SCENE 5
The prison holding area. Tariq and Yusef are cuffed. Lieutenant Duff, still in Maharaja wear, sits at the desk writing. Rajib and Michael enter.
LT. DUFF: Oh, well thank you for coming soldiers. I’m sure it was quite a struggle to follow orders and walk all the way here. Remind me to commend you to the general.
MICHAEL: Really sir?
RAJIB: Oh, thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you sir.
LT. DUFF: No, it’s not! I was being . . . never mind. At ease.
(Rajib stares at Lieutenant Duff’s outfit. Lieutenant Duff notices.)
(To Rajib) Yes?!?
(Michael snickers loudly.)
Is there something you want to say Private O’Donegal? No? Good. Now button your uniform, soldier!
(Michael rests the rifle against Yusef and starts buttoning his shirt.)
MICHAEL (To Yusef): Watch that will you. I can’t manage the buttons with that thing in my hand.
LT. DUFF: Private! I’d prefer you didn’t hand the prisoner your rifle, thank you.
MICHAEL: You’re right, sir, it would have been a disaster; he might have shot you, sir.
(Michael takes the rifle back.)
LT. DUFF: One more insubordinate remark from you Private and I’ll punish you! Understood?
TARIQ: Sir, I’d like to speak with the general, at once.
LT. DUFF: You’ll get your chance to chat to General Falbour soon enough.
TARIQ: Thank you. This is all a big mistake.
LT. DUFF: As it happens, he’s the presiding judge of the military court you’ll be standing in front of. (To Michael) Private, these two men are from a very well-respected clan of Palestine. And Arabs are quite fond of their honor, you know, so make sure they are treated accordingly.
YUSEF: You know Lieutenant, our ancestors fought alongside Salah-a-din when he defeated your Richard the Kittenheart and his Crusader hordes.
LT. DUFF: King Richard the Lionheart, damn it! Lionheart! A little respect! Now shut up. All of you!
RAJIB: Sir? Any orders? For me?
LT. DUFF: Oh, you. Yes actually. While the slow-witted Paddy takes these brigands to their cell, you can hop on over to the tennis court and have it leveled and ready to go by eleven o’clock. Sharp. Dismissed.
(Rajib salutes and exits.)
Now that you look more like a soldier, O’Donegal, I’ll ask you to escort these two men to cell five. Not four. Not three. Five!
MICHAEL: Funny ’cause I was thinking I’d show them out the front door, save us the trouble of watching and feeding them, sir.
LT. DUFF: Very amusing Private. Do remember these men are dangerous rebels and will gladly slit your throat. Though I suppose that’d save me the trouble. (He starts to leave)
MICHAEL: Just promise to send my body back to Ireland, sir.
(A moment; Lieutenant Duff leaves.)
YUSEF: What’s your name young man?
MICHAEL: Well it’s not Paddy or Mick, I’ll tell you that.
YUSEF: I like to be called “Arab beast,” or just “wog.” I also like “damned Semite scum,” if only because it has a wider scope of targets for the discerning British gentleman.
MICHAEL: Is that so? You dirty Mohammedan!
MICHAEL: Bloody Bedouin goat-shagger!
YUSEF: Filthy potato-eating pope-lover!
MICHAEL: Two-timin’ camel-ridin’ terrorist!
YUSEF: Tinker Mick Taig monkey son of a Paddy whore!!!!!
(Beat.)
MICHAEL: Touché. (A laugh)
YUSEF: Yusef Al Qudsi. And this fellow next to me is my worthless, traitorous nephew Tariq. Say hello Tariq.
(He doesn’t.)
MICHAEL (To Yusef): Michael O’Donegal. Cigarette?
(Michael shares a cigarette with Yusef who is still cuffed.)
YUSEF: Any relation to Sean O’Donegal?
MICHAEL: It’s me dad’s cousin, yeah. You know him?
YUSEF: We know of him. He fought the partition, gave the Brits a hiding in 1918. An inspiration.
MICHAEL: Well he’d give me a hiding if he saw me wearing this uniform, but it was either this or rot in a Belfast prison for five years. This turned out to be much worse of course.
YUSEF: The choices we’re left with dear boy. I was conscripted into the Ottoman army; got a British bullet in my ass at Gallipoli. Now, whiskey’s the only thing that numbs the pain.
MICHAEL: Well I’ve got somethin’ for what ails you then. Irish of course. Blended.
(Michael un-cuffs Yusef, gives him the flask.)
Not a pious Moslem I take it?
YUSEF: More of a pious rebel, Michael. It comes first these days.
MICHAEL: Amen. To the Empire!
LT. DUFF (Offstage): O’Donegal!!!
MICHAEL: Speak of the devil. Master calls. I’d best be off.
(Michael puts cuffs back on Yusef and exits; Soldier enters to stand guard.)
TARIQ: This is absurd.
YUSEF: Yes, Tariq: An army of pink, pig eaters thousands of miles from their island telling us how to live. It’s the height of absurdity.
TARIQ: That’s not what I mean! You know what? I’m going to sit here in silence! Because I clearly cannot have a conversation with you!
YUSEF: Fine. But you should know that communication with other human beings during imprisonment is the key to maintaining one’s sanity. I learned that in the Seychelles. Ended up talking to a banana tree after one month in solitary.
TARIQ: You framed me! You gave Duff my name.
YUSEF: And you know the worst part?! . . . I had to eat them afterwards.
TARIQ: What are you talking about?
YUSEF: The bananas. I killed and then ate my only friends; my confessors, my comrades. We were fed mostly bananas. Imagine! Like a bunch of monkeys! Very sad.
TARIQ: You framed your own nephew, your flesh and blood.
YUSEF: Well, Tariq, I figured I’d return the favor.
TARIQ: Are you suggesting that I turned you in? You’re insane.
YUSEF: Perhaps I am. And you are guilty. Banana sandwiches. Banana kebab.
TARIQ: Me? Guilty??? Of what?
YUSEF: Stuffed bananas. They were the best!
TARIQ: What am I guilty of?
YUSEF: Doing monkey business!
TARIQ: You know, you’ve always been jealous, Yusef. Because I built a fortune and a good reputation against all odds.
YUSEF: But despite your “reputation,” to them, you are just another dirty Arab monkey! Guilty!
TARIQ: I am well respected by colleagues from Nablus to London!
YUSEF: And yet here you are, in jail.
TARIQ: I’m in jail because you’ve framed me and sullied my name!
YUSEF: For your information, being in prison is the one thing that can save your name from being truly “sullied.” If only you were lucky enough to be guilty of fighting for your country!
TARIQ: Ahh! So you admit it! I’m innocent!
YUSEF: No, you’re clueless, Tariq.
TARIQ: Really? Because I think I’m the only one preparing himself realistically for the future of Palestine.
YUSEF: You’re absolutely right. Because there won’t be a Palestine to do business in before long! We’ll be the foreigners soon enough and your business partners will be the citizens. (Pause) But perhaps you’d trade it all for a flat in London? What a sight! A naive, collaborating ape walking the rainy streets of the imperial capital in a nice European suit.
TARIQ: I am not a collaborator. And I am not going anywhere.
YUSEF: Banana juice with a little yogurt!!!! That was my favorite!
TARIQ: And you wonder, you wonder why I would turn you in!?!?
YUSEF: No, I wonder, how we are related, Tariq . . .
(Tariq starts writing with a small pencil and a piece of paper.)
What are you writing?
TARIQ: I am drafting a request for the prompt assistance of a respected man, a friend, who will vouch for my character and get me out of here. But not you I’m afraid.
(Michael returns to lead Tariq and Yusef to the prison cell.)
YUSEF: That’s true, your friends would have me rot in here while you run free.
TARIQ: You know what I think Uncle Yusef? I think you are the perfect example of why we need to be ruled. At least until we learn how to act civilized.
YUSEF: A question, Tariq: what good is your pocket watch if you are nothing but a slave?
(Both are led into their cell.)