by Ayad Akhtar
IMAM SALEEM: Stay as you are. No need to get up…
NICK: Is everything okay?
Imam Saleem doesn’t respond. He shuts the door. And locks it.
Looks at Nick. Holding his gaze.
Long silence.
NICK (CONT’D): Did I do something wrong?
Beat.
IMAM SALEEM: I don’t know. Did you?
NICK: I mean, no. Not that I’m aware of. What’s going on?
Imam Saleem walks over to the table.
Beat.
IMAM SALEEM: Do you know Abbottabad, the city?
NICK: In the north?
IMAM SALEEM: Yes.
NICK: Where they got Osama bin Laden.
IMAM SALEEM: Have you been?
NICK: Once.
IMAM SALEEM: What do you remember about it?
NICK: Army.
IMAM SALEEM: Army town. Garrison. Military academy…
NICK: That’s what I recall.
IMAM SALEEM: Nothing but military. Everywhere you go. Soldiers, young cadets, retired officers.
NICK: Okay.
IMAM SALEEM: Did you think it strange that was where Bin Laden was living? For so many years?
NICK: I mean, I didn’t think about it. It was before I came to Pakistan.
IMAM SALEEM: Before the Americans got him, I’d been hearing rumors—for some time—that Bin Laden was in Abbottabad.
NICK: Okay?
IMAM SALEEM: Musharraf was in charge of the country at the time I started to hear this rumor.
NICK: Pervez Musharraf.
IMAM SALEEM: General Pervez Musharraf.
NICK: Right.
IMAM SALEEM: And Bin Laden was being kept in a military town.
NICK: Being kept?
IMAM SALEEM: Think about it. The United States had been pouring billions of dollars into the country to find him. For ten years. Billions. Would you give up the very reason all of that money is coming into the country?
NICK: You’re saying the Pakistanis were keeping him alive, keeping him hidden.
IMAM SALEEM: He was the cash cow. And now that he’s dead? Not even half the money is coming in.
NICK: I’m not sure I like what I think you’re saying to me.
IMAM SALEEM: In what sense?
NICK: You’re saying I’m a cash cow.
IMAM SALEEM: That is true as well.
(Beat)
No, what I am saying is: The Pakistanis are not good partners. Not to you, the Americans. And not to their own people. They cannot be trusted.
(Beat)
It is never good when partners, who should trust each other, are hiding things from one another.
(Beat)
You understand that I am the only one who controls your destiny, Nicholas.
NICK: Of course.
IMAM SALEEM: Not Bashir.
NICK: Of course not.
IMAM SALEEM: So any cooperation with Bashir that I am not aware of—hiding money in new accounts, for example—you understand I would feel… betrayed.
NICK: As well you should.
IMAM SALEEM: And if I felt betrayed, you understand I would make you pay for that.
NICK: Yes.
IMAM SALEEM: But if in fact you were a good partner, a partner I could trust—not like Pakistan—I would reward that trust?
NICK: Yes.
IMAM SALEEM: Despite the fact that you are clearly an advantage to us, a cash cow, as you put it…
NICK: Right.
IMAM SALEEM: So is there something you would like to tell me?
Beat.
Lights Out.
Act Two: Scene Four
Two days later. Day.
Nick seated at the table, his feet still bound to the metal weight. Dar is seated alongside him. As at the opening of the play, Dar is leaning over Nick’s hand. Clipping his fingernails. But the vibe between them is very different. Dar, silent. Nick, frustrated.
NICK: I don’t know why you won’t tell me, Dar.
Pause.
Dar clips. Clips again.
NICK (CONT’D): Where is he? Can’t you just tell me that?
Clipping. Clipping again. Ignoring Nick’s inquiries.
Nick tries another tack:
NICK (CONT’D): How’s your mother, Dar?
Which gets a response:
DAR (Perplexed): My mother?
NICK: She okay?
Dar ignores him. Goes back to clipping.
NICK (CONT’D): Your cousin, Changez? Must be at the beginning of a new cycle for the potato crop… How is he doing?
No response.
More clipping.
DAR: Feet?
NICK: It’s okay. They’re fine. Do you know when Bashir will be back?
DAR: I go now.
NICK: Wait, wait, Dar.
DAR: What?
NICK: Just tell me this. Is he coming back?
Dar exits.
Closing the door behind him. The lock snaps shut.
Lights Out.
Act Two: Scene Five
The following day.
Nick, alone. At the table. Working.
We hear the door unlocking and see Bashir enter. Looking chipper.
At first, Nick is surprised to see him. Thrown, even.
BASHIR: Morning, Nick.
NICK: Bashir.
BASHIR: Sorry about not…
NICK: Been three days.
BASHIR: I know.
NICK: I had no idea where you were.
BASHIR: I said I’m sorry.
NICK: Where were you?
BASHIR: Just taking care of some things, Nick.
NICK: I can’t work if you’re not here. You know that, right?
BASHIR: Of course.
(Off a sudden thought)
We should get that thing taken off you…
NICK: Yeah, I’d appreciate that.
Bashir goes to the door.
BASHIR: Dar! Dar!
(Turns back inside)
He’ll be right here…
Nick notices that Bashir doesn’t have a bag…
NICK: Where’s your computer?
BASHIR: Oh, right. Was thinking, might not be needing that right now.
NICK: Why not?
BASHIR: Figure you might be busy with some other things today…
Just as…
Dar appears at the doorway, with Imam Saleem, beaten, bloodied, bound.
BASHIR (CONT’D): Keeping the imam a little company, innit? Seeing as how you two like talking so much. Maybe you could even give him some advice on…
(To Imam Saleem)
… investing in real estate. That’s the people’s money. Not your money.
IMAM SALEEM: You speak for the people now? You are greedy, you are ungrateful—
Bashir hits Imam Saleem. Hard. And he collapses to the floor.
BASHIR: I’m greedy!?
Bashir looks over at Nick.
NICK: I—uh—didn’t—
BASHIR (Cutting him off): It’s okay, Nick. I get it.
I’m just glad I didn’t take your advice about not making my move too soon. I’m glad I didn’t listen to you. For once.
Bashir and Dar move to exit.
But before leaving, Bashir pulls out his phone. Snaps a photo of Saleem as he passes.
BASHIR (CONT’D): (To Dar) Let’s go.
Both exit. Snapping the lock shut.
Leaving Nick with Imam Saleem, who continues quietly to moan.
Lights Out.
Act Two: Scene Six
That night.
Nick in bed. Not able to sleep.
Imam Saleem, lying on the floor. The wheezing sound of his breath going in and out of him making it clear his condition is deteriorating.
We watch for a moment.
Finally, Nick sits up in bed. Looking over at Saleem.
NICK: Do you need something? Water?
Imam Saleem grunts. Then begins speaking, not exactly to Nick. And not exactly not to Nick.
IMAM SALEEM: You were the mistake.
NICK: What?
IMAM SALEEM: You were the mistake.
Quiet.
IMAM SALEEM (CONT’D): Like a cancer.
(Beat)
He was like a child, when I found him. Like a child. Tell me I bought a house. I don’t want a house.
(Beat)
Milk for those to drink. Fire from the green tree.
Just as…
We hear something at the door. The lock snapping open.
Dar comes in, a kerosene lamp in one hand, a gun in the other.
Uncharacteristically vicious in his demeanor.
Barely acknowledging Nick, he sets the lantern down on the table and goes to Imam Saleem. Brusquely lifting the ailing man to his feet. Then Dar drags Saleem out of the room.
Leaving the door open.
Sounds of movement and Imam Saleem’s incoherent and terrified objections…
Nick goes over to the window to look outside.
Gets there just in time to see—
What we will hear—
IMAM SALEEM (CONT’D): Allah hu Akbar.
Then a gunshot. And another.
Silence.
Dar comes back into the room.
Nick flinches. Convinced he is next.
NICK: No, please, don’t, Dar.…
Dar looks over at Nick, heaving from the adrenaline of killing Saleem. With a chilling, inscrutable expression. By the light of the kerosene lamp, we see:
Dar’s face and clothes are splattered with blood.
Dar takes up the lamp and exits. Locking the door behind him.
Leaving Nick alone. Heaving…
In his moment of terror, Nick drops to his knees, and a prayer flows out, unbidden:
NICK (CONT’D): Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven…
Broken.
Lights Out.
Act Two: Scene Seven
Nick alone. Disheveled. He has been on his own now for three weeks.
He sits on the bed, disoriented.
He walks over to the wall. And pulls the rest of the papers down. Throwing them about.
Out of breath.
When we begin to hear the very distant sounds of gunfire.
An explosion.
And then more gunfire. The countryside awash in sudden violence.
Nick arrested, listening.
Lights Out.
Act Two: Scene Eight
The same room.
Two days later.
Papers still strewn about.
Nick, eating voraciously.
Bashir stands watching him, newspaper folded under his arm. He is arrayed in resplendent robes reminiscent of those we saw on Imam Saleem. He has a new bearing, a new confidence and charisma.
We are listening to the continuing sounds of distant gunfire. The sounds of war.
Dar stands stoically guard, covered in ammunition-filled belts and holding a Kalashnikov.
BASHIR: There is blood in the streets. The city is on fire. Fighting even as far outside as across the river.
Nick drinks. Swallowing down. Out of breath.
Then looks at Bashir.
NICK: Please. Bashir. Please.
BASHIR: What’s that?
NICK: I know…
BASHIR: What do you know, Nick?
NICK: I know you don’t owe me—
BASHIR: Owe you?
NICK: Let me get back to work. Please. I’ve been in here by myself for three weeks. I can’t… anymore… Let’s come to some kind of an agreement.
Bashir approaches. Tosses the paper down on the table before him:
NICK (CONT’D): What is it?
BASHIR: Last Friday’s paper. The story on the right-hand side.
NICK: What’s it say?
BASHIR (Picking up the paper again): It says that at the annual meeting of the central bankers of Pakistan on Thursday, a van filled with explosives drove into the bank and detonated, killing the governor of the state bank and all the members of its board…
(Beat)
It says the Pakistani rupee has gone into a free fall.
(Beat)
Remember how you were always saying the rupee was one crisis away from insolvency?
(Pointing at the paper)
Well, there’s your crisis.
NICK: Why are you telling me this?
BASHIR: I invested all the capital we made into put options on the idea that the Pakistani rupee was going to drop in value…
NICK: You shorted the rupee?
BASHIR: And then I arranged the bombing of the central bank of Pakistan during their policy meeting.
NICK: You did what?
BASHIR (Over): And now that the rupee’s collapsed, my position in the market’s worth thirty-five million dollars.
(Beat)
You have any idea how much good this is going to do?
(Pointing to the paper)
It’s going to bring down the government. The time is ripe for revolution. Spring has finally come to Pakistan.
NICK: You killed all the central bankers…
BASHIR: Ever since that thing with Bilal Ansoor—him getting hit by Lashkar, and the window that gave us on the market—seven hundred thousand dollars in ten minutes… And then, all your pestering about the rupee—well, it finally caught on at some point. He who controls the currency controls the power, Nick. Currency is king. You taught me that.
NICK: No… God… I didn’t, uh…
Nick takes up the paper, the truth slowly coming into full focus.
BASHIR: Don’t worry. Still no blood on your hands.
Pause.
NICK: Bashir. Please. Let me get back to work. I need to be working. I can’t… Please. Bashir…
Beat.
BASHIR: There must be some version of that Stockholm thing, just the other way around, if you know what I mean. Not you feeling things about me, but me feeling things about you. I think I got something like that.
(Beat)
Way I see it, you’ve more than made your ransom. I’m guessing, in my shoes maybe you wouldn’t do the same, but…—You’re a free man, Nick.
Bashir gestures to Dar to unlock the shackles.
BASHIR (CONT’D): (Pointing to the open door) You’re free to go.
Bashir pulls out a wad of money, peels off bills and drops them.
BASHIR (CONT’D): Just be careful out there. There really is blood flowing in the streets.
Bashir and Dar make their way to the door and exit. Leaving the door open behind them.
Sounds of distant warfare punctuate the silence.
As we are left with Nick.
Alone.
A free man.
Paralyzed.
Lights Out.
AN INTERVIEW WITH AYAD AKHTAR
Ayad Akhtar talks with Anita Montgomery, literary manager and director of education at ACT Theatre in Seattle, where The Invisible Hand opened in September of 2014.
AM: I read somewhere that you grew up in Milwaukee and that yours was one of the only Muslim families in your community.
AA: On the west side, in the suburbs, yeah. When we moved there, I don’t believe there was anybody else, as far as I know. We certainly didn’t meet anybody. We were the first.
AM: I wonder whether that caused you to run toward or away from your religious identity as a child.
AA: I think as a kid it probably made me run toward it, in a way, because there was a recognition, or I understood that in some way I was different. I think the way I came to formulate and understand what that difference meant was through religion. And the difference was not necessarily a bad thing; in its own way it was good because my religion was good. That was the sort of child logic, if you will. It’s something you see in a lot of young, early prepubescents, a kind of flowering of the devotional. A preoccupation that seems to either prefigure or coincide with the development—the hormonal changes—that are happen
ing in the body. I went through a very strong interest in the Quran and in tradition, to the confusion of my parents, who were not particularly religious at all. I had to seek that information out elsewhere because they didn’t really care or know much about it.
AM: I just finished reading your novel, American Dervish, a little while ago, and it sounds very much like your young protagonist Hayat’s dilemma.
AA: Absolutely. Hayat’s trajectory is something that is patterned on my own. We’re not the same person but I am certainly taking elements of my own experience and using them to give Hayat’s journey life and authenticity.