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Authors: Jonathan Garfinkel
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to bring the Jeep closer so she wouldn’t have to carry you so far. You were getting so big.
I was in the car driving the Dead Sea highway. The West Bank.
The sun beat down on my head.
It was hot.
They called me on the radio; I answered it.
They gave me the news:
She turned on the ignition.
The Jeep blew up.
Her body scattered everywhere.
I was sure you were in there too.
Nothing made sense in that heat.
I pulled over and tried to give Zayid water. But he wouldn’t take it.
Alex: You fucker. Why didn’t you tell me?
Shimon: I didn’t want you to have to bury her.
Scene 9
Sound of rain. Time passes. The sound of water dripping into a bucket gets louder through the scene. SHIMON and ALEX on one side of THE HOUSE, ABU DALO and SUHA on the other. ABU DALO smoking, hammering, SUHA passing him nails. SHIMON and ALEX carry cinder blocks to the centre of the stage.
Lights up on THE CAMEL and THE HOUSE.
The Camel: So what’s going to happen next?
The House: Shimon’s building a wall. He’s trying to occupy more than half the house.
The Camel: I hear Abu Dalo’s building an extension.
The House: He’s not so good with his hands.
The Camel: Don’t be sad. You got what you wanted, right? Life.
The House: Some life this is. Winter in Jerusalem. My roof’s leaking and no one’s bothering to fix it. Nobody’s taking care of me.
Why does history make life so difficult?
The Camel: Life is difficult no matter where you are.
Say. I brought you some French cigarettes. They make you absolutely sexy. Guaranteed. (Hands her a smoke. Lights her up.) See? You’re brighter already.
The House: You were right. This is a tragedy. But you came back.
The Camel: The problem with leaving is you never really go. Not completely, at least.
The House: My problem is I can’t really let go of things. I hold on too tight: to people, ideas, land, love.
The Camel: Holding on means you have hope. There’s nothing wrong with that.
The House: I’m starting to think there is. Hope makes compromise very difficult. I mean, who wants to compromise when there’s something better around the corner?
The Camel: You know, I really missed you.
The House: Yeah? Would you make me a promise?
A beat.
The Camel: Absolutely not.
ABU DALO puts down his hammer and starts carrying cinder blocks. The wall takes shape. ALEX and SUHA approach the wall separating the two sides of THE HOUSE. They touch their respective sides and listen.
The end.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to:
Gadi Roll and John Murrell for initial insights and dramaturgy.
The Banff Playwrights Colony for the original workshop and time to write.
Maureen Labonté.
Daryl Cloran and all previous workshop actors.
Thanks to Lise Anne Johnson and On the Verge Festival.
Akademie Schloss Solitude.
Frank Heibert for translation, edits and understanding.
Bastian Haefner, my man in Berlin, and Michael Petrasek, in Toronto.
ITI and the Maxim Gorki Theatre in Berlin.
Kristo Šagor, Holger Weimar and Bochum Schauspielhaus for the wild and loose production.
Jonathan Chadwick for the London variation. And Caryne Chapman Clark for setting that up.
Richard Rose, Andrea Romaldi, Camilla Holland and the Tarragon Theatre for the workshops, the commitment and the final deal.
Adam Sol, Udi Avnery, Martha Schabas, Marni Jackson, Medeine Tribinevicius and Manfred Becker for their careful readings of the text.
Bobby Theodore for his “good bad jokes.”
Eric Woodley for his usual magic throughout.
Finally, thanks to friends in Palestine and Israel, including Suha Diab, Samer Shalabi, Eytan Bronstein and Heidi Levine. Your insights were invaluable.
Jonathan Garfinkel has written a book of poetry, Glass Psalms (Turnstone Press), and the book Ambivalence: Crossing the Israel/Palestine Divide (published in Canada, US, UK, Germany and Hungary). His play The Trials of John Demjanjuk: A Holocaust Cabaret has been performed in Canada and Germany and was published by Playwrights Canada Press.
I was in the car driving the Dead Sea highway. The West Bank.
The sun beat down on my head.
It was hot.
They called me on the radio; I answered it.
They gave me the news:
She turned on the ignition.
The Jeep blew up.
Her body scattered everywhere.
I was sure you were in there too.
Nothing made sense in that heat.
I pulled over and tried to give Zayid water. But he wouldn’t take it.
Alex: You fucker. Why didn’t you tell me?
Shimon: I didn’t want you to have to bury her.
Scene 9
Sound of rain. Time passes. The sound of water dripping into a bucket gets louder through the scene. SHIMON and ALEX on one side of THE HOUSE, ABU DALO and SUHA on the other. ABU DALO smoking, hammering, SUHA passing him nails. SHIMON and ALEX carry cinder blocks to the centre of the stage.
Lights up on THE CAMEL and THE HOUSE.
The Camel: So what’s going to happen next?
The House: Shimon’s building a wall. He’s trying to occupy more than half the house.
The Camel: I hear Abu Dalo’s building an extension.
The House: He’s not so good with his hands.
The Camel: Don’t be sad. You got what you wanted, right? Life.
The House: Some life this is. Winter in Jerusalem. My roof’s leaking and no one’s bothering to fix it. Nobody’s taking care of me.
Why does history make life so difficult?
The Camel: Life is difficult no matter where you are.
Say. I brought you some French cigarettes. They make you absolutely sexy. Guaranteed. (Hands her a smoke. Lights her up.) See? You’re brighter already.
The House: You were right. This is a tragedy. But you came back.
The Camel: The problem with leaving is you never really go. Not completely, at least.
The House: My problem is I can’t really let go of things. I hold on too tight: to people, ideas, land, love.
The Camel: Holding on means you have hope. There’s nothing wrong with that.
The House: I’m starting to think there is. Hope makes compromise very difficult. I mean, who wants to compromise when there’s something better around the corner?
The Camel: You know, I really missed you.
The House: Yeah? Would you make me a promise?
A beat.
The Camel: Absolutely not.
ABU DALO puts down his hammer and starts carrying cinder blocks. The wall takes shape. ALEX and SUHA approach the wall separating the two sides of THE HOUSE. They touch their respective sides and listen.
The end.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to:
Gadi Roll and John Murrell for initial insights and dramaturgy.
The Banff Playwrights Colony for the original workshop and time to write.
Maureen Labonté.
Daryl Cloran and all previous workshop actors.
Thanks to Lise Anne Johnson and On the Verge Festival.
Akademie Schloss Solitude.
Frank Heibert for translation, edits and understanding.
Bastian Haefner, my man in Berlin, and Michael Petrasek, in Toronto.
ITI and the Maxim Gorki Theatre in Berlin.
Kristo Šagor, Holger Weimar and Bochum Schauspielhaus for the wild and loose production.
Jonathan Chadwick for the London variation. And Caryne Chapman Clark for setting that up.
Richard Rose, Andrea Romaldi, Camilla Holland and the Tarragon Theatre for the workshops, the commitment and the final deal.
Adam Sol, Udi Avnery, Martha Schabas, Marni Jackson, Medeine Tribinevicius and Manfred Becker for their careful readings of the text.
Bobby Theodore for his “good bad jokes.”
Eric Woodley for his usual magic throughout.
Finally, thanks to friends in Palestine and Israel, including Suha Diab, Samer Shalabi, Eytan Bronstein and Heidi Levine. Your insights were invaluable.
Jonathan Garfinkel has written a book of poetry, Glass Psalms (Turnstone Press), and the book Ambivalence: Crossing the Israel/Palestine Divide (published in Canada, US, UK, Germany and Hungary). His play The Trials of John Demjanjuk: A Holocaust Cabaret has been performed in Canada and Germany and was published by Playwrights Canada Press.
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