Ashley’s hands are shaking a little. After a beat.
Ashley Digger, I don’t think . . .
Digger (screams at him) Is this the type of people we need in our midst?
Ashley No.
Digger OK then, raise the gun, point it.
Ashley does.
Digger Good. Is your finger on the trigger?
Ashley Yes.
Digger Good.
Digger pulls out his gun and shoots Ashley dead.
Deli Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.
Digger looks to Deli.
Digger Yes. Ah so dis war run!
He exits.
Deli kneels, still, by his dead son. After a few beats he rises, takes the jacket that Anastasia left for Ashley and covers his body and head. With one final glance around, he stares at the picture of his mother, then walks out of the restaurant. The violent ragga tune plays as we fade to black.
Fix Up
Fix Up was first presented in the Cottesloe auditorium of the National Theatre, London, on 16 December 2004. The cast was as follows:
Brother Kiyi
Jeffery Kissoon
Carl
Mo Sesay
Kwesi
Steve Toussaint
Norma
Claire Benedict
Alice
Nina Sosanya
Director Angus Jackson
Designer Bunny Christie
Lighting Designer Neil Austin
Music Neil McArthur
Sound Designer Gareth Fry
Characters
Brother Kiyi (pronounced ‘Key’), an old fifty-five, with greying unkept locks. Owner of the Fix Up bookstore.
Carl, thirty-five. A local care-in-the-community delivery boy.
Kwesi, thirty-two. A militant black activist who uses a room upstairs in the shop.
Norma, fifty. Kiyi’s long-time best friend.
Alice, thirty-four. A beautiful but troubled visitor to the store.
Non-Present Characters
Marcus Garvey, Jamaican-born leader of the UNIA back-to-Africa movement in America, early 1920s. Seen as the godfather of Black nationalism.
James Baldwin, celebrated outspoken New York novelist, essay writer and playwright.
Claude McKay, celebrated poet of the ‘Harlem Renaissance’.
Scene One
Fix Up bookstore.
It’s Thursday, late afternoon in early October – Black History month. Outside is well cold! We are in ‘Fix Up’, a small, old-school, ‘Black conscious’ bookstore. The place is much too small to hold the many shelves and bookcases that jam and squeeze up next to each other. However, although at first sight the shop looks chaotic, with no subject labels or even indicators, to the trained eye it is perfectly arranged. Starting at the shelf closest to the door each subject is in alphabetical order, subdivided by genres, again in alphabetical order, followed by the authors, again in painstaking alphabetical order. Sitting nobly on each and every bookshelf, almost as closely stacked together as the books, are African statues and carvings of giraffes, busts of great leaders, perfectly formed couples entwined, Ashanti stools, sculptured walking sticks, etc. Various Kentes and African cloths are hung on what little wall space there is left. Hanging from the ceiling in a less ordered fashion are a few dusty-looking male and female African outfits. Written over the door and above Brother Kiyi’s till enclosure is a sign reading ‘CLOSING DOWN SALE’. It is well old and dusty. On the floor, however, is a big black bin. The sign above that reads: ‘HELP KEEP US OPEN – ANY DONATION WELCOME’.
Playing a little too loudly is a speech by the early Black leader Marcus Garvey. It is an old 1920s recording. As with all recordings of that day it’s slightly speeded up, but through the hiss we can hear the words clearly enough. Although his Jamaican accent is clear, we can hear Marcus is over-articulating in a ‘Trumanesque’ style.
Carl, thirty-five, happy by nature, enters through the front door. He is a care-in-the-community patient.
Carl Owiiii, ’cuse us, mate, you sell rat-poison in here?
Brother Kiyi is still out of sight, but we hear his anger. He has a refined but noticeable West Indian accent. Carl hides behind a shelf.
Brother Kiyi No! I do not sell rat-poison. Rat-poison, is sold in the shop three doors down on the left. You’ll find it behind the Halal meat refrigerator and to the right of the ‘well cheap airfares to the subcontinent’ counter.
Now standing, Brother Kiyi can’t see the hidden Carl. Brother Kiyi is dressed in an African-shaped Kente shirt on top of a thick woolly polo-neck with jeans. He has very long, greying locks. They are not hanging but twirled on top of his head almost like a turban.
Brother Kiyi Hello! Hello!
Carl is still hidden.
Carl (using cockney accent) No, I was definitely told the Fix Up bookstore sold a whole load of rat-poison . . .
Brother Kiyi What? . . .
Carl Filling de yout’ dem hea, hea, head, wid rubbish!
Brother Kiyi You see you? When is stupidness you talking you don’t have no stammer dough!
Carl I love it! You get so ig, ignorant when your vex.
Brother Kiyi Ignorant? How many times do I have to tell you, I am not ignorant! Ignorant is when you are not aware, I, on the contrary am aware –
Carl – of the rightful place I hold in hi, hi, history –
Brother Kiyi – because unlike the overwhelming majority of my people –
Carl – I read –
Brother Kiyi – digest and make manifest –
Carl – the greatness of our heritage.
Brother Kiyi (a positive acclamation) Iiiiiitchsss!
Carl Wish I never said it now!
Brother Kiyi Oh dash!
He runs back to his desk, picks up the phone.
Hello, hello, yes! I’m terribly sorry, I’ve found it now . . . The order reference number is . . .
He stands with an very old-fashioned telephone in his hands. Carl is looking at the books.
Brother Kiyi WA 23767. Brother Kiyi, Fix Up bookstore, Tottenham N15. No, Brother is not my Christian name! The name on the order sheet should simply say . . . You know what? I have been waiting three weeks for what should have been here within ten days! Have you ever faced a crowd that’s waiting for their history to arrive? . . . No, it has not been delivered!
Carl has wheeled his trolley into view. He tries to point to the boxes on it, but can’t catch Brother Kiyi’s eye.
Brother Kiyi My friend, I am the only person that works here.
Carl waves this time. Still no attention is being given to him.
Brother Kiyi If a parcel from DHL had been delivered today . . .
We can see that the boxes have ‘DHL’ written all over them.
Carl starts to point to the boxes in an over-the-top manner.
Brother Kiyi It could only have been delivered to me!
Carl (shouts) Brother Kiyi!
Brother Kiyi Excuse me. (Barks.) What?
Carl Are these dem?
Brother Kiyi looks at the logo blazoned all over the books. He goes back to the phone.
Brother Kiyi Madam, I may have to call you back!
He puts down the phone.
Carl. What are you doing with my delivery of . . . (He calms himself.) With my delivery?
Carl The brother was unloading his van, and that’s my job innit? Delivery! I saw it was for you, signed for it and bought them in. Bloody stinking parking warden was just about to give the man a ticket, you know? Delivering, you know, and was still gonna ticket him, you know.
Brother Kiyi I figure I know, Carl.
Carl Shotters for them.
Brother Kiyi looks up sharply.
Brother Kiyi I don’t believe he deserves to get shot for doing his job.
Carl You’ve changed your tune. When they introduced the red lines you said they were murdering you and dem deserve death!
Brother Kiyi Well, that was . . .
Carl When
Mr Mustafar bought the freehold you said fire pon the weak hearts that didn’t back you up . . . and when . . .
Brother Kiyi Yes, I get the message . . . (Changes the subject to get out of it.) That still no excuse for you to not tell me they reach!
Carl I tried to, but you know what you’re like when you’re focused on one ting. You shut out the rest of the world.
Brother Kiyi comes swiftly towards the boxes. He approaches them with reverence.
Brother Kiyi That’s cos man is only suppose to do one ting at a time.
Carl What you talking about? When I’m with my gal, I does be stroking (hip actions) and feeling. (Tuning in a radio for the breast action.) It feels perfectly natural to be doing those two tings at the same time!
Brother Kiyi You never stutter when you’re talking nastiness. (Indicates the boxes.) Help me na!
Enter Kwesi, thirty-two, good-looking. Brother Kiyi likes Kwesi, mainly because of his militant Black stance. He has a big box in his arms.
He makes his way to the back of the store almost as if he doesn’t want to say hello to Brother Kiyi and Carl.
Brother Kiyi Tende Mwari, Brother Kwesi.
Kwesi Tende Mwari.
Brother Kiyi They reach, you know, they reach! History, my friend, reach!
Kwesi Great!
Brother Kiyi You’ve three friends upstairs waiting for you.
Kwesi Thanks.
Brother Kiyi Somalians? I don’t know much about their history. What happen to Jamal, Eric and Ade?
Kwesi (still trying to get away) . . . Need people around you with backbone, know what I’m saying?
Brother Kiyi Know what you’re saying? I am surrounded by the most spineless punks this town has ever seen!
Kwesi That’s Babylon. Later.
Brother Kiyi looks at the box in his hands.
Brother Kiyi Big box?!
Kwesi Computer from home.
He leaves.
Carl notices the slave narratives.
Carl How much did they set you back?
Brother Kiyi All I have . . . I feel like a child in a . . . (Questioning his own lack of eloquence.) Words, what are they, huh?!
He pulls out another book from the box. Carefully opens it and looks through. He pulls another book from the box. He does this again and again.
Brother Kiyi You know what these are? Forget Booker T, forget Langston Hughes! These are the great voices of we past. Twenty-four volumes of truth!
Carl decides to pick one up and read the title for himself. He struggles with the words.
Brother Kiyi Careful!
Carl ‘Sla-slave nar-ra-tive . . . ’
Brother Kiyi That’s right, ‘narrative’ . . .
Carl ‘Collection of her Majes . . . ’
Brother Kiyi ‘Her Majesty’s . . . ’
Carl ‘Colonial voices.’
Brother Kiyi Well done!
Carl Yeah! What’s all that about then?
Brother Kiyi In 1899 a group of social anthropologists went across the entire West Indies – British, French, Spanish, Dutch – and interviewed the last remaining beings that were enslaved. Two thousand three hundred Africans that were between the ages of five and twenty-five when slavery was abolished. Most of them old like ’so-um! But this is bondage, brother . . .
Carl raises his eyebrows and smiles at the word ‘bondage’.
Carl ‘Bondage’, oh yeah?
Brother Kiyi Come on now, don’t be stupid.
Carl’s face returns to studious enquirer.
Brother Kiyi This is the institution that brought us here, Carl, spoken about, written down in their own words, their dialect. That’s always been the problem with slavery, see . . . We’ve been able to witness other people talking about their genocide, but ours, well ours has been confined to saccharine American sagas or puerile political statements by people who don’t give a blast about we!
Carl I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.
Brother Kiyi (catches himself about to preach) At last, this is the human connection, Carl. Maybe if more of the youth could hear, see where they’ve come from, they’d have a little bit more respect for where they are.
Carl Seen. Look, gotta go, all this deep talk is making me sick. Mr Dongal, from the Halal butcher’s, wants me to run down to the abattoirs with him. First time. Neat, huh?
Brother Kiyi We’ll do your reading when you come back then.
Carl (sings to himself as he leaves)
The main reason me like it from behind
You can reach under me belly rub me clit same time!
Enter Norma.
Norma What nastiness is that?
Carl Sorry, Aunty Norma.
Norma Stop that ‘aunty’ ting. People will think we is family.
Carl But we are family! The African family. What Marcus say, every black man is an African, innit, Brother Kiyi?
Brother Kiyi Exactly, Carl.
Norma I’m not related to no crack addict!
Brother Kiyi Norma!
Carl Former! . . .
Norma Hard love, Kiyi, hard love.
Carl Later.
He exits.
Norma Every time I see that boy on the street is a next white woman he chasing. You don’t see the amount of half-caste pickney ah run de street already.
Brother Kiyi ignores her.
Brother Kiyi Um ha!
Norma So they reach?
Brother Kiyi Yeah man.
Norma Good, good.
Brother Kiyi undoes his locks and shakes them out. Norma looks at Brother Kiyi’s hair.
Norma Boy, don’t shake that ting at me. One sum’ting I don’t like, that Rasta ting you have on you head.
Brother Kiyi And that alien hair you have on your head is better? It don’t have nothing to do with no Rasta . . .
Norma I don’t care about you symbol of rebellion stupidness. You should have dropped that jail nonsense years ago. You wash it?
Brother Kiyi Yes, Norma, is wash me wash me head. You happy now?
Norma Na man vex me vex. I sit down in front the television nice and comfortable, ready to watch me dog dem run, when the husband come in a start to harangue me soul.
Brother Kiyi What he want?
Norma Sex innit! No, hard yard food. He want me to run out the road to buy some cowfoot and pig trotters. I know you doesn’t like me to buy from dem people next door, but Dongal and dem is the only place man could find a decent home food. Not one of dem black shop close to me have anything to make old West Indians happy.
Brother Kiyi That they don’t sell that kinda slave food is what makes this West Indian happy.
Norma My grandfather use to eat cowfoot and there was nothin’ slave about him! Except maybe him name.
Brother Kiyi Which was what?
Norma George de Third!
Norma goes round to the desk and carefully pulls out a draughts board. The pieces are still on it.
Norma You looking damn thin you know, boy! You use all you corn to pay Mustafar he money innit?
Brother Kiyi doesn’t reply, just smiles slightly.
Norma I making a broth tonight, come over na?
Brother Kiyi Thanks, but I’ll pass on the swine!
Norma plays back Brother Kiyi’s reaction to the money question.
Norma You have paid him, haven’t you?
Brother Kiyi Abraham’s always use to give me a month or two bligh! Why should I pay as soon as Mustafar ask for it?
Norma Because Abraham’s doesn’t own the place any more. Mustafar does.
Brother Kiyi What’s wrong with our people, eh, Norma? The Jewish man come here and buy up the place, then a next immigrant come and buy it off him. Leapfrogging the West Indian. What was wrong wid we, eh?
Norma A black landlord would ah let you off you rent?
Brother Kiyi That’s not the point.
Norma You owe the man he rent, pay you rent.
Brother Kiyi I can’t. I spend all me money.
> Norma On woman?
Brother Kiyi (pointing to bookshelves) What need do I have of a woman when I have Morrison, Macmillan and Walker?
Norma Dem don’t bring you cocoa in bed or bury you when you dead. Woman is the only excuse I’ll accept. But you’ve spent it on the books innit? You promised me you wouldn’t do that. You promised.
Brother Kiyi Oh Norma, I couldn’t resist it.
Norma You know what? Talking to you is only going to get my diabetes up. I have time for three moves.
Brother Kiyi (referring to unpacking books) Norma, I’m doing something important!
Norma That’s right, losing. It’s time me beat you, Ras – I mean it’s time for me to take my victory! I can smell it.
Brother Kiyi What nonsense you talking . . .
Norma Don’t be hiding behind no books. When is licks time, it’s licks time.
Brother Kiyi Come, three moves and that’s it.
Norma Is my move innit!
Brother Kiyi pulls a piece of paper from the shelf.
Brother Kiyi Whose signature is this?
Norma Mine.
Brother Kiyi And what does it say?
Norma Kiyi has the next move.
Brother Kiyi Thank you.
He looks over the board slowly.
You see, nothin’ like the power of de pen, girl. (He moves.)
Norma How much of dem book you get?
Brother Kiyi You back on that? Three set a eight.
Norma Three sets of eight! (She moves.)
Brother Kiyi And another two sets are on order, when I get a little money.
Norma You don’t have money for food, and you ordering two sets ah books?
Brother Kiyi I’m forced to believe that we can survive whatever we must survive. But the future of the Negro in this country is precisely as bright or as dark as the future of the country. Jimmy Baldwin, 1963. (He moves.)
Norma I bet James wasn’t bloody hungry when he wrote that. (She moves.) King me, you bitch!
Brother Kiyi For a woman of the cloth your language is very colourful.
Norma Don’t try dem dirty tactics to put me off. Watch you moves, not my language.
Brother Kiyi Oh, of that you can be sure. (He moves.)
Norma realises that her king has been blocked in.
Norma Ahhhh, man. How you could block in me king so?
Plays 1 Page 9