Later that morning at the house. Yusef cooks. Waleed sits at the table, reading.
WALEED: Excellent! It gives me hope. A manifesto for revolution. Who wrote it?
YUSEF: A friend of ours. Mohammad Ali Baybars. It’s a draft of his piece for Filastin.
WALEED: Never heard of him. Where’s he from?
YUSEF: He’s . . . from the Galilee. From a very small family. A recluse really—a shy, shy man.
ANBARA: But in private he’s no pushover.
WALEED: Well it’s very mature. Reminds me of the writing of that other boy who used to write for the weekly journal before they shut it down. What was his name . . . ?
ANBARA: Mustafa Abdullah . . . I believe. No, Yusef?
YUSEF: Similar styles, yes, but I think this Baybars is even better.
WALEED: He’s a damn genius if you ask me.
ANBARA: Agreed.
YUSEF: Yes, and pretty, too.
WALEED: Pretty? Did you say / pretty—?
YUSEF: I was saying pretty likely the most important thinker between Cairo and Baghdad.
(A knock at the door . . . Yusef signals Anbara to the door. He draws the pistol and melts into the shadows. Anbara lets Tariq in. Yusef emerges stealthily from behind him.)
You look richer, Nephew.
TARIQ: Yusef! Still a bit creepy, even after all these years.
YUSEF: Come here. Give your uncle a hug.
(Yusef grabs Tariq and hugs him.)
You’re late. Sit. I made ful. Still the best beans this side of the Sinai.
(They sit. Yusef puts his pistol on the table near his plate. Tariq eyes the gun.)
TARIQ: Um, excuse me but, are you . . . threatening me, Uncle?
YUSEF: Um, are you threatened by me? Nephew?
TARIQ: No need to mock me as if I were a little boy, you’re only ten years older than me.
YUSEF: Eleven years, actually.
TARIQ: Could you please just put that thing somewhere else?!
(Yusef slides the gun a couple of inches away.)
Further maybe?
(Yusef repeats the motion, sliding it another couple inches away.)
Further! Like NOT within reach. Like in another room perhaps!
YUSEF: Well maybe you’d like to hold it? Is that it? Here take it!
(Anbara takes the gun and slides it into her robe.)
ANBARA: Now, who would like some food? Tariq?
TARIQ: Thank God your wife is more civilized than you, Uncle.
YUSEF: I’ll take that as a compliment. Unless, of course, you are referring to British “civilization.”
TARIQ: And so what if I was?
YUSEF: Then I would consider it an insult, since they were painting their bodies blue and drawing on caves when we were building fountains and universities and inventing mathematics!
TARIQ: Oh, such an example of refinement you are, sitting at the table with a bloody revolver on your plate.
YUSEF: In case you didn’t know I am a hunted man, so I have to be careful. Look at how they got Zapata in Mexico.
TARIQ: Oh no.
YUSEF: Don’t “oh no” me. He was betrayed in his own territory. Ambushed!
TARIQ: Still comparing ourselves to dead “revolutionary” heroes, are we?!
YUSEF: Well, my dear nephew, I’m simply protecting myself from the death they wish upon me. I don’t know who I can trust after all.
TARIQ: Spare me your suffocating self-indulgence Yusef! You’re a petty thug.
YUSEF: And you are a petty little prick. But believe it or not, I’ve missed you Tariq . . . Or is it “Rik” now?
(Tariq shoots a look at Waleed.)
TARIQ: It’s Tariq! Let’s please not confuse my business with who I am as a person.
YUSEF: Fine.
TARIQ: Though, such a notion surely didn’t cross your mind as you sent my investments into flames in ’36, dear Uncle!
YUSEF: Yes. Well . . . I wanted to . . . apologize. For that incident. It was. Unfortunate.
TARIQ: It was an insult!
YUSEF: It was not how I would have wished for it to happen, no!
TARIQ: It was a betrayal Yusef. It was utterly foolish and unjust. / It was—
YUSEF: It was a rebellion Tariq! There was a rebellion going on! Your people. You remember who your people are?!? And that business of yours was breaking the boycott.
TARIQ: I was making a living for myself, not to mention my workers; our fellow countrymen!
YUSEF: You see this Anbara? I try to apologize and explain it to him but he’s thick!
ANBARA: Calm down. Both of you. And keep me out of this.
YUSEF: Listen to me Tariq! Your “business as usual” helped the British to undercut the revolt! Is all this lost on you, boy?
TARIQ: I’ll tell you what I lost. I lost years of hard work! I lost contracts, employees, investments, and thousands and thousands of pounds.
YUSEF: And I lost friends. I lost two years of freedom.
(A moment of charged silence.)
TARIQ: You must understand, I am not a little boy anymore.
YUSEF: Oh just shut up and eat your food!
(Tariq gets up from the table.)
TARIQ: I’m sorry to leave Anbara but I won’t take his abuse.
YUSEF: Please. I’m sorry. Sit . . . It’s important.
TARIQ: Make it quick.
YUSEF: It is precisely because you are not a boy anymore that I’m asking for your help. I am asking you as a fellow Palestinian. We need you Tariq. I need you.
TARIQ: No. The answer’s no.
YUSEF: We are this close! The Brits think they’ve won but if we can make one push—
TARIQ: And what do I have to do with this?
YUSEF: We need a man of your standing, with your knowledge of the British . . . If you were to support the revolt we could maybe hold our ground. But this is our last chance.
TARIQ: It’s already over. You’re practically the only one still fighting.
YUSEF: Maybe. But if you joined me others would follow. You are my last hope Tariq.
TARIQ: Our leaders went to the London conference. Give it up, man.
YUSEF: The Brits kill thousands of us, imprison thousands more and now they want to negotiate. They will use us and then throw us aside. Help me! Help us!
TARIQ: Tell me, Uncle: What would I need to do to help save your little revolution? Carry a gun around, mugging people, like you?
YUSEF: Don’t worry, I wouldn’t trust your aim . . . But you could start by not selling off our lands to the Europeans.
TARIQ: You mean I’d have to stop selling to Jews, is that it?
YUSEF: No, I said Europeans. They are Europeans to me. I have no interest which way they talk to God. We’ve always had Jews among us, but they were Arabs, like us. These Zionists, they are Europeans, fighting side by side with the British Empire.
TARIQ: I happen to be friends with some of them and find they are equitable, kind business partners.
ANBARA: They are not just buying summer homes, eh Tariq! They’re building a country right on top of ours while the British hold us down.
TARIQ: That’s a matter of opinion.
YUSEF: Opinion?! Those aren’t toy guns they’re carrying around! Wake up, Tariq! The days of looking the other way are over. They want it all for themselves!
TARIQ: Good-bye Uncle. I suggest you make yourself scarce for a while. You are a hunted man after all.
YUSEF: Tariq, wait!
ANBARA: Let him go.
(A crash. The door is kicked open and a British soldier enters with his rifle pointed at Yusef. Lieutenant Douglas Duff enters behind him with a pistol drawn. He wears a full Maharaja costume.)
LT. DUFF: Breakfast’s over! Everybody keep your hands where we can see them. (To Yusef) Well, well. Hello again. I’ve been looking for you.
YUSEF: Good morning . . . your Maharaja-ship.
LT. DUFF: Have this man cuffed and arrested at once.
SOLDIER: I think we arrest him and then cuff him sir. Technically.
LT. DUFF: Technically I don’t care which order you do it in. He is a rebel and a thief! Cuff him!
(The soldier cuffs Yusef.)
YUSEF: In case no one’s told you, it really is an excellent costume, Lieutenant.
(Lieutenant Duff slaps Yusef.)
LT. DUFF: Well in case no one’s told you, I don’t need my uniform to arrest you and have you exiled to some God awful island, or better yet: executed. Now, if I hear one more word out of your mouth I’ll have you all lashed and then gagged . . . Or gagged and then lashed. Soldier, search the house.
TARIQ: Sir. Lieutenant Duff, please. There is nothing here I assure you, upon the king’s throne. You’ve got who you came for, now leave these people alone.
LT. DUFF: And you are?
WALEED: You can call him Rik, sir.
TARIQ: I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. My name’s Tariq Al Qudsi. Here’s my card. (He hands Lieutenant Duff his business card) I’m in the import-export and real estate business, sir.
LT. DUFF: Yes. I’ve . . . heard of you. Surprised to find you in the company of such a lawless bandit as this.
TARIQ: Family, sir. One can’t choose them.
LT. DUFF: I’ll take your word on that. (To Yusef) Now, could I have my uniform back?
YUSEF: It seems I misplaced it last night, your excellency. How was the party?
LT. DUFF (As he rummages around): Not as enjoyable as the costume party you’ll be attending. We’ve chosen a very convincing set of chains for your hands and feet. Take him away!
(Anbara draws the pistol, cocks it, and holds it to the back of Lieutenant Duff’s head.)
ANBARA: You’ll be taking no one out of my house. Unless you want a hole through the back of your turban, sir!
LT. DUFF (To the soldier, unable to see her): Is that thing . . . real?
SOLDIER: Uh yeah, it looks pretty real to me sir.
LT. DUFF: Jesus, I thought they were supposed to be timid and docile in the Orient?
ANBARA: I’m very outgoing sir, and this gun is quite real. I could show you, if you’d like.
LT. DUFF: That’s quite all right lady. (Beat) Shoot her.
YUSEF: Wait!
LT. DUFF: I said SHOOT the bitch!!! Ready! . . . Aim! . . .
(The soldier prepares to fire.)
YUSEF: Anbara, put it down!
ANBARA: I won’t let them take you, not again.
YUSEF: I’ll be fine. I’ll be free in no time.
LT. DUFF: You’ll hang.
YUSEF: Go to Baybars. What he writes in the papers makes a difference.
LT. DUFF: Silence!
YUSEF: If he can’t free me at least he won’t let me die in vain.
LT. DUFF: Shut up, everyone shut up or I’ll have you all shot!!!
YUSEF: Put the gun down, Anbara.
(Anbara pushes the gun deeper into Lieutenant Duff’s turban but after a moment lowers it.)
LT. DUFF: Very good! Now arrest her and confiscate that weapon.
(The soldier grabs Anbara and the gun.)
On second thought, give me the gun.
(Lieutenant Duff now holds two pistols.)
Ahh that feels better. I quite like the whole Wild West cowboy feel. How do I look man?
SOLDIER: Really great / sir . . .
YUSEF: Duff, let her go. I beg you. I’ll give you names, just leave her. She’s a woman, sir.
ANBARA: No. Take me! Yusef, shut up!
LT. DUFF (Intrigued, up in Yusef’s face): I want the financiers behind the revolt. Can you give me that, boy?
YUSEF: Yes.
LT. DUFF: Very well. Release her. Move out.
(The soldier and Lieutenant Duff leave, pulling Yusef with them.)
TARIQ: He was irresponsible to come here, to put you in danger Anbara. The one place they’d know to look! He acts recklessly! But, don’t worry, I’ll put my reputation and connections into play to free him. I’ll go at once to straighten this out. And you’ll see that my name, and my way can achieve more than mere thuggery. Negotiations, compromise and deal-making! A calm discussion between responsible, reasonable and reputable adults! That is the way to get things done today.
(Lieutenant Duff reenters, seen by Anbara but unbeknownst to Tariq.)
You must assure me, however, that when I get Yusef out you will make him see things my way. After all it is only with restraint and cooperation we can all stay out of trouble and help our cause more. The revolution is really about evolution! I call it “rational nationalism”—
(Anbara gestures to Tariq to stop talking.)
I’ll take care of this. I’ll make the Brits pay for their arrogance. Everything is under control, Anbara, trust me.
LT. DUFF: Bravo. Very inspiring. You were done, no? Or is there more?
TARIQ: No, I’m . . . done, sir. Yes. Thank you, sir.
LT. DUFF: In that case I must inform you that you’re under arrest by the Mandatory Authorities of His Majesty King George of England.
TARIQ: But, for what, sir!?
LT. DUFF: For your clandestine role in assisting financially and materially the treasonous rebellion against the British Mandate in Palestine.
TARIQ: There’s been a terrible mistake, sir—
LT. DUFF: Evidence doesn’t lie, Mr. Qudsi. (Beat) And if it does, oh well!
TARIQ: What evidence?!? This is an outrage, Lieutenant! Not your fault per se, of course, sir, but a big misunderstanding. Please, I demand to speak with the general. At once.
LT. DUFF: Yes. Perhaps you could give him your card.
(Lieutenant Duff slips the card Tariq gave him into Tariq’s front pocket.)
Cheers.
(Lieutenant Duff exits, leading Tariq out with him.)
WALEED: Allah works in mysterious ways Anbara. It is in his hands now.
(Waleed exits. Anbara retrieves her typewriter and begins to write. She stops and slams her fist on the table.)