(The stage is bare and awash in a low light and we hear songbirds and other creatures performing their wonderful incantation to life. The houselights fade and the natural sounds build to a wonderful crescendo. Lights, upstage center, come up and we see the most ancient of all existence, THE GRANDMOTHER, her flesh is bark, her legs are sturdy trunks, her arms, elegant green limbs, and her face, the rich soil. She holds a very large wooden staff in her hand. She is a magnificent sight to behold. The incantation fades out. On each of her first three words THE GRANDMOTHER brings her staff down to the ground with a mighty crash.)
THE GRANDMOTHER: Fear! (The ground quakes.) Greed! (The wind blows.) War!
(The thunder rolls as lightening strikes the top of her staff and lights on stage suddenly come up to full with a blinding flash. We are now somewhere in Iraq, afternoon, a war-zone. The dead bodies of many Iraqi men, women and children and US and coalition troops are scattered about.)
BOY: Terror! Terror! Come out! Come out, wherever you are!
(Four Iraqi citizens have entered from the back of the house, two children, a boy age nine, a girl age twelve, a middle aged man and a middle aged woman. They make their way to the stage in their futile search for terror. They speak to audience members as they approach.)
GIRL: Are you the one we seek?
WOMAN: Is it you? Are you terror?
MAN: Are you, terror? No.
BOY: Terror! Terror! Come out! Come out, wherever you are!
WOMAN: Is it you?
MAN: Are you the one we seek?
BOY: Terror! Are you terror?
(They have reached the stage and turn over bodies as they seek.)
THE GRANDMOTHER: Humankind, you pale from the bloodletting of grace, from the use and destruction of children with the fearful monster you’ve formed from out of the distrust and disease found inside of your belief- rotted skins dried up from a worship that mocks Creation! Fear tosses your colossal heads before you as greed leaps behind your eyes. It hasn’t the countenance of humankind, yet it is of you, a misshapen and monstrous construct of your foul greed. Is this what you want for your children, war- an ogre of your own making?
GIRL: (Pointing down to a body.) Is this terror?
MAN: No.
BOY: Terror! Terror! Come out! Come out, wherever you are!
GIRL: Stop saying that!
MAN: I can smell him. He is near.
WOMAN: All I smell is burnt flesh.
GIRL: I don’t smell anything. I think my nose is deceased.
BOY: Terror! Terror! Come out! Come out, wherever you are!
GIRL: I said to stop saying that you big baby!
BOY: Terror! Terror! Come out! Come out, wherever you are!
GIRL: Somebody make him stop saying that! It's so annoying!
WOMAN: Are you terror?
MAN: No! That is not him. He is an Iraqi.
BOY: Terror!
THE GRANDMOTHER: Mothers and fathers and children are red-eyed of seeking. They wish to converse of a loss, a gut wrenching pain, a throbbing in their hearts. They wish to be free of it, to rend it impotent.
WOMAN: How do you know he is not the one we seek?
MAN: His skin is too brown.
BOY: Terror!
WOMAN: He has no skin.
BOY: Terror!
MAN: It is not him.
WOMAN: How can you know if he has no skin?
BOY: Terror! Terror! Come out! Come out-
MAN: Hush, boy! Stop your yelling! Stop acting like this is some silly game!
GIRL: Serves you right. I told you to stop, little baby boy.
BOY: Shut up tiny girly baby!
GIRL: Make me!
(The boy and girl begin a game of chase and seem oddly gleeful running in and around the dead bodies.)
THE GRANDMOTHER: What replaced the Love that breathed in humankind long before trespass and ownership, which fled from your original pledge, has punctured your lungs and exhales greed instead.
BOY: Terror!
THE GRANDMOTHER: Mask your Love with any likeness of fear and you become its agonized reflection.
BOY/GIRL: Terror!
THE GRANDMOTHER: At the center of life, militant troops beat down doors, calling out its name.
(A large man in military garb, holding an even larger gun, has entered from upstage.)
GUNMAN/GIRL/BOY: Terror! Terror! Come out! Come out, wherever you are!
GUNMAN: Where the hell are you, brown devil? I can smell your rotting flesh! Show yourself! Show yourself so I can leave this red hell! We need to pack it up and jackboot ever onward! Show yourself you coward!
THE GRANDMOTHER: The mammoth lips spit down upon them all as the ogre wags its bloody tongue toward death. It is hungry for more, ravenous for unholy kingdom with its dried lips smacking an unquenchable thirst. Kidnapped by its own gluttony it tosses back, and still, red-eyed children, mothers and fathers seek it out. They've not had their words yet, they need them. They wish to be free of the ogre, to rend it lifeless.
GIRL/BOY: Terror! Terror! Come out! Come out, wherever you are!
MAN/WOMAN: Hush!
GUNMAN: AHA!
MAN/WOMAN/BOY/GIRL/GUNMAN: TERROR!
(The GUNMAN unleashes the fury of his weapon, spraying death everywhere. The group falls to the ground. A loud smacking of the ogre's lips now resonates.)
GUNMAN: Gotcha! I got you, terror! (Blood drips down on him.) You're dead, you piece - (He notices the blood dripping and looks straight up, above his head.) Oh shit…
(The ogre’s shriek fills the theatre as THE GRANDMOTHER brings her staff down with a boom, sudden blackout. The GUNMAN fires at will followed by a long silence and the start of a beautiful violin solo. We hear THE GRANDMOTHER from the darkness.)
THE GRANDMOTHER: Grieve! Grieve! Grieve! The grotesque formation of man’s hunger tosses its colossal head down upon itself, its arms, legs and torso lay dead upon the ground.
(The spot on THE GRANDMOTHER has slowly come up on her last line. Next to her we see JENNY, a young woman around twenty-eight. A light comes up on a magnificent sunflower planted center stage and next to a gravestone, a blanket lies nearest to the gravestone. We’re now in a cemetery in the United States of America, mid-morning.)
THE GRANDMOTHER/JENNY: Grieve! Grieve! Grieve! Wail howling man’s sorrow like an infinite mist painting everything with the brush of exactness. Grieve! Grieve! Grieve! Mourn man’s woeful spirit and failing courage. Weep for the dead and dying of man’s battle with himself. Grieve! Grieve! Grieve! Screech a woeful prayer and mourn a misery so profound that it holds open your eyes long enough to reflect upon your consent of a grave paradox, suicide by war…
(THE GRANDMOTHER smiles upon JENNY and nods. JENNY crosses to the blanket and kneels down, the music fades out.)
JENNY: Are you warm enough? I brought a blanket to sit on. I’ll leave it with you. I’m sure nights here can be dreadfully cold. Then I’ll leave it for you. The children are doing fine. Chelsea made the honor roll. Wait? No. I- I already told you that, huh? That was last year. My mind always travels backwards now. Since you were- Since you’ve been gone I can’t even remember what day of the week it is. Was I always like that, forgetful, harebrained? Yes. I guess I was, still, I forget too many things now. (A pause as she looks all around.) William told me that he always sees the same green dragonfly when he visits you. He said the dragonfly has no inhibitions and creates no delusions, and something about their eyes being able to see everything around them, or something like that? He thinks the dragonfly is your spirit. I haven’t seen any dragonflies, not one. Won’t you reveal your spirit to me? (A long pause as she waits.) Oh, before I forget, William and his team won the fifth grade city football championship last week. I lost my voice for nearly three days. Well, you know me. I screamed at the refs until I blew out my vocal chords. (Sudden and with rage boiling beneath her words.) “What are you blind, ref? Where’d you learn to call like that, zebra boy? You’re an idiot. Penalty? What’s wrong with you? Are you a moron? He wasn’t out of bounds, it was a touchdown, you idiot! Then go ahead and throw your little yellow flag you coward! Throw the whole of the red, white and blue for all I care! Throw it high so everyone can see how brave you are! That’s what I thought, you don’t have the guts you effin’ coward! Eff you!” (Pause.) They didn’t do anything to me, Michael. They didn’t even threaten to kick me out of the stadium. They just stared at me. Stared at me like I was crazy, but they knew. All those dazzling and polished PTA Sunday School mothers and fathers with their sideways glances, loading their snot-nosed brats into their Escalades, they knew. Everybody knew. They knew why I was yelling. They damn well knew! They didn’t do a thing to me, just stared at me with slack jawed sympathy like I was a mortally wounded puppy! William couldn’t look at me after the game. He said I was just hurting and that I shouldn’t have gone in the first place. He couldn’t even look at me, honey. Not a word was said on the way home, either. Well, except Chelsea telling me I was the coolest mom ever. "You rock, mom! You effin’ rock!" I slapped her across the face, Michael. It was so sudden. I slapped her hard, too. I don’t know why I did it? She cried so hard, not the kind of cry from physical pain, more like a staggered and broken soul kind of cry, you know? Like when they came to tell me you were- When they came to- It was the same kind of cry. The most awful thing to witness- mouth open wide, no sound, no breath, no tears, kind of a gaping, empty shriek. It’s more painful to watch than it is to actually do. Needless to say, the ride home was the longest fall off a cliff I've ever experienced, the worst kind of silence in the world. After we got home Chelsea went over to Pam’s house, more like she ran to Pam’s house. You know, the girl down the street? Yes. Her dad, Tom, is the man that sold us our house. Anyway, Chelsea ran to Pam’s and William ran inside without saying a word. I went in and collapsed on to the couch. I could hear him upstairs throwing things around for a long time. He broke all of his things with his bat. He broke all of your things, too. He was screaming the whole time, yelling at me, too. I'm downstairs and he's upstairs yelling and screaming as if I'm right there with him. Then he starts yelling at you, terrible things, Michael. I had never heard him talk like that before. It scared me. I started shaking and crying and then everything went eerily quiet. Of course, I panicked and thought, Oh God! Oh God! No! I ran upstairs to his room and he was just lying on his bed reading one of your comic books. Yes, a comic book, Michael! He had torn your entire collection to shreds except one. Try to guess which one? Yes! Superman! He was reading Superman! Isn't that ironic? He still won't look at me. He won't. Nobody else seems to have a problem looking at me, just our son. Why, Michael? Why did you have to go to that damnable war? You should have stayed home, Michael. You should have stayed home with your wife and kids. Oh God! They just stared at me with that disgusting pity, Michael! The kind of pity that can only be found in “Thank God it wasn't my husband or wife or son or daughter that was slaughtered by those scary Arabs!” Staring at me with the pity of stained ignorance! Fools! Bunch of damned fools, think they know everything! They don’t know a damned thing! Nothing! No, Michael! What makes you think you can help me, you’re not here! I need you! Your children need you! They need their father more than they need me! I’m here, so why the hell would they need me? They’re going to grow up to hate, Michael! They’re going to grow up plotting revenge, plotting against the wrong enemy! What am I supposed to do, huh? Tell them that their father was killed by Iraqis, Arabs, Islamic fascists? Murdered by the brown skinned, by people jealous of our freedoms? What am I supposed to tell them? Huh? What? Does everyone in this ignorant country expect me to lie to my children? Do they expect me to say that America's the greatest nation on eartH, that we're the defenders of freedom for freedom's sake? Well I will not do that! I will not lie to my children! I’ll curse at the refs and take all the shit-asses' sideways glances, but I will not lie about the reason their father died! I will tell them exactly why you died! I’ll tell them you died for nothing, Michael! For greed! For rich assholes, so they can be even richer assholes! I don’t care how that sounds, Michael! I don’t! I don’t give a damn if the slack jawed PTA tries to run me down in their Escalades, I will tell our children the truth! They deserve to know! They deserve to know that you loved them dearly and that you were murdered, executed by oil barons bent on empire! (She is nearly spent now.) I will tell them the truth. I will not lie. I will tell them the whole, ugly, disgusting truth. I will not pretend. I will not wave the flag and act like the good little patriot’s wife. (Lights begin to fade.) There’s nothing left, Michael, nothing but this beautiful sunflower. This sunflower's the truth. It's the only thing left.
(Lights have faded, save for the spot on the gravestone and sunflower, JENNY’S voice, in a whisper, rings out.)
JENNY: Michael, I see you! Oh, green dragonfly, you are so beautiful...
(The spot on the gravestone and flower fades. Soon a very distant rumble of an advancing line of military tanks can be heard coming from behind the audience. The light on THE GRANDMOTHER comes up. The gravestone and the sunflower remain.)
THE GRANDMOTHER: In the pulse of air a rumbling’s begun to shape mankind, the asylum of affinity and heaven exhaled away by a throbbing orb that's burning too white now, burning without sympathy or reprieve echoing in man's uneasy eyes, just a throbbing fear in his mind and through his angry shades blown of dust. No break, no dawn, just a violent flailing. Faith and sympathy, joy and worship, pawned for a few drops of unhappy greed. Humanity is scratching at Love with a steady coldness. The great and towering beasts of this story boom and plunge avalanches of murder through the rooftops of man's noisy dreams as the throbs of air and water salute his lungs.
(Lights rise on the stage. We are now somewhere in Afghanistan, late afternoon. Two Afghan men enter, running from the back of the house to the stage. Out of breath they stop center. As the action takes place the rumbling of the tanks grows ever louder.)
MAN 1: It hasn’t a heart!
MAN 2: It’s too monstrous!
MAN 1: It hasn’t a heart!
MAN 2: Its fire raining down upon us!
MAN 1: Upon the Maroun al-Ras and-
MAN 2: -Bint Jubayl-
MAN 1/MAN 2: -And Ayta al-Sha’b!
MAN 1: It hasn’t a heart!
MAN 2: The great steel birds far, far away, soaring high above-
MAN 1: -far from the fires of resistance fighters in resolute Lebanon.
MAN 2: The great vengeance pours forth over the bodies of our tender, sleeping children.
MAN 1: The blameless children.
MAN 2: They were merely seeking safety in the House of the Disabled.
MAN 1: In Qana. Yes.
MAN 2: They were fugitives from the hall of guns.
MAN 1: Only to be lifted skyward by the hell of the steel bird.
MAN 2: Damn globalization’s strife!
MAN 1: It strives to make us all alike.
MAN 2: Alike through consumption.
MAN 1: It has no heart! The world watches as they murder and murder and murder!
(THE GRANDMOTHER brings her staff down with a boom on the last word and a bolt of lightening strikes it. MAN 2 stares at her, motionless and weeping.)
MAN 1: I tell you it’s a heartless beast! With its storm it wants to crush us all! It lives on our flesh! It is evil and hungry for our children’s blood! It has no heart!
THE GRANDMOTHER: Your tears will better be served when you’re knelt in shame! It’s your courage that’s been nearly beaten to death and found breathless and gray, toothless and spirit-dead!
MAN 2: (Turning away from the GRANDMOTHER in shame.) It has no heart, yet it thirsts for blood? We’re all heartless! Heartless as we watch! Watch them snatch every vein that pulses in Lebanon, in the world! Bloodbath after bloodbath and I've just watched! I watched like the whole world watches!
MAN 1: We are not responsible for this!
MAN 2: I watched with indifference! Massacre after massacre-
MAN 1: Those responsible are tucked away, wrapped in new money.
MAN 2: But I’m the horrible beast who just stares in disbelief!
MAN 1: War is their paycheck, not ours!
MAN 2: The terror just grows and grows!
MAN 1: The money tree just grows and grows!
MAN 2: We all feed upon the blood and meat of tender children!
MAN 1: No, we do not! What is wrong with you? You lost everybody you knew! You are innocent! They have no heart!
MAN 2: You always say that, but they must! We must! I must!
MAN 1: They ignore our pleas in order to flatter the legend of iron and fire. Qana ‘96 and now Qana in 2006. What is wrong with you?
MAN 2: Much water has flowed between our bridges!
MAN 1: Apparently not enough to wash them of hatred.
MAN 2: All that water and we've not drank of its love!
MAN 1: No! Ten years is a long time to you and I, it is but a moment to the beast with its steel planes, tanks and bombs!
MAN 2: We are all guilty for the monster’s growth! I’m guilty too!
MAN 1: They demolish houses right on top of the living! They burn the small bodies of children in Lebanon and Palestine! They drop tens of thousands of tons of bombs brought from the remote and murderous lands of Columbus snatching the souls of millions! You and I are innocent!
(The rumbling seems to be upon them as the ground shakes and the noise pierces the air.)
MAN 1: Run!
MAN 2: No. I will no longer run.
MAN 1: (Running away.) They are upon us! Run! Run! It hasn't a heart!
(MAN 1 is gone. The noise is almost unbearable now and the quaking is intense. MAN 2 turns and faces the audience.)
MAN 2: O CREATION! END THIS OUR MISERY! BRING YOUR THUNDER AND WIND STRAFING ALL THE USES OF WAR! DO NOT HOLD BACK! NOT UNTIL ALL OF WAR IS VANQUISHED, ALL MURDER IS ITSELF MURDERED, ALL RAPE COLLAPSED IN ON ITS OWN USELESS SCRATCH, ALL FAMINE WIPED FROM MAN’S WORTHLESS MEMORY!
(He tears off his shirt, holds his arms out from his sides and drops to his knees.)
MAN 2: HERE I AM! I AM THE ONE YOU SEEK! MY HANDS WERE NOT PARALYZED, BUT MY MOUTH WAS MUTE AS I WATCHED THE BLOOD FILL THE STREETS! I AM NOT INNOCENT! I WATCHED ALL THOSE TINY BODIES WITH THEIR BEAUTIFUL FACES, I WATCHED THEM FLY APART! I HAVEN'T A HEART! I AM THE ONE YOU SEEK! I WATCHED THEM FLY APART! I HAVEN'T A HEART!
(MAN 2 continues to howl the last line as the noise overtakes him. THE GRANDMOTHER brings down her staff with a crash, blackout, the rumbling echoes its last, silence. Soon evening songbirds begin to be heard. Soon the lights rise on a tree that is being used as a lashing post. Sounds of bombs and gunfire are heard in the distance. We are now somewhere in the desert in Western Iraq, mid-afternoon. We see AZHAR, a fourteen year old Iraqi boy, chained to a tree near THE GRANDMOTHER, the gravestone, flower, torn shirt and blanket remain. AZHAR hangs limply. Blood and torture marks cover his near naked body. His underwear is all that covers him. This sight for a long moment as the bombs and gunfire continue echoing from afar. THE GRANDMOTHER raises her staff and lowers it to a loud boom, lightening strikes it and the gunfire and bombs suddenly stop. AZHAR jerks and raises his head, he pulls on the chains and winces from the pain.)
AZHAR: Who’s there? Who’s there? I am not a terrorist. I am a fourteen year old boy.
THE GRANDMOTHER: I am The Grandmother, my child, the eartH and eternal life. Your deeds have reflected what you believe, it is the soldier that wears the cloth of war like a shield and brandishes the mantle of his faith like a weapon. He has vengeance in his heart, yet you, the one shackled, do not. You must now act upon what you know in the flesh knowing the spirit will follow. You must allow your thoughts to merge with Love my child, and be comforted by the only thing you can possibly know, that which is before you and beneath your feet.
AZHAR: The Grandmother, eartH? So... you are God?
THE GRANDMOTHER: I am creation, my dear. You can give me the name that’s in your heart.
AZHAR: Am I dead?
THE GRANDMOTHER: No, my child. You are alive and you are Love.
AZHAR: Love? May I call you God?
THE GRANDMOTHER: That is your choice. I am called many things, what one calls me matters less than what one believes me to be.
AZHAR: I love you. You are God and I am humbled before you. (Pause.) They think that I am a terrorist. I am not a suicide bomber. "He who commits suicide by throttling shall keep on throttling himself in the Hell Fire forever and he who commits suicide by stabbing himself shall keep on stabbing himself in the Hell-Fire."
THE GRANDMOTHER: Hell is the invention of the pitiless.
AZHAR: I am not a terrorist. I am a fourteen year old boy. I was on my way to school. I am a peaceful person. “Our Lord, avert from us the wrath of Hell, for its wrath is indeed an affliction grievous. Evil indeed is it as an abode and as a place to rest in.” Hell, then, is what we make it?
THE GRANDMOTHER: On eartH, it can be heaven my child. Seek only that which can be known by your flesh. Remember, I will shelter your spirit forever, but it is your flesh that has been left to the warrior.
(THE GRANDMOTHER brings her staff down with a boom and from the shadows stage left blasts the voice of his captor.)
CAPTOR: Shut the hell up you terrorist! Shut the hell up or I’ll beat you till you’re dead!
AZHAR: (Quietly.) I see you, God. You are most beautiful.
(The light stage left rises and we see an eighteen year old American soldier, CAPTOR. He is nervous, a child in a man’s game. He holds a bull whip in one hand and a sling shot in the other. He snaps the bullwhip across AZHAR’s legs several times.)
CAPTOR: Is that what you want? Is it? Because I could do this all day long! I like doing it! You are a killer! You make me sick! You killed my people!
AZHAR: I have killed no one. I am not a killer.
CAPTOR: Who gave you this sling-shot? Who?
AZHAR: I bought it from a store. It is inexpensive.
CAPTOR: It’s a deadly weapon!
(CAPTOR slings a small pebble he got from the ground and it smacks AZHAR in the stomach.)
CAPTOR: Hurts huh? Put a bigger rock in it and you could kill someone, ergo, it’s a deadly weapon! Who gave you this sling-shot?
AZHAR: I bought it from a store. I only used it once.
CAPTOR: So you did kill someone?
AZHAR: No. I shot an empty can. I am fourteen years old. I was on my way to school.
CAPTOR: With a sling-shot?
AZHAR: Yes.
CAPTOR: They let you bring a deadly weapon to school?
AZHAR: What?
CAPTOR: A slingshot!
AZHAR: Yes.
CAPTOR: No wonder your country is so damned violent! No wonder you’re killing your own! Probably why Saddam was such a vicious bastard!
AZHAR: Because of a sling-shot?
CAPTOR: WHERE’D YOU GET THE BOMB, HABIB?
AZHAR: What?
CAPTOR: DON’T PLAY STUPID, BOY!
AZHAR: A bomb?
CAPTOR: Yes! Who gave you the bomb in your backpack?
AZHAR: There is no bomb in my back pack.
(CAPTOR cracks the whip across AZHAR’s legs.)
AZHAR: I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING! Why are you doing this to me? I am not a terrorist. I don’t know any terrorists.
CAPTOR: You live in Iraq don’t you?
AZHAR: Yes. Baghdad.
CAPTOR: Then you’re a terrorist with a sling-shot and a bomb, Mamhoon!
AZHAR: Azhar!
CAPTOR: What?
AZHAR: Azhar.
CAPTOR: What the hell does that mean?
AZHAR: It’s my name. It means most-
CAPTOR: Where’d you get the bomb, Mamhoon?
AZHAR: There is no bomb!
CAPTOR: ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR?
AZHAR: I am not a murderer.
CAPTOR: (Striking AZHAR with the whip.) I’m your damned God, boy! You killed 3,000 innocents and now you’re getting yours, Mamhoon Azhar!
AZHAR: I am not a homosexual! Go ahead and beat me! Go ahead! I am not a murderer! God will protect me! I did not fly a plane into your buildings! I do not have a bomb! I have a sling-shot! I am not a terrorist! I do not believe in murder! I believe in God! You are mistaken and the eartH will swallow you up!
CAPTOR: You little bastard! (CAPTOR pulls a bottle of rubbing alcohol from his pocket.) Let’s see how you like rubbing alcohol, Azhar Mamhoon! What’s the Koran say about that, huh?! Bet you’ll talk now!
(CAPTOR pours the whole bottle over AZHAR’s head and body. AZHAR screams and pulls at his chains, a defiant scream and lunge toward CAPTOR.)
AZHAR: WE HAVE THE SAME GOD! THE SAME! GOD IS BENEATH OUR FEET! LOOK!
(CAPTOR during AZHAR’s speech has stepped back and pulled out his sidearm. He crosses to him at the last “you” and places the barrel of the gun hard against his temple.)
CAPTOR: ALL I SEE IS THAT YOU ARE A TERRORIST AND IN THE NAME OF GOD I-
AZHAR: I am not a terrorist! I am a boy! My name means “the most shining”!
CAPTOR: MOST SHINING, I SENTENCE YOU TO DEATH! “I SHALL NOT KILL ANY PERSON - FOR GOD HAS MADE LIFE SACRED - EXCEPT IN THE COURSE OF JUSTICE!” ME, BOY! I AM GOD AVENGING THREE THOUSAND!
AZHAR: Allahu Akbar min kulli shay! Allahu Akbar min kulli shay!
(THE GRANDMOTHER lowers her staff with a boom and lightening strikes it. A military man suddenly runs in from stage left and knocks CAPTOR to the ground. His gun falls to the floor.)
MAN: What the hell are you doing, soldier? Have you lost your damned mind? Get up! Get up! Holster your weapon and get the hell out of here! Go! GO!
CAPTOR: (Holstering his weapon.) Yes sir! Sorry, sir!
MAN: Don’t apologize to me, soldier! Apologize to this boy!
CAPTOR: Yes, sir.
MAN: NOW!
CAPTOR: Yes, sir. Sorry.
MAN: Sorry, what?
CAPTOR: Sorry, Azhar.
MAN: Now get the hell out of here before I beat you with this whip! GO!
CAPTOR: (Exiting left while he salutes.) Yes, sir! (He is gone.)
AZHAR: Thank you.
MAN: I am so sorry, Azhar. I’m so very sorry.
AZHAR: You did nothing wrong, sir.
MAN: I should never have left. All the men are under a great deal of stress. If you knew them before this damned war you’d probably be friends with them. I don’t know? I don’t know.
(Long silence.)
AZHAR: I am not a terrorist.
MAN: I know, Azhar. I know.
AZHAR: Then… may I go home now?
MAN: I wish it were that easy, son.
AZHAR: I want to go home.
MAN: You will... in due time, Azhar. I have to follow protocol. It means I have to follow the rules.
AZHAR: I know what it means.
MAN: Yes. You are a smart young man. I didn’t mean to insult you.
AZHAR: I was not insulted, sir. You are very kind. Peace be with you.
MAN: (He pulls a damp cloth from his pocket.) Let me take that alcohol out of your wounds.
AZHAR: Allahu Akbar. Allahu Akbar min kulli shay.
MAN: Here we go. I’ll clean you off. Look what he did to you. My God. I am so sorry.
(MAN begins to gently dab the wet rag upon AZHAR’s wounds. AZHAR winces a bit each time.)
MAN: I’m sorry. But this will make you feel better.
AZHAR: It is okay. It doesn’t hurt as bad as the alcohol.
MAN: I am very sorry you have been put through this, Azhar. I truly am.
AZHAR: The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.
MAN: Mahatma Gandhi?
AZHAR: Yes. A beautiful man.
MAN: Yes.
(For a few moments MAN dabs the cloth on AZHAR’s wounds.)
MAN: You are a beautiful boy, Azhar.
AZHAR: No.
MAN: Yes. You are.
AZHAR: Thank you, sir.
MAN: Your eyes are deep and affecting. I can tell your soul is pure, Azhar. Yes. And your skin is so soft and delicate. You are a beautiful young man. You should not be afraid of me, Azhar. I am your friend. I will not harm you. I want to make your pain go away. I want to make you forget about your ache. Your skin, your skin is so beautiful, so soft.
(MAN is now standing in front of AZHAR who begins to cry at having realized what is about to happen. AZHAR cries as MAN puts his fingers inside the band of his underwear and prepares to slowly pull them down.)
AZHAR: I want to die. I want to die. I want to die.
THE GRANDMOTHER: Hush, child. Your spirit is mine, war shall not have it.
(THE GRANDMOTHER brings her staff down with a vengeance, lightening strikes the staff and the chains, the MAN is thrown back hard, he is dead. AZHAR looks at her and begins to cry loudly.)
THE GRANDMOTHER: Never again bring your thoughts to war, give them to peace and to me and I will protect your spirit. Now run, my loving child! Run!
(AZHAR bows before her briefly uttering “Allahu Akbar min kulli shay.”, and then runs off. The sounds of war have returned and it sounds as if the bombs are falling directly on top of the audience! THE GRANDMOTHER lowers her staff to the ground with a crash- blackout, silence. Soon we begin to hear morning birds, this for a moment as lights slowly come up on the stage. We see two mothers, one Palestinian and the other Jewish, standing on either side of THE GRANDMOTHER. The gravestone, the flower, the blanket, the torn shirt and the chains remain. We are now in Palestie and Israel, early morning.)
THE GRANDMOTHER/MOTHER 1/MOTHER 2: When a tank rolls in or a bomb is dropped, when murder finds even one, a part of me dies with the one, another perishes with the slayer. With each drop of venom that oozes into the water, with every battle waged, each torture or rape committed, a part of me dies. When hunger finds its way into the ribs of children, when famine snatches the breath of life away, when death crawls in from the screech of emptiness, a part of me dies.
(THE GRANDMOTHER smiles upon them both and, with a nod from her, the two mothers cross to opposite sides on the downstage edge and call to their children.)
MOTHER 1: Come now, Bara’ah! Time for school!
MOTHER 2: Hedasaa! Where are your books?
MOTHER 1: Bara’ah, hurry! You will be late for school!
MOTHER 2: Hedasaa, hurry! I packed your lunch! Let’s go!
MOTHER 1: Bara’ah!
MOTHER 2: Hedasaa!
MOTHER 2: Did you hear your mother?
MOTHER 1: I said for you to come now!
(A violin now begins to play a sad song. Broken pieces of concrete and rubble begin slowly descending to the stage.)
MOTHER 1: I said come on, slow poke!
MOTHER 2: You better get a move on! I’m giving you ten seconds, young lady!
MOTHER 1: It is time for school, Bara’ah!
MOTHER 2: …Five! Four! Three! Two! One!
(The pieces of concrete and debris have touched down all around them and the violin peaks. The women’s cries turn to desperation as they walk about their homes searching for their children.)
MOTHER 1: Bara’ah!
MOTHER 2: Hedassa!
MOTHER 1: Come my child! Where are you?
MOTHER 2: Hedassa!
MOTHER 1: Where are you? Bara’ah! Mama needs you to come to her!
MOTHER 2: Hedassa, please talk to, Mama, I need to hear your voice! Hedassa!
MOTHER 1: Bara’ah! My innocent child!
MOTHER 2: Hedassa! My shining star!
(The women, standing near two different blocks of concrete, are now horrified.)
MOTHER 1: BARA’AH!
MOTHER 2: HEDASSA!
(As they speak the next lines they cross behind the concrete and pick up colorful blankets, their children, they weep and hold them dear. The music has faded out.)
MOTHER 1: MY CHILD!
MOTHER 2: MY BABY!
MOTHER 1: MY BEAUTIFUL INNOCENCE! MY BARA’AH!
MOTHER 2: HEDASSA, MY LOVELY BABY!
MOTHER 1: Oh! My dearest baby!
MOTHER 2: Mommy is here! Mommy is here…
(A sudden burst of lightening followed by loud thunder fills the air and WAR, a man dressed in all black and wearing a haunting all white theatrical mask, enters and crosses to each mother and takes the blankets from their arms and drapes one over his right shoulder and the other over his left.)
MOTHER 1: Oh! Freshly turning eartH! What have you done to my child!
MOTHER 2: Finish this! End thy collection of death!
MOTHER 1: Why has Dawn collapsed around us, around our children?
MOTHER 2: Our children did nothing to deserve this!
MOTHER 1: They were innocents! You should have taken me!
MOTHER 2: Why have you forsaken us? Their small wings clamoring for heaven!
WAR: HEY! …I know nothing of clamoring wings or heaven. I am also not eartH.
MOTHER 1: Who are you?
WAR: Who I am matters not.
MOTHER 2: Then what are you?
WAR: I am War.
MOTHER 1/ MOTHER 2: War?
WAR: Yes. You may know me best as death or annihilation or any number of trite terms for my reality, but I am War and I have taken your children.
MOTHER 1: They were innocent children! Why would you take them?
WAR: Why matters not.
MOTHER 2: Yes! Yes! Why matters most!
MOTHER 1: Why children? Why a child?
WAR: Ladies, War merely collects, I do not ask who or why. Good day. (Exiting.)
MOTHER 2: No! Answer our questions! Answer them!
MOTHER 1: Yes! You owe us that much!
WAR: (Turning.) I owe you nothing! I am War! Your questions are for your god! Your questions are of no concern to me! I am mighty War. I am of vital importance to the State!
MOTHER 2: Whose?
WAR: Like I said, lady. Who mat-
MOTHER 1: Why do you wear a mask if “who” matters not?
WAR: For effect.
MOTHER 2: Then you needn’t wear it- your effect is great enough.
WAR: Thank you. I suppose it is.
MOTHER 1: I always thought war would be-
WAR: What? A bloody beast? A deformed monster?
MOTHER 1: No. Taller.
WAR: (An aside.) I knew I should have gone to Iran today.
MOTHER 2: But the children, why the children? They haven’t anything to do with you!
WAR: They’re just collateral damage. If I allowed myself to get all boo-hoo about these sorts of things I’d go bonkers!
MOTHER 1: You feel nothing?
WAR: I am pure courage, strictness, malevolence, sincerity and wisdom. End of story.
MOTHER 2: What?
MOTHER 1: Wisdom and sincerity?
MOTHER 2: You are not wise or sincere! You are ugly!
WAR: Like I said everyone has their opinion about what I am, yet it matters not.
MOTHER 1: You feel nothing?
WAR: Nothing. Other than I should not have engaged in this idiotic dialogue.
MOTHER 1: You feel no remorse? No sorrow? No guilt?
WAR: Nothing.
(WAR turns to exit and MOTHER 1 snatches the blankets from off of his shoulders and MOTHER 2 slams him in the back of the head with a large chunk of concrete, he falls to the ground hard.)
MOTHER 2: Did you feel that?
(MOTHER 1 lays the children to the side, then, armed with concrete, the two mothers proceed to savagely pummel him with chunks of concrete. They beat him with great anger and sorrow. They scream and lay into WAR as if they've lost all of their humanity, this for some time with their backs to the audience. With the beating concluded, the mothers rise, their faces and hands are dripping with thick blood the color of oil.)
MOTHER 2: What will you do now War?
MOTHER 1: Yes. What, now that you are dead?
MOTHER 2: You shall not return for my son.
MOTHER 1: You shall never murder again!
(The women pick up their children and cross to THE GRANDMOTHER, give their child a final kiss as they kneel upon the ground and lay them at her feet and offer a prayer.)
MOTHER 1: I pray our answer’s become like those of the little children who swim without agony in the peaceful waters of life. So be it.
MOTHER 2: May our hearts become like the hearts of little children, filled with a peace and joy for life that brims with unadulterated Love. Amen.
(MOTHER 1 and MOTHER 2 exit as THE GRANDMOTHER smiles upon them.)
THE GRANDMOTHER: Man binds his limbs to his own miserable concoction of agony on eartH, while the little children, with their unfettered thoughts, tenderly dance in heaven with the whole of life.
(The violin solo peaks again and WAR begins to show signs of life. He has made it to his knees, thick blood the color of oil oozes and drips from his limbs and out of the holes of his mask. He looks at THE GRANDMOTHER and then gazes greedily upon the two children lying beneath her feet. She acknowledges his greediness by raising her staff up in the air. WAR turns and looks out at the audience and begins to remove his mask, but, before he can reveal himself. THE GRANDMOTHER brings her staff down with a crash of lightening and there is a sudden blackout to the violin’s horrific screech. After a long moment of silence we begin to hear the wind and the sounds of night. We are now in the middle of a forest in Iran, nighttime. Lights slowly begin to rise revealing a large group of massive and ancient trees standing proudly and casting their tall shadows. They appear angry, their limbs extended in a dreadful dance. A haunting didgeridoo solo begins to play, peaking and then fading down, but not out. It is nighttime. MASOUMEH [Sinless, Innocent] enters among the many trees. She appears to be waiting on someone. In her hand she holds a small wooden doll. The wind begins to pick up now as the didgeridoo gets stronger. A sudden and loud thunder rolls in and the ground around MASOUMEH begins to quake. The wind becomes fierce as the light comes up, upstage center, on THE GRANDMOTHER, the gravestone, flower, torn shirt, chains and blankets remain.)
THE GRANDMOTHER: The children are the embodiment of Love- joy, kindness, humility, kinship, duty, stewardship and purity. The child has Love flowing through its veins like rose petals kissing the surface of the living waters. The doll this child holds represents that Love, the Love born in and of all things. The child and the doll together symbolize innocence, an innocence that is retreating from a world at war, from a globe that hasn’t reflection, a globe whose dullness is rising up to greet her supple skin with the foul want of man. With time, this little girl’s life will escape the waning breath, like her mother before her, innocence and courage orphaned, trampled by the torrid pace found in war. Yet the children are not weak, they have the strength of all of the armed forces on eartH. Their eyes are filled with affection though they’ve witnessed murder and greed and the blunt objects of hatred. Their hearts are filled with joy as the ancient spirits still dance in their veins, smile within their Love, and laugh upon their breath. They widen the child's eyes to the truth as she gazes upon the death wrought by mankind’s foul use. A child’s Love endures, the dying breed may destroy their bodies with bombs and their minds with lies, but they cannot have their Love. Love, is eternal and mine to keep if man will not. So who is this dying breed?
(She raises her staff and brings it crashing down to the ground, a bolt of lightening strikes it and houselights suddenly come up to full.)
THE GRANDMOTHER: Don’t you recognize your own scorched reflections? Don’t you know your own fearful countenance, sunken eyes, splintered lips and stiffened jaws? Can’t you feel your shoulders sagging from the weight of the bodies that float face down in your flood of a Loveless death? Yes. You, my dears, are the dying breed. (Lightening again strikes the staff and houselights suddenly go out.) Your species has become irrelevant to the stream of eternal life. Your planned escape from your misdeeds is an illusion whittled from your squander- the trees you’ve felled, the water you’ve ruined, the soil you’ve poisoned and the altar you’ve defiled- corrupted with your colossal and brooding architecture, designs of greed assembled skyward, nothing more than your failed attempt to deny truth and shape yourselves into the abhorrent gods of selfish desire!
(MASOUMEH holds her doll in the air offering it to the audience. After a long moment MASOUMEH looks disappointed. THE GRANDMOTHER raises her staff and brings it down with a mighty crash. The ground quakes and all lights suddenly go out. The didgeridoo intensifies and fades with the wind and the quaking. After a good moment of silence, from the darkness we hear someone approaching through the woods. Lights rise on JAHANGIR [JahAngir, Conqueror of the World] carrying a very large wooden box. He is a large man with the strength of many. His face is the face of one that is worn from sorrow, eyes full of an unreachable sadness. The didgeridoo fades down and he looks at the audience.)
JAHANGIR: Ah! You’ve come! Good! Yes! Very good! How many are you? Around one hundred! (Number of seats filled in the audience.) I expected more, but looking at your faces just now I see many of you look very eager and that counts for something. Tonight we will conquer the enemy of Islam. Together- Together we will bring the beast to its knees! Eagerness is something, yes, but you might also work on looking ferocious! Ferocious! No! That, I’m afraid, is fear, and that is not something we can have! There is no place for fear tonight! No dread! No terror! No horror! None! Tonight and the next and the next you must be ferocious! You must wear fierce faces! Faces of a lion on the prowl! Yes! Yes! That is what I mean! Ferocious! Ferocious! This will be the battle of all battles! You mustn’t waiver! You must not waiver, flinch or faint. (He laughs with an empty echo.) No. No. No. Fainting is not an option! Defeat is unthinkable!
(He slams the box down on the ground, the ground quakes and the wind is furious. A bright light comes from inside the box and escapes through the wood like tiny lasers.)
JAHANGIR: Shall I open the box? Well? I ask you, warriors with the eager and ferocious faces, shall I open the box?
(Black out, save for the beams coming from the box. The box begins to shake and suddenly it bursts open with a bright flash, and then, as suddenly as it burst open, it slams shut. The theatre is in complete darkness, silence, save for the wind. Soon we hear something very large breathing upon the stage. After a good moment of this a spot light comes up again on the trees and we see MASOUMEH come from behind THE GRANDMOTHER, holding her doll. We can see the outline of the "thing" that breathes before us, it is tall and quite large.)
MASOUMEH: Father? Father? What are you doing?
(The wind fades away and the "thing" stops its heavy breathing and turns toward her voice.)
JAHANGIR: Masoumeh? Masoumeh, what are you doing so deep in the woods?
(We now see that the very large thing was JAHANGIR standing on top of the box.)
MASOUMEH: To pray, father, to pray for peace.
JAHANGIR: Peace?
MASOUMEH: Yes, father. I pray the people will not allow fear to rule over their souls.
JAHANGIR: O my child. My dear sweet, Masoumeh, whose name means innocence, war is not something you should try to understand. It is not for the innocent to comprehend.
MASOUMEH: Only to suffer, right father?
JAHANGIR: Do not speak to me with that tone, young lady.
MASOUMEH: Father, I am not being disrespectful. You are the one that taught me to speak my mind. To always be strong in the face of adversity.
JAHANGIR: You are not my adversary, Masoumeh.
MASOUMEH: Why do you stand on a box and breathe like a monster? Is it to frighten them so they might believe in the cause? Frightened and therefore fooled into believing that the war you ask of them is just? That revenge is a noble reason to slaughter other frightened fools with the same revenge in their hearts?
JAHANGIR: O, Masoumeh, how can you be my adversary? How could this be? How have you learned of such things? You are but ten years old?
MASOUMEH: I am twelve, father. I am twelve and I learned all of this from you.
JAHANGIR: Me?
MASOUMEH: Yes. Do you not remember what it was you were?
JAHANGIR: You must go now! Go home, Masoumeh!
MASOUMEH: Don't you remember what it was that you said? You told me that war, all war was immoral. You said that those that cheer for war are fools and that if I were to meet a person such as this that I should speak to them of peace, that I was not to bend in the wind of their hatred. You said that to defend ones country was honorable, but to conjure the flames of revenge was a sin.
JAHANGIR: Go home I say! Obey your father and leave these woods at once!
MASOUMEH: Dwell not upon thy weariness, thy strength shall be according to the measure of thy desire.
JAHANGIR: Why do you not listen to me child?
MASOUMEH: He who sows the wind harvests the storm.
JAHANGIR: Masoumeh, you do not know what you are saying! You speak in parables!
MASOUMEH: Father, it is you that said these same things to me. They are your words.
JAHANGIR: No.
MASOUMEH: Yes. It was you that taught me to never shrink from my convictions, to never waiver from them lest I be deemed a hypocrite. I speak your words, father. The Americans will stop the war, you said. The people of that proud nation will not allow fear to rule their spirit.
JAHANGIR: THEY KILLED YOUR MOTHER! THEY SLAUGHTERED HER WITH THEIR BOMBS! She went to help her family flee before the war began, you know this! What you don’t know is that I told her not to go there! I said the war was going to touch her if she did! I said that America would not spare lives! I said they would rather save a drum of oil than a thousand innocents! I told her not to go! I said they could make it to Iran on their own! I told her to stay! I begged her to stay! They killed her, Masoumeh! America killed them all! They killed your mother! They slaughtered her beautiful face! They slaughtered her beautiful face! They slaughtered her beautiful face!
(JAHANGIR, exhausted, drops to his knees and weeps loudly. MASOUMEH drops her doll and then runs to her father and holds him close.)
MASOUMEH: I miss her, too, father. I miss mommy, too.
JAHANGIR: I was a coward! Your mother needed me! I should not have let her go alone!
MASOUMEH: But I need you now, father. I need you. Our great nation needs you to speak calmly. They need you to comfort them. They need you to speak of peace, not fan the flames of war. The warmonger depends upon your rage. They rely upon another’s fury to feed their machines of war. You told me as much before mama left, remember? Mama would want you to struggle toward peace. She would want it for you and for me, and she would want it for Iran and for the world, father.
JAHANGIR: Yes. She would, my child. I am so ashamed. Ashamed. Please forgive me?
MASOUMEH: You should not feel shame for being human, father. You should not feel shame for that. Your name is Jahangir, it means “conqueror of the world”, but it does not say how you shall conquer it.
(JAHANGIR holds his daughter close for a long moment. The light again rises on THE GRANDMOTHER as she looks on. JAHANGIR stands and walks toward her.)
MASOUMEH: Where are you going, father?
(JAHANGIR, with his back to the audience, bends upon his knees and silently prays for a moment, THE GRANDMOTHER smiles upon him. JAHANGIR then picks up MASOUMEH’S doll from off of the ground and crosses back to her.)
JAHANGIR: We mustn’t forget your doll. Let’s go home my child of a loving peace.
MASOUMEH: O, father! I love you!
JAHANGIR: I love you, too. Could you just give me another minute, Masoumeh?
MASOUMEH: Yes, father.
JAHANGIR: (Crossing down, to the audience.) I am sorry if I scared you. There will be no battle tonight. I’m going home to be with my family, I suggest that you do the same. Go home and listen to your children's prayers, they speak of peace. By the way, when I said I saw ferocious faces on you, I lied. I only said it to rouse the enemy of peace. Please forgive me. Allahu Akbar. (He begins to walk off, but turns back.) Do not stand in a place of danger trusting in miracles. (He begins to turn, but decides to add his own end to the parable.) And, if you find yourself standing in a place of peace, the miracle is already upon you.
MASOUMEH: Father?
JAHANGIR: Yes?
MASOUMEH: I’m twelve- maybe I’m getting too old to play with dolls?
(MASOUMEH lays the doll down on the top of the box.)
JAHANGIR: Never too old my dear, besides, I like you playing with dolls. Are you sure you want to leave it?
MASOUMEH: I have many more at home, father. I’ll leave this one here that she might love another.
JAHANGIR: Your mother would have been so proud of you, my dearest Masoumeh.
MASOUMEH: She is, father. She’s proud of you too.
JAHANGIR: Come, my beautiful child.
MASOUMEH: What about your box, father?
JAHANGIR: It is full of the tools of war, my child. I have no use for them, I never did. Come. Let us walk home together in peace.
(They walk off holding hands and disappear into the darkness. Lights fade, save for the spot on the box, the doll, the gravestone, the shirt, the sunflower, the blankets, the chains and THE GRANDMOTHER. The lightening strikes THE GRANDMOTHER'S staff one last time and the light on her goes out. The didgeridoo grows ever louder and the wind begins to blow and the ground to shake. The box is trying to burst open again. This for a rather long moment until it is evident that the lid will not open because it is being restrained by Love. The lights slowly fade on all that remains, the box, the doll, the gravestone, the flower, the torn shirt, the chains and the blankets. The wind fades away as the didgeridoo echoes its last. The End.)
© 2011 by mark prime
-All rights to this play are reserved by the author-
(Please notify if you intend to use all or part of this work.)
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