The
dead don’t protest
In this short play, Malak and Salem, fleeing a demonstration broken up by police, take refuge inside a tomb in Cairo’s city of the dead. Confined together too close for comfort, they have to come to terms with their situation – and each other – until a dangerous stranger appears…
By Khaled Diab
Stage set up
as the inside of an Egyptian tomb, which looks something like a small house
made up of a single room. In one corner there is a sort of tombstone and marble
plaques on the wall indicate the family members that have been buried there.
Lights up. Empty stage. Young man and woman rush on from wings in a state of
visible agitation and panic. The girl sits down and tries to catch her breath
and composure. The boy, panting, checks the room to make sure it’s safe and
there’s no-one concealed anywhere. He heads back to the wing that represents
the doorway and cautiously puts his head out to make sure they made a clean
getaway.
Malak: Will
you get your head back in here! You’ll give us away.
Salem: [shuts the door] Husssshhhh!
Malak: Do
you think we’ve lost them?
Salem: It
looks that way. For now, at least.
Malak: There
must be a way out. (She starts to move
around as if looking for it)
Salem: Well,
it’s not over there.
Malak: I
know that! Let me think.
Salem:
What's there to think about? We need to lay low.
Malak:
They'll catch up with us. We should keep on the move.
Salem: No!
We'll get caught. They have all the exits covered.
Malak: Don’t
get so panicky. We need to remain calm.
Salem: Who
said I was panicking?
Malak: Look
at you, you can’t keep still and your voice is shaky.
Salem: Well,
excuse me, Miss Nerves-of-Steel one of us has to be realistic.
Malak:
That’s you, is it?
Salem: Yeah,
I know what it's really like. I don't get my ideas from books and films.
Malak: And
what I know is not valid, I suppose.
Salem: In
this situation, no.
Malak: So,
you get chased by police everyday, do you?
Salem: Of
course not. But…
Malak: And
you know how they think and operate?
Salem: I've seen
them around Imbaba enough to know more than a little about them.
Malak: Why
did you lead us into this graveyard, then?
Salem: It
was our best option at the time. Besides, I didn't hear you complain.
Malak: How
could I when you literally threw me through the gate?
Salem: So
what do you suggest we should've done?
Malak:
Headed for the market. It was packed and we could’ve vanished into the crowds.
Salem: Not
with those tight jeans you’re wearing. And look at that T-shirt.
Malak:
What’s wrong with them?
Salem: They
stick out…Galabiyas and long dresses are the most people get to see around
here.
Malak: You
always comment on the way I dress.
Salem:
Because you’re a spoilt, rich little girl. It’s all a game to you – make
believe.
Malak: In case
you hadn’t realised we are in the same position.
Salem: No
we're not.
Malak: Yeah?
How’s that?
Salem: We'll
for starters I’m a man…
Malak: Good
God! What's that got to do with anything?
Salem: If
the police catch you they’ll let you off with a warning. As for me…
Malak:
That’s ridiculous! It's just as illegal for a woman to demonstrate as a man.
How about that woman being loaded into the back of the police-van? Didn’t you
see her? Didn’t you see the blood running down from her forehead?
Salem: Women
shouldn’t go out on the streets and protest.
Malak: Oh,
so only macho men like you should do it. When bombs fall on Baghdad they don't
care if they kill men or women, or children for that matter. Poverty and
oppression don’t distinguish between men and women.
Salem: When
you’re at the bottom no one hears your protests anyway.
Malak: At
least men get to be masters of their own households.
Salem: Not
if they’re married to you.
Malak: Men like
you stand on shaky ground and wouldn’t marry a woman like me. Do you know why?
Because you’re afraid I’d show up your failings.
Salem:
That’s absurd!… I refuse to carry on with this argument.
Malak: Fine!
Malak moves towards the tombstone. Sits or crouches down.
Malak: (Walks up to plaque and reads) Shawkat,
Bey, Abdel-Azeem, Justice at the Crown Court (1880-1943). Kamel, Bey,
Abdel-Azeem, Police General (1888-1947).
Ahmed Shawkat Abdel-Azeem, Public Attorney (1939-1992)…
Salem:
They're all cops. What is this – a dead man’s court?
Malak: Do
you think Ahmed Shawkat would defend us or prosecute us?
Salem: He’s
dead. There’s not much he can do in his current state.
Malak: Maybe
they keep law and order in this ghost town. Do you think they approve of how
we’re using their grave?
Salem:
They’re beyond caring.
Malak: A bit
like you… Do you believe in ghosts?
Salem: Once
you’re dead you transcend this world.
Malak:
Doesn’t this place feel creepy? The air is so still… Inviting sleep… Listen… What
do you hear?
Salem:
Nothing.
Malak:
Exactly! It's almost like the city and its noise aren’t allowed past the gate…
Everything stands still… Hangs heavily… Death feels so close at hand… Isn’t
that what death is: a looming silence?
Salem:
Enough about death!
A looming silence hangs over them.
They both sit in
silence nursing their own thoughts and apprehensions. Suddenly, they hear the
sound of a siren. They jump startled. They now stand closer to one another.
Salem: That
sounds close.
Malak: I'll
go and have a look.
Salem: No,
don’t! It’s not safe.
Malak: I'll
keep out of sight.
Salem: I
have a better idea. (draws her closer by
the hand)
Malak: What?
Salem: Kiss
me.
Malak:
What?... No!
Salem: It's
the only way.
Malak: I don’t
know what perverted fantasy… Let go of my hand!!
Salem: I'm
not being perverted. If you let me kiss…
They hear a faint sound of scurrying feet.
Salem:
Listen! We’ve got to be quick. They’ll think we’re lovers.
Malak: I'd
rather be arrested for demonstrating. It's something I can be proud of. I don’t
want to be taken in for making out… with you!
Salem:
Malak, be reasonable…
Malak: I am.
(she says this as she makes her way
towards the door)
Malak rushes off
stage. There is silence for a moment. Malak screams. Salem jumps. Salem
hesitates. He rushes towards the door. As he nears it, Malak rushes in and
collides with him.
Salem: Wha…
What happened?
Malak: R-r-r-r-r-r
Salem: Is it
the police? Are we surrounded?
Malak: R-r-r-r-rat.
Salem: Eh?
Malak: I t-t-t-trod
on a rat. It
t-t-t-tried to bite me.
Salem laughs.
Malak: It
isn’t funny.
Salem: The
world famous revolutionary is afraid of rats.
Malak: I'm
not afraid of them. I’m disgusted by them. They turn my stomach.
As Malak says this she sits down.
Salem:
Loosen up. It was funny!
Malak lights a
cigarette.
Salem:
You’re smoking.
Malak: Yes.
Salem:
Please, don’t.
Malak: Why
not?
Salem: Cos,
it’s so unfeminine.
Malak: So,
it’s a manly thing to do?
Salem: The sight
of a woman with a fag hanging from her lips is so unappealing.
Malak: (Takes a deep drag) Why not say a
cigarette adds a touch of sophistication and mystery to a woman? (blows the smoke out)
Salem: So,
you want to seem more sophisticated. Is that it?
Malak: No.
Salem: Then,
why do you smoke?
Malak:
What’s it to you?
Salem: I
hate the smell. I find the idea of dragging smoke into your lungs unappealing
in men and even more so in women.
Malak: It settles my nerves.
Salem: Put
it out.
Malak: There’re
only a few drags left.
Salem: Put
it out! (Malak puts out the cigarette)
(Short pause) I don't believe it.
Malak: What?
Salem: You
actually did what I asked you to do.
Malak: Why not?
I’m reasonable. So what if I speak out. I’m only standing up for what I
believe. Which is more than I can say for some.
Salem:
Meaning me?
Malak:
Amongst others.
Salem: Well,
it’s easy for you to take a holier-than-thou attitude.
Malak: I'm
not trying to be condescending.
Salem: Well,
you’re succeeding. It comes naturally.
Malak: I
resent that!
Salem: It's
all right for you to live with your head in the clouds. I have to be more
realistic.
Malak: You
keep going on about real life, what
do you know about it?
Salem: A
damn sight more than you do.
Malak: Yeah?
How?
Salem: It’s
a birthright. I was born into suffering.
Malak:
Always so self-pitying. You're not the only one who suffers, you know.
Salem: I am
in the present company, at least.
Malak: All
you ever talk about is how unfair life is to you. We’ve all heard about your
father’s forced early retirement, your inability to study because of the
two-room flat you share with your family of seven, your bitterness at working
as a waiter in the student cafeteria. After college, you’ll graduate to the
coffee-shop under your building where unemployed young men go to die, your
prospects vanishing in a wisp of smoke rising from the shisha glued to your lips. Yours is not the only life of misery, you
know. Take Maged...
Salem: Your
boyfriend.
Malak: You’re
practically neighbours. His father’s dead and he works at a bakery to
supplement the money they get from his father’s pension. Yet he still thinks
about the suffering of others.
Salem: Well,
if he wants to be nominated for sainthood, that’s his choice. I think and
operate in terms of the possible, the attainable.
Malak: You
mean you're more apathetic… He’s not my boyfriend.
Salem: No.
I’m neither a hopeless dreamer nor a layabout. I’ll make it. What’s wrong with
screaming from the pain every now and then?
Malak:
Nothing. It makes it more bearable. What's wrong with dreaming? The best things
in the world started off as dreams.
Salem:
Nothing. But dreams have a tendency of disappointing, like you and Maged.
Malak: You
mean like YOU and ME!
Salem:
What!? I've never dreamt of you.
Malak: I've
never dreamt of Maged. I dream with Maged of a better world.
Salem: Dreams'll
get you nowhere. ‘Keep your head down until you’re strong enough to make a
difference’ is my motto.
Malak:
That’s the excuse of the weak. We can all
make a difference.
Salem: We
are weak.
Malak:
Nothing’s ever won without a struggle.
Salem: And
what use was our struggle today? Did it stop Iraqi children from dying? Did it stop
any bombs from falling? Did it convince the US that sanctions don’t work?
What’s walking in the street with some silly banners going to achieve? Nothing.
Malak: The
will of the masses is unstoppable.
Salem: What
do you know about the will of the masses?
Malak: Don’t
you ever give it up?
Salem: But
it’s true. Daddy’s little girl decides to flirt with the notion of being a
revolutionary comfortable in the knowledge that if things get sticky Daddy will
be there with his millions to pull a few strings and get her out.
Malak: I’ve
never asked my father to bail me out.
Salem: You
don’t need to ask. Wake up, Malak. He won’t let his precious little angel
drown.
Malak: You
obviously don’t know my father very well, Salem.
Salem: He’s
probably one of those high-class fathers whose little darling means the world
to him and he would give her the stars. Attend to her every whim.
Malak: Huh!
Wrong!
Salem: Well,
then, put me right.
Malak: Forget
it.
Salem: Look,
I want to understand.
Malak: My dad always said, “I’m your father. I know
best.” He’s always taken my independence hard. Last year, I landed that job
with the magazine. I went home all excited and told my mum. She was pleased for
me. Then he walked in. I told him. In a hurry to please and explain, the words
came out of my mouth half-formed and clumsy. He didn’t respond. Not a word. His
look said it all. He never spoke to me
again. If you wondered where the Berlin Wall went, come round and I'll show you
it.
Salem: I’m
sorry. I didn’t realise.
A noise of footfalls
issues from off-stage. Salem and Malak freeze.
Salem:
What’s that?
Malak: Someone’s
coming.
Salem: We’ve
been found out!
Malak: What
do we do?
Salem: Hush!
(he picks up a heavy looking rock)
Malak:
What…?
Salem: Hush!
Salem hastens towards
wing and hides by the wing that represents the entrance to the tomb. A tall,
young man, in plain clothes and sunglasses enters.