clitoris.

But we’re having trouble finding its precise location.

Houston:
Roger that, Alex. Keep a close eye on things and proceed with caution. And remember what Wikipedia says: start slow, be sensitive and inventive.

Alex:
I look up, I look in.

It’s really dark in here.

I can’t see anything.

Hello?
(echo: hello, hello, hello)

Echo!
(echo, echo, echo)

Is anyone home?
(home, home, home)

Enter MELISSA’S CLITORIS.

Who are you?

Melissa’s Clitoris:
I’m Melissa’s clitoris.

Alex:
Oh. At last! I found you.

Is the clitoris always located so deep in outer space?

Melissa’s Clitoris:
It varies from woman to woman.

Alex:
How should I touch you?

Melissa’s Clitoris:
Carefully.

I’ve got so much passion in me I’m like a bomb ready to go off.

Alex:
Do you know where I can find my mother?

THE CAMEL lights up a cigarette, addresses the audience.

The Camel:
I’m a camel. You’ve probably seen pictures of me. I’ve been in my share of movies too. Books, lots of books. Maybe you went on a tour, paid a lot of money to take a ride and watch the sun rise while you laughed at me shitting gumballs in the sand.

You’re wondering. Why am I talking? What does a camel have to say to you?

Here in the Middle East a camel is a fly on the wall. Religions, loves, dreams, vows—all pass through the ears and eyes of the camel.

I know this entire country from top to bottom. I’ve met messed-up prophets, strange birds, crazy houses. I’ve known this house for some time now. There’s something tragic and fucked up about her.

Kill or be killed. If you stay, that’s what happens. Or you suffer from the fear. That’s what it means to be a house in Jerusalem. To call this place home.

ABU DALO is outside THE HOUSE, drenched. SHIMON inside, drinking beer.

Alex:
Who’s that out front?

Shimon:
Its name is Abu Dalo. And he’s been standing there all night.

Alex:
In the rain?

Shimon:
He thinks this house is his. Don’t open the door. Don’t speak to him.

Alex:
I’m going to ask him a few questions.

SHIMON blocks the door.

Shimon:
Hold on, kid.

We need to know what this moment means.

Do we shoot the Arab or let him go in peace?

Is he armed—and if so, with what?

If we shoot him, there’s blood on our hands—and the front step.

If we let him go, he could come back to haunt us.

Kill or be killed.

Alex. I said no.
(ALEX opens the door.)

Alex:
Good morning. Hey, you smell bad. You’re a Palestinian.

Abu Dalo:
Do you want to shoot me too?

Alex:
No, sir. I just want to ask a few questions. Mr. Abu Dalo, are you married?

Abu Dalo:
Yes.

Enter RIVKA.

Alex:
Hi Rivka.
(to ABU DALO)
Have you ever given your wife cunnilingus before?

RIVKA enters THE HOUSE.

Rivka:
Who the hell is Alex talking to?

Shimon:
The enemy.
(SHIMON slams the door shut.)

Alex:
I need you to tell me, sir, if you: a) practise cunnilingus, and b) if you consider yourself good at it.

Abu Dalo:
Yes, I have given cunnilingus, infrequently, but I have never considered whether it was something I was good at. I simply did it.

Alex:
Interesting. And the subject’s response?

Abu Dalo:
Positive, I would say.
(ALEX writes down notes, etc.)

Shimon:
What the hell is going on with my son? Why is he talking about oral sex to an Arab?

Rivka:
Well… that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m worried about Alex.

Shimon:
So am I.

Alex:
State your education.

Abu Dalo:
Doctor of Literature.

Alex:
Occupation?

Abu Dalo:
Former professor, Birzeit University. Writer of poetry, plays and articles.

Alex:
Really? I’m a writer too.

Shimon:
An educated Arab. You think he’s telling the truth?

Rivka:
I have no idea. I’ve never met the guy. What’s he doing here anyways?

Shimon:
Being a nuisance.

Alex:
Let me be frank. I need to recruit five hundred Palestinians into my legions, so please, answer the following questions honestly.

When was the last time you engaged in the act of cunnilingus, Mr. Abu Dalo?

Abu Dalo:
1978.

Alex:
Wow. So you’re like a museum piece. Fascinating.
(writing notes, etc.)

Rivka:
You need to talk to your son.

Shimon:
I’ll talk to him all right. Right after I figure out what to do with this stinking Arab. He’s dangerous.

Rivka:
If he’s a threat you should call the police.

Shimon:
The police can’t help me with this. The house spoke to him.

Rivka:
Are you drunk?

Shimon:
This is a Jewish house.

The house told me so—she spoke to me.

But the house speaks to him too.

So how does the Arab fit into this?

ALEX writing, taking notes with ABU DALO.

Alex:
Have you ever given cunnilingus to a Jewess?

Abu Dalo:
I told you I’m married.

Alex:
I’ll take that as a “no.” So where’s your wife?

Abu Dalo:
Not here.

Alex:
Can I interview her sometime?

Abu Dalo:
NO.

Alex:
How often do you two copulate? Per annum.

Abu Dalo:
Shut up.

Alex:
Does she wear a head scarf?

Abu Dalo:
I don’t want to talk about my wife.

Alex:
What does the Koran have to say about cunnilingus?

Abu Dalo:
Kid, I don’t care what the hell the Koran says about anything. Now go into the backyard and spend some time with the fig tree. Try and learn from it. It knows the virtue of shutting the fuck up.

Shimon:
That’s enough. I’m going outside.

Rivka:
Hold on. We need to talk.

Alex:
What fig tree?

ABU DALO leads ALEX into the backyard.

Abu Dalo:
The fig tree that my great-grandfather planted. Does this still lead to the backyard?

SHIMON and RIVKA go through the front door to look for them.

Shimon:
Alex? Where are you?

Abu Dalo:
Where the hell is it?

Alex:
I don’t think we ever had a fig tree. Are you sure you lived here?

Shimon:
Alex? Come back inside!

Abu Dalo:
Of course I’m sure. It was right here. Ten feet tall. The most beautiful fig tree in the world! What kind of person would cut down a fig tree?
(a beat)
May I use your bathroom?

Alex:
I would be honoured, sir.

ALEX lets ABU DALO inside. ALEX searches for signs of the fig tree.

Shimon:
The boy never listens.

Rivka:
He’s a teenager. You need to find new ways to talk. It’s time, Shimon.

Shimon:
I’ve had enough talking.

Rivka:
The boy wants to know who his mother is.

Shimon:
He floated down the river in a basket. And that’s all there is to say.

Rivka:
Tell him the truth.

Shimon:
My son is a miracle.

His life is a miracle.

But the world corrupts him.

That’s why he doesn’t listen.

People like you make him lost.

Rivka:
I’ve been like a mother to your son. I’m his teacher.

Shimon:
My book will be his teacher. He will learn the story of the gun.

The miracle of this country.

Rivka:
Enough with the fairy tales. He’s growing up.

Shimon:
Leave us, Rivka—it’s time to move on.

Get married. Meet someone your own age.

Have your own kids.

Rivka:
You’re getting rid of me.

RIVKA exits. SHIMON opens a beer.

Alex:
Hey, was there ever a fig tree out back?

Shimon:
Alex! Are you okay?

Alex:
I’m fine. The Arab’s nice—and he’s a writer.

Shimon:
Where the hell is he?

Alex:
(ignores him)
He’s going to join me in my revolutionary peace efforts. Though his practices are somewhat out of date.

ABU DALO pulls a radio out from his coat. He turns it on. Arabic pop music.

Shimon:
What the hell is that?

Alex:
It’s Abu Dalo.

Shimon:
You let him inside?

Alex:
Yeah.

Shimon:
Are you totally out of your mind?

Alex:
He had to urinate.

Shimon:
(knocks on the door)
Abu Dalo! Get out of my bathroom! Abu Dalo!

My God. This is a disaster. Do you understand what this means?

Alex:
It means there’s a stranger in our restroom.

Shimon:
This changes everything.

He’s in the house. How could you do this?

Alex:
I didn’t do anything.

Shimon:
You let the enemy in.

Abu Dalo! Abu Dalo, open this door!

Enter THE CAMEL and THE HOUSE.

The Camel:
You’re looking really good today, sweetheart. Especially from the back.

The House:
I hate it when you objectify me. Especially since you’ve been gone for six months. How was Sinai?

The Camel:
Not as beautiful as you.

The House:
There are cobwebs in the corners of the living room. There’s mould between the floorboards. Peeling paint, broken pipes, an eroding foundation. I’m worried I’m going to get condemned—they’ll tear me down and put a road right through to that new mall they’re building.

The Camel:
Humans. Messy species.

The House:
Shimon used to be good to me. But every year he gets worse. He ignores the details. I’m the kind of house who believes that someone better will come along and finally take care of me.

The Camel:
I could take care of you.

The House:
You told me you’re “allergic to the domestic.”

The Camel:
That was a crass and thoughtless comment. I’ve changed.

The House:
A domestic camel? I’ll believe it when I see it.

The Camel:
And that Arab’s domestic? When was the last time he took a shower?

The House:
He’s an old friend.

The Camel:
He’s weaving and muttering to the sink and the bathtub.

The House:
He cares about me. He’s very passionate.

The Arabic music blasts at high volume (“Habibi, Habibi”: a love song to THE HOUSE). ABU DALO does some crazy dance and lip-synchs.

The Camel:
He seems a bit fucked up, if you ask me.

The House:
He knows what I need.

Abu Dalo:
One is away for so many years.

One lives in another house. Many houses.

(to THE HOUSE)
For all those years, when I was in exile, when I was in jail, you were all I could think of. I dreamt of your floorboards. I memorized every detail, and whatever I couldn’t remember I made up.

It’s so good to be here. Are you happy to see me too?
(a beat)

I know, you probably thought I was dead. That I’d never come back.

But you know I can treat you so much better than that Jewish prick.

I missed you, very, very much.

The House:
You’re sitting on the throne.

Abu Dalo:
Real cedar. A joy on the rumpus.

The House:
The toilet gets a bad rap. Nobody really wants to talk about toilets. People say, “nice bathroom.”

Abu Dalo:
Nice bathroom.

The House:
Or, “lovely bath.”

Abu Dalo:
Lovely bath.

The House:
Or, “I like the mirror you’ve put in.”

Abu Dalo:
It is a nice addition.

The House:
But how many people can say, “I love your toilet”?

Abu Dalo:
I
love
your toilet.

You know, I’ve always thought the toilet is the heart of the house. It’s not unlike an altar.

You bring your offerings. And they’re left in the earth.

ABU DALO flushes the toilet. He stands up.

The House:
Well, well, Abu Dalo. It’s time. Wash up.

Abu Dalo:
I’m afraid I can’t do that.

The House:
To commemorate your return you need to clean up.

Abu Dalo:
My filth is my penance.

The House:
Then you’ve served your time, Abu Dalo.

Abu Dalo:
No I haven’t.

The House:
What could you have done to make yourself smell this bad?

Abu Dalo:
I can’t say.

The House:
You’re ashamed.

Abu Dalo:
I don’t want to talk about it.

The House:
But your smell insults me.

Abu Dalo:
I choose to smell this way. To make myself ugly.

The House:
Are you married?

Abu Dalo:
Yes.

The House:
What’s her name?

Abu Dalo:
Yuad.

The House:
I love that name: Yuad. It rolls off the tongue like water off an eavestrough. When is she coming?

Abu Dalo:
It’s complicated. We haven’t actually talked in three years.

The House:
Well what are you waiting for? Call her.

Abu Dalo:
What if Yuad doesn’t want to hear from me?

I can barely remember what she looks like.

The House:
Does she know about me?

Abu Dalo:
Of course she does. I used to talk to her about you all the time.

The House:
Then tell Yuad you’re bringing her home.

You’ll be a normal husband and wife again. You’ll have a child.

Abu Dalo:
We already have one.

The House:
Abu Dalo, why didn’t you just say so!

Abu Dalo:
Because… I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since she was a baby. She’s fifteen.

The House:
When you were sixteen, and you were preparing to leave, you made me a promise: you said you’d come back and take care of me. And I said, don’t come back until you have a wife and child. Until you’re ready. You’re ready, Abu Dalo. Fulfill your promise.

Abu Dalo:
A promise is one thing. But putting it into practice is something else. I don’t even know how to talk to them.

The House:
You’ll do just fine. Call your wife. I promise: if you want me, you will get me. And you need to look good for when your family comes. Lather up. Use good, hot water. Make yourself new.