House of Many Tongues (6 page)

Suha:
Screw off.

Alex:
You’re the hope of peace between nations.

Suha:
Good God.

Alex:
I had a vision of you. And you came. Together we can save the Middle East!

Suha:
Leave me THE FUCK ALONE!

SUHA faints.

Alex:
Hello? Hello? Are you okay? Hello?

ALEX climbs on top of her and starts to give her mouth-to-mouth.

Suha:
Do I know you?

Alex:
We just met.

Suha:
What were you just doing?

Alex:
Giving you mouth-to-mouth.

Suha:
What was I doing?

Alex:
Looking for a shovel.

Suha:
Why?

Alex:
I don’t know. We didn’t get that far yet.

Suha:
How far did we get?

Alex:
We managed to have our first fight. You said I wasn’t a man. So I said you were a man. You tried to ignore me. I pestered, you yelled, then fainted. I resuscitated.

Suha:
(wiping her mouth)
You were kissing me.

Alex:
It’s called mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Suha:
Well there you have it. I let you get under my skin.

Alex:
Damn it. I didn’t even know I was under it. I’m very good at annoying people.

Suha:
I have cataplexy, okay? A rare neural disorder. I can’t experience extreme emotions.

Alex:
Oh. So I guess this means I can’t give you cunnilingus.

Suha:
What’s that?

Alex:
The sexual stimulation of a woman’s genitals employing tongue and lips.

Suha:
I guess not.

Where do you come from?

Alex:
There’s a high likelihood I’m the test-tube baby of the Dalai Lama and Woody Allen.

Suha:
The Dalai Lama would never donate his sperm to a lab.

Alex:
You never know.

Suha as Groucho:
Can you imagine the Dalai Lama whacking off into a jar?

They both start to laugh. SUHA catches herself.

Suha:
Damn it. Tell me something boring. Tell me about yourself.

Alex:
I’m a writer and I’m writing a book and I used to love Ilan Ramon but I don’t anymore did you know that he used to fly F16s in the ’80s and once he even flew into Iraq I wonder if the Iraqi shovel is the same as the Israeli shovel you should see the shovels my father has iron shovels plastic shovels pickaxe shovels we even have spoons which is really a kind of shovel—I can get you one—

Suha:
I remember now. I wanted the shovel so my father and I could bury my mother. She wanted to be buried here.

Alex:
(a beat)
Oh.

Suha:
Get me a shovel.

Alex:
I never had a mother.

Suha:
Everyone has a mother.

Alex:
My father says I didn’t.

Suha:
My father’s a lying, cowardly cur who knows shit about shit.

Alex:
My father’s a liar too.

Do you drink orange Tang?

Suha:
Sometimes. Why?

Alex:
I just wanted to know. How different you are than me. I mean, I like orange Tang. A lot.

Suha:
It does leave a stupid mark on the lips.

Alex:
I could get you some if you want.

Suha:
I suppose I’d like that.

Alex:
Where are you from?

Suha:
Jenin.

Alex:
Do they have normal things in Jenin?

Suha:
We have orange Tang.

ALEX brings out two glasses of orange Tang. They drink them at the same time.

Alex:
Your pigeon’s dead.

Suha:
I know.

Alex:
Is that why you like it?

Suha:
Don’t ask me stupid questions.

Alex:
Do you have any friends?

Suha:
Not really.

Alex:
Me neither.

My father did something so awful it makes me sick to know the truth.

Suha:
Yeah, well the truth is liable to make anyone puke their guts out.

Alex:
For some reason I like talking to you.

Suha:
Get me a shovel.

Alex:
Do you want me to help you bury your mother?

SUHA faints. Blackout.

End of Act I.

ABU DALO is drunk and alone, playing Scratch ’n Win. Each time he takes a card he scratches it, loses, then throws it into a huge pile. Every time he throws the card he makes a “woo” sound as it glides through the air.

Abu Dalo:
Eight hundred and seven. Eight hundred and eight. Eight hundred and nine.

Enter SHIMON with a beer in hand.

Shimon:
What the hell is going on here?

Abu Dalo:
Eight hundred and ten.

Shimon:
What is this shit all over the floor?

Abu Dalo:
Eight hundred and eleven.

Shimon:
What are you doing?

Abu Dalo:
Scratch. And lose. Heh, heh, heh. Eight hundred and twelve.

SHIMON smells him for booze.

Shimon:
Are you drunk?

Abu Dalo:
Absolutely not. I’m a Muslim. Muslims don’t drink. We’re the most boring, stiff-faced losers on this planet. We fly airplanes into skyscrapers for fun. We can’t look at a cartoon without killing people. Where’s our sense of humour? I want a sense of humour! Make me laugh, Jew. And make me win. Eight hundred and thirteen. Eight hundred and fourteen…

Shimon:
I’m making you some coffee, you drunk Arab pig. Sober up. We need to get to work.

Abu Dalo:
I am working.

Shimon:
Yes, you’re working at annoying me.

Abu Dalo:
Science! Much more practical than literature. I bought one thousand Scratch ’n Wins. Hypothesis: A man can go on such a nasty losing streak that he loses everything: House. Family. Soul. Become a black hole of loss. Woo!

Shimon:
You need to think a little more positive, Abu Dalo. Here. Drink this.

SHIMON brings him coffee. ABU DALO starts to drink. Spits it out.

Abu Dalo:
The least you Jews could do is learn how to make good coffee. You stole our falafel. Why don’t you steal our coffee too?

ALEX and SUHA in the basement.

Alex:
And so I was floating in a basket on the Jordan River—

Suha:
Got the flashlights?

Alex:
Roger that. And my father found me. Pretty amazing, huh?

Suha:
Uch. It stinks down here.

Alex:
It’s a root cellar. What were you expecting?

Shimon:
Who the hell is that?

Abu Dalo:
My daughter. Her name is Suha. And she’s from hell. You’ll love her.
(takes a swig of Scotch)
Eight hundred and fifteen. Eight hundred and sixteen.

Shimon:
You never told me you had a child.

Abu Dalo:
I haven’t told you many things. For example, I haven’t told you that when I drink Scotch whisky I become incredibly intelligent; that I gain an insight into the world whereupon I see tiny white sparks lighting up the sky like a disco ball. I see the essence of things; I see the world of spirit is in fact one big disco ball.

SHIMON grabs the Scotch from ABU DALO.

Shimon:
She is not staying here.

Abu Dalo:
Wonderful. I didn’t even invite her in. Eight hundred and seventeen. Eight hundred and eighteen. Eight hundred and nineteen.

Shimon:
Where’s her mother?

Abu Dalo:
Dead.

Shimon:
Oh… I’m, uh—

Abu Dalo:
No—

Shimon:
I am—

Abu Dalo:
Don’t say it! Don’t you dare say you’re sorry!

Shimon:
Well, if you need anything—

Abu Dalo:
I need you to shut up. My wife died. Not from old age. Not from cancer. But from a fucking bomb from your fucking army. Three lousy years ago. So leave me the hell alone. Please.
(Scratches. And wins.)
Oh my God. I just won. I won a hundred shekels. I’ve never won anything before. Incredible. I feel…
(a beat)
Incredibly sad.

Shimon:
(presents ABU DALO the cup of coffee)
Drink this.

Abu Dalo:
No.

Shimon:
You have a kid. Drink the coffee.

Abu Dalo:
No.

Flashback, 2001. Enter SHABAK AGENT.

Shabak Agent:
Drink it. Go on. It’s good. I made it myself.
(ABU DALO refuses.)
Cigarette?

ABU DALO nods. She lights him up. They both smoke.

Abu Dalo:
Have you ever been to Paris?

Shabak Agent:
No.

Abu Dalo:
Are you married?

Shabak Agent:
Marriage gives me the creeps. Too much compromise. Who wants to fight over dirty dishes and taking out the garbage? I
like
being alone.

Abu Dalo:
I don’t like solitude.

Shabak Agent:
You’ve been in and out of prison for nine years. You shouldn’t have written the things you did.
(a beat)

I’m glad you came to talk. Say whatever you want.
(a beat)
Tell me about her. What colour is Yuad’s hair?

Abu Dalo:
My cousin Bashir. We grew up together in Ramallah. When we were kids he’d smash the heads of frogs with bricks from the construction site and laugh.

Shabak Agent:
(laughs)
That’s gross.

Abu Dalo:
He’s disgusting and he’s what’s wrong with my people.

Dr. Jihad with his four wives, all wearing hijab.

Fourteen masked men with AK-47s by his side.

A real religious fanatic.

Shabak Agent:
You have my sympathies.

Abu Dalo:
I don’t want your sympathy. I want him arrested.

He organized the suicide bomb at the Tel Aviv disco.

Shabak Agent:
We know that, Abu Dalo. We’re Shabak.

Abu Dalo:
Yeah, but I know where he lives.

Believe me, I hate you. I want a Palestinian homeland. But I can’t support some fundamentalist asshole who kills children in my name. Fatah or Hamas: if we’re not stealing from our own people we’re blowing up innocents like those kids at the disco.

Shabak Agent:
I get it.

Abu Dalo:
I want to see my wife again. I want her in a new dress, on clean sheets, on a new bed, in my old house in Jerusalem. I want my house back.

Shabak Agent:
We won’t just arrest your cousin you know.

Abu Dalo:
I know.

Shabak Agent:
You’ll have to do it yourself. Lure him out. Bring him to us. Dead.

Abu Dalo:
I know.

Shabak Agent:
You’ll have to work for us for the next five years.

Abu Dalo:
I know my friends in the jail are watching, I know what they are thinking. I know.

Shabak Agent:
Drink the coffee.

Back to the present.

Shimon:
Drink it.

Abu Dalo:
No!

Shimon:
Take care of her. Drink the coffee.

Abu Dalo:
I hate your coffee. I hate your water. I hate this house. I hate everything you’ve touched.

Shimon:
(A beat. ABU DALO takes the coffee but doesn’t drink.)
Please. Drink my coffee. I promise to make it better next time.

Your daughter can stay here as long as you help me finish this book.

Abu Dalo:
I detest your pity.

Enter THE CAMEL and THE HOUSE. ALEX and SUHA digging. SUHA can hear THE HOUSE but not ALEX. ALEX and SUHA cannot hear THE CAMEL.

THE CAMEL sings his heart out. Leonard Cohen.

The House:
Try it with a bit more longing.

The Camel:
This is a complete waste of time.

The House:
I need you to sing so the kids can hear.

Suha:
The walls are full of mould. You people never took care of this place.

Alex:
You and I could clean it up. Together. If you want.

Suha:
Screw off.

The Camel:
This isn’t helping at all.

The House:
The kids will fall in love. They’ll break the impasse between the old men. They’ll live like a family.

They’ll be a family.

(to SUHA)
Hello? Excuse me? Hello?

Suha:
Who the hell is that?

The House:
It’s me. The house.

SUHA stops digging.

Suha:
Oh. You talk. I heard about a talking house once. It was in Nablus.

The Israelis bulldozed it, of course.

Suha as Groucho:
They like to bulldoze. They’re like little boys with their toys in the sandbox.

SUHA resumes digging.

Suha:
They’ll bulldoze you, too.

The Camel:
She’s a real sweetheart.

The House:
Sing.
(to SUHA)
You need to stop digging.

Suha:
I’m burying my mother.
(to ALEX)
Dig, kike.
(He does.)

Alex:
Do you like sandboxes?

Suha:
Piss off.

Alex:
I used to have a sandbox when I was a kid.

Once I dug so deep I actually made it to China.
(a beat)

I’m much stronger than I look.

Suha:
You are incredibly annoying.

Alex:
You’re annoyingly incredible.

Suha:
Shut up and dig!

The Camel:
She couldn’t fall in love if you paid her.

The House:
When people disagree it means they care. Life!

(to SUHA)
This is a house for the living. Burials require special permission.

Suha:
(to THE HOUSE)
I’m doing this because my mother wanted to be buried here. I wanted to grant her final wish.

The House:
Then it’ll cost you.

Suha:
How much?

The House:
Oh, I sense a negotiation coming. I like a good negotiation.

The Camel:
You’re beautiful when you negotiate.

The House:
Show me your hands.
(She does.)
You’ve got the hands of a gardener. I could do with some landscaping.

Suha:
I’ve never touched a plant in my life.

The House:
Then you’re a cook.

Suha:
I hate cooking. I hate food. I hate boys. I hate Jews. I hate fathers. I hate trees I hate Nazis I hate soccer balls I hate high-heeled shoes I hate newspapers. I hate everything.

The Camel:
Not good. Not good at all.

The House:
(to SUHA)
I know what you want.

You want satellite television. A room of your own. A fridge full of orange Tang—

Suha:
I don’t want any of that shit. Not in this house. Not with my father. He didn’t even invite me inside, the prick.
(to ALEX)
Dig, kike!

Alex:
This kike is digging with zeal and determination. My pecks are glistening with sweat!

Suha:
Your pecks are small and unmanly, just like your shovel.

The Camel:
These kids couldn’t live together if their lives depended on it. They’re going to grow up to be just as messed up as their parents. Worse.

The House:
(to SUHA)
You want to live here.

Suha:
No, I want to bury my mother.

The House:
You came to Jerusalem because you want to live in this house.

Suha:
Absolutely not.
(to ALEX)
When I’m done burying my mother I’m going right back to Jenin.

Alex:
Isn’t Jerusalem nicer?

Suha:
At least I know what to expect in Jenin.

The House:
(to THE CAMEL)
She’d rather live in a refugee camp.

The Camel:
She’s right: you can’t love here. Tragedy.

That’s all there is in Jerusalem.

Of course, there’s always Paris.

The House:
Paris.

The Camel:
Everything is beautiful in Paris.

The House:
A house and a camel—in Paris.

The Camel:
“Exiles in Paris.”

The House:
You just want to sleep with me.

The Camel:
No, I want to make love to you. Slowly.

The House:
You don’t know the first thing about love. You have to commit to love for it to work. You need to stick around. I’m not coming to Paris.

The Camel:
You’re a fool. You wouldn’t know love if it stared you right in the face.

The House:
(to SUHA)
If you don’t live here you can’t bury her here.

SUHA stops digging.

Suha:
(to THE HOUSE)
Fine.
(to ALEX)
Enough.
I’m taking my mother back with me.

Alex:
But this is where your mother wanted to be.

The House:
You just said so yourself.

Suha:
I can’t live here.

The House:
Sure you can. I might be falling apart but I’m no refugee camp. And a house depends on people to live in it. Not just any people. It has to be the right people—ones who don’t fight and hate each other. Because otherwise a house just falls apart.

Alex:
This is where you want your mother to be.

The House:
Yuad will like it here. So will you. I promise.

The Camel:
Since the beginning of time:

Neighbours, brothers, lovers, nations:

Noise.

That’s what humans are addicted to.

The noise stands in for life.

Humans can’t handle happiness.

They can’t handle peace.

And they sure can’t handle love.

They don’t know what to do with it.

That’s the tragedy.

Taxi!