by Carly Wijs
But if we can please a few terrorists with five roubles and ten Barbies then there might be a few less.
GIRL. The women might like to have the Barbies.
BOY. They no longer count. They have exploded. The men don’t want a Barbie. Terrorists do not play with Barbie.
GIRL. And the roubles?
BOY. Five roubles divided by thirty-two is… oh no… maybe the terrorist with his foot on the bomb also wants money.
Five rouble divided by thirty-three is… let me think… let me think… let me think…
The BOY calculates 5 divided by 33 is 0.151515 on the blackboard. He can already count after the decimal point and is very proud of his ability.
GIRL. That is not so much per terrorist…
BOY. But maybe not every terrorist wants money. Perhaps some only want peace, otherwise they will kill us.
Imagine: fifteen of the thirty-three terrorists want money. Then it is five divided by fifteen and that’s… let me think… let me think…
Oh, no I do not need to calculate. Thirty-three minus fifteen is eighteen. There are eighteen terrorists who will murder us unless they get peace. That means that per terrorist… one thousand one hundred and thirty-nine divided by –
GIRL. It is now one thousand one hundred and thirty-eight.
BOY (a little annoyed). Well, one thousand one hundred and thirty-eight divided by fifteen… no, one thousand one hundred and thirty-eight divided by eighteen is… I can’t think…
He throws his chalk away and angrily turns away from the board with the calculations.
GIRL. See. I told you: it’s very complicated…
BOY. It is an unsolvable question.
GIRL. An unsolvable problem.
The GIRL faints.
BOY. It’s a little bit warm.
The GIRL regains consciousness.
GIRL. Here I am.
I have a dry throat.
Do you have to go yet?
BOY. No, you?
GIRL. Are you sure?
BOY. Yes.
GIRL. Shall I push on your belly?
BOY. NO!
GIRL. It’s so hot.
The GIRL pulls off her T-shirt.
The GIRL faints again.
BOY. It is warm.
I haven’t been to the toilet for thirty-eight hours and twelve minutes. My previous record was thirteen hours and six minutes. That was when I was camping with my cousins. I thus have improved my previous record by one hundred and ninety-one per cent.
Carefully he looks at the GIRL lying unconscious on the ground. When he is sure that she sees nothing, he carefully loosens his sweater. It feels great. Carefully he takes it off more and more – until he bares his torso. He squeamishly holds his sweater in front of his bare chest.
Lovely…
The GIRL revives and the BOY quickly puts his sweater back on. It’s very difficult. In his rush he tries to squeeze his head through a sleeve.
GIRL. Can I help?
BOY. No no, not necessary…
When the BOY has his sweater on again his hands shoot up in the air. The GIRL follows. She has to cough.
Nothing’s happening. We’re just sitting here.
A much-delayed echo of the song ‘Oh Wonderful New Future’ sounds softly through the speakers. The BOY and the GIRL cannot keep their hands in the air. Slowly their arms lower down. When the BOY’s hands reach his nose, he starts to pick. Suddenly he jumps up; something is happening in the gymnasium…
The changing of the guard.
GIRL. Two hours later.
BOY. Two hours. One thousand one hundred and thirty-seven.
GIRL. Every time another terrorist.
BOY and GIRL. One thousand one hundred and thirty-four.
The BOY and GIRL look startled.
One thousand one hundred and thirty-three.
Again.
And again.
One thousand one hundred and thirty-two.
The GIRL starts to cough. It’s hard to breathe.
BOY. She has a dry throat.
Then she feels a tingling sensation throughout the body.
GIRL. Another two hours.
BOY. Her hands and feet go cold. Decrease in consciousness.
The GIRL faints.
The BOY continues.
One thousand one hundred and thirty-one.
(Re: the GIRL fainting.) Oh no, it’s just warm. (Very upbeat.) No need to worry…
It has slowly become dark. Suddenly, a lot of steam is blown on to the podium. The GIRL immediately comes round to the sound.
GIRL. Oh, how beautiful: clouds! I see clouds. I am flying…
A light shines through the holes in the blackboard, where the coat hooks were. They look like bullet holes. Rays of light shine into the gymnasium. It looks magical.
A giraffe!
Look look look.
A giraffe.
There is a giraffe in the gymnasium.
BOY. No there is not…
GIRL. The giraffe floats on long legs through the gymnasium.
BOY. A giraffe can’t float… that’s not possible.
GIRL. There’s a giraffe nibbling on the bombs in the basket hoop.
BOY. No there’s not.
Not really.
No.
GIRL. There’s a giraffe nibbling on the bombs.
The GIRL faints.
The BOY changes guard again. The light changes. It’s the next night.
BOY. Nothing.
Changing of the guard.
Very hot.
Nothing is happening.
Except… in the leg of the terrorist.
In his calf.
Then slowly forward.
The shin.
The ankle.
The toes.
GIRL and BOY. Cramp occurs when the nerves that control your muscles make your muscles react inappropriately.
They give off too many signals causing too many muscle fibres to contract.
You can also get cramps when there’s not enough glucose in your muscle because you’ve had too little to eat.
Cramps can also occur because the blood supply to the muscle is closed by an incorrect posture or…
The BOY takes the balloon that is attached to the block and bursts it. The wires collapse to the floor.
The theme from Mission: Impossible plays. The music lowers when the GIRL starts talking.
GIRL. BAM! The ceiling has come down.
The terrorist is blown to bits.
He is lying in pieces on the floor next to the ceiling.
Immediately after the explosion, the army’s Special Forces – perfectly trained for their mission – storm inside through the windows. One of the heroes has steel-blue eyes and a strong-willed chin. He looks up at the leader of the terrorists who is still busy trying to load his gun, but it’s too late. The hero shoots him dead.
Immediately he takes two small children under his arm and fights his way back to the window. There he puts the children to safety, to return immediately to save the others.
But it does not take long. With his great training and his precision weapons he has the terrorists eliminated in a few minutes. Then it’s all over.
The Mission: Impossible theme stops.
Sad music begins. The BOY holds the GIRL protectively while they watch the havoc in the gymnasium. The GIRL is crying.
BOY. But it didn’t go like that.
The ceiling fell down.
The bomb exploded and the terrorist blew apart.
For a moment you can’t see anything.
Hear nothing.
A thick mist fills the gymnasium.
After a few minutes the smoke moves away from the wrecked windows.
Hundreds of corpses lie on the floor.
Mummies, daddies (not so many), grandmothers, children and terrorists.
All dead.
In the corner a girl with her arms around her mother’s neck… both dead.
&
nbsp; A grandmother bent over… dead… with a toddler on her lap… dead.
GIRL. The giraffe, also dead.
The sad music stops. The gospel song ‘Oh Happy Day’ starts. The GIRL and BOY stand up – cheerful.
But that didn’t happen either. The ceiling did come crashing down. There is smoke. That too, but when it has lifted, everyone is still alive. Puzzled, bewildered. The terrorists seem petrified. Until the leader of the terrorists slowly takes of his mask and his teary eyes become visible. He throws his weapon away and falls to his knees. He is crying.
‘I’m so sorry, please excuse me, I beg your pardon. Forgive me. This is not the right way.’
Now all the terrorists throw their weapons away, they all fall to their knees and beg for forgiveness.
The mothers get up, wipe the dust off their clothes and look at the terrorists in a way that only mothers can look. With a voice full of love, they say, ‘It does not matter. We forgive you. The important thing is that you admit to your mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. Making mistakes is easy. Admitting your mistakes is the hard part and you managed to do that. Bravo and a big fat thumbs up.’
‘Oh Happy Day’ finishes.
BOY. The ceiling has come crashing down.
Lying in the middle of the gymnasium is a large chunk of debris.
To the right under the rubble a foot sticks out and on top you see a lock of hair.
GIRL. That’s me.
I can’t hear anything. No pops. I don’t feel the bombs detonating. I do smell gunpowder, dust and the very slight smell of a cigarette.
That’s from a group of men waiting for a pause in the hail of bullets before entering the gymnasium. The cigarette smoke fluttered in through the shot-up window, and went up my nose.
Then the smell disappears.
The GIRL walks to the front of the stage and picks up a chair that has fallen over during the first explosion. Carefully she steps on to the chair.
I get on to the giraffe’s back and we wobble through the space to the broken window. Carefully the giraffe places two front paws on the window sill. He bends his long elegant legs, takes off and jumps through the window. We fly up to the blue sky with an occasional cloud here and there.
The GIRL gets off the chair and begins to wipe everything off the blackboard at the back of the stage while the BOY talks.
BOY. I look at the ceiling.
Then I wake up in hospital.
Beside my bed my mother is crying: ‘Oh my son, oh my son, my baby. You’re awake.’
Embarrassed I turn my head the other way.
In the afternoon I get a visit from a star footballer.
He cries when he sees me.
The star player goes round all the children and gives each child fifteen thousand roubles, including me.
He gives the parents who have lost a child, twenty thousand roubles. My parents get nothing, because I’m still alive.
For fifteen thousand roubles, I can buy three Wiis or one point five PlayStation or eight skateboards or fourteen mobile phones or four iPods.
While the BOY cheerfully lists what he can buy with fifteen thousand roubles, the GIRL writes the BOY’s wish list on the blackboard.
GIRL (the BOY joins in occasionally with some of the below). Men raise the piece of concrete beneath covering my body. It’s too heavy. A fourth joins in. And a fifth. It works.
My body is placed on a stretcher and carried outside.
My head has fallen to one side
A little bit of blood is trickling from my ear.
I’ve always wanted to be on TV.
BOY. That’s true, she has always said so.
The GIRL and the BOY trace the entire trail that the stretcher travelled. The BOY pretends to be the cameraman who films everything and the GIRL looks proudly at the camera to see if everything is filmed the right way.
GIRL. When the stretcher comes through the window, the lens of a camera at the side of the road finds me.
It follows me around while I am being carried past a group of smokers.
By the road we have to stop because of a car passing.
A small man gestures strenuously that we need to go to
a waiting car. Just before we get to the car I pass a few crying women who are comforting each other. A woman sneezes and turns her head towards my stretcher.
Then I disappear into the car and out of reach of the
camera lens.
The cameraman sends the two minutes he has of me to the satellite vehicle that sends the images on to the capital.
There, someone cuts out the smoking men and the passing car. The woman who sneezes now seems to break with grief when I pass her.
It has become a very nice story.
That story gets sent all around the world through five satellites.
Exactly fifty-one minutes and thirty-six seconds after the camera filmed my body for the first time I appear on television in one hundred and forty countries.
The GIRL gets back on to the chair right in front of the audience.
The BOY climbs upon the chair beside the GIRL. Slowly, the stage lights switch off until only a little light is left shining on the BOY and GIRL standing together on the chair very close to the audience. It is a very intimate final image. He holds her.
BOY. One hundred and forty-three countries.
In China they play this music with it.
Music plays.
In France, Chopin.
In America –
Music plays.
GIRL. I’m on the television in America –
BOY. Hollywood.
GIRL. There they will interrupt the broadcasting especially
for me. Here it takes four minutes, because everything is
in slow motion.
My face to one side…
…A little bit of blood running from my ear.
The BOY traces the path of the blood across the GIRL’s face.
It’s a pity though…
BOY. What’s a pity?
GIRL. That it was only that side.
This side is much nicer.
The BOY looks extensively at the two sides of her face.
BOY. Yes that is true…
Blackout.
The End.
CARLY WIJS
Carly Wijs has written and created plays, and has performed as a film and theatre actress withWimVandekeybus/Ultima Vez, Guy Cassiers, Josse De Pauw, De Roovers, KOPERGIETERY, Muziektheater Transparant et al. Her productions have toured internationally. She is regularly invited to be a guest lecturer at the RITS and P.A.R.T.S. (both in Brussels). Her first novel The Doubtexperiment was published in May 2016 and nominated for the Flemish debut prize: The Bronze Owl. Us/Them won her an Edinburgh Fringe First at the 2016 Festival.
A Nick Hern Book
Us/Them first published in Great Britain as a paperback original in 2017 by Nick Hern Books Limited, The Glasshouse, 49a Goldhawk Road, London W12 8QP, in association with BRONKS and Richard Jordan Productions
This ebook first published in 2017
Us/Them copyright © 2017 Carly Wijs
Carly Wijs has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work
Cover photograph by Murdo MacLeod
Designed and typeset by Nick Hern Books, London
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 84842 645 0 (print edition)
ISBN 978 1 78001 848 5 (ebook edition)
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