The Nightmares of Carlos Fuentes

by Rashid Razaq

KEVIN: Right. Well I’m gonna go for a dump before we get on the plane. I canna shit on planes. The air pressure. Plays havoc with me insides. D’ya wanna use the toilet before we set off?

  CARLOS: No.

  KEVIN: Alreet. Suit ya self. I’m gonna lock this door. You sit tight here and I’ll be back in a jiffy.

  KEVIN zips up the rucksack and places it on the table. He is about to leave when he stops and unzips the rucksack. KEVIN takes out CARLOS’ ring from the bag. KEVIN holds up the ring so CARLOS can see it.

  KEVIN: Divn’t want to forget me ring. Cannat trust nee one these days.

  KEVIN pockets the ring and leaves.

  CARLOS looks at the rucksack. He opens the rucksack and rifles through it, emptying it of its contents. He finds a washbag and opens it up, sizing up each object before disregarding them. A toothbrush, a mini can of deodorant, a bar of soap are all taken out and thrown away.

  CARLOS finds a biro pen. He takes off the lid and looks at the tip. CARLOS prepares to stab himself in the wrist. He lifts up the pen with his right hand and brings it down hard on his left wrist. He lets out a scream of pain.

  CARLOS: AH! FUCK!

  CARLOS looks at his left wrist. He has not even drawn blood. CARLOS throws the pen away. He looks in the bag again. He rifles through it until he finds a pair of shorts. The shorts have a leather belt attached. CARLOS removes the belt, pulls it to check the strength and then makes it into a loop.

  CARLOS looks up at the ceiling. CARLOS stands up and climbs onto the chair. CARLOS places the belt loop around his neck.

  TANNOY: This is a final call for Turkish Airlines flight number 786 to Istanbul.

  CARLOS stops and looks upwards.

  CARLOS: God?

  Pause.

  TANNOY: Turkish Airlines 786 to Istanbul now closing. Gate one.

  CARLOS looks towards the door.

  Beat.

  CARLOS looks up.

  Lights down slowly.

  INTERLUDE 2

  21 August 2008.

  During the scene change SAHAR appears looking at her mobile phone, willing it to ring. She looks at the screen for several moments. She dials a number. It rings and rings and then goes through to voicemail.

  SAHAR: (Phone.) Salim!? Where are you? I told you it was an emergency. Something terrible has happened. You must call me back straightaway. (Beat.) I am at the hospital. (Beat.) There was a bomb. She…

  She starts to cry. She hangs up and walks offstage.

  FIVE

  June 2008.

  Lydia’s home. Bedroom. CARLOS, wearing a suit and tie, is sat on the edge of the bed. He is absorbed in an online computer game he is playing on a laptop. CARLOS is wearing headphones and laughing to himself.

  LYDIA enters. She is getting ready to go out. She puts on her heels. She looks in the mirror as she checks her make-up.

  CARLOS laughs loudly. He has a fairly strong Iraqi accent.

  LYDIA: (Turning.) Sorry?

  CARLOS is oblivious to her.

  LYDIA: Carlos?

  CARLOS laughs loudly to a friend he is playing against online.

  CARLOS: (To the laptop.) You talk shit man. I blast you with bazooka in your face!

  LYDIA: CARLOS!?

  CARLOS: (Looking up and taking an earphone out.) Huh? Did you say something?

  LYDIA: Are you ready? The taxi’s outside.

  CARLOS: Oh. (To laptop.) Hey, Afzal I have to go. What? Not if I see you first bitch. Ha! OK man.

  CARLOS closes the laptop and stands up. LYDIA stares at CARLOS giving him the once over as she puts her earrings on.

  LYDIA: You’re wearing that suit.

  CARLOS: You said smart.

  LYDIA: I said smart-casual. You’re going to wear that jacket?

  CARLOS: What is wrong with jacket?

  LYDIA: The. What is wrong with the jacket? It looks…dowdy.

  CARLOS: What is dow-dee?

  LYDIA: Frumpy.

  CARLOS: I don’t know this word either.

  LYDIA: Shit! It looks shit. I’ve been telling you to get a decent jacket for over a year.

  CARLOS: This is good quality jacket. It is British Home Stores. Look.

  He tries to show her the label. She bats him away.

  LYDIA: Carlos. How many times have I told you just because it’s called British doesn’t make it good? That jacket looks like you got it off a blind, geriatric tramp who’s let himself go.

  Beat.

  CARLOS takes off the jacket. LYDIA looks at him.

  LYDIA: And the tie please.

  CARLOS: What is wrong with tie?

  LYDIA: You can’t wear a tie without a jacket.

  CARLOS: Who say?

  LYDIA: I do. It’s not done.

  A stand-off.

  LYDIA: Carlos. One of us is an expert in corporate rebranding. Responsible for multi-million pound accounts, advising some of the biggest companies on earth on how to present themselves to the public. How to talk, think and act. (Beat.) The other person is you.

  CARLOS: Maybe you do not know what is best for me.

  LYDIA: Do you want to look like a waiter in a Lebanese restaurant?

  Beat.

  CARLOS takes off the tie. He looks to her for approval. LYDIA walks over to him and undoes his top button, looks at the effect, then undoes another button.

  CARLOS: Happy?

  LYDIA: You look so stiff. Try rolling up your shirt sleeves.

  CARLOS wearily does as she instructs.

  CARLOS: Can we go now?

  LYDIA: Can’t you do anything with the hair?

  She comes up to him and ruffles his hair affectionately. She smiles. He smiles.

  CARLOS goes to kiss her, but she pulls away. He looks hurt, but she smiles.

  LYDIA: Make-up. Don’t want to get it smudged.

  CARLOS: Ah. I thought maybe you are shamed by me.

  LYDIA: A-shamed. (Beat.) Don’t forget everything we’ve worked so hard on darling.

  LYDIA picks up her handbag and looks at CARLOS with a sense of trepidation.

  LYDIA: Right. (Beat.) Ready?

  CARLOS: Yes.

  CARLOS takes out his silver ring with the bright red stone from his pocket and puts it on.

  LYDIA: For God’s sake don’t wear that ring Carlos.

  CARLOS: It is my ring.

  LYDIA: You can’t wear that. It’s hideous.

  CARLOS: I like my ring.

  LYDIA: It looks like a flying saucer.

  CARLOS: No one will be looking at my ring at a party.

  LYDIA: It’s a dinner party. And everyone will be looking at it in case it takes off.

  CARLOS: I’m wearing the ring.

  LYDIA: Carlos.

  CARLOS: Go without me.

  LYDIA: I can’t turn up on my own. I told Franny and Tim you were coming.

  CARLOS: I come with ring or not.

  LYDIA: You’re going to do this now?

  CARLOS: Maybe it is best I stay at home if you are a-shamed by me.

  LYDIA: My home.

  CARLOS: They are not my friends. They are your friends.

  LYDIA: Who are waiting to meet you. Waiting to meet the wonderful, exotic, younger man I’ve been telling them about.

  CARLOS: Really?

  LYDIA: Yes. Don’t make me go on my own. Please.

  CARLOS: I am a man.

  LYDIA: Nobody’s disputing that.

  CARLOS: You push me too far Lydia.

  LYDIA: You said you wanted my help. That’s all I’m doing.

  CARLOS: But the way you talk to me.

  LYDIA: How?

  CARLOS: I don’t think you talked to your ex-husband like this.

  LYDIA: You don’t know what you’re talking about Carlos. My ex-husband was nothing like you. He was a waste of space.

  CARLOS: Waste?

  LYDIA: He was weak. Lazy. A liar. A…philanderer. (CARLOS doesn’t understand the word.) Somebody who cheats on people.

  CARLOS: Cheat you? From money?

  LYDIA: No.
A philanderer is…he slept with other women. (Beat.) Behind my back. Sex.

  CARLOS: Oh! Intercourse.

  LYDIA: Yes. He was one of those failed artist types. Big dreams but little talent for anything other than sponging off me. You’re not him. You’ve got ambition. Drive. You…you’re… different.

  CARLOS: I don’t want to different. I want to be…

  LYDIA: British. Yes, I know…

  CARLOS: No. I don’t know. Maybe. What. What if I can not be British like you want me to be?

  LYDIA: I like you just the way you are. (Smiling.) With a few minor adjustments

  CARLOS: This ring is all I have. I have no friends. No job. I stay home all day waiting for you to come.

  LYDIA: Darling, I’m not stopping you from getting a job. Making friends. I want you to be happy. And it’s not true. You’ve got me. What do you want? Tell me. Whatever you want. I’ll get it for you.

  CARLOS smiles. LYDIA smiles.

  CARLOS: Anything I want Ms King?

  LYDIA: Anything you want Mr Fuentes.

  They embrace. A tender moment between them.

  LYDIA: Just tell me why the ring’s so important to you.

  As quietly as possible SAHAR enters wearing a short blue dress. CARLOS can see her. LYDIA can’t. SAHAR and LYDIA speak at the same time with their words overlapping.

  SAHAR: Tell her.

  LYDIA: Carlos?

  CARLOS looks at SAHAR.

  SAHAR: Tell her what it means.

  CARLOS: I can not.

  LYDIA: You can’t do what?

  SAHAR: Tell her about me.

  LYDIA: Carlos? What can’t you do?

  SAHAR: The wife and child you left behind.

  CARLOS: (Looking at SAHAR.) She won’t understand.

  LYDIA: Understand what?

  SAHAR: Are you afraid she will throw you out? There is nothing left for you in Iraq.

  CARLOS: Iraq is my home.

  LYDIA: What are you talking about?

  SAHAR: There is nothing for Carlos. That is who you are now. Salim is dead.

  SAHAR starts to leave.

  CARLOS: Salim is not dead.

  LYDIA: Who?

  SAHAR exits.

  CARLOS: (After SAHAR.) Salim is not dead!

  LYDIA: Who is Salim? Who are you talking to?

  CARLOS: (After SAHAR, not to LYDIA.) Salim is alive! You must believe me!

  LYDIA: Carlos?

  CARLOS: (After SAHAR.) I am not dead. I am Salim Abdul Husain. From Baghdad. From Iraq. I am not dead. I am a Sunni, you are a Shia. I am not dead. My wife, my child. I am not dead. Please. (Crying.) You must believe me. You must not forget. I am not dead. I… I am…not…

  LYDIA: Carlos? Carlos darling? You’re scaring me.

  CARLOS: (Crying.) Please. Come back. COME BACK!

  LYDIA comforts CARLOS as he calls after SAHAR.

  CARLOS: Don’t go!

  LYDIA: I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.

  CARLOS looks at LYDIA. She soothes him.

  LYDIA: I’m here.

  Lights down.

  INTERLUDE 3

  22 August 2008.

  SAHAR enters with a mobile phone to her ear.

  SAHAR: (Phone.) She had no breakfast. Nothing. I told her I said you have to eat. Eat something. If you don’t eat I won’t let you go to school. (Beat.) They told me not to look. The doctor. Advised me. Strongly. We strongly advise you not to look. (Pause.) She was wearing the white vest. The white one with the blue flowers. You remember? The one that you sent her. It was her favourite. She was wearing that under her clothes. What was left…it was all I could… the blue flower. Blue and white. (Beat.) And red. Blood. So much. Her…face was…metal… glass. Her eyes. Arms. Fingers. The blue flower. Look at the blue flower. (Beat.) She had no breakfast. (Pause.) Who kills a child on her way to school? (Pause.) Did you hear what I said? (Pause.) Salim? (Beat.) Yes. (Beat.) Yes. (Beat.) Yes. (Pause.) The funeral was this afternoon. I didn’t think you would come. So we didn’t wait.

  Lights down slowly.

  SIX

  April 2006.

  Baghdad. Street market. KHALED, in overalls, is cleaning up the aftermath of an explosion. He sweeps slowly and cautiously with a broom, on the lookout for body parts and valuables. There are two bin bags centre stage. One is black, the other is yellow.

  CARLOS: (Off, in Arabic.) Where’s my broom?

  KHALED: (Arabic.) How should I know? Look in the van.

  CARLOS: (Off, Arabic.) I’m looking in the van.

  Pause.

  KHALED: (English.) Found it? (Beat.) Hey Camel-face!?

  CARLOS: (Off.) What?

  KHALED: Did you find your broom?

  CARLOS: (Off.) Yes.

  CARLOS, in overalls, enters with his broom.

  KHALED: By the way, the next valuable we find is mine.

  CARLOS: The next valuable I find is mine.

  KHALED: What about the wallet?

  CARLOS: The empty wallet?

  KHALED: A wallet is a wallet.

  CARLOS: Not if there’s nothing in it.

  KHALED: It’s still a valuable.

  CARLOS: How the fuck is it a valuable when there’s nothing valuable in it?

  KHALED: That’s the rule.

  CARLOS: What rule? I didn’t see that rule.

  KHALED: It’s an unwritten rule.

  CARLOS: Fuck off. You’re making it up. They don’t have rules about what valuables you can steal when you’re cleaning up body parts after a bomb goes off. They don’t ‘write’ rules for that kind of thing.

  KHALED: That’s why it’s an unwritten rule.

  CARLOS: Unwrite my balls.

  KHALED: You’d love that wouldn’t you? You filthy bastard.

  CARLOS: OK. I tell you what. Why don’t we trade the empty wallet for the gold chain?

  KHALED: Trade?

  CARLOS: Yeah. Y’know? The gold chain I found this morning that you took. And I’ll give you back the empty wallet that you found.

  KHALED: Nah. I’m…there’s no trading here. It’s an unwritten rule.

  CARLOS: Where’s this book of rules?

  KHALED: It’s not written.

  CARLOS: Oh fucking surprise, surprise.

  KHALED: This isn’t the United Nations Salim! We work for the Baghdad Municipal Street Cleaning Department. We do things by the book. And if you don’t like it, I suggest you take it up with George Bush. The next time you’re blowing him on his cowboy ranch in Texas.

  CARLOS: That’s disgusting. Me. Blowing the President of the United States. Do you really think I’d suck off George Bush? (Beat.) Bill Clinton maybe.

  KHALED laughs. CARLOS smiles. They go back to sweeping.

  CARLOS walks over to the yellow bin bag to empty his dustpan.

  KHALED: Hey!

  CARLOS stops.

  KHALED: What are you doing? The black one. Yellow for body parts. Black for general waste. How many times do I have to tell you?

  CARLOS empties the dustpan in the black bag.

  KHALED: You need to listen. If you don’t listen, you don’t learn. And if you don’t learn, you don’t get ahead. Don’t you want to get ahead?

  CARLOS: As a road sweeper? Not really.

  KHALED: You’ve got no ambition have you? A road sweeper today. Yeah. But tomorrow a road sweeper supervisor. A road sweeper director. You could be overseeing the whole of Baghdad’s sweeping needs.

  CARLOS: I’m happy doing what I’m doing.

  KHALED: Cleaning up body parts and burnt vegetables?

  CARLOS: It’s steady work.

  KHALED: Look at me. I’m not going to be a road sweeper forever. No way Mohammed. As soon as I get the money for a visa I’m off. Goodbye. You’ll come into work one day and ask where’s Khaled? And they’ll say, oh haven’t you heard? Khaled got a visa. He’s gone to Amreeka. (Waves.) Bye-Bye motherfuckers.

  CARLOS: Amreeka?

  KHALED: Yes. Khaled al-Hamrani. American. US baby.

  KHALED makes t
he peace sign with his hand. CARLOS smiles.

  KHALED: What?

  CARLOS chuckles to himself.

  KHALED: What’s so funny?

  CARLOS tries to suppress a laugh and compose himself.

  CARLOS: Oh, nothing. Nothing.

  CARLOS shakes his head.

  KHALED: You’d rather stay here? Get blown up buying aubergines like the poor fuckers in this market?

  CARLOS: An American? Come on.

  KHALED: Better than being an Iraqi. How can you be an Iraqi when there is no Iraq? The best thing an ambitious young man can do is leave.

  CARLOS: If we all leave then who’s gonna build the country back up?

  KHALED: Who cares? This country is finished. There’s nothing here but death. You either die fast or you die slow. Either way you die.

  CARLOS: What about your family? You’d leave them behind?

  KHALED: I’m better off to them alive somewhere else sending money back than staying here and being dead. It’ll be our corpses somebody else is cleaning up. Oh. What’s this? What’s this teeny-weeny little thing that I can barely see that looks like a pickled vegetable? Oh that’s right. It’s Salim’s cock.

  CARLOS smirks and shakes his head. KHALED walks over to the black bag to empty his dustpan.

  CARLOS: How would you go about getting a visa to America? (Beat.) Hypothetically.

  KHALED leans in conspiratorially.

  KHALED: Between you and me?

  CARLOS nods.

  KHALED: I know a guy. Who knows a guy. Who knows a guy. He. Is a Major-General in the US Army. He. Writes you a letter. That says you have courageously and honourably served the US Armed Forces in Iraq as an interpreter. And that as a result of your invaluable translation services for the American Government your life is now in danger. This letter then gets sent to the US State Department along with your application for a SIV.