SCENE 1
Anbara in her house, practicing jabs with the sword. She stops, returns the sword to its place on the wall, picks up the telephone and dials, determined.
ANBARA: Nablus 4125, British HQ please . . . Hello. Yes. I’m calling again to inquire about the status of my husband, Yusef Al Qudsi . . . Yes, he’s there . . . Yes, I’m sure! (She listens) Well try the dungeons damn it! I’m sure he’s down there . . . Hello!?? Well fuck you too akhou sharmuta!!
(Waleed enters with a small sack in his hands.)
WALEED: Salaam ou Alaykoum sitt Anbara. I brought soap from the factory, half-priced but fresh.
ANBARA: You think we can wash the British off with that, Waleed?
WALEED: No, but this might work.
(He pulls out a folded newspaper from the bag.)
The latest Baybars article. He is something else, that man.
ANBARA: Yes . . . I know.
WALEED: As soon as I read it I went straight back to the newsstand and bought all the copies I could.
ANBARA: I thought the British raided the newsstands?
WALEED: That’s why it’s the grocer who sells the papers now. Keeps them hidden under his produce. My idea. I passed out copies for free on the way home . . . as discreetly as possible of course. Listen to this: “Brothers! Have we still not realized that in order to truly liberate Palestine we must also liberate and elevate the Palestinian woman?” . . . Ah! And here it is, the second to last paragraph. He’s got balls this Baybars! “If the high commissioner is a buffoon, and he certainly is, then our leader the mufti is at the very least marked by the unmistakable signs of opportunism, egoism, and above all, mediocrity.” It is true, I’ve met him.
ANBARA: And what news on the streets?
WALEED: There’s a British warrant for Baybars’s arrest. And apparently our dear mufti has sent word from Beirut that he wants Baybars “reined in.”
(He draws his finger across his throat.)
And the word from Tel Aviv is that the Jewish Agency fellows are looking for Baybars as well.
ANBARA: To . . . ?
(She draws her finger across her throat in a question.)
WALEED: Much more civilized. They want to pay him to stop writing against the Zionists.
ANBARA: Really? (Beat) How much?
WALEED: No idea. They did the same thing with the editor of Filastin. A couple years back. He refused the money of course. Just like he refused to agree with the mufti. Now he’s a poor exile in Beirut . . .
ANBARA: Maybe he should have taken the money then?
WALEED: God forbid! Anyone low enough to take such money would have to disappear and start over, with a new name, a new everything.
ANBARA: And Baybars wouldn’t stoop so low?
WALEED: Who knows. They can’t even find the man. No one can. The money will just sit and rot in Tel Aviv.
ANBARA: Well, what if Baybars took the money and used it for a worthy cause?
WALEED: His ideas, my dear, are worth more than a thousand rifles.
ANBARA: This coming from a man who drove a cart full of guns up to Jenin just the other night.
WALEED: I didn’t just take rifles up to Jenin. I took copies of Baybars’s article . . . And it would be a shame if a bag of gold silenced his tip-tap-typing in the middle of the night . . . Unless he had a really good plan. Though, if my memory serves me he’s not very good with money.
(Anbara disappears into the bedroom. Waleed prepares a bag. Anbara reenters with her hair up and covered. Waleed hands her the bag.)
ANBARA: Watch the house.
WALEED: I take it you’re going to Tel Aviv.
ANBARA: I hear they’ve made it look like Europe.
(She exits. Lights fade down on Waleed as he begins to sort the soap from the bag, smelling each piece deeply.)