The Who & the What

by Ayad Akhtar

  MAHWISH (Dumbfounded): What do you care about the veil?!

  AFZAL: I never made you girls wear anything like that! It has nothing to do with your life!

  ZARINA: Nothing to do with my life? You covered me up, Dad. You erased me.

  AFZAL (Shocked): I did what?

  ZARINA: And I let you.

  Beat.

  AFZAL: You write such filth about the Prophet, peace be upon him, and then you put the blame on me?

  ZARINA: That’s not what I’m—

  AFZAL: You make me regret the day you were born.

  ZARINA: Abu… Please…

  MAHWISH: How can you do this to him?

  (Beat)

  Reading this actually makes me want to start wearing a veil. Just to purify myself of it.

  ELI: Mahwish…

  ZARINA: Purify yourself?

  MAHWISH: And all these years, I’ve been taking your advice? Like you know something?—

  ZARINA: Stop it.

  MAHWISH (Continuing): You know what? There’s actually something wrong with you.

  ELI: That’s not helping.

  MAHWISH: I don’t have to listen to you!

  (Snapping back to Zarina)

  And you can pretty it up with a lot of expensive words and fancy books, but it’s just filth.

  ZARINA: Filth?

  MAHWISH: That’s all it is. Thank God Mom’s not here to see it.

  ZARINA: And what would she think of you having ten years of anal sex so your boyfriend wouldn’t break up with you?

  AFZAL: What?

  MAHWISH: I don’t know what she’s talking about.

  ZARINA: I’ve stood behind you since you were like, what, sixteen? For your sick I’m-so-dependent-on-a-man-that-I’ll-let-him-violate-me-so-I-never-lose-him.

  AFZAL (To Mahwish): What is she talking about—

  ZARINA: This is my thanks?

  MAHWISH: She’s lying.

  ZARINA (To Afzal): You never really liked Haroon for a reason, Dad.

  MAHWISH: She’s the one writing blasphemy!

  ZARINA: He’s a scumbag.

  MAHWISH: She couldn’t be with the man she loved so she sits around masturbating to the Prophet in a public library!

  AFZAL: That boy made you do what with him?

  Speechless, Mahwish breaks down. All the verification Afzal needs. He turns to Zarina:

  AFZAL (CONT’D): Do you see what this is doing? Don’t you see it?

  (Beat)

  When that cancer had finally eaten your mother alive, behti, when she was dying… I promised her. She was the center. I promised I would be the center to hold the family together.

  (Pointing at the manuscript)

  Don’t you see what this is?

  It’s like that goddamn cancer!

  ZARINA: Dad… how can you say that?

  AFZAL: I have made so many sacrifices for this family. I have sacrificed so much for the two of you. For you to be happy.

  (Beat)

  You have to destroy this book.

  Reaching the manuscript out to her.

  ZARINA: You haven’t heard anything I’ve said.

  AFZAL: You’ll write another book, behti. With more wisdom. I know you will.

  ZARINA: It’s four years of my life.

  AFZAL: Something that will bring light into the world. Not this cancer. This darkness.

  ZARINA: Don’t ask me to do that.

  AFZAL: I’ll never ask anything of you again. You have to destroy it.

  ELI: Absolutely not.

  AFZAL: You again?

  ELI: You made her act against her heart once before, but you won’t do it again.

  AFZAL: I told you to shut your bloody mouth!

  ELI: Calm down, sir!

  AFZAL: I’m not going to calm down!

  ELI (Suddenly shouting): Yes you are!

  AFZAL: You nonentity!

  ELI: What she’s done is important! She’s reminding us that the Prophet was just a man—

  AFZAL (Over): Us? You’re no Muslim.

  ELI (Continuing): We say we don’t worship him, but we do!

  AFZAL (Over): Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah!

  ELI (Continuing): And we’re worshipping a fiction! We have no interest in knowing who he really was…

  AFZAL: I know who he was!

  ELI: No, you don’t! None of us do! And all your daughter is doing—

  AFZAL: Blasphemy.

  ELI: No, testimony. To a complicated and remarkable man with conflicting emotions.

  Afzal turns to Zarina. And finds her looking at Eli.

  AFZAL: Don’t tell me.

  ELI (Continuing): That’s it. That’s all it is. And her courage is one of the many reasons I’m so in love with your daughter.

  AFZAL (Coldly): Zarina.

  Zarina, are you listening to me?

  Zarina continues to hold Eli’s gaze.

  ZARINA (Still looking at Eli): Eli. Let’s go.

  Eli goes to her. She takes his hand.

  AFZAL: Zarina!!

  He breaks down, at once imperious and vulnerable.

  AFZAL (CONT’D): Behti, don’t.

  (Struggling)

  If you love me, behti…

  ZARINA (Emotional): Dad.

  AFZAL: If you love me…

  ZARINA: I do, Dad.

  AFZAL: If you do—

  ZARINA: I love you so much…

  Zarina and Eli exit. As they go:

  AFZAL: Zarina!

  They are gone.

  Long beat.

  Afzal goes to a picture on the wall of his elder daughter. Turns and throws it into the sink, violently.

  He looks up at Mahwish.

  AFZAL (CONT’D): That girl. I don’t ever want to hear her name in this house again.

  (Off Mahwish’s silence)

  Do you hear me?!

  (Still no reply)

  I said do you hear me?!?

  MAHWISH: Yes.

  AFZAL: She is dead to me. Dead.

  Afzal moves to go. But before exiting:

  AFZAL (CONT’D) (Quieter): Whatever you did with him, I don’t want to talk about it… You don’t have to go back to that bastard. You can have your room, behti. However long you need. Whatever you want.

  Afzal goes.

  Mahwish takes Zarina’s picture from the sink and leaves.

  End of Act Two.

  Epilogue

  A summer day. Two years later.

  Afzal sitting on a bench at Java on the Park. Prayer beads in hand.

  Beat.

  Mahwish appears. With two cups of coffee. Handing one to her father.

  MAHWISH: Here you go, Dad.

  AFZAL: Thank you, behti. You take such good care of your old father.

  MAHWISH: You’re not old, Dad.

  Afzal takes the cup. Sips. Makes a face.

  AFZAL: No hazelnut?

  MAHWISH: They were out. I got you vanilla instead.

  Afzal grunts.

  He sips. Quietly. As we hear a distinctive chirping.

  AFZAL (Pointing): That is a Kentucky warbler.

  MAHWISH: What?

  AFZAL: Over there, on that tree.

  MAHWISH: How do you know?

  AFZAL (Showing his iPhone): There’s an app for that.

  MAHWISH: Yeah?

  AFZAL: Tweeter.

  MAHWISH: Dad, Twitter’s not about bird-watching.

  AFZAL: Not Twitter, behti. Tweeter. Tweeter. It’s different.

  (Pulling out his phone)

  You want to see it?

  MAHWISH: It’s okay, Dad. I’ll leave the ornithology to you…

  Mahwish checks her phone.

  AFZAL: Manuel?

  MAHWISH: No.

  AFZAL: So who is it?

  MAHWISH: Nobody. It’s just a bad habit.

  AFZAL: How is that Manuel?

  MAHWISH: He’s fine.

  Pause. Afzal sips his coffee and feels the breeze.

  AFZAL: Your mother, bless her soul, when she was alive she alw
ays tried to get me to slow down. She wanted me to sell the business years ago. I should have listened to her sooner. The art of life, that was your mother’s gift.

  MAHWISH: I miss her too.

  (Beat)

  There are so many things I regret not saying to her.

  AFZAL: Me too.

  Again, the distinctive chirping.

  AFZAL (CONT’D): In the afternoons, he hops around. Then, God only knows what gets into him, he jumps up on that branch, always on that one, starts his song. He’s a good friend now.

  MAHWISH: How do you know he’s a he?

  AFZAL: I don’t. I should check that.

  (Beat)

  I thought it’s the males who sing. To get the females.

  MAHWISH: I don’t know, Dad. Girls like to sing, too.

  Mahwish’s phone sounds with a text. She gets up. Looks around.

  MAHWISH (CONT’D): Dad. I’m gonna use the restroom.

  AFZAL: Okay, behti.

  Mahwish moves off. Stopping to wait just long enough to see Zarina appear.

  They exchange a nod. Then Mahwish moves off.

  Zarina stands upstage, looking at her father.

  She watches her father watch the bird for a beat. Moved.

  Until she finally approaches.

  ZARINA: Dad…

  AFZAL (Turning): That was quick, behti—

  Seeing Zarina, Afzal is filled with sudden emotion.

  He turns away.

  ZARINA (Approaching): Dad.

  AFZAL: This is your sister, right? That’s why she wanted to come with me today. She never comes with me…

  Pause.

  ZARINA: I needed to talk to you, Dad.

  AFZAL: You think you can just come like that after two years? No. I can’t talk to you now, Zarina. Go, please.

  Another pause.

  ZARINA: I’m moving, Dad.

  Silence.

  ZARINA (CONT’D): Eli and I are moving. To Oregon.

  Another pause.

  AFZAL: Why?

  ZARINA: Dad. After what happened with the congregation, there’s no reason for him to still be here.

  AFZAL: What did you expect, Zarina? After what you wrote…

  ZARINA: I know.

  AFZAL: I lost so many of my drivers. Even after I told them I didn’t agree with you. I told them. They wanted nothing to do with me. The things they said about you. I couldn’t. I couldn’t listen to it. I… I had to sell the business.

  (Beat)

  You know some of them came and broke the windows of the house.

  ZARINA: I know, Dad.

  (Beat)

  I’m sorry.

  AFZAL: Are you?

  ZARINA: Yes. That you had to suffer because of something I did. Something I wrote.

  AFZAL: It’s not the windows, behti. I don’t care about that. Or the business. It’s you. You are what I care about.

  ZARINA: I’m fine.

  AFZAL (Getting emotional again): Just for you to be happy. That’s all I ever wanted. I come here, I sit and do tasbih every day. I pray for you to be safe, happy.

  ZARINA: I am, Dad.

  AFZAL: What?

  ZARINA: Happy. Your prayers are working.

  Beat.

  AFZAL: The people say awful things about you, behti. That makes you happy?

  ZARINA: Not only. They don’t only say awful things.

  Pause.

  AFZAL: I read it. I read the bloody thing three times. I still don’t understand. Why you had to—

  ZARINA: Okay, Dad. I mean that’s okay, right? Maybe you don’t have to understand.

  AFZAL: Does anybody understand it?

  ZARINA: Yes. I’ve gotten so many letters. Emails.

  AFZAL: From Christians.

  ZARINA: No. From Muslims. Istanbul. Lahore. London. Omaha.

  AFZAL: Saying what?

  ZARINA: That it helped them.

  AFZAL: Muslims?

  ZARINA: Yes.

  AFZAL: How?

  ZARINA: That it… gave them permission… to ask questions.

  AFZAL: I don’t have any questions.

  (Beat)

  I have been so angry with you. So angry.

  ZARINA: I know.

  AFZAL: And helpless.

  ZARINA: Helpless?

  Afzal doesn’t reply.

  Beat.

  As the Kentucky warbler comes on strong. Loud and proud. Afzal points.

  AFZAL: She’s my friend.

  ZARINA: Is she?

  AFZAL: We go way back.

  ZARINA: Is that right?

  AFZAL: She misses me when I don’t come.

  (Beat)

  A lot.

  ZARINA: She misses you.

  AFZAL: And I miss her.

  Pause. Zarina gets emotional.

  ZARINA: Dad…

  Hearing her, Afzal may soften inwardly, but he doesn’t show it.

  Mahwish and Eli appear. Seeing the two of them talking.

  MAHWISH: Everything okay over here…?

  ZARINA: Yeah.

  MAHWISH (To Zarina): Did you tell him, Z?

  AFZAL: She told me.

  MAHWISH: Isn’t it great? Nana-abba!

  ZARINA: I hadn’t gotten to that yet, Wish.

  AFZAL: What?

  MAHWISH: You’re going to be a grandfather!

  AFZAL: Who’s going to be a grandfather?

  MAHWISH: You, Dad?

  AFZAL: Zarina?

  ZARINA: It’s true.

  Afzal looks at Eli.

  ELI: I took your advice, sir.

  AFZAL (To Zarina): How many months?

  ZARINA: Four…

  Afzal reaches over, kissing Mahwish. With a blessing.

  AFZAL: Bismillah… Bismillah… Bismillah…

  Then turning to Zarina. But unable to embrace her, overwhelmed with emotion.

  Afzal finally breaks down. Hiding his face. Sitting.

  MAHWISH: Dad…

  AFZAL (Through the tears): No, no…

  Mahwish and Zarina look at each other.

  MAHWISH: Dad?

  AFZAL: No, please, no.

  (Off Mahwish’s touch)

  Mahwish. Go, go, please.

  (Beat, still hiding his face)

  I don’t want you here.

  Zarina, Mahwish, Eli exit.

  Afzal tries to collect himself. Still fighting the emotions.

  He looks up at the heavens, his hands before him, Muslim-style, for a prayer.

  AFZAL (CONT’D): Allah hu Akbar…

  Bismillah ar-Rahman ar-Rahim…

  Ya Allah…

  Please, please, please.

  I love her. I love her too much.

  Please understand. Please forgive me.

  As Zarina creeps back in upstage. Hearing the rest.

  AFZAL (CONT’D): Dear sweet Allahmia, please bless that child. Give it a long, healthy, happy life. And please give that child a strong love for you. Whatever anger you have with Zarina, ya Allah, please don’t make that child suffer for what she did. If you can’t forgive her, just don’t take it out on him.

  (Beat)

  Inshallah, please let it be a boy.

  Beat.

  ZARINA (With sass, defiance): Dad.

  Afzal turns to see her.

  ZARINA (CONT’D): It’s a girl.

  Lights Out.

  THE PARTICULAR AND THE UNIVERSAL

  An Interview with Ayad Akhtar

  In June 2013, theater professionals from all over the world gathered in Dallas for Theatre Communications Group’s (TCG) annual conference, “Learn Do Teach.” The following is an excerpted and condensed version of a conversation between playwright Ayad Akhtar and Gabriel Greene, La Jolla Playhouse’s director of new play development. The interview was held during the conference.

  Gabriel Greene: In January of 2012, I got a call late one night from my mother. She had attended a performance of [Ayad Akhtar’s first play] Disgraced, and she said, “If you haven’t heard of this writer, you have to remedy that
immediately.” I feel like that was the story of 2012 for you: you came seemingly out of nowhere. Your first novel, American Dervish, was published in January. That same month, Disgraced premiered in Chicago. A month later, your second play, The Invisible Hand, premiered in Saint Louis. Disgraced moved to New York and then won the Pulitzer Prize. It’s like you had sprung, fully formed, from the head of Zeus. How do you process the craziness of this last year?

  Ayad Akhtar: I don’t know. I think I’m still processing it. I, of course, feel incredibly grateful for all of the attention that the work has gotten. At the age of fifteen I knew I wanted to be a writer. My parents are both doctors, and up until that point I’d been trained like a little automaton to repeat that “I’m going to be a neurosurgeon when I grow up.” And this one high school teacher completely changed my life, and I knew I wanted to be a writer.

  GG: In what way did that teacher reach out to you?

  AA: It was a world literature class. She had changed so many kids’ lives. When she came into class, she had this regal bearing that was not affectation. It was this resonance of someone who is firmly committed to authenticity, to living an authentic life. She got me thinking about the deeper questions of life, and it just struck me: the most extraordinary thing I could do was to give myself to that process of asking those questions and putting it into narrative form.