Bitterenders A short play by Hannah Khalil Arab Stages, Volume 1, Number 2 (Spring 2015) ©2015 by Martin E. Segal Theatre Center Publications
If you wish to perform this piece or an extract of it, please contact Jessica Cooper at Curtis Brown, [email protected]
Cast
Father – Ahmed 50
Mother – Selma 45
Grandmother – Sitti 68
Daughter – Maha 25
Part 1
We are inside a house in East Jerusalem. There is a visible line drawn in chalk on the floor. One side of the line is empty of people, but furnished. On the other side of the line is a basic kitchen and a family: Ahmed 50, Selma 45, Sitti 68.
Ahmed sits on a chair at a table looking at his mobile phone. Selma washes some dishes in the sink, Sitti is sat on the floor with her back to the audience, we cannot see what she is doing.
AHMED: She’s not back yet
SELMA: I know that.
AHMED: She should have been back by now
SELMA: I know.
AHMED: She missed the food
SELMA: I know.
AHMED: Do you think something happened to her?
SELMA: I don’t know.
A beat
SELMA: Sitti, get up
No answer
SELMA: Ya Mama … Umi… Get up. You’ll get a sore leg again and I’ll have to massage it all night. Come on. Stand
A beat
AHMED: She was going to bring me cigarettes
A beat
AHMED: I haven’t had one all day…
SELMA: Is that what you’re worried about? I thought you were worried about your daughter, but turns out you just want a smoke
AHMED: No – no I am worried about her. She normally texts if she’s going to be late
SELMA: If you’re so desperate for a cigarette, go out and buy some yourself. You’re not a cripple are you?
AHMED: Go out? Are you mad? And leave you two alone? After what happened? Never again.
SITTI: (whispering) “I’m already drowning so why should I fear getting wet”
AHMED: What?
SITTI: (To him) “I’m already drowning so why should I fear getting wet”– it’s what you always say
SELMA: Sitti, get up off the floor, come on, I’ll make some tea. Sit at the table, yullah
SITTI: Oh, help me up then, I’m not a young woman
Selma helps her up and to a chair at the table. Sitti is holding a baby doll. It’s very ugly with no hair and has lost a leg.
SITTI: Poor baby is crying
AHMED: I don’t blame her. She’s probably worried about Maha too
SITTI: Don’t be stupid. It’s a doll
Ahmed sighs and goes back to his phone. Selma boils the kettle.
AHMED: Maybe she got stopped. I told you you packed too much in that bag.
SELMA: It was just food. Nothing else. Food.
AHMED: Enough to feed an army
SELMA: Enough to feed my boys. I don’t know what they give them in there
AHMED: There are only two of them, you’ve only two sons
SITTI: I’ve two children
AHMED: No you’ve only got one son Sitti – me
SITTI: And the baby girl
AHMED: No just me. (to Selma) They probably won’t be able to eat it all – I told you there was too much – it’s a waste – they’ll probably give it away
SITTI: Don’t say that!
AHMED: You spent so much money and time on it, and they’ll give it away – I could be eating that makloubeh, instead I’ll be living on oil and zaatar all month.
SELMA: So what if they give it away? They’re all my boys in there, doing time, for what? They all deserve a bit of love – a bit of home cooking
AHMED: It won’t be the other prisoners who’ll eat it – it’ll fill the belly of an Israeli soldier, give him the energy he needs for his next interrogation
SELMA: Shut up! Don’t say that!
SITTI: Ahmed! Don’t say that to a mother! Don’t worry Selma, the boys will get it.
A beat
AHMED: Sorry. I’m just worried.
Pause
SITTI: They’re out again then, they’re always out that lot
SELMA: Good. I hate it when they’re in. I hate listening to them talk
AHMED: You just wish you could understand them
SELMA: What could they possibly say that is of interest to me?
SITTI: After all the screaming they did to get in you’d think they’d stay home a bit more. I don’t think they like us – do they baby? Your crying keeps them up at night too. We all hear you crying (sotto voce to baby) we all hear you crying (she continue to talk in hushed tones to the baby doll)
SELMA: I’m glad they go out. We can pretend it never happened
AHMED: “Better a thousand enemies outside the house than one inside” – when they’re in it’s impossible to ignore them, all the noise they make.
SELMA: And the smell of their food – it’s so strange – it smells like… like – hospital food
AHMED: It smells alright to me, where’s that tea?
SELMA: It’s coming
But Selma doesn’t move to make the tea.
SELMA: I think their daughter’s pregnant you know
AHMED: Why do you say that?
SELMA: Haven’t you noticed the way they’re all looking at her nowadays? Different. And she doesn’t do so much house work
SITTI: She’s eating a lot – getting fat
AHMED: Are you sure?
SELMA: They all look so pleased with themselves. I’m sure. Soon she’ll start getting round
A beat
SELMA: It’ll kill Maha
AHMED: Why would she care if those people have a baby?
SELMA: Use your brain Ahmed. She can’t after what happened to her – can she?
AHMED: Maha’s not even married though
SELMA: Sometimes you are so stupid, do you really think Maha will get a husband? Everyone around here knows what happened to her, that she can’t have a child. So to have to watch that woman grow big and flaunt it – it’ll be so painful for her
AHMED: If you’re right – but she might not be –
SITTI: She is – she’s pregnant. Her color’s changed. And the husband’s behaving like the prize bull
SELMA: Maybe we should send her away
AHMED: Who? Maha? How can we? Where to?
SELMA: Your cousin in Jordan. I’ve that money from my jewelry – she could take that
AHMED: We need that. Emergencies. And anyway – who’d run all our errands?
SELMA: I can
AHMED: No – no there needs to be three of us here at all times – two they could overpower but three… there’s safety in numbers.
SELMA: Don’t be ridiculous – they’ve got what they want. A roof over their heads.
AHMED: You think they want to share with Arabs… they’re biding their time, waiting and as soon as we get complacent they’ll attack again and we’ll be out on the street. I don’t want to live in a tent like a refugee. This is my house.
A beat
SITTI: It’s mine actually
AHMED: Besides – if Maha left who’d go and visit the boys?
SELMA: They won’t be in prison forever. And when they come out everything will be different. If they’d been here none of this would have happened in the first place.
AHMED: I did my best. I’m an old man
A beat
AHMED: At least we got half the house
SELMA: Why “at least” – it’s all ours
SITTI: It’s mine actually.
SELMA: Exactly. So why are they confident enough to go out all the time. We should go over there and take their stuff and throw it out of the window. And change the locks.
AHMED: We can’t do that
SELMA: Why? Why can’t we do that?
AHMED: Because a court ruled that we have to share with them
SELMA: What court?
AHMED: The court
SELMA: An Israeli court – I don’t recognize an Israeli court. I’m in Palestine. They have no business being in our house. I’m going over there and throw all their stuff out
SITTI: Yulla go!
AHMED: Be reasonable. Don’t make a fight – we’re at a compromise now
SELMA: What bloody compromise? We’re the ones compromising they just came in and took what they wanted
Selma gets up and approaches the line
SELMA: What would happen if I went over?
AHMED: Don’t do it
SITTI: There might be guards – a sniper, a watchtower
AHMED: There might be an alarm
SELMA: There’s no alarm
AHMED: You can’t Selma. We’ve been over this – you can’t.
SELMA: Why?
AHMED: Always “why” – you know why: Because if you don’t respect their space then they won’t respect ours. We are being forced to live together, we have to make it work… we have to be mature. We have what we need here. Come on darling. Come away from there. Forget about it. Come back.
She sighs and turns back.
AHMED: Make me some shay bin naana – my favorite – you make it the best
She nods and goes to reboil the kettle. Maha appears at the door she is a 25-year-old woman.
SITTI: She’s back!
AHMED: I didn’t hear you come in
MAHA: Following your proverb Dad – “Go softly come softly/
AHMED: /so the cat doesn’t get you” My girl.
He kisses her. She hands him the cigarettes.
AHMED: Thank you! I’ve been dying for one of these all day. Can I?
SITTI: It’s bad for the baby
SELMA: Go outside
AHMED: I don’t want to leave you alone – in case
SELMA: Go outside
He gets up and goes outside to smoke. Maha sits at the table and sighs.
SITTI: She looks tired
SELMA: Of course, she’s been travelling all day. She went to another country you know
SITTI: The land of David
SELMA: How are they?
MAHA: I only saw Firas
SELMA: What – why? Only Firas? What about Hussein?
MAHA: They said there’d been a mistake. That I could only see Firas
SITTI: One is better than none
MAHA: Yes. And he’s ok mum. He seemed ok. A bit quiet/
SELMA: You gave him the food?
MAHA: Yes of course
SELMA: You told him I made Makloubeh – and that there were pastries too
MAHA: Yes. He was pleased
SELMA: How did he look? Did he look thin?
MAHA: Not really. He looked tired
SITTI: Maybe the baby’s crying is keeping him up too
SELMA: Why is he tired? What else is there to do in prison but sleep?
SITTI: And dream
MAHA: I don’t think it’s relaxing – they make them do jobs in the day. Work. And at night I don’t think it’s peaceful
SELMA: Of course it’s not peaceful
SITTI: The baby cries (she begins to whisper to the baby)
SELMA: What did he say about Hussein?
MAHA: Not much
SELMA: He’s not getting himself in trouble in there is he?
MAHA: I don’t think so
SELMA: He just needs to keep his head down – they both do, not get involved in anything stupid, just get through it and get home
MAHA: There’s hardly room for them to come home now
SELMA: There’s always room for them. This is their home.
A beat
SITTI: Is Firas the handsome one?
SELMA: Both my boys are handsome
SITTI: No they’re not – one is handsome the other has a big nose
MAHA: Yes Firas is the handsome one Sitti
SITTI: We like him, don’t we baby?
Once again she whispers to the baby. A beat
MAHA: Why do you let her carry that thing around everywhere Mum?
SELMA: It keeps her calm
MAHA: It’s weird. I hate it – it’s ugly – it’s got no hair. Where did she even find it?
SELMA: I don’t know
MAHA: Look at it – it’s missing a leg and it’s falling to bits. She’s an old woman – she’s got no business carrying a doll around
SELMA: Leave her alone
SITTI: She’s not ugly
MAHA: It’s embarrassing. What do people think?
SELMA: What people? We never go out anymore after what happened – unless you are talking about them? The people who live in our house? Do you care what they think of us? /Because I don’t
MAHA: Of course I don’t – why do you always bring “them” into everything?
SELMA: How can I avoid them? They’re here, in my house.
SITTI: Don’t you call her ugly, she’s beautiful. The most beautiful baby you have ever seen. With auburn curls and slate blue eyes – look closely and you’ll see there are yellow flecks – she doesn’t look like an Arab at all – her skin is white and smooth like marble and she has lips like rose petals. She’s perfect. You’re just jealous because she’s more beautiful than any child you’ve ever seen – jealous because she’s more beautiful than any child you’ll ever have – jealous because you can’t have a child – because a black bullet burrowed its way into your stomach where your baby would have lived and now you are scarred and ugly and dry and you’ll always be empty.
SELMA: That’s enough Sitti
MAHA: Give me that thing
SITTI: NO! Get off
SELMA: Leave her
Maha grabs the doll from her grandmother.
SITTI: My baby! My baby – she’s got the baby
SELMA: Give it back
MAHA: I’m going to pull her head off
SELMA: Don’t
MAHA: Don’t
SITTI: She’s crying, please don’t hurt my baby!
MAHA: Ugly bloody thing
SELMA: Give it back
SITTI: Please!
MAHA: If you want her go and get her
Maha lobs the doll across the stage and she flies over the chalk line into the area on the other side. A beat
SITTI: MY BABY!
She cries.
SELMA: AHMED AHMED!
Ahmed comes in
AHMED: What’s the matter? Why are you shouting? I go out for one minute and – why is mother crying? Maha?
Maha points to the doll on the other side of the line.
AHMED: Oh shit.
Part 2
The family sit around the kitchen table.
SITTI: I can’t bear to hear her crying.
AHMED: Why would you do that?
MAHA: You didn’t hear what she said to me!
AHMED: You are an adult Maha
MAHA: So is she!
SITTI: How can you sit there and listen to it?
She covers her ears.
AHMED: Your granny needs that to keep her calm
MAHA: Why can’t she just take tranquilisers like everybody else!
SELMA: Maha didn’t mean it – she had a tough day. What’s done is done. Now we have to get it back, before they come home.
AHMED: What do you mean?
SELMA: Look at her, she’s so distressed. She needs it back
SITTI: My baby
AHMED: We will wait until they get back and ask them to pass it to us
SITTI: What if they take her prisoner? Kidnap her? Interrogate her? She doesn’t know anything! They might kill her, she’s just a baby!
MAHA: What if they won’t give it back out of spite?
AHMED: I’m sure they’ll be reasonable
SELMA: REASONABLE? Were they reasonable when they forced their way into our home?
MAHA: We need to go over there and get it before they get back. It’s just over there. It’ll only take a second.
AHMED: It’s a bad idea.
SITTI: Please, please, don’t leave her there, to be attacked by the wild animals
AHMED: What if they’ve put boobie traps over there, or an alarm on the line?
SELMA: We’d have seen them if they’d done that – one of us is always in this room
AHMED: I don’t know. It seems dangerous. What if they find out? They’ll think, “They haven’t respected the line.” And if we cross the line, they could do the same
MAHA: How would they know? We just go over there, pick up the doll/
SITTI: Baby
MAHA: /and bring her back. End of story. They’ll never find out.
AHMED: You might knock something over. Break something by accident
SELMA: She won’t
MAHA: I won’t
SITTI: Go on, go on you – you caused this problem
MAHA: I did not cause this problem!
SITTI: You heartless thing – you threw her over there, listen to her
MAHA: This is stupid I’m going
AHMED: No!
SELMA: Go on – do it quickly!
Maha gets up and approaches the line.
AHMED: Darling please!
MAHA: Dad I spent the best part of my day today waiting at Israeli checkpoints where there were soldiers – with real guns, itching to shoot people. I think walking across a room to pick up a doll should be a piece of cake.
SITTI: Go on then, hurry up
SELMA: Yes, go on Maha before they come home
MAHA: OK. I’m going
A beat and she is about to step over the line but Ahmed stops her.
AHMED: NO! No don’t do it.
MAHA: DAD!
AHMED: Don’t – I don’t want to lose you – you’re my only daughter. You’re young. We need you. I’ll go. If something happens to me it doesn’t matter. I’m an old man – I’m good for nothing.
MAHA: On that reasoning granny should go – she’s the oldest
SITTI: Get lost! I’m not going over there. Who knows what could happen to me. You go Maha. This is your fault. You go.
MAHA: Fine. I’ll go
SELMA: Just do it quickly stop talking about it – I keep thinking I can hear them coming.
A beat
SITTI: Go on!
SELMA: Yes quickly!
MAHA: Dad?
AHMED: I’m not happy about it
SITTI: Stop talking and go – I can’t listen to that crying any more, my head will explode – go!
Maha steps over the line and stops still, waiting to see if anything is going to happen. Nothing does and she turns around to her family and laughs.
MAHA: SEE! I told you nothing would happen.
SELMA: Hurry up
SITTI: Get the baby!
MAHA: Now I’m here I might just take a look around
AHMED: Come back – quickly!
MAHA: I’ll see them out of this window – remember it has a view of the yard – don’t worry
AHMED: They’re good at sneaking up on people – that’s how we got into this position – remember: “he who peeps at his neighbor’s window may chance lose his eyes”
MAHA: Well it’s our window isn’t it! They’ve put a nice window box outside actually – with herbs
SELMA: Hurry up
MAHA: There’s parsley – mint – sage – do we need any for dinner mum?
SELMA: Leave it, come back
SITTI: Pass me the baby
MAHA: Alright, alright, calm down
Maha goes to the doll and picks her up
SITTI: Is she ok? Is she hurt?
MAHA: She’s still only got one leg
SITTI: That’s ok – a birth defect. Be gentle with her.
AHMED: Come back Maha
MAHA: I’m coming
She approaches them and is about to cross over the line when something catches her eye on a table.
SITTI: Why have you stopped – give her to me
MAHA: There’s a letter here dad – it’s addressed to you
AHMED: What? It can’t be
MAHA: It is – look
She picks it up and holds it up for him to see.
SELMA: It’s addressed to them
MAHA: And dad – afterwards see?
SELMA: That’s strange
SITTI: Come back – bring me my baby
AHMED: Are you sure?
MAHA: It’s open. I’m going to read it
AHMED: Don’t – it’s not for you
MAHA: No, it’s for you dad.
AHMED: Exactly. Bring it to me. Come here
Maha crosses back to her family’s side of the house. There is a sense of relief. Maha gives Sitti the doll.
SITTI: My poor baby
She takes the doll to a corner and rocks her and whispers quietly to her. Ahmed takes the letter and reads it.
SELMA: (To Maha) Are you ok?
MAHA: Yes. That was quite exciting actually.
SITTI: Poor baby. What a trauma.
A beat
MAHA: Sorry Sitti. I didn’t mean it. /I’ve just had a hard day – a long day
SELMA: Baby’s OK isn’t she Sitti? She’s a tough old thing, been through much worse than that
SITTI: Been through the wars
Ahmed has been reading the letter and has paled somewhat. He quietly replaces the letter in its envelope and approaches the line – the woman suddenly notice.
MAHA: What are you doing dad?
A beat
He crosses the line and puts the letter back on the table where it was.
SELMA: Oomri? What are you doing?
He very slowly, deliberately sits in a chair and wipes his face with his hands. The women gather at the line staring across at him agog –
SITTI: Son! Quick, what if they come back?
MAHA: Dad?
AHMED: “I complained because I had no shoes, until I met a man with no feet”
Pause
SELMA: What does that mean? Ahmed!
MAHA: He looks strange mum
SELMA: What did the letter say?
No answer
SELMA: Habibi?
No answer
SELMA: Go over there and get him Maha
MAHA: Shall I?
SITTI: AHMED! This is your mother speaking – get back over here this instant before I tan your hide. I’m not joking. I’ve a wooden spoon and you know I’ll use it
MAHA: Dad!
SELMA: Ahmed – they might come back – taalahone habibi
AHMED: Shut up you witches! – Let me think for a minute Silence
SELMA: But what if they /come back
AHMED: /They’re not coming back
MAHA: They’re not?
AHMED: No
SELMA: How do you know?
AHMED: The letter
MAHA: They’ve really gone? For good!
He nods.
SITTI: Does that mean it’s my house again?
MAHA: Yes Granny!
SITTI: Mashallah! (To doll) Baby do you hear that the Yehuds have gone home!
SELMA: I can’t believe it!
The three women proceed to dance around on the line scuffing it up as they do laughing and ululating and singing joyously. Ahmed sits in the chair, a man defeated, his head in his hands.
Part 3
Three large laundry bags stand in the room. The chalk line is all but gone. Maha and Selma are filling the bags with things, Ahmed sits at the kitchen table looking at his mobile phone.
AHMED: “If you know – it’s a disaster. But if you don’t know it’s a greater disaster”
Pause
AHMED: “Only three things in life are certain, birth, death, and change”
Pause
AHMED: “If a wind blows, ride it.”
SELMA: ENOUGH! Enough with your bloody proverbs! When did you start this incessant proverbing! MY GOD – you didn’t do it when I met you
MAHA: Don’t take it out on him Mum, it’s not his fault.
A beat
MAHA: Besides – I like them. They’re comforting. How do you remember them all dad? Were they something your father said to you?
AHMED: Oh no – my father was a modern man, he didn’t believe in such things. I read them on Twitter.
MAHA: You’re kidding me? You have a Twitter account?
SELMA: Twitter?
AHMED: (indicating his phone) Yes – not many followers – I don’t say much but I like to read others. There’s one called “arabic proverbs.”
Selma gives him a look.
AHMED: What? They’re helpful
SELMA: How – how are they helpful?
AHMED: They help to keep me positive
SELMA: Positive! Put that phone away and get the bedding
AHMED: Ok
He does so and puts it in one of the laundry bags.
MAHA: We’ll never fit everything in here
AHMED: We can’t bring everything – just the things we can’t live without
SELMA: One bag each. It’s all we can manage.
MAHA: It’s hard to know what to take and leave.
AHMED: Us Palestinians should be good at this by now
MAHA: What will happen to the things we leave behind?
SELMA: What do you mean?
MAHA: Will they come and clear the house first? Perhaps give everything we leave to the needy
SELMA: The needy? We are the bloody needy! Do you think those people care about “the needy?” If they did they wouldn’t do this to us!
MAHA: Really? They won’t even come and look inside
AHMED: I doubt it. Just start the engine and drive
SELMA: Don’t – let’s not talk about it. I can’t think about it.
A beat
SELMA: Just as well your mother has gone ahead. I don’t think she’d be able to cope with seeing this – it’s better she doesn’t know. After all it took her to buy it.
MAHA: Tell me the story
SELMA: You’ve heard it a hundred times
MAHA: Please
SELMA: Your father will – Ahmed?
AHMED: You tell it
SELMA: Fine. (As she continues to pack up) That poor woman. What a life – ’48, Nakba, refugee camp, married. Had him (indicating Ahmed). Then ’67, only in her twenties. And it happened all over again. Lost everything, even her husband. Everyone else left Palestine. Not her. She came here. To Jerusalem. Took the Israelis to court. For what happened to her husband. Shot. In cold blood. No reason. But there were witnesses. Proof. So she sued them. Took years, worked as a cleaner, slept with your father in one room, in the basement of a house she cleaned. And eventually she won. WON! They admitted they’d made a mistake. Of course the financial sum that they put on his life was laughable. Yet after she’d paid all the lawyers and the fees she had enough to buy this – this small house. Bought from the blood of her husband. So for this to happen…it’s sacrilege.
A beat
MAHA: It’s so inspiring mum, she’s so brave
SELMA: Shame her courage didn’t pass to her offspring.
AHMED: What would you have me do? Lie down in front of the bulldozer?
SELMA: You know that’s not what I’m talking about
AHMED: I’ve seen enough of Israeli courts to last me a lifetime
SELMA: It’s one thing to roll over and die, but to pay them? To pay them to finish you off! Come on Ahmed – I thought you had some blood left in you?
AHMED: Selma – we agreed
SELMA: I didn’t
AHMED: We agreed – not in front of/ Maha
MAHA: What does she mean pay them?
AHMED: Nothing/
SELMA: She’s not a child – tell her!
MAHA: Tell me what Mum?
AHMED: You really want me to do this? You don’t think it’s humiliating enough for me? You want me to spell it out to my daughter? Fine. You’re right. Maha – listen up – not only is your father a coward who can’t provide for his family, can’t protect them – now he’s paying for the enemy to destroy his home – with money he doesn’t have –
MAHA: Paying? What do you mean?
AHMED: The letter said – either we bulldoze it and bill you, or you do it yourself – how am I supposed to do that?
MAHA: So the Israelis are making us pay them to bulldoze our house?!
SELMA: I’ve told him to take them to court, fight – like his mother. But he wants to roll over and die. Where are we supposed to get this money anyway?
AHMED: We’ll have to use your emergency jewelry fund
SELMA: What? No way – you know I wanted that for Maha
MAHA: Me? I don’t want any money
SELMA: She needs a fresh start – to get away from here – it’s my money
AHMED: I bought you that jewelry
SELMA: Don’t you dare! It was MINE!
AHMED: I’ll end up in prison Selma, with Firas and Hussein, is that what you want? Go to court! If I do that they’ll put me inside and throw away the key this time…
SELMA: But/
AHMED: ENOUGH! I need a cigarette
He goes outside to smoke
SELMA: (to herself) That’s right – smoke. Leave us to sort this out.
MAHA: I don’t need money mum honestly –
SELMA: We’ll talk about it later, come on, quickly, let’s just grab the last few things, put them in the bags and take them out. Quickly. Like ripping off a plaster.
MAHA: Except the plaster’s on a mortal wound
The women try to zip up the bags and look around.
MAHA: I don’t feel as sad as I should
SELMA: You’re brave
MAHA: No. It just hasn’t felt like home since those people moved in
SELMA: That was the beginning of the end for us.
A beat
SELMA: I wanted you to go to his cousin, Jordan. More opportunities. People don’t know us… they’d think you were Jordanian
MAHA: I’m not Jordanian. Anyway I’m happy here
SELMA: Happy?
Maha shrugs
SELMA: I wanted better for you – better for you than the rest of us… but now they want to take what little money we have too…
MAHA: I don’t want to leave anyway – they’d probably never let me come home again
The women struggle out of the door with the three laundry bags.
SELMA: Concentrate on the bags. Don’t look back. Come on Maha. They exit.
We can hear them talking to Ahmed outside.
SELMA: You take this one – it’s the heaviest
AHMED: Ok – oh it’s very light!
SELMA: That’s because you are stronger than us. You’re the man.
MAHA: Come on, let’s go before I get upset
SELMA: Yulla
They move off dragging the laundry bags
Pause.
In the distance we can hear something that sounds like a baby crying
Granny comes in
SITTI: I can hear you.
A beat
Where are you? Habibti?
A beat
Don’t hide – not now… come on… where are you?
She is looking around – then finds the doll
There you are! Were you hiding from me? (Whispering to the doll) What were you doing behind there? Did you hear what they were saying – about me? About my life? Did you believe it? It was true you know. All of it – the truth. Just a few facts were missing. A few. Vital. Facts.
A beat, she is talking to the doll but gradually starts to talk out the audience
I was three. 1948. When It happened. I don’t remember much. Just a sea of people. Running away.
A beat
The second time I remember though Baby. The second time I remember it all. The morning. Cold. The baby was crying. Had kicked off her blankets silly thing.
A beat
Strange. It was really peaceful. Once you stopped crying. I put the blanket on you, and it was really peaceful. Your father was already at the garage working, he was coming back for breakfast any minute. Your brother was still asleep. I made myself a tea – with Naana – and the smell of it – the mint, was peaceful, even with the bitter edge of the tea. But then in a second everything changed. The noise, the shouting, the blood, the noise – getting closer… It was a nightmare – crazy. I grabbed your brother – I grabbed you, we ran – outside – with nothing. Just us – the most precious things to one another. And all around us the buildings falling – those wispy homes we had built in haste – went up quickly, came down quicker, around our ears in a flash. Like paper.
A beat
Your father didn’t have a chance. Found himself face to face with a gun. And that was it. The black bullet burrowed its way into his stomach. And he was gone.
A beat
But we escaped – ran and ran out of the town into the woods, through the woods, and gradually – as we got further away we managed to catch our breath a little – but we didn’t stop. No – not until we got to the olive grove. That was far enough – to be safe – to be sure. And then we stopped – exhausted – the three of us – I was beside myself… what had happened to your father? But I had you two – my babies. I held you both. My son – so brave – he’d held on to me, my hand – so tightly. And I held you – my baby – fiercely – close. I wanted to look into those beautiful, calm eyes of yours – but when I loosed my arms – nothing – blankets – you’d disappeared. Where? Where? Still in bed? Fallen – no not fallen – not dropped – a mother never drops her child… she can’t – it’s not possible. Still in bed then. Please god still asleep. Peaceful. Not knowing. Oblivious.
A beat
I went back. I went back for you. I searched and cried out for you – my daughter – with perfect auburn hair – your grey eyes with yellow flecks.
A beat
But I never found you my baby did I? You still elude me – still hiding from me. Were you inside that house? Inside your bed? Under the covers? Behind the pillows? Under the rubble? I’ll find you, my girl… I promise to come and find you – I’ll just close my eyes here for a minute and you hide, then call me when you’re ready and I’ll come and find you.
She sits in a chair
Don’t worry – I won’t cheat. I won’t look. Hide wherever you like.
A beat
I’ll count to ten.
One Two Three
I’m not looking I promise
Four Five Six
Hide wherever you like. I’ll find you
Seven
Eight
Make it as difficult as you want I won’t give up.
Nine.
Even if it takes forever. Ten
She stays seated
We hear the sound of a bulldozer engine starting up
Blackout.
Hannah Khalil is an award-wining Palestinian-Irish writer. Hannah’s first short play, Ring, was selected for Soho Theatre London’s Westminster Prize and her first full-length piece, Leaving Home, was staged at The King’s Head. Hannah subsequently received support from The Peggy Ramsay Foundation to write Stolen Or Strayed, which received a Special Commendation in Soho Theatre’s Verity Bargate Award. Further work includes Plan D at Tristan Bates Theatre, Covent Garden, London in 2010 (nominated for the Meyer Whitworth Award) and Bitterenders (winner, Sandpit Arts’ Bulbul 2013). Hannah’s first radio play, The Deportation Room, was produced by Mary Peate for BBC Radio 4 and broadcast in autumn 2012. Last of the Pearl Fishers, her second radio play, aired on BBC Radio 4 in January 2015 and was produced by Nandita Ghose. Forthcoming stage productions include Scenes From 68* Years at the Arcola, Dalston, London 2016 and Bitterenders at the ReOrient Festival, San Francisco, in 2015. Plan D will be published in July 2015 by TCG in America as part of the first ever anthology of plays by Palestinian writers, edited by Naomi Wallace and Ismail Khalidi. Hannah is currently writing a large scale historical play about the Museum in Baghdad, and is developing an original idea for the screen with BBC Drama in-house.
Arab Stages
Volume 1, Number 2 (Spring 2015)
©2015 by Martin E. Segal Theatre Center Publications
Founders: Marvin Carlson and Frank Hentschker
Editor-in-Chief: Marvin Carlson
Editorial and Advisory Board: Fawzia Afzal-Khan, Dina Amin, Khalid Amine, Hazem Azmy, Dalia Basiouny, Katherine Donovan, Masud Hamdan, Sameh Hanna, Rolf C. Hemke, Katherine Hennessey, Areeg Ibrahim, Jamil Khoury, Dominika Laster, Margaret Litvin, Rebekah Maggor, Safi Mahfouz, Robert Myers, Michael Malek Naijar, Hala Nassar, George Potter, Juan Recondo, Nada Saab, Asaad Al-Saleh, Torange Yeghiazarian, Edward Ziter.
Managing Editor: Joy Arab
Table of Content
Essays
- Science Fiction in the Arab World: Tawfiq al-Hakim’s Voyage to Tomorrow (Rihlatun ilal-ghad) by Rani Bhargav
- Tawfik al-Hakim and the Social Responsibility of the Artist by Majeed Mohammed Midhin
- Junūn: Poetics in the Discourse of Protest and Love by Rafika Zahrouni
- Ritual and Myth in Dalia Basiouny’s Magic of Borolos by Amal Aly Mazhar
- Staging the Self: Autobiography in the Theatre of Sa`dallah Wannous by Ali Souleman
- The Arab Theatre Festival by Jaouad Radouan
- France’s Théâtre d’al-Assifa: An Arab-based Alternative Theatre Model by Magdi Youssef
- A Dramatic Anticipation of the Arab Spring and a Dramatic Reflection Upon It by Eiman Tunsi
- Rania Khalil’s Flag Piece by Dalia Basiouny and Marvin Carlson
- Silk Road Solos: A Three-Thread Performative Stitch by Jamil Khoury
Short Plays
- Excerpts from Jihad Against Violence: Oh ISIS Up Yours! by Fawzia Afzal-Khan
- Alternative Dramaturgy for Jihad Against Violence: Oh ISIS Up Yours! By Fawzia Afzal-Khan, Nesrin Alrefaai, Katherine Mezur
- ReOrient Theatre Festival 2015:
Bitterenders by Hannah Khalil
Lost Kingdom by Hassan Abdulrazzak
Picking Up The Scent by Yussef El Guindi
The House by Tala Manassah & Mona Mansour
Reviews
- Edward Ziter’s Political Performance in Syria – A Book Review by Safi Mahmoud Mahfouz
- The Gap Between Generations: The Revolt of the Young: Essays by Tawif al-Hakim– A Book Review by Michael Malek Najjar
Announcements
- Malumat: Resources for Research, Writing/Publishing, Teaching, & Performing Arts compiled by Kate C. Wilson
www.arabstages.org
[email protected]
Martin E. Segal Theatre Center
Frank Hentschker, Executive Director
Marvin Carlson, Director of Publications
Rebecca Sheahan, Managing Director
