Voices on the Waves: Act One

The Place: The Red Sea, with no land in sight in a strange little lifeboat . . .

The Time: A windless day circa 1995

Scene One

The stage is arranged to represent a lifeboat, but oddly it has an upper deck, a second story with two deck chairs on it. None of the characters seem aware of the upper deck. The lighting indicates dawn. The passengers are waking; some are finishing their morning rituals or writing letters, and a few are still sleeping. Those who are awake sit separately, facing the audience.

HABEEB: (Eyes closed, hands open before him, chants.) Bismilah ar-Rahman ar-Raheem. Alhamdulillah ar-Rabil ‘alameen.

PETER: (Looking out across the water, over audience heads, reading from a letter he is writing.) Dear Binky—Well, old boy, bit of a sticky wicket here. I’m becalmed, if you please, on a life boat in the middle of the Red Sea. My companions are not out of the top drawer.

BOB (Chants.): Asato-ma sada ganmaya, tamaso-ma jyotir gamaya, mritur-ma amritam gamaya. Om shanti, shanti, shan-ti-hi.

MARIKO: (Like Peter, looking out over the water and reading from a letter.) Dear Obasan. For three days now we have been rocking in this miserable boat. I do not worry that I will grieve you by complaining, for you will never read these words.

LAMONT (Moving downstage, addressing the others.): Hey, it’s cool. It’s cool. Ain’t no call to get upset about no little shipwreck. We all alive, ain’t we? BOB: Yeah, this isn’t any worse than a lot of places I’ve been. Good company, no bugs.

YVETTE: Mon Dieu, it is disgusting, that! And with your hair as it is, how can you be so sure there are no bugs?

BOB: Typical superficial judgments from the straight world. No surprise.

LAMONT: I’m signing off. Y’all just have a good time. (He turns, straightens, and speaks deliberately.) Wasala. Asilu, tasilu, tasilina, yasilu, tasilu.

PETER: What the hell are you doing?

LAMONT: Conjugating Arabic verbs. It keep me relaxed. What do you do when you get stressed?

BARBARA: Boy, that’s really weird.

LAMONT: It ain’t weird. It keep me calm when the bullets start flyin’. And  don’t call me boy.

BOB: “Surely you can’t be serious. I am serious, and don’t call me Shirley.”

BARBARA: I wasn’t calling you “boy”. I meant, like, “wow” or something.

BOB: “Like wow?” Oh, man! DAY-ja VOO!

LAMONT: Nasilu, tasiluuna . . .

YVETTE: Oh, why don’t you all be quiet? You are driving me mad!

LAMONT: What’s the matter with you?

YVETTE: Oh, I am just so bored, so nervous! I thought my luck had changed, and now this! 

LAMONT: Care to try a little conjugation? It take your mind off your troubles.

YVETTE:  I’ll try anything. How does it go? Wasilu, tasliu --

LAMONT: (Head in hands, rocking back and forth dramatically.) Oh, no, uh-uhn! That’s a irregular verb. You don’t want to be messin’ with no irregular verbs. See, that’s a weak verb, starts with a waw. Weak verbs ain’t too bad. See, you got your hollow verbs, your defective verbs, and your assimilated verbs. This here’s a assimilated verb.

YVETTE: Mon Dieu, I take it back.

LAMONT: I was just shinin’ you on. I can teach you if you want.

PETER: Nonsense! You can’t even speak your own language properly.  How can you teach anybody a difficult language like Arabic?

LAMONT: (With no trace of his usual accent, in either a ‘BBC’ or an ‘American Newscaster’ voice. ): My good man, I’ll have you know I speak Black English, standard American--

BOB: Don’t say American Standard, that’s a brand of toilet!

LAMONT: (Deliberately.) That’s why I said it like I did, fool. Standard American, Modern Standard Arabic, and three Arabic dialects. (To Peter.) And if I wanted to sound like a refugee from Monty Python I could talk like you.

BOB: Wow, incredible. Just like the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz.

LAMONT: Yeah, I got a brain.

PETER: (Rallying.) Well, if you know how to speak properly, why do you talk like an uneducated person off the street?

LAMONT: (Exaggerating his accent.) ‘Cause I ain forgot my roots, my man! Thas why. I ain forgot where I came from.

BARBARA: (To Peter.) So there, you shmuck!

BOB: He means he hasn’t gotten above his raisin’. That’s a pun, I think.

LAMONT: You mean like them dancin’ raisins?

BARBARA: Oh, God, the new comedy team. (To Bob.) If you’re such a drop out, how come you’re always making jokes about television?

BOB: Well, hey, I’m a fifties baby. I check it out once in a while. Watched the whole Watergate hearings on acid. Well, maybe not the whole thing.

HABEEB: Television is from the shaitan. It is from the devil. Instead of living, people watch others living, in a little box.

BARBARA: For once I agree with him.

PETER: “The world is watching America, and America is watching TV.” I heard that somewhere.

BOB: A TV show went off the air after nine years. I heard this on a radio talk show. Know what they said? The characters didn’t learn anything, the audience didn’t learn anything, the show made fun of the audience, and the characters were always mean to each other. And that was the people that liked it! I figure I saved one hour times 52 weeks times nine years of my life by never watching the damned thing.

MARIA LUZ: (Sitting up.) Maybe it was a half-hour show.

BOB: Who knows? Who cares?

(Maria Luz stretches and smiles at Habib, who is sitting near her. He moves away nervously.

CHANDRA: (As though lecturing.) The public mind is being systematically programmed now, all over the world. I know, because this is the subject that I study. It is very interesting. It is being done by big corporations through advertising, and even governments are helpless against it. The purpose is to redefine human beings as “consumers” only—buyers of things. Those who resist this process are labeled “fanatics.” It is the new colonialism. It is like your book, Brave New World: the public mind must be made very small and narrow, always full of desire.

MARIKO (Shyly.): In Buddhism there is a teaching about pretas, the hungry ghosts. Their mouth is very small, like the head of a pin, and their belly is very big. So they are always hungry and never satisfied. 

CHANDRA: Yes, that is consumerism. And always, the language is manipulated. Words like “courage” and “truth” and “virtue” must be removed from the language, or else made something to laugh at.

PETER: “At bottom, every style dictates, not only how we may say things, but what sort of things we may say.” C.S. Lewis said that.

LAMONT: He’s a good man with a quote, I have to admit.

PETER: (Facing Lamont for the first time, perhaps with a slight bow.) Thank you. MARIA LUZ: (Aside, to Yvette.) What is the matter with the men on this boat? Even the handsome ones will hardly look at me! This is a lifeboat! I am a pretty girl!

YVETTE: (Shrugging.) One is too religious, another too nervous, another too old. The rest are so caught up in their own ideas, they can see nothing. (Smiling to herself.) Only one, he has possibilities, but not for you, mon petit.

MARIA LUZ: I’m glad I’m going home to Mexico.

BARBARA: (Overhearing.) If we ever get home.

HABEEB: (Continuing the general discussion.) It is true, what this mushrika says. For us in the so-called Middle East it is even worse. We have colonizers on one side and tyrants on the other.  

CHANDRA: Why do you call me a mushrika? I know the meaning of the word. Why do you call Hinduism shirk, idolatry? Because we have many gods? But truth has many aspects, many levels. The universe is multi- layered. Your own religion has 99 names for Allah, 99 aspects of God. How are we different?

HABEEB: (Laughing.) But we do not have 99 gods!

MARIKO: Please, I do not understand.

BARBARA: Me either. What’s the matter with you Muslims? Why can’t you just live and let live?

HABEEB: Oh, right, when you went and started the state of Israel. BARBARA: Don’t look at me. I wasn’t even there. Besides, what were they supposed to do when they left the camps? Go home? Some of the ones who went home got shot, by the people who had stolen their property. After all they had been through!

MARIA LUZ: That is horrible. I never heard that!

HABEEB: It is horrible, yes, but is that a reason to take my grandfather’s land? Why didn’t they take the Germans’ land? It was not my grandfather who built the camps!

BARBARA: No, but your grandfather and his descendents--

YVETTE: Is anybody interested in making a plan to get out of here, or are we just going to continue discussing politics and religion?

BOB: If you got any ideas, just let us know. Let’s see. Let me review. We’ve got no flares, we’ve got no motor, and we’ve got no oar. We’ve got no compass. We’ve got no idea of the tides, or the shipping schedules.

HABEEB: That is because we are all experts.

BOB: Right. In fact, we ain’t got jack. So, okay, let’s make a plan. Maybe we could paddle with our fingers. MARIKO: (Seriously.) We must remember to keep our fingers together so that the water does not pass through. (There is an embarrassed pause.)

BOB: Is the old man still breathing?

CHANDRA:  (Who has been bending over Haji Abdur Rahman.): He is still sleeping deeply, but I believe he will wake up naturally. He was only exhausted.

PETER: What about the other corpse?

JOE: (Sitting up suddenly.) Corpse? What corpse? Where?

PETER: I’m talking about you, you worthless, beer-drinking sot!

JOE: What do you know about me? Scare me like that! And I’m not worthless— I’m damned good at what I do. I’m respected all over.

PETER: I hear you’re alright during working hours . . . I know what the East does to some men. They can’t take it. They crack. They either go native and wind up meditating in a loincloth, or else they dive into the bottle. Two types. You’re the second.

BARBARA: “What the East does to men! What crap! And why do you always call people “men”? Nobody does that anymore.

YVETTE: (Glancing at Chandra, who is rigid with anger.) Yes, and to “go native”! Really, Peter, it would be much better if you just shut up. You are a dinosaur. (Trying to change the subject.) Do you know what a friend of mine says about the Israelis and the Palestinians? He says the Jews were like people escaping from a burning house. They jumped from a second story window, fell on the Palestinians, and killed them.

JOE: Oh, that’s profound. I’ll drink to that.

YVETTE: You’ll drink to anything.

LAMONT: Okay, enough! Time’s up! We can’t do nothing about getting rescued tonight, and we’ll think better if we get some sleep. So let’s do like we do every night. Ground rules: nobody has to say nothin’ they have objections to. First Habeeb says the Fatiha, cause we’re on his turf, and the old man’s still out cold. Then Chandra says the Gayatri mantra, and Mariko recites the Three Refuges. Peter says a short prayer, Church of England style. Then Barbara makes the Jewish blessing over the food--such as it is--

BOB: Soggy hardtack. My favorite.

YVETTE: And dates. We have lots of dates. BARBARA: If I had lots of dates I wouldn’t be on this stupid boat.

LAMONT: (Concluding.) Barbara makes the blessing, and then we eat.

YVETTE: I’m on a boat full of religious fanatics!

LAMONT: (Aside, to Yvette.) It keep them from fighting so bad.

BARBARA AND HABEEB (Together): I won’t sing Christmas carols!

BOB: Hey, they got together on something! A Middle East Peace Accord! Maybe that’s what we need—a lifeboat for every ten people on earth. Mix ‘em up.

(Boat passengers freeze. From off stage, walking onto the upper deck, come the Rabbi, the Shaykh, and the Guru.)

RABBI: You know, that’s not such a bad idea.

SHAYKH: Impractical. Not enough boats.

RABBI: So build them. Do something for the unemployed.

SHAYKH: Bad for the ecology, though. All those trees.

GURU: You’re right. By the way, we are not all represented here.  Several major faiths and many nations are missing. Will not people think we are biased?

RABBI: It’s okay, we don’t have to be politically correct. We’re dead.

(The passengers unfreeze and begin to mime a conversation.)

GURU: Please, shall we be quiet now? They are done praying and eating. Let us see what they will do next.

CHANDRA: (To Lamont.) Well, I suppose if you must.

JOE:  (Sarcastically.) He’s the social director. Every cruise ship has to have one.

BARBARA: Why not? Nothing else to do.

LAMONT: Okay, then, all together.

ALL PASSENGERS: (Except the Haji, who is still asleep.) Asilu, tasilu, tasilina, yasilu . . . (Passengers continue moving silently, completing the exercise as the three observers watch. Then the passengers’ movements become more animated.)

RABBI: I don’t believe this. They’re fighting again.

HABEEB: (To Chandra.) But how can your nation prosper when you pray to wood and stone? How can you be happy?

BARBARA: Oh, right, and Muslims are famous for being prosperous and happy!  Every day in the paper.

HABEEB: (With dignity.) That is the fault of tyrants and colonialists. And the newspapers are full of lies, as any thinking person knows.

THE HAJI:  (Sitting up for the first time.) My children, it is time to stop this useless squabbling. (To Habeeb.)  Little brother, you have not read the Honorable Qur’an. It does not say you should abuse and argue with people.  What does it say to do to a kafir, an unbeliever?

JOE (Hopefully.): Throw him overboard?

(In the manner of Qur’anic recitation, the Haji sings Surat al-Kafirun. In his old man’s voice it is very beautiful.)

LAMONT (Quietly translating.): Say to him, “I do not worship what you worship, nor do you worship what I worship. And I will not worship what you worship, nor will you worship what I worship. To you be your way, and to me mine.

(There is silence, and the sound of lapping waves.)

Scene Two

(Four a.m. light. Most of passengers are sleeping. The Haji is awake, sitting on a deck chair on the upper platform. Characters come up one by one and speak to him. Characters with short lines merely sit up quickly, say their line, and lie back down. Mariko and Peter once again read from the letters they are writing.)

MARIKO: Dear Obasan. It is difficult here. The other passengers all speak English, and as you know, my English is not so good. When they speak fast, I cannot understand them. I try to smile and show good manners, at least. But they are always arguing. And they tell horror stories of what their people have been through, each trying to outdo the other. This is not good; it is better to forget. I can hardly stand it, because it reminds me of—well, you know what it reminds me of. I still have your rice paper inscriptions, and keep them under my pillow. I mean, I did when I had a pillow. Your loving, Mari-chan. 

PETER: Well, Binky, I’d only admit this to you, but I’m beginning to feel rather tired. Fifty-five next birthday, y’know. One gets weary of holding up standards when nobody else seems to have any—a bit like wearing a dinner jacket to a pool party. My mind is behaving rather oddly, actually. Perhaps I’ll end up as a beachcomber or something. Rather nice, all that sand and water . . . Remember what we did with the statue and the bread pudding? Ah, those were the days! Yours as always, Haddock. (Barbara ascends to the platform.)

BARBARA: Haji, I thought you were going to die! What are you doing here? 

THE HAJI: I am always here.

BARBARA: But I’m dreaming, aren’t I? I’m having one of those lucid dreams.

 HAJI: The world you call dream is no more unreal that the world you call waking.

BARBARA: What do you mean, you’re always here? You’re always in my dreams?

 HAJI: No. I am always here.

BARBARA: I don’t understand.

HAJI: Nor I, my daughter. God bless you. The dream is ended. Go in peace. (Barbara descends.)

JOE (Coming quickly up the stairs.): Excuse me, but I couldn’t help overhearing that.

HAJI: Yes?

JOE: Well, I’d say you’ve got a continuity problem. Why would an old Muslim quote from a Catholic mass in a Jewish girl’s dream?

CHANDRA (From below.): Because it is a dream. In dreams, as in life, disparate elements blend.

JOE (Sarcastically.): Thank you, Dr. Jung.

CHANDRA: You’re welcome.

BOB: Did he say the right doctor? Let’s see. Dr. Jung, Dr. Freud, Dr. Ruth, Dr. Science, Dr. Demento . . .

JOE (To the Haji): Listen, I want to know what the hell you’re playing at!     There’s something very fishy about this whole set-up--

BOB: Fishy, that’s a good one.

JOE: Bugger off, mate. This is my dream. I get enough of your stupid jokes in the daytime.

BOB: Sorry.

JOE; Bleedin’ traffic jam around here. Night of the Living Dead.

HAJI: You were saying?

JOE: Right. I don’t think we’re here by accident. And I think you know more than not telling.

HAJI: Go on.

JOE: Getting rescued isn’t the real issue, is it? That’s why we never talk about it.

HAJI: When the time is ready, a ship will appear.

JOE: That’s what I thought.

HAJI: That is not your real question. Your real question will come later.

PETER (Passing Joe on the stairs; neither acknowledges the other.): Busy night you’re having.

HAJI: It is.

PETER: No wonder you’re out of it in the daytime. You run a walk-in counseling center all night.

HAJI: It is as you say. My friend, you are older than these others, and in some ways wiser. Sit down, and we will talk.

PETER: I’m not a believer in fortune cookies.

HAJI: It is not fortune cookies. I only pass on what Allah Most High gives me for these children. 

PETER (Settling into the other chair.): Joe said there was a continuity problem, and he’s right. But he missed the point. The problem isn’t an old Muslim quoting a Catholic mass to a Jewish woman. The problem is the people on this boat.

HAJI: How so, my friend?

PETER: Well, it’s not normal, is it? Look at Habeeb, so traditional, talking about religion all the time. The Muslims I know would die laughing. Or worse, they’d call him a stereotype, another caricature of normal, modern people as backward. 

HAJI: You must know very westernized Muslims.

PETER: And Barbara—she’s a lawyer, she’s Reform Jewish, she negotiates all over. Why is she putting a scarf over her head and saying traditional blessings? She probably wouldn’t even know them! And Chandra, and even Bob!

HAJI: What is your point?

PETER: The point is, it’s not natural that a collection of people thrown together at random should all be passionately concerned about religion and philosophy. It’s ridiculous. People aren’t like that. They’re worrying about going bald and paying their mortgage.

HAJI: There are two answers to your question. For one, this is not a random collection of people. They were brought together for a reason.

(Peter and the Haji freeze. Enter the Rabbi, the Guru, and the Shaykh.)

RABBI: Oh, no, now it’s getting New Agey.

GURU: There is nothing new about it. In the Rig Veda, written thousands of years ago--

RABBI: Yes, yes, but I’m concerned about our credibility. If he sounds as though he’s channeling Ramtha--

THE SHAYKH: This old man is one of God’s hidden saints. His heart is a flame where people warm their hands.

HAJI: (Unfreezing, addressing the three observers.) Thank you for your kind words, my brothers. I will try to keep your concerns in mind.

RABBI: Alright. Let’s listen. Rewind.

PETER (Exactly as before.): The point is, it’s not natural that a collection of people thrown together at random should all be passionately concerned about religion and philosophy! It’s ridiculous. People aren’t like that. They’re worrying about going bald and paying their mortgage.

HAJI: There are two answers to your question. For one, this is not a random collection of people. They were brought together for a reason. Secondly, how do you know “people are not like that?” Beneath the surface, each one is working out the deepest issues of life.

JOE: Balls. They’re watching TV and playing rugger.

BARBARA: Stop with the TV already!

HAJI: Listen, children. Allah, God, has 99 Names, 99 attributes which are mentioned in the Honorable Qur’an. And the Qur’an also says that every being is always praising Allah, consciously or unconsciously. You see, everyone is seeking safety, or power, or wisdom, or riches, or love--and these are the Names, the attributes, of God. The thief is seeking Allah al-Ghani, the Source of Riches. Some seek in a twisted manner, and that brings evil. But all are seeking. So the people on this boat are no different from others. Their struggle is only nearer the surface.

PETER: Of course there’s Yvette. Dress designer, doesn’t think about anything but clothes. Charming woman, though.

HAJI: Let me tell you a story. The Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, said that pride was a great evil. A man who liked to dress up asked him, “Is it wrong, then, to have good clothes? And shoes?” The prophet said, “God is beautiful, and loves beauty. But pride is holding people in contempt.” My daughter Yvette does not hold anyone in contempt. She follows Allah al-Jamil, God the Beautiful. PETER (Rising.): I give up!

HAJI: It is good that you give up. Now the next thing can happen. (Peter descends, lies down. The Haji leans from the second story and looks down at the sleepers.)  HAJI: Mari-chan. (Mariko stirs restlessly.)

HAJI (A little more insistently.): Mari-chan.

MARIKO (Suddenly sitting up.): How do you know the name my auntie calls me?   It is our private name.

HAJI: I did not grow so old and learn nothing. Please come up here, my child.

(Mariko, a little reluctantly, ascends the stairs.)

HAJI: Sit down, Mari-chan.

(She sits.)

HAJI: You are different from the others.

MARIKO: I am sorry, my English is not so good. Since you are all speaking    English, it is hard for me to say the things I should. Please excuse    me.

HAJI: No, little one, I don’t mean that. The difference goes deeper. These      others are able to survive. Only you are drowning.

MARIKO: What do you mean?

HAJI: The boy has his faith, the Englishman his traditions. The young Mexican lady has her father’s position and her dreams of romance. Even the Australian has his work and his beer. Only you have nothing.

MARIKO: (Defensively.) I have my auntie.

HAJI: Yes, and you are so afraid of letting her see the darkness within you that you cannot show yourself to her at all. You are afraid of hurting her. (He pauses.) I think I have heard you are from Nagasaki. Is it your ancestors’ memories that have scarred you?

MARIKO: I could never forget. Others my age are not like me, but I can never        forget. Please forgive me, I am ashamed to have shown so much.

HAJI: No one has seen but me. Your mask is very good. But let me tell you.

MARIKO: Yes?

HAJI: These others, perhaps, can afford to play with life. You cannot. You feel the pain of every being. You carry it all, every newspaper story, every tear.

MARIKO: It is true. No one ever saw it before.

HAJI: For you there is a possible way out. You must go deep into meditation, your Buddhist meditation. There you will find healing.

MARIKO: Hai! (She bows low with her hands folded, turns, and descends the stairs.)

BOB (To the Haji.): Is she a Boddhisatva? One of those sent to save all beings?

HAJI (Emphatically, with a little sigh of contentment.): Yes.

BOB: Far out. (He lies down.)

(As the characters have been speaking, the sky has become lighter. After a little pause, the Haji stands, faces east, and softly calls the Dawn Prayer.)

Scene Three

YVETTE: Look, a ship! A ship! (Looking more closely.) Or at least a boat.

LAMONT: Kind of a weird looking boat if you ask me. You think we all fit in that thing? (From off stage comes The Interviewer. He has a large cardboard boat attached around his waist, with holes for the legs, and a microphone in his hand.)

MARIA LUZ (Excitedly.) : Have you come to save us?

INTERVIEWER: No, I’ve come to interview you. 

(There is a stunned silence.)

INTERVIEWER: (Sticking the mike into Peter’s face.) Tell me, how does it feel to be marooned in a lifeboat in the middle of the Red Sea with very little chance of survival?

PETER: It feels like hot tea and crumpets on a rainy day. What do you think it feels like?

BARBARA: I don’t believe this. This can’t be happening.

INTERVIEWER: (Heartily, turning to the audience.) Hello out there in the Great American Melting Pot! Today, we’re going to meet some really diverse people from many interesting places, caught in a tragic, tragic situation. They’ll probably all be dead of dehydration pretty soon, so let’s get to know ‘em quick, shall we? 

(He turns to the passengers.)

Now, for the benefit of our live studio audience and all the viewers at home, can you each give me just a little background about yourselves? You don’t have to give your names if you don’t want to.

CHANDRA: No. Absolutely not.

INTERVIEWER: Aw, come on. It’s your fifteen minutes of fame. (Confidentially.) I been listening to your conversation. You might pretend you care about love or knowledge or some sentimental crap like that, but I know what you really want: you want to be rich and famous. (He thinks a moment.) Tell you what, if you don’t want to talk about yourselves, you can make a statement about your culture instead.

BOB: A Frenchman told me, “America is ruining the world.” How’s that for a cultural statement?

YVETTE: I like it, it’s short.

INTERVIEWER: How about something a little more in-depth? I want to make the folks at home feel like they know you. That way when you get torn apart by sharks they might give a damn.

BARBARA: Gee, what a sweet guy.

BOB: Lamont, tell him your story. There’s nothing else to do around here, and      you’ve got a great story.

LAMONT: Well, okay. Well, I was livin’ in this rat trap over Northside, and I’d been through it all and done everything there was to do, if you know what I mean. There wasn’t so many guns around then, though. These kids now have a different world to deal with. So I was workin’ and goin’ to  college, tryin’ to make something of myself. I was about twenty-three then.   Well, I walk outside my crib one day—it was rainin’—and here’s this dude from down the hall, name of Aziz, grinnin’ all over his face and goin’ “La illaha illah ‘llah.” I say, “Man, what is you doin’?” But he just keep doin’ it. “Well,” I thought, “I’ve tried everything else,” so I stepped out into the rain and started doin’ it with him. “La illaha illa ‘llah, la illaha illa ‘llah,” over and over. Pretty soon we were both grinning like a couple of fools, and I was more juiced up than I ever been since I did the stuff I told you about.  All of a sudden he stops and fixes me with those weird black eyes like a bonfire and says, “Salaam aleikum.” And out of my mouth pops, “Waleikum as-salaam, “ just like it was the most natural thing in the world. Well, of course I had seen the F.O.I. and the brothers walking around in suits—Farakan’s folks, and Wareeth Din’s folks, so I knew what to say. But this guy was from the Middle East, so I figured he didn’t have nothin’ to do with that stuff. Man, was I ignorant! Turned out Aziz was a Muslim, and not only a Muslim but a Sufi, which is somethin’ different altogether anyway, but that doesn’t have too much to do with this story, ‘cause that didn’t turn out to be my trip. What my trip turned out to be, see, was language. The Arabic language. When we got to talking, he said some stuff to me in Arabic, and I said it right back. Then he said some more complicated stuff, and I said that right back, too.  Well, make a long story short, he had money and connections, family in the Gulf, and he liked me. 

INTERVIEWER: I’m not sure I believe this.  If he had money and connections, what was he doing acting crazy outside some scummy rooming house?

LAMONT: Well, he’d had a bad day. Bad week, in fact. Anyway, I talked to his father on the phone, and the dad liked me too. Said he’d never heard an American speak such perfect Arabic. A nicer man you couldn’t find nowhere. So they sent me to school, and now they got me a good job with the government.

YVETTE (To the interviewer): Why do you want to interview us if you’re going to call us liars?

INTERVIEWER: Take it easy, sister, I’ll get to you later. (Suggestively.) In fact, that’s not a bad idea. (Turning back to Lamont, very condescendingly.)  Your way of talking is a little . . . nonstandard. Do you find that speaking “Ebonics” is a barrier for you?

LAMONT (Trying to keep his temper.) : You’d better know I can talk any way I want, from the street to the embassy and back, in English or in Arabic. (Getting hold of himself, he leans back, with a deliberately irritating grin.) But when I get the chance, I like to talk like I was raised. It make me feel relaxed.

INTERVIEWER: You people sure are different. Okay, that’s a wrap. Who’s next? What about you there, the hairbag.

BOB (Unfazed by the rudeness.): I could say something, but this isn’t realistic. What I say today would be totally different tomorrow, or the next day. It’s      all relative, and it all keeps shifting and changing. INTERVIEWER (Smirking.): Wow, that’s cosmic. Maybe we can cut the philosophy and just get to the story, o.k.?

BOB: Suits me. You think you can get me mad, but you can’t.  Okay. I had one of those psychedelic busses like Kesey, and I drove all over India and other places. Did some crewing on sailboats. The skin just keeps gettin’ redder and the hair just keeps gettin’ longer. It’s a process. One part meditation, one part acid, and a couple of  adventures thrown in. 

INTERVIEWER (Probing.): Don’t you ever wish you were successful in life, like other people your age? Don’t you ever wish you were normal?

BOB: Normal, that’s a laugh. I’ve been out here while the yuppies were goin’ through all their stuff: nouvelle cuisine and making money and exercising and “cocooning.” The whole scene just gets weirder and weirder. I guess I’m like Bill Cosby used to say, like a cave man, before anything had been invented, “just out here eatin’ bushes.” That’s me.

INTERVIEWER: Well, better you than me, dude. (Makes a sign to the audience, indicating his assessment of Bob’s mental state.) (To Yvette, suggestively.): So, what’s a classy-looking babe like you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?

YVETTE: Why should I talk to you? You are an idiot, and you have no manners!      These others can lie down for you to walk over them, but I will not! 

BOB: Oh, come on, there’s nothing else to do. Think of it as a new experience. We’re interested.

CHANDRA: Perhaps if we cooperate with this person, someone will see his program and rescue us. (With deep suspicion.) If he has a program. 

MARIKO: Please, Yvette-san, it may help somehow.

YVETTE: Well, if I must. (To the Interviewer.) But I will talk to them, not to you. Do you understand, you cochon?  Well, it was the Saudis who saved me. The Saudis and the Kuwaitis. It is very difficult, you comprehend, to manage a small house of fashion in or around Paris. There is competition like a pool of sharks--starving ones. So, the Saudis and Kuwaitis saved me from financial ruin. Oh, those ladies are so bored! They have nothing to do all day but stay in the house and gossip, or visit each other and gossip. And there is very little even to gossip about—not like at home. So, naturally they are absorbed in beautiful clothes.  INTERVIEWER: Do you mean they actually wear clothes under those black sacks?  

YVETTE: But, certainly! Bright red, with gold and diamonds dripping down. The most beautiful, the most outrageous, the most ostentatious of ensembles. They dress for each other and for their families, not for strangers on the street who never see them. Sometimes, too, they travel to Europe. Some have taste, and some, Mon Dieu, have not! Some are very chic. But others: clothing of a horribleness to make your eyes squint. But one does not laugh, one does not smile, only inwardly.

INTERVIEWER: Hot damn, here’s my chance to peek! What do those babes look like? YVETTE: That is none of your business, but I will have patience with you and tell you. A different type of figure is admired here. Many are not slim, but fuller of figure. They have beautiful eyes, and lovely hair. Truly, the Arab women are very beautiful. It is my metier to tone and refine this beauty, to display it to best advantage, and to bring out what is hidden. That is my calling and my gift. It is my genius.

INTERVIEWER: Yeah, they’re all geniuses on this boat. (Aside.) I’ve never had such a bunch of nutballs on one show.  Who’s next?

BARBARA: This is against my better judgment. Just for the sake of getting rescued, you understand? I’m Barbara Feinstein, Attorney at Law. I’ve been handling some tricky contract negotiations in Israel, Egypt and Jordan. Used to be you couldn’t do that. You had to pick, one or the other. Coke in Israel, Pepsi in Saudi. The times are changing now, though.  I had some connections in Israel. Some of my family emigrated there. Good people, working hard for what they had, and ready to fight for it. Why shouldn’t they? Look what happened to the ones who didn’t fight! A rabbi told me, “Of course the orthodox are militant. All the gentle Jews went to the gas chambers.” They did, too. They walked in there singing.

INTERVIEWER: Great, a cultural statement! And the holocaust is really popular      right now!

HABEEB: This new guy in Israel might turn out alright. But up till now,       the “peace process” has been a joke. In fact, we have a joke about it. It’s even-handed. The U.S. pats the Israelis with one hand and slaps the Palestinians with the other. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I have just returned from studying in America. I tell you, Americans have so much money and      technology, but they are not happy. The father and son do not know each      other. The parents are divorced and the old people are in a nursing home. Everyone is for himself only, and so everyone is alone. They are like desert beasts, panting after food that is not there. The Qur’an says they will run and run and merely exhaust themselves. I have lived in a good community where there was love and respect, and people did not go beyond limits, and I tell you it is better.

INTEVIEWER: All right, another cultural statement. Now the world will know what Hebrews and Mozlems think!  (Barbara and Habeeb look at each other in horror, united for once against the stupidity of the Interviewer.)

HABEEB: Excuse me, I do not claim to speak for all Muslims!

BARBARA: I never said I represented every Jew in the world!

INTERVIEWER: Don’t worry about it. It’ll all be forgotten in two days anyway. Anybody else want to make a speech?

CHANDRA: Judging from your behavior, I do not believe your news organizationcan be of a very high caliber, but I will speak. I am a researcher and professor of policy studies at a University near Calcutta. I hold degrees in philosophy and communication as well. I am researching now about globalization and technology, how they affect the consciousness of people—the new colonialism of the market place and the thought and structure of groups who resist.

INTERVIEWER (Sarcastically.) : Oh, that’ll make hot news! That’ll keep ‘em      awake. NOT! Anyway, don’t you think it’s pretty unrealistic to stay stuck in      the past?

PETER (To Yvette.): This man has elevated rudeness to a fine art.

CHANDRA: India must not become like the west, where people are like machines. Such a life is a journey from the hospital to the cremation ground, with the psychiatrist in between. We must modernize and develop, but we must remain India.

INTERVIEWER (Loudly.) NEXT! (Looking around.)  How about Crocodile      Dundee over here?

JOE (Smiling—he likes this image of himself.) : I’ll make it short. I’m a geologist by trade. I’ve traveled all over, and like damned near everyone else out here, I work for the oil companies. I’m not a hard drinker like my dad was, but I can get beer or whiskey when I want, even in Saudi. Don’t let them kid you, there’s a bit of action anywhere, for the man who knows how to find it.  Now I’m sitting on this lifeboat. No action here, just a lot of moaning and groaning and praying. (In an undertone, to the interviewer.) Couple of good-looking girls on board, but you can’t have a date in the middle of ten other people. Besides, tell you the truth, women make me shy. I stick to the beer.

INTERVIEWER: I wouldn’t mind a cold one myself. (To Maria Luz.) What about you, kid? Cat got your tongue?

MARIA LUZ: (Drawing herself up disdainfully.) I am not a “kid”. I am Maria      Josephina Aguela de Vega de Catalina. My family is of the best blood and      very old. My mother calls me “Maria Luz”. 

INTERVIEWER: Kind of a weird name for a cute chick. Why does she call you      that?

MARIA LUZ:Because when I was born in Mexico City I was very small, very sickly. It was thought that I should die. My mother left me with my aunts and grandmother and made a pilgrimage to the Virgin de Guadalupe. She lit many candles to the saints and the Blessed Mother. She stood for hours before the image of the Virgin, and prayed for hours in the sanctuary. At last she felt a great light come over her, and she went home, and I was well. Very small, still, but no longer sickly. So she calls me Maria Luz. Luz means light.

INTERVIEWER: (To the audience.) Isn’t that touching, folks? (To himself.) Maybe I can get a decent show out of this after all. So, what do you want to be when you grow up?

BARBARA (Aside, to Yvette.): I’m gonna punch this turkey if he says one more obnoxious thing. I really am.

YVETTE: Don’t lower yourself to his level.

MARIA LUZ: Well, my mother used to give wonderful parties in Mexico, full of lights and food, everyone laughing and talking and singing. Now that my father is ambassador to Bahrain, some of the parties are for women only. That is not so amusing, but my mother is an ambassador’s lady and she has adapted. I want to be like my mother some day, but at home in Mexico City, not always packing and moving. I will have a large, beautiful house with a courtyard and a fountain. Everyone will come to my parties for the lights and the food and the singing. I will have a handsome husband and beautiful children. I will teach the children to ride, and we will visit the Indian villages and everyone will be glad to see us. I must pray to the Virgin about this.

YVETTE: Peter, what about you? You’re not usually so quiet. If I had to go       through this humiliating nonsense . . .

INTERVIEWER: Yeah, let’s hear from the older generation.

PETER: (With distaste.) Righto. Well, I suppose I am a bit of an anachronism. I grew up on Kipling. My grandfather read him to me, and I still keep his books by my bedside. 

LAMONT (To Bob.): Do you like Kipling?

BOB: I don’t know, I’ve never kippled.

(Barbara groans and buries her head in her hands. Peter looks pained.) PETER: I’ve been moderately successful. I’m the CEO of a large company. When I want something done, I tell someone and they do it. That’s why I’ve been over here, straightening out a bloody awful mess in the company. It’s all over now. Nothing to worry about.

INTERVIEWER (Brightly.): Sun never sets on the British Empire, huh? So, what      do you think about the state of the world?

PETER: People nowadays don’t understand leadership. They think any hierarchy is tyranny. Wrong. It’s not something you can explain very easily. One’s born and bred to it, and trained to it. It’s a thousand little things. It’s a touch, a feeling, a way of viewing life and dealing with men. (He looks at Barbara and laughs self-depreciatingly.)  With people, I mean. So, there needs to be a governing class, or it’s just chaos. But I must say, in the course of this shipwreck I’ve gained respect for some people I would have crossed the street to avoid before. This little jaunt has been quite an education. Quite an education.

BARBARA: Good for you, Peter!

INTERVIEWER (Looking at his watch, then at the Haji.) : What about you, old timer? Anything interesting to say? Gotta keep it short though—deadline coming. THE HAJI: (He speaks warmly, yet with authority, addressing the audience.): Salaam aleikum. Peace be upon you.  (Pointedly, to Interviewer.) You must be very careful, young man, to treat the people you interview with great respect. They are precious human souls. (Still facing the audience, he speaks carefully.)  Some of you young people are trying to make it that different nations and ways understand each other better. I give you my blessing and my love. Such work is blessed by Allah, who shines through every good intention. The Tradition of the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, says, “All people are Allah’s family, and He likes best those who are good to His family.” 

INTERVIEWER: Well, maybe we could skip the sermon and get to the story. Let’s cut to the chase here. Tell me about yourself. HAJI: You want to know about me? There is not much to tell. I am eighty years old. I was born in the mountains far away. Allah was kind to me, and I had many sons and daughters. We do not speak of our wives in traditional culture—it is disrespectful—but you are a westerner and will want to know, so I will tell you. My wife was the light of my life. I have made the Haj, the pilgrimage to Mecca, seventeen times. If this seems a great deal, remember my age, and that I was a trader in my youth, like our Prophet. I know people in every country, from Turkey to Pakistan to North Africa, and they are all my sons and daughters. This shipwreck is nothing. It is only Allah’s play with us. Perhaps it will cause some awakening from sleep. (To the audience.) Masalama. Go in peace. 

(The Interviewer is tired and irritable; his pretense of jocularity is gone.)

INTERVIEWER: Lotta stuff for the cutting room floor, I can see that for sure. (To Mariko): Well, you’re the last. Just give us a quick statement on behalf of the Chinese, will you?

MARIKO: Excuse me, please, I am not a typical Japanese. You must not judge our people by me. I blurt things out, I go left when I should go right, and now I have become separated from my group. All my life I have been like this. It is not that I am stupid, but I do not see as other people see, and it makes me peculiar. Perhaps because my grandparents were Hibakusha, survivors of Nagasaki.

INTERVIEWER (Perking up.) : So your grandparents lived there during the bombing?  MARIKO: All my family lived there. My mother was born there, and died young. I know all the details, all the stories, though they tried to conceal it.  I have never been able to forget, though I have remained silent. They are in my dreams—the people with their skin coming off, crying for water. The little babies--

INTERVIEWER (Moving in excitedly):  This is great, give me all the details! What about the babies? How did your grandparents feel running through the streets of Nagasaki with very little chance of survival? Were people screaming, or just moaning? Did they see anybody with their eyeballs melted?

LAMONT: That’s it. That’s all.

BOB: I’m with you. 

(Bob and Lamont grab the interviewer, swiftly wind his mike cord around him and gag him with Bob’s red bandanna. They seat him in a corner, removing his microphone.)

HABEEB: Alhamdulillah. All praise be to God. (To Barbara): Why did they wait so long?

BARBARA: (To Habeeb):  Beats me. It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.

(The lights dim. All the characters freeze, except the Haji, who nods      politely to the audience, walks up the stairs, and sits in his deck chair.)
-----

Cast of Characters

BOB—an old-style 60’s hippie. After many years bussing around Asia, he’s seen everything and not much bothers him any more. He’s studied yoga and mediation, had adventures and narrow escapes, and taken so much acid even he can’t remember how much. His attitude at this point might be described as “laid back”, and his only weapon is a gentle irony.

LAMONT—an African American from the South Side of Chicago. He escaped the streets through his amazing talent for languages, and now works for a Gulf state government. Like Bob, he’s very bright and a bit of an eccentric.

BARBARA—a Reform Jewish attorney from New York. She has just completed successful negotiations on a complicated contract that took her all over the Middle East.

YVETTE—a French dress designer and the owner of a small fashion house outside Paris.

HABEEB—a young, unmarried Kuwaiti man. He is a religiously conservative Sunni Muslim, very earnest and sincere. After studying engineering in the U. S. (where he was appalled at the social disintegration), he now works for an oil company. He is rather good looking.

PETER—the head of a British company operating in the Persian Gulf. Peter is upper class to his fingertips, and sees himself as an old-style empire builder. If he is beginning to question these values, it is not initially apparent.

MARKIO—a young Japanese woman of about 18. Of all the characters she is most disturbed by the situation—being separated from her tour group and set adrift with a crowd of strangers—but her good manners prevent her from showing this. Her slow, careful English cannot always keep up with the quick repartee, and she has additional problem, as we see later in the story.

CHANDRA—a sociology professor from India. She is just returning to her prestigious position at a university near Calcutta after completing several months of travel and research. She speaks rather precisely, as if lecturing.

MARIA LUZ—daughter of the Mexican ambassador to Bahrain. She’s a vibrant, romantic girl, young enough to be unselfconsciously proud of her beauty, her old family, and her father’s high position.

JOE—an Australian workaholic who ‘parties hearty’ in his off hours.

THE HAJI—an old man from Pakistan, or Afghanistan, or maybe Turkey . . .

THE INTERVIEWER—an obnoxious person with no redeeming qualities whatsoever.

THE GURU, THE SHAYKH and THE RABBI—three characters from the spirit world. They wear the traditional clothing of their callings. They work as a team, observing the other characters, who generally cannot see them.

THE CAPTAIN—the pilot of the Somali dhow (small ship) that discovers the drifting lifeboat.