Suha as Groucho: Home delivery for Mr. Abu Dalo.
Abu Dalo: What is it?
Suha as Groucho: Your wife.
Abu Dalo: Excuse me?
Suha: She was watching The Simpsons and there was an accident.
She loved The Simpsons. It was the only thing that made her laugh.
Eight o’clock, every day, the TV’d come on. By 8:03, you’d be guaranteed she’d laugh. Like clockwork.
Abu Dalo: What are you talking about?
Suha as Groucho: Your wife.
Abu Dalo: My wife is going to be here this afternoon.
Suha as Groucho: This is your wife.
Suha: You should be grateful. It’s a miracle I was able to hold on to this much of her.
Suha as Groucho: Do you know how difficult it was just to find her fingers?
Suha: Well, I didn’t find the fingers. The police did. At least they’re good for something.
Abu Dalo: (a beat) Suha? Is that you?
Suha: Tell us a joke, Groucho.
Suha as Groucho: What do fathers and squares have in common? (a beat)
They’re never around.
Abu Dalo: I see you’ve grown up into a mature young woman.
It’s good to see you.
Where’s your mother?
SUHA points to the Ziploc bag.
Don’t make those kinds of jokes. It’s disgusting.
Suha: This isn’t a joke.
Abu Dalo: Are you here to laugh at me?
Suha: I can’t laugh.
If I laugh, I might faint.
If I faint, I could go into a coma.
Suha as Groucho: The goyl has cataplexy. A rare neuy-ral dis-oyder.
She can’t experience extreme emotions without falling down.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
Abu Dalo: You’re crazy. I’m going inside to make some coffee. You can come in when your mother is here.
Suha: Your Yuad died.
Three years ago.
In the middle of The Simpsons
a rain of mortar fell on our house.
She was laughing.
I ran home from the store.
I swear the entire courtyard turned purple with her blood.
Purple stone,
purple columns,
purple flowers.
Your Yuad always wanted to be a painter.
But it was only when she died that she got the colours right.
You know what pisses me off? The whole situation could’ve been avoided. If you’d have been there like you should’ve, none of this would’ve happened.
SUHA tries to hand ABU DALO the Ziploc bag.
Suha as Groucho: At least she doesn’t smell bad. I kept her in the freezer. I had to label the Ziploc with her name.
Abu Dalo: Uch! Get this away from me.
Suha: Don’t you want it?
Abu Dalo: No!
Suha: You need to bury her.
Abu Dalo: There’s nothing to bury.
Suha: Yes there is.
Abu Dalo: I can’t bury a Ziploc.
Suha: Yes you can. She wanted to come home. It was her final wish, Father—
Abu Dalo: Don’t call me that—
Suha: DON”T BE SUCH A WIMP! (calmly) You have to bury her. It’s your responsibility.
Abu Dalo: Why didn’t anyone tell me?
Suha: You stopped calling. For three years. We never heard from you.
Suha as Groucho: We never hoyd from you.
Abu Dalo: Would you stop it with that?
Suha: Meet my pigeon. Groucho.
Abu Dalo: Groucho?
Suha as Groucho: I’m a rare comedic boyd. My jokes are so bad I make sure she won’t laugh.
Suha: Tell us a joke, Groucho.
Suha as Groucho: What do you call a man with a bag?
SUHA throws the bag to ABU DALO. He drops it.
A doyt bag.
Suha: Bad joke. Bad joke, Jew.
Abu Dalo: He’s a pigeon.
Suha: He’s a Jewish pigeon. Look at his nose.
Abu Dalo: It’s called a beak.
Suha: It’s a Jewish nose. (She spits on the bird.)
Abu Dalo: You’re really screwed up.
ABU DALO leaves. SUHA opens the cage. Groucho won’t fly.
Suha: Fly, Groucho.
(whistling, etc.) Fly, Groucho.
Fly, asshole of a Jew!
There you have it. Doesn’t even want to leave his cage.
Suha as Groucho: Fucking fathers. Fucking fucks. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Enter ALEX. He peers outside the door.
Alex: Houston, this is Alex. We’ve identified a female Arab in the house. We’re ready to establish contact.
Houston: Copy that. You be careful in there.
Suha: Shut up and get me a shovel.
Alex: Is this what you always say to men you first meet?
SUHA stares him up and down, as though noticing him for the first time.
Suha: You’re not a man.
Alex: Yes I am. I’ll prove it to you.
Suha: Shut up, kike, and get me a shovel.
Alex: I don’t have a shovel.
Suha: What kind of a man doesn’t have a shovel?
Alex: The kind of man that doesn’t want to be your typical kind of man.
Suha: What’s your typical kind of man?
Alex: The kind that has a shovel.
Suha: Jew, you’re annoying.
Alex: No, I’m just diligent with my language.
Suha: I don’t know you yet. But I sense that I might come to truly hate you.
Alex: Now you talk like a man.
Suha: That’s funny. Because I don’t even want to talk. I just want a shovel.
Alex: How very distant and man-like.
Suha: Piss off.
Alex: Judging by your behaviour, I’m willing to bet you’ve never had cunnilingus.
Suha: I’ll bet you’re right.
Alex: I’ll bet you don’t even know what it is.
Suha: Does it involve extreme sensation?
Alex: Guaranteed.
Suha: I want none of it.
Alex: I’m perfectly serious when I say I’ve been waiting for a subject like you my whole life. You’re the Palestinian of my dreams.
Suha: Screw off.
Alex: You’re the hope of peace between nations.
Suha: Good God.
Alex: I had a vision of you. And you came. Together we can save the Middle East!
Suha: Leave me THE FUCK ALONE!
SUHA faints.
Alex: Hello? Hello? Are you okay? Hello?
ALEX climbs on top of her and starts to give her mouth-to-mouth.
Suha: Do I know you?
Alex: We just met.
Suha: What were you just doing?
Alex: Giving you mouth-to-mouth.
Suha: What was I doing?
Alex: Looking for a shovel.
Suha: Why?
Alex: I don’t know. We didn’t get that far yet.
Suha: How far did we get?
Alex: We managed to have our first fight. You said I wasn’t a man. So I said you were a man. You tried to ignore me. I pestered, you yelled, then fainted. I resuscitated.
Suha: (wiping her mouth) You were kissing me.
Alex: It’s called mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Suha: Well there you have it. I let you get under my skin.
Alex: Damn it. I didn’t even know I was under it. I’m very good at annoying people.
Suha: I have cataplexy, okay? A rare neural disorder. I can’t experience extreme emotions.
Alex: Oh. So I guess this means I can’t give you cunnilingus.
Suha: What’s that?
Alex: The sexual stimulation of a woman’s genitals employing tongue and lips.
Suha: I guess not.
Where do you come from?
Alex: There’s a high likelihood I’m the t
est-tube baby of the Dalai Lama and Woody Allen.
Suha: The Dalai Lama would never donate his sperm to a lab.
Alex: You never know.
Suha as Groucho: Can you imagine the Dalai Lama whacking off into a jar?
They both start to laugh. SUHA catches herself.
Suha: Damn it. Tell me something boring. Tell me about yourself.
Alex: I’m a writer and I’m writing a book and I used to love Ilan Ramon but I don’t anymore did you know that he used to fly F16s in the ’80s and once he even flew into Iraq I wonder if the Iraqi shovel is the same as the Israeli shovel you should see the shovels my father has iron shovels plastic shovels pickaxe shovels we even have spoons which is really a kind of shovel—I can get you one—
Suha: I remember now. I wanted the shovel so my father and I could bury my mother. She wanted to be buried here.
Alex: (a beat) Oh.
Suha: Get me a shovel.
Alex: I never had a mother.
Suha: Everyone has a mother.
Alex: My father says I didn’t.
Suha: My father’s a lying, cowardly cur who knows shit about shit.
Alex: My father’s a liar too.
Do you drink orange Tang?
Suha: Sometimes. Why?
Alex: I just wanted to know. How different you are than me. I mean, I like orange Tang. A lot.
Suha: It does leave a stupid mark on the lips.
Alex: I could get you some if you want.
Suha: I suppose I’d like that.
Alex: Where are you from?
Suha: Jenin.
Alex: Do they have normal things in Jenin?
Suha: We have orange Tang.
ALEX brings out two glasses of orange Tang. They drink them at the same time.
Alex: Your pigeon’s dead.
Suha: I know.
Alex: Is that why you like it?
Suha: Don’t ask me stupid questions.
Alex: Do you have any friends?
Suha: Not really.
Alex: Me neither.
My father did something so awful it makes me sick to know the truth.
Suha: Yeah, well the truth is liable to make anyone puke their guts out.
Alex: For some reason I like talking to you.
Suha: Get me a shovel.
Alex: Do you want me to help you bury your mother?
SUHA faints. Blackout.
End of Act I.
Act II
Scene 1
ABU DALO is drunk and alone, playing Scratch ’n Win. Each time he takes a card he scratches it, loses, then throws it into a huge pile. Every time he throws the card he makes a “woo” sound as it glides through the air.
Abu Dalo: Eight hundred and seven. Eight hundred and eight. Eight hundred and nine.
Enter SHIMON with a beer in hand.
Shimon: What the hell is going on here?
Abu Dalo: Eight hundred and ten.
Shimon: What is this shit all over the floor?
Abu Dalo: Eight hundred and eleven.
Shimon: What are you doing?
Abu Dalo: Scratch. And lose. Heh, heh, heh. Eight hundred and twelve.
SHIMON smells him for booze.
Shimon: Are you drunk?
Abu Dalo: Absolutely not. I’m a Muslim. Muslims don’t drink. We’re the most boring, stiff-faced losers on this planet. We fly airplanes into skyscrapers for fun. We can’t look at a cartoon without killing people. Where’s our sense of humour? I want a sense of humour! Make me laugh, Jew. And make me win. Eight hundred and thirteen. Eight hundred and fourteen…
Shimon: I’m making you some coffee, you drunk Arab pig. Sober up. We need to get to work.
Abu Dalo: I am working.
Shimon: Yes, you’re working at annoying me.
Abu Dalo: Science! Much more practical than literature. I bought one thousand Scratch ’n Wins. Hypothesis: A man can go on such a nasty losing streak that he loses everything: House. Family. Soul. Become a black hole of loss. Woo!
Shimon: You need to think a little more positive, Abu Dalo. Here. Drink this.
SHIMON brings him coffee. ABU DALO starts to drink. Spits it out.
Abu Dalo: The least you Jews could do is learn how to make good coffee. You stole our falafel. Why don’t you steal our coffee too?
ALEX and SUHA in the basement.
Alex: And so I was floating in a basket on the Jordan River—
Suha: Got the flashlights?
Alex: Roger that. And my father found me. Pretty amazing, huh?
Suha: Uch. It stinks down here.
Alex: It’s a root cellar. What were you expecting?
Shimon: Who the hell is that?
Abu Dalo: My daughter. Her name is Suha. And she’s from hell. You’ll love her. (takes a swig of Scotch) Eight hundred and fifteen. Eight hundred and sixteen.
Shimon: You never told me you had a child.
Abu Dalo: I haven’t told you many things. For example, I haven’t told you that when I drink Scotch whisky I become incredibly intelligent; that I gain an insight into the world whereupon I see tiny white sparks lighting up the sky like a disco ball. I see the essence of things; I see the world of spirit is in fact one big disco ball.
SHIMON grabs the Scotch from ABU DALO.
Shimon: She is not staying here.
Abu Dalo: Wonderful. I didn’t even invite her in. Eight hundred and seventeen. Eight hundred and eighteen. Eight hundred and nineteen.
Shimon: Where’s her mother?
Abu Dalo: Dead.
Shimon: Oh… I’m, uh—
Abu Dalo: No—
Shimon: I am—
Abu Dalo: Don’t say it! Don’t you dare say you’re sorry!
Shimon: Well, if you need anything—
Abu Dalo: I need you to shut up. My wife died. Not from old age. Not from cancer. But from a fucking bomb from your fucking army. Three lousy years ago. So leave me the hell alone. Please. (Scratches. And wins.) Oh my God. I just won. I won a hundred shekels. I’ve never won anything before. Incredible. I feel… (a beat) Incredibly sad.
Shimon: (presents ABU DALO the cup of coffee) Drink this.
Abu Dalo: No.
Shimon: You have a kid. Drink the coffee.
Abu Dalo: No.
Flashback, 2001. Enter SHABAK AGENT.
Shabak Agent: Drink it. Go on. It’s good. I made it myself. (ABU DALO refuses.) Cigarette?
ABU DALO nods. She lights him up. They both smoke.
Abu Dalo: Have you ever been to Paris?
Shabak Agent: No.
Abu Dalo: Are you married?
Shabak Agent: Marriage gives me the creeps. Too much compromise. Who wants to fight over dirty dishes and taking out the garbage? I like being alone.
Abu Dalo: I don’t like solitude.
Shabak Agent: You’ve been in and out of prison for nine years. You shouldn’t have written the things you did. (a beat)
I’m glad you came to talk. Say whatever you want. (a beat) Tell me about her. What colour is Yuad’s hair?
Abu Dalo: My cousin Bashir. We grew up together in Ramallah. When we were kids he’d smash the heads of frogs with bricks from the construction site and laugh.
Shabak Agent: (laughs) That’s gross.
Abu Dalo: He’s disgusting and he’s what’s wrong with my people.
Dr. Jihad with his four wives, all wearing hijab.
Fourteen masked men with AK-47s by his side.
A real religious fanatic.
Shabak Agent: You have my sympathies.
Abu Dalo: I don’t want your sympathy. I want him arrested.
He organized the suicide bomb at the Tel Aviv disco.
Shabak Agent: We know that, Abu Dalo. We’re Shabak.
Abu Dalo: Yeah, but I know where he lives.
Believe me, I hate you. I want a Palestinian homeland. But I can’t support some fundamentalist asshole who kills children in my name. Fatah or Hamas: if we’re not stealing from our own peo
ple we’re blowing up innocents like those kids at the disco.
Shabak Agent: I get it.
Abu Dalo: I want to see my wife again. I want her in a new dress, on clean sheets, on a new bed, in my old house in Jerusalem. I want my house back.
Shabak Agent: We won’t just arrest your cousin you know.
Abu Dalo: I know.
Shabak Agent: You’ll have to do it yourself. Lure him out. Bring him to us. Dead.
Abu Dalo: I know.
Shabak Agent: You’ll have to work for us for the next five years.
Abu Dalo: I know my friends in the jail are watching, I know what they are thinking. I know.
Shabak Agent: Drink the coffee.
Back to the present.
Shimon: Drink it.
Abu Dalo: No!
Shimon: Take care of her. Drink the coffee.
Abu Dalo: I hate your coffee. I hate your water. I hate this house. I hate everything you’ve touched.
House of Many Tongues Page 5