House of Many Tongues Read Free Page B

the fig tree.
    Shimon: The boy never listens.
    Rivka: He’s a teenager. You need to find new ways to talk. It’s time, Shimon.
    Shimon: I’ve had enough talking.
    Rivka: The boy wants to know who his mother is.
    Shimon: He floated down the river in a basket. And that’s all there is to say.
    Rivka: Tell him the truth.
    Shimon: My son is a miracle.
    His life is a miracle.
    But the world corrupts him.
    That’s why he doesn’t listen.
    People like you make him lost.
    Rivka: I’ve been like a mother to your son. I’m his teacher.
    Shimon: My book will be his teacher. He will learn the story of the gun.
    The miracle of this country.
    Rivka: Enough with the fairy tales. He’s growing up.
    Shimon: Leave us, Rivka—it’s time to move on.
    Get married. Meet someone your own age.
    Have your own kids.
    Rivka: You’re getting rid of me.
    RIVKA exits. SHIMON opens a beer.
    Alex: Hey, was there ever a fig tree out back?
    Shimon: Alex! Are you okay?
    Alex: I’m fine. The Arab’s nice—and he’s a writer.
    Shimon: Where the hell is he?
    Alex: (ignores him) He’s going to join me in my revolutionary peace efforts. Though his practices are somewhat out of date.
    ABU DALO pulls a radio out from his coat. He turns it on. Arabic pop music.
    Shimon: What the hell is that?
    Alex: It’s Abu Dalo.
    Shimon: You let him inside?
    Alex: Yeah.
    Shimon: Are you totally out of your mind?
    Alex: He had to urinate.
    Shimon: (knocks on the door) Abu Dalo! Get out of my bathroom! Abu Dalo!
    My God. This is a disaster. Do you understand what this means?
    Alex: It means there’s a stranger in our restroom.
    Shimon: This changes everything.
    He’s in the house. How could you do this?
    Alex: I didn’t do anything.
    Shimon: You let the enemy in.
    Abu Dalo! Abu Dalo, open this door!
    Enter THE CAMEL and THE HOUSE.
    The Camel: You’re looking really good today, sweetheart. Especially from the back.
    The House: I hate it when you objectify me. Especially since you’ve been gone for six months. How was Sinai?
    The Camel: Not as beautiful as you.
    The House: There are cobwebs in the corners of the living room. There’s mould between the floorboards. Peeling paint, broken pipes, an eroding foundation. I’m worried I’m going to get condemned—they’ll tear me down and put a road right through to that new mall they’re building.
    The Camel: Humans. Messy species.
    The House: Shimon used to be good to me. But every year he gets worse. He ignores the details. I’m the kind of house who believes that someone better will come along and finally take care of me.
    The Camel: I could take care of you.
    The House: You told me you’re “allergic to the domestic.”
    The Camel: That was a crass and thoughtless comment. I’ve changed.
    The House: A domestic camel? I’ll believe it when I see it.
    The Camel: And that Arab’s domestic? When was the last time he took a shower?
    The House: He’s an old friend.
    The Camel: He’s weaving and muttering to the sink and the bathtub.
    The House: He cares about me. He’s very passionate.
    The Arabic music blasts at high volume (“Habibi, Habibi”: a love song to THE HOUSE). ABU DALO does some crazy dance and lip-synchs.
    The Camel: He seems a bit fucked up, if you ask me.
    The House: He knows what I need.
    Abu Dalo: One is away for so many years.
    One lives in another house. Many houses.
    (to THE HOUSE) For all those years, when I was in exile, when I was in jail, you were all I could think of. I dreamt of your floorboards. I memorized every detail, and whatever I couldn’t remember I made up.
    It’s so good to be here. Are you happy to see me too? (a beat)
    I know, you probably thought I was dead. That I’d never come back.
    But you know I can treat you so much better than that Jewish prick.
    I missed you, very, very much.
    The House: You’re sitting on the throne.
    Abu Dalo: Real cedar. A joy on the rumpus.
    The House: The toilet gets a bad rap. Nobody really wants to talk about toilets. People say,