White Bird, Dark Sky

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ:

(In order of appearance)

Soraya

Zakir, her husband

Mumtaz, their daughter

Imad, their son

Fatima, their neighbour

Yassir, Fatima’s son.

Stage: The action is set entirely inside a single room in a West Asian house in a small town. The furnishings and decor must be generalised – not particular to one or other ethnicity, Yemeni or Afghan or Pakistani, Arab or Pashtun. It might be a good idea if the various actors are clearly of different ethnicities, with different skin tones and accents, even though they belong to the same family.

The room has heavy ceiling beams, which give an appearance of making the space smaller than it is. There is a divan against the wall facing the audience, before which is a large table hung with a heavy green tablecloth, chairs around it. Beside the divan is a bookcase with a few books; as far as they are visible to the audience they should have covers in Arabic, Urdu or Persian script. On top of the table there should be a child’s school satchel, exercise books and a geometry box. There’s a fireplace to one side, with soot-stained wall above it. There are two doors, opening left stage and right stage. A single window is in the middle of the wall facing the audience, above the divan. It is covered by a curtain, which can be drawn aside. When it is drawn aside, the audience should be able to see, as required, either dark grey sky or blue.

The lighting, which should be predominantly from one side of the ceiling, should concentrate on the stage centre, on the divan and the table, leaving the corners of the room – the sides of the stage – in shadow. The whole atmosphere should seem enclosed and oppressive.

Scene One: Morning

As the CURTAIN rises, SORAYA is seen picking up the satchel, geometry box and books from the table and putting them on top of the bookcase. She is around forty, dressed in a robe with a scarf loosely wrapped round her head. Her features are clearly visible, as are those of all the characters. ZAKIR is sitting on a chair, reading a newspaper intently. He is the same age as SORAYA, well-built, with a short beard, dressed in a T shirt over pyjama bottoms.

SORAYA: Imad, come for breakfast. Imad? You should come for breakfast now

Morning, I told you, is the time for freshness and a new day.

ZAKIR (without looking up from his paper): He’s still in bed, I think.

SORAYA (shaking her head): Again. That’s the third time this week. At this rate he’ll miss school again. And you sit there and read your paper, all unconcerned.

ZAKIR: So what do you want me to do about it?

SORAYA: Did I say anything to you? I try and not distract you from things

That are important to you. You know that. You’re the man of the house

You need to keep in touch with what’s happening in the world.

That’s why you sit there reading the paper

While our son lies still abed

And our daughter, out, somewhere.

ZAKIR (folding the paper with irritated rattle): All right. I’ll go wake him. Where’s Mumtaz?

SORAYA: I don’t know. She didn’t help me make breakfast, and when I went to see,

Her bed was empty. I no longer know what she’s thinking

I no longer know what you’re thinking.

I live in a house of strangers

Strangers whom I used to know.

[Enter MUMTAZ from stage left. She’s quite pretty, in her late teens, in old jeans and a sweatshirt, her head uncovered and hair tied back.]

MUMTAZ (looking from SORAYA to ZAKIR): What’s going on? Are you two arguing again?

SORAYA: And where were you? What were you doing out at this time of morning?

MUMTAZ (shrugs): Out. I went for a walk. I couldn’t breathe any longer inside this house.

These rooms where I was born

This air, which I learnt to breathe

Are no longer mine, no longer do I recognise them.

A prison for my body, a prison for my soul

And inside my heart an empty hole.

ZAKIR: It’s not safe out. You know that. And you shouldn’t dress like that. People see and talk.

MUMTAZ (laughs): Is it safe inside the house, Father? Is it really? As for dressing like this, I slept like this. I sleep with everything but my shoes on these days. In case I have to run in a hurry, you know. (Looks around.) Where’s Imad?

SORAYA: He hasn’t got up yet. Your father was about to go and get him.

MUMTAZ: Can’t you let him sleep? He was screaming again last night.

ZAKIR: What about?

MUMTAZ: How can I say? Dreams, I suppose. I dream myself,

I dream about that day. Spring was in the air

Leaves and flowers bursting out through the skin of the trees.

I could still breathe then, without knowing dread. Do you remember that day

When my breath died in my throat?

SORAYA: Mumtaz – we all remember it.

MUMTAZ: We remember it, you say? Is that what you say, Mother?

You remember the day I was out with Arifa – who used to call you her aunt, Mother

And who told me she wished she could call you Mother too.

Do you remember her face?

SORAYA (setting breakfast dishes on the table): We all do.

MUMTAZ: Then you’re better than me, Mother, luckier as well.

You have memories, I have but a piece of hell.

All I remember of that day was being out with her, and it was her sister’s wedding too

We looked for flowers and I told her a joke about how she’d find her Prince Charming

And we went to her house – where her brothers and her father made me welcome

And then do you know what happened then? You weren’t there, Mother

But you remember what happened?

The day when they carried me home

No mark on my body, in my breast a stone?

ZAKIR: Mumtaz, please.

MUMTAZ (ignoring him, her words overlying his): I’ll tell you what I remember,

I’ll tell you what I do.

I remember laughing as Arifa’s brother put on music, and her sister blushed

I remember helping put henna on her feet, I remember kissing her cheek

And Arifa said something, and I turned, because I loved to see her smile.

And then the sky fell apart, Mother, around Arifa’s head

The world fell apart around Arifa’s head

Like lightning, but not lightning, flung metal and the breath of fire

And Arifa had no face anymore.

That is what I remember, when I think of her now.

My friend, my sister in all but name

With whom I’d grown up, left

A face without a face.

Her sister, whose marriage it was

Whose feet I put henna on

Now has no feet left. No feet, no legs

Nothing.

And now, Mother, Father, tell me, do

Now that I’ve said what I remember, Mother, Father, what of you?

SORAYA: Mumtaz, this isn’t helping.

MUMTAZ: Perhaps it isn’t, perhaps it is. I no longer know.

But I can’t breathe without air

And lately there is no air anymore.

[Enter IMAD, stage right. He’s about ten or eleven, tousle-haired and in shorts and a T shirt, obviously just having got out of bed.]

IMAD: I had the dreams again. I had the dreams again.

SORAYA: Come, sit down, you can tell us about it later.

IMAD: I have to see first

If the sky is foul or fair.

[Goes to window, pulls aside curtain, revealing dark grey sky to AUDIENCE. Lets curtain drop.]

A grey sky, a sky grey as slate

For the moment this is salvation

For the moment, Allah’s will is great.

ZAKIR: Imad, sit down. What did you dream about

That brought you screaming awake at night?

IMAD: It’s the same thing every time

The white bird in the blue sky

Hovering overhead;

High overhead, like a second sun

It hangs; and follows me when I run.

SORAYA: And last night?

IMAD: Last night I was playing football in the street

And it was overhead – white and pure

White as death, on wings like the death of hope.

And it came swooping down

On us as we were playing in the street.

And then everyone was gone

And I was playing alone

On an iron plain. No light, no sky

Nothing  to see and nowhere to go

Just I alone.

MUMTAZ (Reaching out to touch him): And the drone.

IMAD: And the drone.

(Sips water from a glass – nobody has eaten anything yet)

Once I loved it when the sky was blue

Now, unless it’s slate-grey, I’m afraid.

The blue sky is the death sky

When the white bird comes.

MUMTAZ (to SORAYA and ZAKIR): You see what he’s going through?

(Gets up, wanders around the room, picking things up and putting them down again.)

It wasn’t that long ago, was it

When we could walk free out in the street?

I think I can still recall

When a boy could kick around a ball

Without him waking from terror-dreams

It wasn’t long ago – but how far it seems.

(Goes to window, and pulls aside the curtain. The sky is still grey)

Last night I saw a meteor streaking down

And I thought it was a missile on the town.

ZAKIR: We are all suffering, you know

Even if we don’t always say so.

Each time I get in the car

I don’t know if I’ll be called a fighter in their other war

I don’t know if the time will come

Though I’ve never harmed anyone.

I think, too, I dream as well

I feel hollowed, a living shell.

SORAYA: It can’t last forever. Can it?

I keep telling myself it can’t.

Why is nobody eating? Will none of you eat?

MUMTAZ: I don’t think anyone wants breakfast.

Come on, Imad, get ready. I’ll walk you to school.

Both of us can use time out together.

[Exit MUMTAZ and IMAD stage right.]

SORAYA (gathers up dishes): This I know, this I can say

The fear will kill us all in time

As surely as the drones will.

There are different ways to pay the butcher’s bill.

ZAKIR (gets up and tries to help her, but she waves him away): I’ll be getting ready for work.

You should think of other things.

The world still goes on, turning

It was there before we were, it will be there after we’re gone.

What can we do to help our son sleep

To make our daughter forget her friend?

Should we leave this all and go away

For a life in a refugee camp?

You know what it’s like there. We will live through this.

People have suffered before, will suffer again. (Exits stage right)

SORAYA (distressed): How can I see, what can I do?

I should be the strength of the house

The wife, the mother, the everything

And I feel it all slipping away.

Should I tell of what I’ve seen

The dreams of blood seeping up from the soil?

Should I tell of the fear I feel

Each time my children and my husband leave the house

That I’ll never see them again? What would they make of it

If I told them I saw myself, up in the sky

Flying like the drones, on wings of light –

The houses, the people, laid out far below

Like insects – like a sprawl of crawling insects

An ant hill, no more?

(Comes stage front, addresses AUDIENCE. Lights dim except for spotlight on her, illuminating her only.)

They say those who fly the drones know stress and fear

But in my dream I felt the bloodlust near.

I wanted to swoop, to kill and burn

And I knew I could do it. I was a god

And these were as toys for me, to play with.

I saw my son walk to school

I saw my husband drive along the street

I saw myself, too –

A woman in a headscarf, an insignificant thing

Less than human, less than an insect

I saw myself, and I wanted to destroy

This creature that could feel neither hope nor pain.

What if I told my husband that I lay beside him

Dreaming of ending him, ending this life

Ending everything? What would he say?

What do I say to myself when I think

I dream about this every day?

Tell me, must it be this way

Because of which god to whom we pray?

What have I done, what can I do

To make my life seem real to you?

[CURTAIN. End of Scene One]

Scene Two: Afternoon

As the CURTAIN rises, we see that there are a few changes. The satchel and school things are gone from on top of the bookcase, but ZAKIR’s newspaper is there now, folded. The books should be moved around a little. The chairs are in slightly different positions. There is a fresh tablecloth – perhaps red instead of green. Most of all, the lighting should be changed around. If earlier it was coming mostly from stage left, now it should be coming from stage right. However, it still only illuminates the middle of the stage.

All characters who have appeared in the earlier scene will have made costume changes. SORAYA will be wearing a gown and a headscarf of different colour. IMAD will be in a salwar-kameez. MUMTAZ will wear a different shirt and jeans. ZAKIR will have on a light-coloured shirt and dark trousers.

[Enter SORAYA, carrying an empty vase which she puts down on the table.]

SORAYA (stepping back and looking at the vase): If only I could put flowers in this.

I don’t remember when last we had flowers.

Sometimes I think these things matter, and then again I think they don’t.

(Goes to divan, pulls aside the curtain long enough for the AUDIENCE to see that the sky is blue.)

The clouds are gone

Blue sky, bird sky

The birds will be on the wing again.

[Enter FATIMA, stage left. She’s about the same age as SORAYA, and also dressed in other “traditional” clothing. Perhaps a burqa, but with the face left bare.]

FATIMA: Soraya, my sister, I need to talk to you.

SORAYA (Surprised, but welcoming): Sit down, Fatima, dear.

It’s been too long since you came to call.

I hope all is well?

FATIMA (sits): Well? I cannot say

By Allah’s grace, my family is not ill.

Not in body – but as for the soul

You know, I know, how things are.

I grow worried about my son

More worried, each and every day.

SORAYA (nodding): I grow worried about mine.

How old is Yassir now?

FATIMA: Twenty, young and headstrong

And the men with guns came last night to talk to him

They told him he had a choice to make,

A choice of deaths, he had to see

Die on his feet a warrior

Die on his knees a slave.

A slave to cowardice, they said, he’d be

If he listened to such as me.

Fight and die, or be slaughtered still

At a button-press by a foreign will.

SORAYA: And what does he say?

FATIMA: I think he will go with them.

I know he will go with them.

I fear he will go with them

Tomorrow, if not today.

SORAYA: Can you stop him? I know you have thought about this. Can you? Will you?

FATIMA: He needs responsibilities, something to hold him down

Something to keep him throwing himself away.

I was thinking – your daughter and he

They’re of an age, they’ve known each other all their lives

If they married, it would be what he needs,

It could be what she needs.

Someone to love, an anchor to keep him tied to life.

SORAYA: I must think about this.

I live in fear of what might be

I live in fear of what is.

FATIMA: We all do.

I taste fear in every breath.

[Enter IMAD, carrying the satchel, which he dumps on the table.]

FATIMA: Well, here you are. How was school today?

SORAYA: Put your things away, like I told you

It seems you never listen, no matter what I do.

IMAD: It’s there, above the house. It was there above the school.

It followed me home, Mother

It followed me home today.

[FATIMA and SORAYA glance at each other. FATIMA rises to her feet.]

FATIMA: I must go.

I must go and see

What’s going on at home, what’s going on with Yassir, with my son.

What I dread to know – it calls, it calls to me. [Exits, stage left.]

SORAYA: Don’t think about it, don’t worry about it.

You’re back home, you’re safe.

I’ll keep you safe, with my blood and body if need be.

Don’t be afraid any longer now,

Come to my arms, come to me.

[Enter MUMTAZ, stage right]

MUMTAZ: I’m glad you’re back

I have been worried today.

If I close my eyes

I can see the sky

And dark shadows against the sun

I am glad you’re home today.

[She goes to IMAD’s satchel, begins to take out books and put them on the table, and suddenly pauses, looking at a sheet of paper.]

What’s this? Mother, look at this.

[SORAYA crosses to MUMTAZ, looks at the paper, and claps her hand over her own mouth in shock.]

SORAYA: Imad, what is this? I did not know you could draw like this.

Is this really what you see

This desert of blood and burning stone

While drones with cruel claws soar above?

And is this your face

Are these your eyes?

MUMTAZ (hugging IMAD, who buries his head in her bosom – he is crying): This is the fear he lives in

This is how a person dies

Not with fire and an instant of pain

But with dread that drives one mad

This is how we live. This is how they make us live.

I can’t forget this, and I will not forgive.

SORAYA: You too? You too feel this way?

I wish I never had to see this day.

MUMTAZ: Mother, tell me, what world is this

Where we have no right to anger

No right to sorrow? What world is this

Where we are as nothing?

I look in the mirror, Mother, and the face I see

Has no meaning to me.

These eyes of mine, this hair, this skin

A mask made of some evil sin

Beyond anything that I understand

A sin that lies upon this land.

Are we human, Mother? Are we people too?

What does it seem to you?

[Enter ZAKIR and YASSIR. YASSIR is dressed in a vaguely military-appearing outfit, perhaps a green T shirt and khaki cargo trousers. He is gesturing and talking angrily as they enter.]

YASSIR: But I tell you, once more

We did not invade their lands

Our flying death machines do not hover over their homes.

They do not feel the dread we do –

To them we’re exhibits in a human zoo

To do with as they will

To let live one more day, or murder for a thrill.

ZAKIR: And to you the solution is this?

To inflict fear on them, to make their children cry?

Do you think that will pluck the wind from the drones’ outstretched wings?

Will the tears of their women lead us to better things?

YASSIR: And what are we doing now? Where goes this way?

Ask yourself this, ask this now, today.

You’ve fought once – you know what war is

And you know as well what to call this.

If nothing else, our honour is at stake –

You can choose to answer the call

Or be pushed to your death against a bloodstained wall.

ZAKIR: Yes. I have held a gun once

I know what it is to kill.

And that is why I will not hold one again.

[Sees SORAYA with the paper in her hand and IMAD hugged by MUMTAZ.]

Our young friend came home with me

He had things to explain, you see

Things that he believes, true enough

Hard as crude diamonds in the rough

He wants to hold a sword up high

Hack the drones out of the darkling sky.

YASSIR: That, yes, is very true

But I had hoped for help from you.

SORAYA: Yassir, your mother was just here.

She left to look for you

Because she was terrified of what would happen.

Don’t you think she wants you to live?

YASSIR: Do you call this living? Is this life?

I would call it our throat to the knife

Not knowing when the blow will fall

Cowering under death’s ever present pall

Dying a thousand deaths each moment, now

I won’t go on like this, I swear a vow.

Our killers laugh and call us names

And treat us like pictures on their video games.

A button-press, a screen aglow –

Afterwards they take their children to the show.

You won’t help, that’s fine with me

I’ll go my way alone, you’ll see.

MUMTAZ [Comes to YASSIR, looks up into his face]: You’ll get help from me.

If from nobody else.

Horrors too many to keep in check

My mirror reflects a stranger, my brother a mental wreck.

The blood flows, the blood will flow

It will drown us all, no matter which way we go.

SORAYA: Mumtaz, I forbid this.

MUMTAZ: Listen, Mother. [Points to the ceiling]

Can you hear the noise? Can you hear the drone?

Do you think if I remain silent, it will leave us alone?

I made my choice. I’m going my way

Perhaps I will be back one day.

[Exit YASSIR and MUMTAZ, stage left.]

SORAYA: Mumtaz, wait! Yassir!

ZAKIR: I’ll go and talk to them

I’ll get her back. A minute, no more

I swear to you, I’ll bring her back.

IMAD: I’ll go too

I don’t want to leave her out alone

I see her face in my dreams, Mother

Shattered like a glass on stone.

[Exit ZAKIR and IMAD, stage left.]

SORAYA: Shut the door. Come in and bar the door!

Shut out the tides of fear, keep them outside

I can’t take this anymore.

[Comes stage front, slips to her knees, still holding the paper. Addresses AUDIENCE as the lights go down, illuminating her only.]               

I feel my heart being torn apart

At each beat, I feel the tearing of my heart

My world torn to pieces, thus.

[Tears paper to pieces]

All I knew, crushed to dust.

What I thought, was told, would be

Turned to a stick of wood, a withered tree.

Whatever I say, I do, is wrong

All I hear is the executioner’s song.

[There is a sound of an explosion close by. SORAYA starts to rise, and then slips back down.]

I don’t want to know what happened there. Or rather, I know

Today or tomorrow, it will be the same blow.
Somewhere the sun shines, here the darkness falls
And death stalks through our lives' stricken halls.

[Enter ZAKIR, IMAD, MUMTAZ, FATIMA and YASSIR, from stage left, but they are seen only in silhouette. It is impossible to say if they’re real, or ghosts. They silently line up behind SORAYA and look at the AUDIENCE.]

SORAYA (to AUDIENCE): Is this what I see? Is this false or is it true?

What do our lives and deaths mean to you?

Is this what hell is meant to be?

Tell me, world, explain this to me.

[CURTAIN]

Copyright B Purkayastha 2016

 

[Image Source]

Trembling Tales Of Terror

Dramatis Personae:

[In order of appearance]

CHICK                      >>>>>>>>>              Exactly What It Says On The Tin

ICEGUY                   >>>>>>>>>              The Nice Guy, but without the N.

BUTCHER MAN      >>>>>>>>>                Utter and Complete Psychopath

DICTATOR             >>>>>>>>>                Voice Heard Offstage

WHAMBO               >>>>>>>>>                One Man Army

[Dramatic Music plays]

[CURTAIN RISES on typical average terrorist den, ill-lit and evil-looking. Posters of famous terrorists such as Raghead, George W Bush and Ball Quackeray decorate the wall. There will be racks of weapons against the wall, the more primitive-looking the better. One a shelf to one side there is a very old cabinet radio.

In the centre of the room is a table around which there are several chairs. As the CURTAIN rises, the CHICK is doing something at this table which involves a screwdriver, a hip flask and a couple of beer bottles. She is so engrossed she doesn’t even look up when the ICEGUY enters, carrying a large rolled up poster.]

ICEGUY: Chick? What are you doing?

CHICK [starts violently, almost upsets bottle, grabs it in the nick of time]: Damn it, Icey, don’t startle me like that. If this bottle had fallen...

ICEGUY [looks at bottle]: Kingsquisher beer? What’s so special about it?

CHICK: It’s not beer in the bottle. It’s nitroglycerine and [indicates the flask] one or two other things.

ICEGUY: Nitroglycerine?

CHICK: And other things. Don’t forget the other things.

ICEGUY: All right, I won’t. But why are you putting nitro and other things in a beer bottle?

CHICK: Isn’t it obvious? I’m making bottle bombs. I’m planning to sneak these into liquor shops. Then when someone buys them, and drinks them?

ICEGUY: Boom?

CHICK: Well, I think so. I haven’t actually tried it. You wouldn’t want to volunteer as a test subject?

ICEGUY: Huh?

CHICK [persuasively]: Come on, it’s very tasty. I can offer you beer and Bailey’s Irish Cream flavours. What do you say? Anyway, probably nothing will happen.

ICEGUY: Um, no, thanks all the same.

CHICK [glumly]: Um, yeah, it’s probably a waste of good alcohol anyway.  [Brightens up] Hey, you know what? I could probably put it in orange juice or something. I hate orange juice.

ICEGUY: Or Coke. It would be a blow against neoliberal imperialism if you put it in Coke.

CHICK: I’m glad I chucked the idea of wasting booze. [Takes a gulp from one of the bottles, sighs with pleasure.] Ah, that’s good.

ICEGUY: What was that, Bailey’s?

CHICK [peering short-sightedly at bottle]: No, actually, I think it’s the nitroglycerine. [Belches demurely] Well, it proves that you don’t go boom if you drink it. Besides [takes another swig] I think I’ve just found a new favourite drink.  

ICEGUY: Don’t drink it all at once, we might need some for later. [Unrolls poster] Look what I’ve got here!  [Holds up poster for the benefit of the audience. It reads, in huge red letters on a black background, DEATH TO, and below that is an indecipherable squiggle.] I’m having ten thousand copies printed.

CHICK: What’s that at the bottom?

ICEGUY: That’s the beauty of it. We can use it for literally anything. You see, the way the bottom bit is put, you can read it anyway you want.

CHICK: I don’t know, it looks like a pair of drunken spiders danced the bhangra on it to me.

ICEGUY: You just need to read it in better light. Hey, Chick, wasn’t the Butcher supposed to come here tonight?

CHICK: He said he’s on the way.

[Enter BUTCHER MAN, carrying a large bag.]

CHICK: There you are. Hey, Butcher.

BUTCHER MAN [irritated]: What do you mean Hey? Weren’t we supposed to use the secret greeting when meeting each other?

CHICK: Yeah, but I’ve forgotten what it is. Icey?

ICEGUY [Scratching head]: So have I. What was it, Butcher?

BUTCHER MAN: Um, actually, I’ve forgotten it too. I was hoping you two would remember.

CHICK: Oh well, doesn’t matter. [Raises nitorglycerine bottle] Cheers!

ICEGUY: That was it! That was the greeting. We were supposed to raise our hands like we’re holding glasses, and say “Cheers” three times.

BUTCHER MAN: Oh yeah. I remember now. [Puts down bag on table.] Well, I –

CHICK: So what have you been doing all day, Butcher?

BUTCHER MAN: Well, I began with writing an epic revolutionary poem featuring the three of us. Then –

CHICK: Ooh, really, an epic revolutionary poem? I’d love to hear it.

BUTCHER MAN: OK. It’s called The Lime of the Suicide Bomber.

[Pulls out a piece of paper from pocket, takes up declamatory attitude]

It is a blood-drenched terrorist man

He shooteth one of three

“Now, by the mad gleam in my ruthless eye

You two will come with me.”

He takes them to his secret base

“There is a tale,” quoth he.

“Hey now! We’re thirsty, terrorist man!”

So some beers opened he.

He put them in a former sty

Iceguy and Chick sat still

And listened to the terrorist man

Who called himself Butcher Bill.

Ice and Chick, they sucked their booze

And settled down to cheer

The dread tale that the terrorist man

Meant to kill them both with fear.

“The car bomb made, the suicide brigade

Was charged up, on the hop

Drove down the road, past the pond

Past the old bus stop.

Drone Man flew by on the left

On the left flew he!

Then made a loop, and, turning back

Crashed right into a tree.

No flat tyre, no engine fire

Would stop that car bomb too soon –“

Ice and Chick laughed loud and long

As Butcher Bill attempted to croon.

For the terrorist man could not sing

Though he loved to think he could

And he had a singing voice

Like death watch beetles boring wood.

Ice and Chick laughed loud and long

And sucked upon their beer –

But mumbled on the terrorist man

To try and kill them both with fear.

“Now the suicide car hurtled fast –

Through ruins spread all around

The back seat men went paper white

But never made a sound.

With souped up engine, growling low

Rushing on towards the foe

To try and strike a mortal blow

-Not sit back chewing bread –

The car drove fast, towards its final blast

And into the sunset red.

And now there came a distant glow

From burned out cities old

As though rotting wood, turned maggot-food

Covered with phosphorescent mould.

And through the night the stars so bright

Did light up far too well –

The enemy began firing shells

To send the car to hell.

The shells were here, the shells were there

The shells were all around!

They blammed and slammed and flashed up fire

With a deafening blast of sound.

At length there came a drone on by

Which bombed the other side

And opened a way for us to stay

On our happy final ride.

It provided the cover we needed so bad

And round and round it flew –

And we could only guess at the motives

Of that drone’s PlayStation crew.”

“What makes you shiver, Butcher Bill

As though you want to moan?”

“Stomach filled with bile, I took a missile

And shot down the drone!

Drone Man now came from the right –

Out of the night came he!

And turning round to rocket us

Crashed again into a tree.

And still we drove past strife and shrine

But no drone flew for us

To blow the foe out of our way

Or bring pizza without fuss.

The tracers flew, the landmines blew

The machine-guns fired free –

We dodged first, and burst for burst

Forced them all to flee.

Down dropped the fuel gauge, the engine coughed

The car rocked and hurdled, tossed

Over dead bodies by the dozen

It was plain that we were lost.

Minute after minute, we sat in the car

Watching the fuel gauge flop

Down to zero, and told each other

That there still must be a drop.

Corpses, corpses everywhere –

And all the road did stink!

Corpses, corpses everywhere

But of fuel not a hint.

The very night did burn. Oh Bush!

That ever this should be!

We were stuck in Nowhere Land

And had zero velocity.

About, about, both thin and stout

The dead men swelled up tight –

And burst open with pops and bangs

That gave us quite a fright.

‘Tis your fault, the rest assured me

We’d not be here alone

If you hadn’t brought on calamity

By shooting down the drone.

And as we sat, the dawn’s red light

Grew sullen in the east

Half mad with stink, we mouth-breathed in

And then we saw the beast.

It was a tanker truck so sweet

Turned turtle by the way

And its bulk had fallen on

A high stack full of hay.

We all rejoiced, and found our voice

Rushed to fill ‘er to the brim

And then we found, sad to recount

A fact both sad and grim.

We had no hose, no jerrycan,

No bucket to fill it up

For receptacle all we had

Was a tiny porcelain cup.

Then looking around, on the ground

I saw a pipe of green.

Fit it up! I cried to them

And let the fuel trickle in.

That is how we came to town

Where I do not know –

So far from our destination that

We were meant to blow.

Let’s do it here, my crew all cried

This town of glittering sin

We’ll park the car before the mall

And blast the sucker in.

So this they did. I meanwhile

Went to get a juice

For my throat was desert-dry

And my thirst craved a truce.

While I sucked on my lime and soda

Those morons in the car

Bombed the mall to fragments, and

Got dead drunk in a bar.

Since then, at no certain hour

My yearning fast returns

To tell my tale to some victims here

More painful than torture-burns.

And when my words sound in their ears

Much sharper than the steel –

So you’re bored to bitter tears?

Just think of how I feel.”

ICEGUY [Wiping away bitter tears]: Now, about the plan for the next –

BUTCHER MAN: Wait, I’m not through. I told you I wrote that to start off with. Then I...[swells up chest with pride]...I stole a Bomb.

CHICK [finishing the last of the nitroglycerine]: What’s so special about a bomb?

BUTCHER MAN: Not a bomb. A Bomb.

ICEGUY and CHICK, together: You mean The Bomb? The Bomb?

BUTCHER MAN: Yes, got a lead that there was one available, so I stole it. It’s in the bag here.

ICEGUY: That’s wonderful! [Curiously] What, uh, are we going to do with it?

BUTCHER MAN: Um, I’m not sure. We’ll think of something. Meanwhile – [goes to turn on ancient cabinet radio] I wonder what the Dictator is saying. They must have found out by now that the Bomb is missing.

ICEGUY: How would we be able to listen to the Dictator on that? He must have all kinds of secure ultra-secret communications.

CHICK [woozily waving a bottle]: Don’ worry about that. Big shtron...strong communicamations. No good against old radio.

BUTCHER MAN: Shhhh. I think I’m getting him now.

DICTATOR [Voice on radio]: ...and this theft of a Bomb is an intolerable danger. Who knows what the terrorists might not be able to do with it? They could blow up the capital...including me. They could hold the country to ransom!

CHICK: There you shee, that’sh what you can do with the Bomb. He’s telling ush.

DICTATOR: I will stop them before the smoking gun becomes a mushroom cloud. After all, the world looks to us for leadership. We’re the one indispensable nation, the exceptional one. Destiny has conferred on us not just the right but the responsibility to rule the world.

ICEGUY: So how does he intend to stop us?

DICTATOR: There’s only one man who can stop them. That is why I have sent a message immediately recalling Whambo from retirement.

ICEGUY, CHICK and BUTCHER MAN together, gasping: Whambo!

DICTATOR: Yes, when Whambo gets on to them, those terrorists are toast. I will personally see to it that...[voice breaks off in static]

BUTCHER MAN [turns off radio]: Whambo!

CHICK [waves around bottle]: Whambo!

ICEGUY: Who is Whambo, anyway?

BUTCHER MAN: How should I know?

[Enter WHAMBO, with his red headband tied over his eyes so that he stumbles and falls to the floor with an almighty crash. Struggles to his feet, waving machine gun.]

BUTCHER MAN: Who on earth are you?

WHAMBO: My worst nightmare. [Pauses] That didn’t come out properly, did it? I meant your worst nightmare.

BUTCHER MAN: You aren’t a cop, obviously, and you’re far too incompetent to be a soldier, so what are you? Lost tourist?

WHAMBO: I’m no tourist.

ICEGUY: So do you have, um, a name or something?

WHAMBO: Whambo, James Whambo. [Adjusts headband to uncover eyes and sees bottles] I’ll have mine shaken, not stirred.

ICEGUY: Oh no it isn’t, and you don’t. That’s verging on copyright violation.

WHAMBO: Just Whambo then. No-first-name Whambo. Terrorists tremble in total terror when they’re told my tagline. [Thrusts knife into table] Mission...accomplished.

CHICK: Wha’ mission?

ICEGUY: This isn’t your mission.

WHAMBO: It is now. [Picks up bomb bag and drops it on foot]  They taught us to ignore pain, right? It’s not working.

BUTCHER MAN: I see you’re no stranger to pain. [Picks up bag and puts it back on table] So, what do you want?

WHAMBO: To survive a terrorist, you gotta become a terrorist. [Points gun at them] You, the woman.

CHICK: You talkin’ to me?

WHAMBO: Pick up that bomb bag and come with me. These two others are expendable.

ICEGUY: Expendable?

WHAMBO: It’s like, you’re the flat tyre on the car and it doesn’t really matter. You’re expendable. [To CHICK] You comin’ or not?

CHICK [Weaving drunkenly to her feet]: Not. [Belches loudly]

WHAMBO: In that case, goodbye. [Pulls out the pin from a grenade with his teeth.] Ow, that hurt!

BUTCHER MAN: I thought everybody knew by now that you do not pull out pins from grenades with your teeth.

WHAMBO [Thinking]: I’m sure they told me back in my last film that’s how you take out a pin.  Any of you boys wants to surrender, now’s the time. Not that I care either way. I’ll get a Hollywood movie out of this.

CHICK [Belching again]: Surrender? Eff you.

WHAMBO: Die for nothing, then. [Throws grenade. It touches CHICK’s belch in mid air and explodes instantly after leaving WHAMBO’s hand. There’s a tremendous blast that knocks everyone down.]

CHICK [Sobering up fast]: What happened?

ICEGUY: Must have been all the nitro you drank. Turned you into a bomb launcher.

BUTCHER MAN: In order to survive a bomb, you gotta become a bomb. What happened to Whambo?

ICEGUY [Peers at WHAMBO, turns away]: Don’t ask.

CHICK: Well, now that the only man who could stop us, didn’t stop us. we have the Bomb. Let’s have a look at it.

ICEGUY: Yeah, so many things we can do with it now. The Dictator gave us good ideas.

BUTCHER MAN [opens bag, takes out bomb. Bomb is a round black ball with a fuse sticking out of one side.]: Here you are.

ICEGUY: Uh. Wow.

CHICK: At least it’ll make all the other terrorist outfits in the world jealous as hell, there’s that.

BUTCHER MAN [proudly]: We got the Bomb!

ALL [Including WHAMBO’s corpse, the DICTATOR on the radio, and the Bomb itself]: We got the Bomb!

[CURTAIN]

Copyright B Purkayastha 2015

The Golf Game

Or,

THE ASSASSINATION OF BARACK HUSSEIN OMABA BY THE EAST KOREAN JOURNALISTS KIM YONG KUN AND CHOI PONG JU.

[A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS...brought to you without any hacking, real or accused, by disgruntled ex-employees or anyone else.]

[All countries, persons, institutions and incidents which directly appear in this comedy are fictitious. Any resemblance to any real-life countries, people, institutions, and incidents is completely...heh heh...coincidental.]

DRAMATIS PERSONAE:

Main characters, in order of appearance:

JEN PASKI ... Spokesperson for the Untied States Department of State.

KIM YONG KUN ... East Korean journalist and occasional secret agent.

CHOI PONG JU ... Another East Korean journalist and occasional secret agent.

IRIDESCENT LEADER ... Supreme Commander of East Korea.

BARACK HUSSEIN OMABA ... Noble Peace Prize winner and President of the Untied States of America.

EVAN ROGEN ... Secretary of State of the Untied States of America

SETH GOLDBERG ... Head of the Central Interrogation Agency (CIA).

Also

POLICEMAN, SECURITY GUARD, MEDIA PEOPLE Nos 1 to 4.

ACT ONE:

Scene One:

[Washingnot, CD. The scene opens at a media conference addressed by JEN PASKI. As the CURTAIN rises PASKI is standing at the podium, looking out over the AUDIENCE. She is part way through answering a question.]

PASKI: ...and we are completely certain that Putin is behind this latest outrage.

MEDIA PERSON No. 1 (offstage): But nothing you said proves anything like that.

PASKI: We have sources which prove it to the satisfaction of the President and the State Department.

MEDIA PERSON No. 2 (offstage): Sources such as? After all, you’re accusing the President of Russia of shooting down the Tooth Fairy. Don’t you think you need to show the world the evidence?

PASKI: We have a YouTube video which clearly shows that a Russian anti-aircraft missile battery was positioned in the same hemisphere as the last known position of the Tooth Fairy. Experts from the CIA, the Hexagon, and the National Secrecy Agency have all pronounced the video genuine. We think there’s a very high probability – approaching a hundred percent – that Putin personally fired the missile which killed the fairy.

MEDIA PERSON No. 1: And what makes you arrive at that conclusion, Jen?

PASKI: In one frame of the video, a man can be seen who isn’t wearing a shirt. We have conclusively established that since only Putin goes around shirtless, that man must be Putin.

MEDIA PERSON No. 3 (offstage): And just suppose that the video means anything at all, what does this have to do with the security of the Untied States?

PASKI: It’s a simple question of humanitarian decency. As the President said last night in his address to the nation, the children of the world have been deprived of the wondrous being who took their shed teeth and left coins in their place. The Untied States, as the undisputed leader of the Free World, must ensure that such a crime isn’t left unpunished. The President will soon announce a further package of sanctions against Russia to teach Putin that such uncivilised and barbarous behaviour will not be tolerated.

MEDIA PERSON No. 4 (offstage): I thought the Tooth Fairy was a fictional entity.

PASKI: That’s just plain silly. Next you’ll be claiming that Santa Claus is fictional. Anything else?

MEDIA PERSON No. 2: Well, touching on the happenings in Libya where one government just bombed the headquarters of the other, and the second one’s militia attacked the oilfields of the first – what does the State Department have to say about that?

PASKI: Um, that’s a very good question, and I’m glad you asked. We are, um, always on the side of the Libyan people in their struggle for freedom and democracy. You know we have always stood by them in their struggle, and, um, we hope they will get through this difficult time and settle their differences quickly, so that the oil – I mean, the people can fulfil their expectations.

MEDIA PERSON No. 2: And you agree that the current turmoil would not have happened but for the Untied States’ and its allies’ bombing of Libya in support of the rebels who turned on each other immediately afterwards?

PASKI: That’s ridiculous. It’s all second-guessing. Nobody could have anticipated that Libya would have fallen apart –

MEDIA PERSON No. 3: There are a lot of people who did predict it.

PASKI: I will not take any further questions on this topic.

MEDIA PERSON No. 1: How about East Korea? The government has blamed the East Koreans for hacking Snowy, but provided no proof whatever. But meanwhile independent sources all agree that the East Koreans had nothing to do with the hack at all.

PASKI: As the Secretary of State said in his statement this evening, the government will not provide evidence since that might compromise its sources and endanger them.

MEDIA PERSON No. 2: Will the government then also stop attacking reporters and demanding that they reveal their sources?

PASKI: I will not take any further questions.

[CURTAIN]

[From behind CURTAIN, PASKI's muffled tones]

PASKI: OK, that answer about Libya was ridiculous.

Scene Two:

[Pongyyang, East Korea. An office in a typical news establishment, with a computer at a desk. As the CURTAIN rises KIM YONG KUN can be seen tapping at the keyboard in frustration.]

Enter CHOI PONG JU.

KIM: Damn, the net’s down again. I tried to call the support service but the mobile network’s down too.

CHOI: Wait a moment, we aren’t supposed to have internet or mobile networks, are we?

KIM: Says who?

CHOI: The Untied States, of course.

KIM: And at the same time they attack our internet and mobile services? The ones we don’t have.

CHOI: I wish we could settle this problem. We haven’t done anything to hurt them, but they insist on blaming us. If only there was some way –

KIM: Perhaps there is. If only we could talk to Omaba, we could explain things.

CHOI: Omaba won’t talk to us. He’s far too busy droning kids in Yemen and Afghanistan to spare time for the likes of us.

KIM: I was wondering...he likes golf, doesn’t he? Maybe if we engaged him in a game of golf, he’d listen to us.

CHOI: But neither of us has ever played golf in our lives.

KIM: The Iridescent Leader has. We could ask him for tips.

Enter IRIDESCENT LEADER.

IRIDESCENT LEADER: Did I hear someone mention my name?

CHOI and KIM (together, jumping up): Iridescent Leader! We didn’t know you were there.

IRIDESCENT LEADER: I am everywhere, I know everything. I thought you’d have learnt this by now. What is the problem?

KIM: The internet is down again, and so is the mobile network.

IRIDESCENT LEADER: Yes, I know. It must be Omaba’s cyberwar outfit.

CHOI: We thought if we could get to play golf with Omaba, we might be able to talk to him and persuade him that we aren’t his enemies.

KIM: But we don’t play golf.

IRIDESCENT LEADER: Let me guess. You want me to teach you the game.

CHOI (eagerly): Yes, Iridescent Leader. Can you?

IRIDESCENT LEADER: You are talking to the man whose father scored a hole in one every hole he played for the first time.

KIM: Only he didn’t.

CHOI: Yeah, that’s Western propaganda.

IRIDESCENT LEADER: Sorry, I forgot. These things get a little mixed up in my head sometimes. But your idea – I like it. I like it a lot. But I just thought of something.

KIM and CHOI (together): Yes, Iridescent Leader? What are your brilliant thoughts?

IRIDESCENT LEADER: You’re assuming Omaba is amenable to listening to reason. You forget that he is a Noble Peace Prize awardee, and that anyone who gets given that prize has to be a hardened warmonger. It is a requirement. (Wipes away a tear) Alas, I always wanted that Prize, but I am simply not ruthless enough.

KIM (patting IRIDESCENT LEADER on the shoulder): I’m sure something could be arranged. Perhaps we could attack some defenceless little country.

IRIDESCENT LEADER: There are no defenceless little countries we can attack, you silly twit.

CHOI: I have it! We could always allow a corner of the country to secede, and then attack it. How does that sound?

IRIDESCENT LEADER: Ah, forget it. Poroshenko’s already tried that route in Ukraine and they didn’t give it to him, at least not yet. What was I saying?

KIM: That we assume Omaba would listen to reason.

IRIDESCENT LEADER: Even if he wanted to, which is unlikely, his minders wouldn’t let him.

CHOI: Minders?

IRIDESCENT LEADER: Yes, of course. Those two who pose as his subordinates, Evan Rogen and Seth Goldberg. To our certain knowledge they are actually his controllers, and act in the name of...

KIM: Of...?

IRIDESCENT LEADER (shuddering): Wally Street.

KIM and CHOI (shuddering): Wally Street!

IRIDESCENT LEADER: And you know how ruthless they are. There’s just one way to break their hold.

KIM: How, Iridescent Leader?

IRIDESCENT LEADER: You must assassinate him.

CHOI: We must assassinate him!...wait, what?

IRIDESCENT LEADER: It will be quite easy. This is what you will do –

KIM: But, Iridescent Leader...

IRIDESCENT LEADER: This is what you will do!

KIM and CHOI (glancing at each other): Yes, Iridescent Leader.

IRIDESCENT LEADER: Good. Now, listen very carefully. I shall say this only once!

[CURTAIN]

ACT TWO:

Scene One:

[Some weeks later. A deserted town street, somewhere in the Untied States of America, with the national flag, the Stars and Strips, hanging from windows. In the distance, the smoke of burning fires rises in the sky.]

Enter KIM and CHOI, in golf clothes. CHOI is carrying a golf bag.

KIM: What’s that? The smoke?

CHOI: Protests after another policeman was acquitted after killing another unarmed black kid. Nothing to do with us.

KIM: You know, I’m still not happy about this. I still think we could talk Omaba round.

CHOI: Omaba, I’m told, is always accompanied these days by Rogen and what’s his name, Goldberg, to make sure he sticks to the line. We won’t get a chance to talk him round, simply because those two won’t let us.

KIM: Great, as though we didn’t have enough problems already. Do you have the ball?

CHOI: It’s in the bag with the others.

KIM: Yeah, but do you know which one it is?

CHOI: It’s the one with the red dot. The Iridescent Leader put the red spot on it himself with his own marker pen. [Rummages in golf bag, taking out one ball after another and examining it.] This one? No. That? Not that one either. It’s got to be somewhere in here!

KIM: Are you sure you brought it?

Enter POLICEMAN, driving an armoured personnel carrier, which comes to a halt next to them.

POLICEMAN (from turret of armoured personnel carrier): Here, what are you doing there, with that bag?

KIM: Nothing, Officer. We’re just picking our balls.

POLICEMAN: Ha, that’s a likely story. Well, sir, you won’t mind if I just look at your balls, do you?

KIM: Certainly I do mind. You can’t do that without a warrant.

[CHOI keeps looking inside the golf bag for his ball.]

POLICEMAN: Where have you been, sir? We can do whatever we want. Or maybe you’d like to ask my 30 mm cannon for a warrant, would you?

KIM: Are you threatening us?

POLICEMAN: Threatening you? You accuse a police officer of threatening you? That’s a terrorist offence, I’ll have you know. [Picks up radio handset] Wait and I’ll call up a drone.

CHOI (looking up happily, to KIM): Here, I just found it.

POLICEMAN (putting down radio handset, unused): Hey – what do you have there?

CHOI (noticing him for the first time, quickly hides ball in pocket): Nothing.

POLICEMAN: My ass it’s nothing. Gimme that thing at once! Or I’ll shoot you.

KIM (tightly): Give it to him. 

CHOI (holds out golf ball): Here, take it.

POLICEMAN: I’m not coming down there. Toss it up to me.

CHOI: But –

POLICEMAN: Throw it up to me, I said.

KIM: Throw it up to him, he said.

CHOI: All right, here you go. [Tosses ball up to POLICEMAN. To KIM] Run!

[They run. The POLICEMAN grabs at the ball, misses, and it falls into the armoured personnel carrier through the turret hatch. The armoured personnel carrier disappears in a huge explosion.]

KIM (wiping debris from the shoulders of his plaid sports coat; they are now far enough away from the wreckage that no trace of it can be seen.): Well, that’s torn it.

CHOI (shaking dust from his cap): That was our only golf ball-bomb. Whatever shall we do?

KIM (shrugging): Maybe just go back to trying to talk to Omaba?

CHOI: You know the Iridescent Leader told us to kill him. He’ll be upset if we don’t.

KIM: He’ll be less upset if we can work out a real peace deal. After all, now that we don’t have the bomb, how on earth are we going to kill him?

CHOI: Beat Omaba to death with our golf clubs, maybe? Or signal home for a replacement bomb from the radio transmitter in the golf bag.

[KIM reaches into the golf bag, extends a golf club, twists it around until he gets a signal. He splits a golf ball, attaches the two halves over his ears, and holds another close to his mouth, saying something. Finally, nodding, he shuts down the radio.]

KIM: It’s going to take days to get a replacement, they said.  Of course, during that time we could be exposed and killed, or –

CHOI: Or?

KIM: Sent to Gauntanamo, where we’d be waterboarded, stress-positioned, and rectally fed.

CHOI (shuddering): What should we do, then?

 KIM: I have no idea. We’ll just talk to Omaba first.

CHOI (checking watch): Let’s go to the golf course. It’s getting late.

KIM: We'll try and think of something.

[CURTAIN]

Scene 2:

[The golf course. Enter OMABA, ROGEN and GOLDBERG. OMABA is in the lead. He has a golf bag.]

OMABA: I saw my ratings are down again. That won’t do.

ROGEN: Doesn’t matter, Mr President. You’ll be getting a boost soon enough.

GOLDBERG: All you need is a nifty little war.

ROGEN: One you can easily win.

OMABA (going over his clubs in his golf bag): What war? There aren’t many countries I’ve left unbombed, except for those which can shoot back.

GOLDBERG: We’ve selected one for you.

ROGEN: East Korea! Everyone hates them. You can’t go wrong with East Korea.

OMABA: But they have nukes, don’t they?

GOLDBERG: Mister President. Russia has nukes, and we’re picking a fight with them over Ukraine. China has nukes, and we’re picking a fight with them over the Asia Pivot. East Korea? Compared to Russia and China they’re pushovers.

OMABA: I’m not so sure about this. Maybe we could invade, I don’t know, Iceland or something. They don’t even have a military.

ROGEN: Iceland?

OMABA: Or Hungary. They’ve been acting uppity lately. They need to be taught a lesson. [Takes out a club] A seven iron, I think.

GOLDBERG: Uh, well, Mister President, we’ll talk it over with the Hexagon people. But I think you’ll find that they’ll agree with me that East Korea is the proper target.

OMABA (taking a few practice swings): How do we justify attacking East Korea? I mean, we’ll need some kind of casus belli. [Repeats words with relish] Casus belli.

ROGEN (soothingly): I must commend your Latin, Mister President. But you don’t need to worry. I’m sure Seth and his CIA can find us enough justification for the war.

GOLDBERG: Even if I have to waterboard every damn East Korean I can lay hands on to get it. [Enter KIM and CHOI] Talking about East Koreans, who on earth are these two?

OMABA: Yes, who are you?

KIM: I’m Kim Yong Pun and he’s Choi Pong Ju.

CHOI: We’re East Korean journalists.

KIM: And peace emissaries.

CHOI: And, as he says, peace emissaries. We –

ROGEN: Get off it! East Koreans and peace. We all know that ain’t gonna happen. No sir!

GOLDBERG: Mister President, I suggest I rendition these two immediately. You’ll have your justification for war by tonight. I guarantee you.

OMABA: Wait, wait a moment. You say you’re peace emissaries. You’ve come to begin surrender negotiations?

KIM: Surrender negotiations?

CHOI: No, sir, we’ve come to talk peace, not to surrender. You know, as representatives of one sovereign nation to another. We believe that we can work out a peace that is beneficial to both our countries. We –

OMABA (teeing a ball, and taking another practice swing): Look here, my friends, this great nation does not engage on equal terms with brutal dictatorships which, er... [glances at ROGEN and GOLDBERG] What do they do again?

ROGEN: Lock up people without due cause.

GOLDBERG: Torture them.

ROGEN: Run a police state.

GOLDBERG: Spy on their own citizens, twenty four-seven.

ROGEN: Conduct cyber warfare.

GOLDBERG: Arm, train and fund terrorists.

ROGEN: Threaten to invade other countries.

OMABA: Wait, wait. I’m confused. Are we still talking about East Korea here?

GOLDBERG: Please don’t let yourself get distracted from the main point, Mister President. We are the leader of the Free World, and they are pure undiluted evil.

OMABA (nodding): Absolutely. Look here, my East Korean friends. I’m a busy man, I’ve got a golf game to play and kill lists to make. I don’t have time to talk to you.

KIM: Sir, if you made peace, it could increase your chances of getting the Noble Peace Prize.

ROGEN: The President already has a Noble Peace Prize. He doesn’t need another.

OMABA: Wait, wait. I noticed that my Prize medallion is getting kind of tarnished. I tried to get my wife to polish it but she was too busy hashtagging to listen.

GOLDBERG: I could get one of my men to buff it up for you.

OMABA: That won’t be necessary if I can get another.

GOLDBERG: You really intend to talk peace with these East Koreans, Mister President?

OMABA (aside, to him and ROGEN): Don’t be daft. Have I ever kept any promise I made to anyone? We’ll talk until I get my Peace Prize, and then we’ll invade and overthrow them.

ROGEN (sighing with relief): You had me worried there for a moment, Mister President. [To KIM and CHOI] All right, the President will talk to you.

KIM: When?

OMABA: Be in the anteroom of my Oral Office in the Wide House in two hours.

CHOI: Thank you, Mister President. We’ll be there.

[Exit KIM and CHOI.]

GOLDBERG: You handled that very well, Mister President.

OMABA: Of course I did.. [Whacks ball. It goes flying off into the wide blue yonder.] Hole in one!

GOLDBERG and ROGEN: Splendid, Mister President. Excellently done!

[CURTAIN]

ACT THREE:

Scene 1:

[OMABA’s Oral Office. OMABA and GOLDBERG are poring over some papers.]

OMABA: Definitely him. What about this one here?

GOLDBERG: No, he’s on our payroll. You can do this one here though.

OMABA: Great. I enjoy killing folks. I’m really good at killing folks. Can we kill this folk here too?

GOLDBERG: Let me see –    

[There is a knock on the door and ROGEN enters.]

ROGEN: Those East Koreans are waiting.

OMABA: Oh, yeah, I’d forgotten about them. Might as well let them in, I suppose. [KIM and CHOI enter, still in their golf outfits and carrying the bag] Why on earth are you two still dressed like that?

KIM: Our hotel’s too far away to get there and back in time, Mr President.

CHOI: So we had to come here directly from the course. I hope you don’t mind, sir.

GOLDBERG: East Korea’s too poor to afford downtown hotel rates, Mister President. Another excellent reason why it’s going to be a pusho –

ROGEN (hastily): What he means is, that a peace agreement between our nations would benefit yours.

GOLDBERG: Yeah, that’s what I meant, sure enough. Now, gentlemen, shall we get down to business?

ROGEN: What terms are you offering?

KIM: Well, let’s see, we could start with both sides reducing tensions by formally agreeing not to threaten each other.

CHOI: And then further agreeing to stop all cyberwarfare against each other.

KIM: And normalising trade and diplomatic ties. And –

OMABA: Wait, wait. You said both sides should stop cyberwarfare against each other. But what do we get out of that? After all, you aren’t conducting cyberwarfare against us, we’re the ones doing it to you. 

CHOI: So you admit that East Korea wasn’t behind the Snowy hack?

KIM: Even though you accused us of it and shut down our net and cell networks in retaliation?

OMABA (laughs): Of course I admit it. What are you going to do about it?

CHOI: I don’t follow.

OMABA: I’m the guy who drone kills kids daily, the guy who arms and trains Nazis and jihadis, the guy who gets off on bombing weddings, and schools, and funerals. I’m the guy who won two – get that, two – elections by pretending to be a left-wing black liberal. [Scratches at his wrist with a fingernail. A strip of dark epidermis peels off, exposing white skin below.] Look, I can drop the act now, though.

ROGEN: What the President means is –

OMABA: What I mean is, I don’t give a damn about your pipsqueak little country. If you’re going to negotiate with me you’ll do it on my terms, and agree to what I say.

GOLDBERG: And if you don’t play along –

OMABA: Well, then, you’ll see what sort of man I really am. Now, let’s hear some better offers from you.

GOLDBERG: By better we mean grovelling. Is that clear?

KIM (rising): We’re sorry, but this isn’t going to work.

CHOI (also rising): We thought this meeting was in good faith, but it obviously isn’t. So we’ll take our leave.

ROGEN: Where do you think you’re going?

KIM: Back to our hotel.

CHOI: And then home by the first available flight.

GOLDBERG (taking out a gun): The only place you’re going is an interrogation centre in Renditionistan.

ROGEN (taking out another gun): Get them!

KIM: Plan Two, Choi!

[KIM and CHOI grab golf clubs from the bag and begin swinging. With their first blows they knock the guns out of ROGEN’s and GOLDBERG’s hands. With a few more swings they beat them both to death.]

CHOI: Where’s Omaba?

[The AUDIENCE can see OMABA hiding under the desk, but he isn’t visible to KIM and CHOI.]

KIM: He must have escaped while we were dealing with these two.

CHOI: Not a chance of finding him here in this huge building. We have to get out before the alarm is raised.

KIM: Let’s go. And don’t forget the golf bag!

[Exit KIM and CHOI at a run, the latter carrying the bag.]

OMABA (emerging from under the desk): I’m not finished yet. Cross me, will you? You’ll see what you get for that! [Goes over to a telephone in the corner next to an Xbox, and lifts the receiver] Unleash my personal drone at once!

SECURITY GUARD (offstage): Yes sir!

[CURTAIN]

Scene 2:

[The street with the wreckage of the armoured personnel carrier, which is now a blackened mass of smouldering metal. Enter CHOI and KIM, running.]

KIM: Is that a drone I hear behind me, its engine buzzing over the land? Come, let me destroy thee.

CHOI: What with? We have no anti-aircraft weapons. Hell, we have no weapons except the golf clubs. And you can’t shoot down a drone with a golf club.

KIM: What do you propose we do, then?

CHOI: Hide until it goes away?

KIM (pointing skywards): That’s Omaba’s personal drone. I recognise the insignia. He isn’t going to give up and go away.

CHOI (stopping a little way away from the wrecked carrier): Well, then, there’s only one thing to do. [Takes golf bag off shoulder] Try and distract the drone a moment.

KIM: How?

CHOI (extending club aerial and opening golf ball headphone): I don’t know! Do something.

KIM: All right, I’ll do my best. [Climbs on top of wrecked carrier and waves at drone.] Hey, Omaba. Look what we did to your police tank. And all with one of my golf balls. You call yourself a golfer, Omaba? [A Hellfire missile screeches overhead and smashes into a building.] You call yourself a drone pilot, Omaba? You can’t even hit a stationary target! [Drone engine buzzes furiously and another missile smashes into a building.] Missed again, sucker!

[Drone roars overhead, so low that its shadow is clearly visible to the AUDIENCE. It swings round and returns for another pass.]

KIM: Choi? I don’t think it’s going to miss this time.

CHOI (sitting back and wiping his brow): Don’t worry. I’ve got it. [He fiddles with a button on the side of the golf bag. The drone rises sharply, its engine squealing in protest.] There you go.

KIM (jumping off wreckage and hurrying over): Where are you sending it?

CHOI: Where do you think?

 [Quick CURTAIN. Scene shifts back to OMABA’s office. OMABA is bent over the Xbox, with the SECURITY GUARD by his side.]

SECURITY GUARD: Sir? The drone is headed back towards us, sir.

OMABA (desperately twiddling joystick): Get to the air force and have an F35 shoot down the drone at once!

SECURITY GUARD (speaks into phone and turns to OMABA): Sorry, sir, but all F35s are grounded.

OMABA: All? Every single one?

SECURITY GUARD (after speaking into phone): Every single one. Apparently three more crashed since yesterday.

OMABA: What about other planes then? There must be some others!

SECURITY GUARD (after speaking into phone): None, sir. F35s are all we've got left.

OMABA: Who was responsible for that ridiculous situation?

SECURITY GUARD (after speaking into phone): Apparently you, sir, and the folks at the Hexagon.

OMABA: An F35, an F35, my Empire for an F35!

[Rising roar of drone engine in a kamikaze terminal dive. The scene disappears in a terrific explosion.]

[CURTAIN]

ACT FOUR:

Scene 1:

[Several days later. The IRIDESCENT LEADER’s office in Pongyyang, East Korea. As the curtain rises the IRIDESCENT LEADER is talking to KIM and CHOI.]

IRIDESCENT LEADER: You did very well. I’m proud of you.

KIM: Thank you, Iridescence.

CHOI: Thank you, your Sublime Leadership.

IRIDESCENT LEADER: Even better than wiping out Omaba, you got the recording in which he admitted we had nothing to do with the Snowy hack. That must have taken some doing.

KIM: Oh well, it was blind luck, really.

IRIDESCENT LEADER: Fortune favours the brave. Now tell me one thing I’m curious about.

CHOI: Yes?

IRIDESCENT LEADER (looking warily around and whispering): How was Omaba’s golf game, really?

CHOI: Oh, superb.

KIM: He got a hole in one right off.

IRIDESCENT LEADER: Damn it! I never can win it all, can I?

KIM: Look on the bright side, boss. The internet is back again, and the sun is shining.

IRIDESCENT LEADER: Damn the internet. [Begins weeping] And here I thought I was the best at everything. Everything!

[CURTAIN]

Copyright B Purkayastha 2014

 Scenes from the play:

The Iridescent Leader of East Korea*

President Barack Hussein Omaba of the Untied States of America*

*Both these characters are entirely fictional.