House of Many Tongues (5 page)

A few days later. ABU DALO sitting at the typewriter. SHIMON drinking beer.

Abu Dalo:
“And the land speaks in the language of our forefathers.”

Shimon:
Read that passage over to me again.

Abu Dalo:
“1988. The Jordan–Israel border.

The day was like any other in the West Bank. Past the Palestinian farmers and their olive trees, the Jewish settlers and their melodic prayers. Here you can see the rocky hillsides, the rushing waters of the Jordan River. Here the air is clear, the sun is gold, and the land speaks in the language of our forefathers.”

Shimon:
Oh yes. I like that.

ABU DALO typing.

Abu Dalo:
“Dusk was coming in like a sail. The General took heart in the darkness, in the shadows thick like leaves—”

Shimon:
Okay, okay, enough poetry—

Enter ALEX.

Abu Dalo:
“When, all of a sudden, a basket came drifting by—”

Shimon:
That’s right, a basket—no bigger than my leg—

Abu Dalo:
“No bigger than our hero’s thigh—”

Shimon:
What the fuck, I said.

Abu Dalo:
“‘What is it before my eyes?’ He asked the heavens.”

Shimon:
A baby.

Abu Dalo:
“A child.”

Shimon:
Alone on the river.

Abu Dalo:
“Floating on the tears of his mother.”

Shimon:
Oh. I like that.

Abu Dalo:
“Who this boy’s mother was, what he was doing in the basket, is a mystery, one that haunts both hero and son.”

Shimon:
No. There was no torment. No haunting.

Abu Dalo:
Then it was a vision.

Shimon:
I picked up the baby—

Abu Dalo:
(typing)
“While the First Intifada simmered in the universities of Ramallah and in the streets of Nablus, a miracle occurred.”

Shimon:
Yes!

Abu Dalo:
(typing)
“The General brought life into his arms—”

Shimon:
I brought him home.

I gave him a bris and raised him myself.

“Thus the General’s second vision made manifest the first: a child.

To fulfill his promise to the house, at last.”

Alex:
Question. What were you doing by the Jordan River?

Shimon:
I was washing my hands.

Alex:
Why were they dirty?

Shimon:
Work. It was hot. The air was full of dust and sweat.

Alex:
What sort of work?

Shimon:
I was Brigadier General of the West Bank Division. Central Command.

Alex:
What does such a general do?

Shimon:
He protects the land.

Alex:
Can you be more specific?

ABU DALO typing.

Shimon:
“The General protected Judea and Samaria,

the land given to his people, as the old prophets prophesied.

And he engaged with his enemies. Fearlessly.”

Alex:
What about the normal people living in the West Bank? Were they the enemy too?

Shimon:
Some were. It’s difficult to separate good from bad, foe from friend.

Alex:
Were mistakes made?

Shimon:
Of course mistakes were made. It’s the nature of war.

Alex:
How did you feel when you saw people living in refugee camps and not homes?

Shimon:
A general cannot make decisions based on a feeling.

A general must try to uphold the moral standard, objectively and precisely. He must do his job. End of chapter.

Exit SHIMON.

Alex:
It’s a bit strange a former Israeli general has a Palestinian writing for him.

Abu Dalo:
Your father’s a strange man. He says he can’t read or write.

Alex:
Do you have any books published, Mr. Abu Dalo?

Abu Dalo:
A few. I wrote them many years ago. And they’re not in your libraries.

Alex:
So the books got you in trouble.

Abu Dalo:
You could say that.

Alex:
Hmmm. I admire that. Getting in trouble for writing something you believe in is, like, every writer’s dream.

Abu Dalo:
I suppose. If you consider prison romantic.

Alex:
My father’s book is totally boring.

Abu Dalo:
It’s full of lies.

Alex:
So why are you helping him write it?
(a beat)
Are you a liar too?

Abu Dalo:
(sarcastically)
No. Everything I say and do is one hundred percent honest.

Alex:
I never lie.

Abu Dalo:
Then you’re one in a million, kid.

Look, let me give you some advice: when and if you ever grow up, you’ll learn that everyone lies. It’s what being an adult is all about: pretending you’re something that you’re not. The successful ones are those who pull it off.

Alex:
Yeah, well I guess my father is a pretty rotten failure then.

ALEX shows ABU DALO the ammunitions box. Opens it up to reveal its contents. ABU DALO reads the documents inside.

Abu Dalo:
Where’d you get this?

Alex:
I found it.

ABU DALO reads some more.

Abu Dalo:
Do you realize what you have here?

Alex:
I think so.

Abu Dalo:
Does he know you found this?

Alex:
He doesn’t have a clue.

Abu Dalo:
Why are you showing this to me?

Alex:
Mr. Abu Dalo, you can have this on one condition: you do something with it.

Abu Dalo:
I’m going to do the only thing I can: take it to the press. I’ll humiliate him. That’s what you want, isn’t it?

Exit ALEX.

THE HOUSE enters.

It’s the only choice I have. Publish or perish. You should be all mine. You have to be all mine. It’s the only weapon I have. It’s the only thing I can do to him. I talked to my daughter Suha. She said they’d be here today.

I didn’t even recognize her voice. I thought it was Yuad I was talking to. She’s fifteen now.

The House:
Tell me your first morning.

Abu Dalo:
Yuad is in bed, sleeping. I get up early and sweep your floors. I make some coffee, then I clean the bathroom—

The House:
I like a clean bathroom.

Abu Dalo:
I wake up my daughter with a kiss on the forehead. We go to the corner store—I buy her cardamom cookies, and I buy myself a newspaper. I come home and read it—right here—cover to cover. She sits across from me, eating her cookies. And I don’t worry that someone’s going to knock on the door and arrest me. I don’t worry about bombs, bulldozers or police. Because you protect me. I don’t worry at all anymore. I’m a new person.

The House:
A renovation.

Abu Dalo:
What should I wear?

The House:
Something clean.

Abu Dalo:
I was thinking of buying Yuad a bed.

The House:
A bed is like the sail of a ship.

Abu Dalo:
We’ll have great dinners. We’ll sit on the bed together and read to each other.

The House:
This will be an Arab house. This will be your home.

Abu Dalo:
We’ll be a normal family.

Enter SUHA singing “Should I Stay or Should I Go.” She knocks on the door. ABU DALO opens it. Enter SUHA carrying a Ziploc bag with fleshy red bits in one hand and a pigeon in a cage in the other.

Suha as Groucho:
Home delivery for Mr. Abu Dalo.

Abu Dalo:
What is it?

Suha as Groucho:
Your wife.

Abu Dalo:
Excuse me?

Suha:
She was watching
The Simpsons
and there was an accident.

She loved
The Simpsons
. It was the only thing that made her laugh.

Eight o’clock, every day, the TV’d come on. By 8:03, you’d be guaranteed she’d laugh. Like clockwork.

Abu Dalo:
What are you talking about?

Suha as Groucho:
Your wife.

Abu Dalo:
My wife is going to be here this afternoon.

Suha as Groucho:
This is your wife.

Suha:
You should be grateful. It’s a miracle I was able to hold on to this much of her.

Suha as Groucho:
Do you know how difficult it was just to find her fingers?

Suha:
Well, I didn’t find the fingers. The police did. At least they’re good for something.

Abu Dalo:
(a beat)
Suha? Is that you?

Suha:
Tell us a joke, Groucho.

Suha as Groucho:
What do fathers and squares have in common?
(a beat)

They’re never around.

Abu Dalo:
I see you’ve grown up into a mature young woman.

It’s good to see you.

Where’s your mother?

SUHA points to the Ziploc bag.

Don’t make those kinds of jokes. It’s disgusting.

Suha:
This isn’t a joke.

Abu Dalo:
Are you here to laugh at me?

Suha:
I can’t laugh.

If I laugh, I might faint.

If I faint, I could go into a coma.

Suha as Groucho:
The goyl has cataplexy. A rare neuy-ral dis-oyder.

She can’t experience extreme emotions without falling down.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

Abu Dalo:
You’re crazy. I’m going inside to make some coffee. You can come in when your mother is here.

Suha:
Your Yuad died.

Three years ago.

In the middle of
The Simpsons

a rain of mortar fell on our house.

She was laughing.

I ran home from the store.

I swear the entire courtyard turned purple with her blood.

Purple stone,

purple columns,

purple flowers.

Your Yuad always wanted to be a painter.

But it was only when she died that she got the colours right.

You know what pisses me off? The whole situation could’ve been avoided. If you’d have been there like you should’ve, none of this would’ve happened.

SUHA tries to hand ABU DALO the Ziploc bag.

Suha as Groucho:
At least she doesn’t smell bad. I kept her in the freezer. I had to label the Ziploc with her name.

Abu Dalo:
Uch! Get this away from me.

Suha:
Don’t you want it?

Abu Dalo:
No!

Suha:
You need to bury her.

Abu Dalo:
There’s nothing to bury.

Suha:
Yes there is.

Abu Dalo:
I can’t bury a Ziploc.

Suha:
Yes you can. She wanted to come home. It was her final wish, Father—

Abu Dalo:
Don’t call me that—

Suha:
DON”T BE SUCH A WIMP!
(calmly)
You have to bury her. It’s your responsibility.

Abu Dalo:
Why didn’t anyone tell me?

Suha:
You stopped calling. For three years. We never heard from you.

Suha as Groucho:
We never hoyd from you.

Abu Dalo:
Would you stop it with that?

Suha:
Meet my pigeon. Groucho.

Abu Dalo:
Groucho?

Suha as Groucho:
I’m a rare comedic boyd. My jokes are so bad I make sure she won’t laugh.

Suha:
Tell us a joke, Groucho.

Suha as Groucho:
What do you call a man with a bag?

SUHA throws the bag to ABU DALO. He drops it.

A doyt bag.

Suha:
Bad joke. Bad joke, Jew.

Abu Dalo:
He’s a pigeon.

Suha:
He’s a Jewish pigeon. Look at his nose.

Abu Dalo:
It’s called a beak.

Suha:
It’s a Jewish nose.
(She spits on the bird.)

Abu Dalo:
You’re really screwed up.

ABU DALO leaves. SUHA opens the cage. Groucho won’t fly.

Suha:
Fly, Groucho.

(whistling, etc.)
Fly, Groucho.

Fly, asshole of a Jew!

There you have it. Doesn’t even want to leave his cage.

Suha as Groucho:
Fucking fathers. Fucking fucks. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Enter ALEX. He peers outside the door.

Alex:
Houston, this is Alex. We’ve identified a female Arab in the house. We’re ready to establish contact.

Houston:
Copy that. You be careful in there.

Suha:
Shut up and get me a shovel.

Alex:
Is this what you always say to men you first meet?

SUHA stares him up and down, as though noticing him for the first time.

Suha:
You’re not a man.

Alex:
Yes I am. I’ll prove it to you.

Suha:
Shut up, kike, and get me a shovel.

Alex:
I don’t have a shovel.

Suha:
What kind of a man doesn’t have a shovel?

Alex:
The kind of man that doesn’t want to be your typical kind of man.

Suha:
What’s your typical kind of man?

Alex:
The kind that has a shovel.

Suha:
Jew, you’re annoying.

Alex:
No, I’m just diligent with my language.

Suha:
I don’t know you yet. But I sense that I might come to truly hate you.

Alex:
Now
you
talk like a man.

Suha:
That’s funny. Because I don’t even want to talk. I just want a shovel.

Alex:
How very distant and man-like.

Suha:
Piss off.

Alex:
Judging by your behaviour, I’m willing to bet you’ve never had cunnilingus.

Suha:
I’ll bet you’re right.

Alex:
I’ll bet you don’t even know what it is.

Suha:
Does it involve extreme sensation?

Alex:
Guaranteed.

Suha:
I want none of it.

Alex:
I’m perfectly serious when I say I’ve been waiting for a subject like you my whole life. You’re the Palestinian of my dreams.