SCENE 6

Later that morning on the balcony of the British compound. Standing over a map is General Allen B. Falbour with an elephant tail fly swatter in hand. He flicks away the occasional fly as he moves pieces around on the map.

Lieutenant Duff enters. He wears a white 1930s-era tennis outfit. He holds a stack of files.

GENERAL: Oh bollocks Douglas! Damn you, man!

LT. DUFF: What is it sir??

GENERAL: Well, you’ve withheld crucial information from me Lieutenant Duff. You’ve clearly failed to remind me about the costume party this afternoon! Do you deny the charges?

LT. DUFF: No, sir! I mean yes! No! Sir I . . . think there’s been a misunderstanding.

GENERAL: Now I’ll have to go and see if I can dig up my Zulu Chieftain outfit from last year.

        (The General exits.)

LT. DUFF (Calling inside): Sir? Sir, I don’t think that’s necessary sir.

GENERAL (From inside, offstage): I could have sworn that party was Friday night.

        (The General enters shirtless with a headdress; Lieutenant Duff lowers his eyes as the General disappears again.)

        (Offstage) And now you’ll show me up with that smart little sailor’s outfit you’ve put together.

LT. DUFF: But it’s Wednesday, sir. Remember. (Pause) . . . And I’m not a sailor, sir.

GENERAL (Offstage): Well what the hell are you supposed to be then?

LT. DUFF: A tennis player. Sir.

GENERAL (Still offstage): Oh yes, of course. Very good. Well done. You’re missing the racket though.

LT. DUFF: That’s because it’s on the tennis court, sir. We play tennis together, Wednesdays sir, after the briefing. I got dressed a little early today. So there’s actually no costume ball, sir.

        (The General reenters behind Lieutenant Duff. He wears a Zulu headdress and holds a spear. His face is covered in crude blackface.)

GENERAL: No party then?

        (He exits before Lieutenant Duff can see him and returns quickly, without the costume but still in blackface.)

        Tennis it is. Shall we carry on with the meeting then Lieutenant?

LT. DUFF: Um, sir?

GENERAL: Get on with it man, so we can hit the court before it’s too bloody hot to play.

LT. DUFF: Your face, sir. You seem to have put on your Zulu . . . um . . . war paint . . . sir.

GENERAL: Yes. Of course. Just a little. Prototype. We’re testing it out. A sort of anti-wog camouflage, Lieutenant, to blend in better with the natives. I wanted to get your top secret feedback before we put it to the test in the field. Maybe a shade lighter, but you get the idea.

LT. DUFF: Great thinking sir!

GENERAL: Thank you. Turns out I couldn’t find the old Zulu costume anyway.

LT. DUFF: Too bad, General. It was stellar, sir. The Spanish Consul was quite convinced you know.

GENERAL: Yes, yes. I think I remember that. (He wipes off the blackface)

LT. DUFF: And when you did your war dance in the fountain in the high commissioner’s garden at two in the morning . . . Now that was pure genius, sir!

GENERAL: I don’t remember that so well Douglas but I suppose it was as you say.

        (Lieutenant Duff studies the map.)

LT. DUFF: I see you’re strategizing sir. Studying the battlefield of the Levant to give us the upper edge. Tell me, what’s on your mind, General. Why have you moved this regiment here for instance?

GENERAL: This is actually a miniature recreation of the Battle of Waterloo, Lieutenant. Arrived yesterday from London. Even that mad little midget Napoleon was a more honorable foe than these half-savage Arab hostiles.

LT. DUFF: Oh. Most definitely sir. Shall we get on with the briefing?

GENERAL: Yes, hold on though, you’ve given me an idea.

        (The General exits. Lieutenant Duff looks at his watch then calls out.)

LT. DUFF: Rajid! O’Donegal! Report to the courtyard at once!!!

        (Michael and Rajib enter.)

Didn’t I tell you two to have this raked and smoothed over by eleven A.M.?

MICHAEL: Definitely not me sir. Sorry.

        (Lieutenant Duff points at Rajib.)

LT. DUFF: And what about you?

RAJIB: I don’t recall you telling me anything, sir?

LT. DUFF: Are you certain?

RAJIB: Oh yes, sir. I do remember a very odd looking Maharaja told me something about tennis courts but I have not seen him since. He must have gone back to Rajasthan, sir.

MICHAEL: Oh I’ve seen him too, sir. He was wiping the general’s arse for him just this morning.

LT. DUFF: That’s it! I warned you O’Donegal! (He calls offstage) Soldier!!!!

        (Soldier runs onstage.)

        Administer five lashes to Private O’Donegal for being a smug Irish bastard. (To the soldier) On my count . . .

        (Michael removes his shirt. The soldier, with a whip, stands over Michael. With every count, Michael is struck on his back.)

        One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . and five!

              I won’t say this again: This isn’t Dublin or Belfast or wherever your whore of a mother spawned you! You will follow orders and act civilized even if it is against your otherwise barbaric nature. And that goes for you too Vikrum! I’ll deal with you later.

RAJIB: It’s Rajib, sir.

LT. DUFF: Just get to work damn it! Both of you!

        (The General reenters in his tennis outfit.)

GENERAL: Now. That’s much better. Proceed.

LT. DUFF: Gladly sir. Ahem. The European front looks increasingly, well, warlike, sir. But, here in Palestine our tough response to the “Arab Revolt” has paid off. We are within reach of crushing the terrorists.

GENERAL: Good Lieutenant and what of the “prison situation”?

LT. DUFF: As of yesterday we were down to roughly nine thousand Arabs in custody. Also, the decision to bring the anti-terror experts from the Irish and Indian campaigns has been effective: confiscation of weapons is up as is the suppression of agitating publications.

GENERAL: Good, good.

LT. DUFF: Similarly, the pattern of executing convicted rebels in the military courts has clearly sent a message to the average Arab. Just as you predicted sir.

GENERAL: Damn it’s hot.

LT. DUFF: And last but not least sir, I am happy and proud and excited and deeply honored to announce to you here, just me and you, on this veranda, that just this morning we’ve apprehended a most foul and dangerous renegade! His name is Yusef Al Qudsi.

        (Lieutenant Duff removes a file and hands it to the General, who is at a loss.)

        Well sir, he was behind the strikes in Jaffa and Nablus in ’36 and he fought us to a standstill in Tulkarem in ’37. He was captured, exiled and then released, which turned out to be a bad idea. But he’s in our custody again now . . . I personally oversaw the operation, sir.

        (The General has tracked the fly and swats Lieutenant Duff.)

GENERAL: Well done!!!

LT. DUFF: Thank you, sir.

GENERAL: You’re welcome. Now what do you say we bring the Arab out for our tennis match?

LT. DUFF: Well, I’m sure he’s not up to our level of play sir, and with the chains—

GENERAL: No, not to play Lieutenant! To fetch our balls.

LT. DUFF: Ball boy, sir? Have I not been doing a good job of it lately, sir?

GENERAL: In Rhodesia and Tanganyika, Dougy, we’d march the Pygmy prisoners to our cricket matches where we’d have each one stand in as the wicket. Then, the batsman would miss on purpose so the bowler could really knock one right on the blackies’ jewels! I thought Africa was hell until I came to Palestine. There was water there at least, and not an Arab or a damned Jew in sight. (He leans confidentially toward Lieutenant Duff) And the problem with the Jews, Douglas, is that I don’t quite know whether to fear them or have contempt for their groveling and jockeying. They’re not as simple as the Arab.

LT. DUFF: Nor quite as short as the Pygmies, sir!

        (They enjoy the joke as Samuel Hirsch enters the courtyard.)

HIRSCH: Hello gentlemen.

GENERAL: Oh . . . Hello there.

HIRSCH: May I?

GENERAL: Of course Mr. Hirsch, join us, we were just finishing up. (To Lieutenant Duff, sotto voce) Speak of the devil.

        (Rajib enters with a tray of tea along with Hirsch.)

LT. DUFF: Two sugars in mine this time I hope?

RAJIB: Yes sir, sugar sir. Two.

LT. DUFF: Next time do inform us beforehand if a guest arrives. Dismissed.

        (Rajib exits.)

GENERAL: How can we help you Mr. Hirsch?

HIRSCH: Well sir, I’ve come by to follow up on our last meeting. I’ve also brought our counterproposals in regard to the Jewish immigration and land purchase quotas, as Lieutenant Duff requested.

        (Lieutenant Duff puts the files with his papers but receives a look from the General.)

LT. DUFF: . . . By the way, thank your comrades in the special night squads for their assistance in suppressing the Arab rebellion. Quite a job they’ve done.

HIRSCH: That isn’t really my doing sir. It’s frankly not my field of expertise or my responsibility. But I’ll be sure to pass on your thanks if I get the chance.

LT. DUFF (To the General): The Jewish units have proven quite competent and fierce fighters actually, sir. It’s been quite a shock, really.

HIRSCH: What exactly is that supposed to mean Lieutenant?

GENERAL: Oh, don’t take it badly Mr. Hirsch, it’s a compliment. Anything else we can do for you?

HIRSCH: There is one other matter, which is the worsening situation in Europe this summer, sir. Our community is deeply worried and I hoped you could pass on our growing concern to / your superiors.

GENERAL: Yes, yes. We’re all very concerned Mr. Hirsch.

HIRSCH: You can call me Samuel, sir, or Sam if you’d like.

GENERAL: And I assure you, Samuel, that we in England are vigilantly watching Mr. Hitler.

HIRSCH: Thank you sir / but—

GENERAL: And we are deeply committed to the plight of the Jews, in Europe and everywhere, as I believe we have proven time and again in Palestine.

HIRSCH: That’s very reassuring, thank you sir. I simply wanted to convey to you that it is of the utmost importance that something is done at the highest levels to stop the / coming storm.

        (Lieutenant Duff sips from his tea and spits it out all over himself and Hirsch.)

LT. DUFF: Good God, it’s horrible!

GENERAL: What is it Douglas, what’s happened to you??

LT. DUFF: It’s bloody salty! My tea’s full of salt, the bastard!

GENERAL: These servants, from God knows where! You can’t trust them with anything! Shifty as a pack of . . . (He looks at Hirsch and stops himself) Shifty as a pack of . . . shifty things . . .

              If that’s all, you must excuse us Mr. Hirsch. We have a tennis date to get to. Nice of you to drop by though; let us get a taste of each other’s brains.