MOHAMMED'S MOON
©2006
©2006
Whenever I sit down to write, I think to myself, "Cecilia might read this, so do your very best, Dale." Cecilia's my teacher. She can be tough. When your writing sucks, she'll tell you it sucks. And she's usually right. And every once in a while -- not often -- she gives you a thumbs up. I live for her thumbs up...
This is a play for eight actors playing multiple roles. The cast list info is here and here.
We had a reading on the Nicholas Stage at the South Coast Rep on September 13, 2006. Some of my fave actor peeps read the parts: Robert Stillwell, Alyssa Elder, Debra Wade, David Cramer, Kerrie Perdue, Julie Hommel, Alex Hallajian, Leandro Cano, Rick Kopps. It doesn't get any better than that.
Generally good feedback. Donna Hedman, a playwright and thespian whom I respect a great deal emailed me the next day:
Mohammed's Moon - a dark full-length 9/11 play
ACT I
(Enter UNIFORMED OFFICER leading HOODED MAN IN CHAINS.
HOODED MAN IN CHAINS wears prison uniform with the word
"FUCKUP" written on back. They walk past MAN who sits reading
paper. He watches. UNIFORMED OFFICER & HOODED MAN IN
CHAINS exit. MAN stands)
MAN:
so here
we are back
i n 1 9 9 5 &
there's a silver
thing knifing thru
the high thin air
taking a beaten
man ramzi yousef
by n a m e from
i s l a m a b a d
across two oceans
and two seas to the
land o f h i s enemies the
silver thing begins its descent
then changes course to pass low o'er
the isle of mahattan look down asshole says a
man menacingly see the twin towers they're there
still standing tall you fucked up ramzi nods he nods the nod of a
nodding fuckup he says ruefully well next time but there is no next time
for ramzi yousef nossir instead he is led to a court room and charged with
being a fuckup and being
an extremist
fuckup and
being a
terrorist
extremist
f u c k u p
he's convicted
and sentenced
to 240 years and
sent to a dank colorado
shithole to die in a cage where
people get to walk by and point and
laugh and say to their kids see look at
the fuckup that's what a fuckup looks like don't
be a fuckup
and the kids
say okay dad
we won't be a
fuckup
we are back
i n 1 9 9 5 &
there's a silver
thing knifing thru
the high thin air
taking a beaten
man ramzi yousef
by n a m e from
i s l a m a b a d
across two oceans
and two seas to the
land o f h i s enemies the
silver thing begins its descent
then changes course to pass low o'er
the isle of mahattan look down asshole says a
man menacingly see the twin towers they're there
still standing tall you fucked up ramzi nods he nods the nod of a
nodding fuckup he says ruefully well next time but there is no next time
for ramzi yousef nossir instead he is led to a court room and charged with
being a fuckup and being
an extremist
fuckup and
being a
terrorist
extremist
f u c k u p
he's convicted
and sentenced
to 240 years and
sent to a dank colorado
shithole to die in a cage where
people get to walk by and point and
laugh and say to their kids see look at
the fuckup that's what a fuckup looks like don't
be a fuckup
and the kids
say okay dad
we won't be a
fuckup
(MAN exits. Lights up. Early morning. One hour before dawn. A
moon in waning crescent phase in sky. In foreground, an arrow
sign reading, "TO TRAIN PLATFORM." On back wall, a black and
white video of MISTER ATTA & MISTER ALOMARI. MISTER ATTA
is speaking. He speaks barely audibly in a language that is not
English. At the bottom of the video in English subtitles: " Our words
are dead things until given life with our blood." The video ends,
leaving a still image of the two men staring intently into camera. Enter
PASTOR RAY ELLA. She stands in front of image. She's dressed in
tatters. She takes out a tattered Bible, holds it reverently)
PASTOR RAY ELLA:
God bless. All right. You all heard what the man said. He said next time. Let's fast forward to next time. Ah! Here we are. It's early morning next time. September 11, 2001. Wow, so quick! Isn't technology wonderful? You see back there on the wall Abdulaziz Alomari and Mohammed Atta. Some will call them martyrs. Others will call them sons of Satan. I've been asked to say a few words. I don't recall who asked, but here I am. I've no prepared remarks. I'll say what the spirit prompts me to say. If I offend, I apologize in advance. Okay, here goes. My subject is American Christians. Who are they? Where do they come from? Maybe they're born into a Christian family. Maybe not. Either way, they see no point. And frankly, it's pretty boring stuff. Sin is easier to deal with and a lot more fun. Americans not only accept sin but make an industry of it. Satan marks them as firewood. Not prime firewood,but the kind of firewood you get from dead tree limbs. The kind that burns fast and gives off no heat. The kind that woodpeckers drill into for worms and bugs. Even with their slavery to sin, some reach a point where sin bothers them. This usually happens in a personal crisis. A nice kid gets sick and dies. A neighbor kills himself. It forces the issue.(Enter PASSENGER 1, brushing past in a rush. She is three months
pregnant. PASTOR RAY ELLA holds out hand for handout)
Oh God bless, sister. You don't have to rush. You still have seven minutes. Did you lock your car?
PASSENGER 1:
I'm not your sister. Why do they let you people lurk here, scaring everybody and stinking in those clothes?(Exit PASSENGER 1 in a rush)
PASTOR RAY ELLA:
God bless. I was speaking of personal crisis. After a personal crisis, some become quote fundamentalist evangelicals. Satan likes fundamentalist evangelicals. Others get born again. Satan hates the born agains.(Enter PASSENGER 2, scowling, moving slowly. PASTOR
RAY ELLA holds out hand for handout)
Oh God bless, brother. Better rush. You got only six minutes. Did you remember to lock your car?
PASSENGER 2:
You stay away from my car, you hear me?(Exit PASSENGER 2, scowling)
PASTOR RAY ELLA:
God bless. I said, Satan hates born agains. The next step after being born again is to be entered by the Holy Spirit. He physically enters you. You can feel him in there. He makes his home in your heart. After that, you receive a gift. For some, it's the gift of seeing. For others, it's the gift of understanding. For still others, like me, it's the gift of speaking. The number of Americans entered by the Holy Spirit is not known. My personal opinion? Very few. The weatherman says it's going to be a lovely day today. But don't be fooled. You see that moon? It's an evil moon. It bodes ill. How do I know? I just know. I'll be at the door to the station if you'd like to make a donation. No amount is too small. God bless.(Fade to black on PASTOR RAY ELLA & video. Lights up. A
hotel room. Early morning, same day. One hour before dawn.
MISTER ATTA stands at mirror in boxer shorts, eyeing himself
critically. He has a shaving kit and a small pair of scissors. He's
focussing on removing body hair from his torso and from his arms.
MISTER ALOMARI, dressed, sits at desk, writing. Writing is a
struggle for him. He writes in starts and stops. When he stops,
he squints at what he's written. He sucks on the tip of his pen)
MISTER ALOMARI:
I have a question.MISTER ATTA:
Ask.MISTER ALOMARI:
Should my relatives be permitted to grieve at my funeral?MISTER ATTA:
No.MISTER ALOMARI:
No? You mean, not at all?MISTER ATTA:
You asked a question. I gave you an answer. No.MISTER ALOMARI:
I can't put no on here. Not without giving a reason.MISTER ATTA:
No loud lamenting should be permitted at any truly Muslim funeral. No crying. No weeping or wailing. No tearing of clothes. None of that.MISTER ALOMARI:
So then it's. It's okay to mourn quietly.MISTER ATTA:
That depends on what you mean by quietly. The problem is, once you permit mourning, there'll be the emotional ones who'll want to turn the ceremony into a circus with their ululating. And their rolling on the ground. And their shrieking and going into convulsions. These are all signs of immaturity and ignorance. Women especially do these kinds of things. Women should not be allowed at a man's funeral. Be sure to put that in your will. No women.MISTER ALOMARI:
No women. And the men should mourn quietly and with dignity.MISTER ATTA:
If one must mourn, yes, one should do it with solemn dignity. God likes us to be quiet on such occasions.MISTER ALOMARI:
(Makes notation on paper)Okay. How does this sound?
(Reads)
Only quiet grieving permitted.
MISTER ATTA:
Consider this. When one mourns, what message is one sending? Here you have the decedent, who is passing from this world into paradise. And here you have the mourner. And you can't help thinking, it's like he's telling the decedent, See how I mourn for you? Stay down here, don't go up to heaven. Do you think we should be telling him not to go to heaven?MISTER ALOMARI:
Oh right. Yes. Yes, I see. That's. That's a very good point. I'll say no.MISTER ATTA:
Plus, you'd be encouraging the ignorant. And while I'm on the subject of ignorance, there should be no forty-day or annual memorials. There's nothing in the Koran about memorials. Put that in your will, too.MISTER ALOMARI:
No mourning. No memorials.MISTER ATTA:
Good.MISTER ALOMARI:
It makes you think, doesn't it?MISTER ATTA:
It does. Don't forget to sign it and date it.Fade to black. Lights up. On one side, a space with a fire
inside a barrel. WITCHES 1 & 2, dressed in witchy tatters,
wine bottles at their feet, stand warming themselves and
tossing pages from holy books into flames. In a separate
space, a CONDUCTOR stands at door of a railroad
passenger car)
CONDUCTOR:
Five minutes! Five minutes! Departing Gladstone Station inbound to Summit Station and on to Hoboken Terminal with connections to Battery Park and the World Trade Center! Five minutes and all aboard!(Spots WITCHES, crosses into their space)
Aha! I see you're playing at being witches again. Scaring passengers into giving up their spare change or you'll hex em to the devil. Is that it? Seems like Tuesday is always witching day around here. Say, is that God's Word you're tearing up and burning?
WITCH 1:
It's pages from a book is all we know. Or care.CONDUCTOR:
Why, that's. That's the King James Bible you're ripping apart!WITCH 2:
Look at me. I'm tearing up a Koran. Rip! Rip!WITCH 1:
Now I'm tearing up a book on Dianetics. Rip! Rip!WITCH 2:
The Muslims, the Gideons and the Scientologists were passing out books yesterday. So, we thought, Hey, why not? Johnny, it gets cold in the morning. Cold as a witch's.CONDUCTOR:
Blasphemy is what it is! Blasphemy. You should all be out finding husbands. That'd keep you from angering the Creator!WITCH 1:
I don't hear you proposing to either of us.CONDUCTOR:
That fire is in violation. I could write you up.(Turns, calls out loudly)
One minute! One minute! Departing Gladstone Station inbound to Summit and on to Hoboken Terminal with connections to Battery Park and the World Trade Center! One minute and all aboard!
(To WITCHES)
I want you out of here. Pronto!
WITCH 2:
But it's cold, Johnny.CONDUCTOR:
It's 64 degrees. Practically summer. You see me? I'm in short sleeves. Last warning. And stop the blasphemy with the books. If God sees, no tellin what He'll do.(CONDUCTOR exits WITCHES space and enters
Railroad Car space)
WITCH 1:
God's eyes! He wants blasphemy, let's give him real blasphemy.WITCHES 1 & 2:
(Dance around barrel, tearing pages, feedingflames with gusto)
OLD DEVILS OLD DIVINITIES
STONE DEAD IN THEIR COFFINS
CONSIGNED TO INFINITY
FILED AND FORGOTTEN
AND WAS IT OUR VANITY
TO HAVE DANCED AT THEIR DYING
OR WAS IT INSANITY
THAT WE STOOD THERE DENYING
NO! FOR THIS OUR NEW CENTURY
AND THOSE WHO LIVE IN IT
KEEP US FREE OF ALL DEITIES
START RIGHT AT THIS MINUTE
(They stop dancing, pick up wine bottles, salute)
SO DRINK TO SERENITY
TO A WORLD THAT KEEPS TURNING
AND DROWN ALL THOSE ENTITIES
SEEKING WOOD FOR OUR BURNING
WITCH 1:
(Drinks, smashes bottle against barrel)So be it!
WITCH 2:
(Drinks, smashes bottle against barrel)So be it!
WITCH 1 & 2:
So be it!(Enter PASSENGER 1 into passenger car space in a rush.
CONDUCTOR tips cap)
CONDUCTOR:
Good morning, Ma'am. Watch your step coming aboard. 5:31. Now departing Gladstone Station! All aboard!(PASSENGER 1 sits. Exit CONDUCTOR. PASTOR RAY ELLA
enters WITCHES space)
PASTOR RAY ELLA:
God bless. 5:30 on a Tuesday morning, girls.WITCH 1:
Your clock's a minute slow, preacher lady. This is a train station, where time is exact. Its 5:31. Still an hour till sunrise.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
A whole hour? It may be well past the witching hour, but time enough for mischief, eh?WITCH 2:
Mischief? Us?PASTOR RAY ELLA:
You're burning holy books. Thats sinful mischief.WITCH 1:
It's only paper.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Don't suppose it'd do any good to warn you.WITCH 1:
Warnings don't come from the likes of you!PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Why not the likes of me? When God has something to say, he doesn't tell Georgie Porgee Bush or Silly Billy Gates. He chooses from meek and the lowly. Mary of Magdala was a prostitute. John the Baptist was.(Enter CONDUCTOR)
CONDUCTOR:
Departing Peapack Station! 5:34! All aboard!(Exit CONDUCTOR)
PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Do you see the moon up there?WITCH 2:
Oh yes. The moon. A lovely waning crescent.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Not lovely. Not lovely in the least. You know what the waning crescent betokens, do you not?WITCH 1:
Maybe we do. Maybe we don't.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
So you don't know.WITCH 2:
(Hands her a coin)Maybe we know. Maybe we don't. Suppose you say what you know. Suppose we say what we know.
PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Thank you for the dime.WITCH 2:
Say your piece, preacher woman.(Enter CONDUCTOR)
CONDUCTOR:
Departing Far Hills. 5:38 am! Watch your step! All aboard!(Exit CONDUCTOR. She draws close to WITCHES)
PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Its Mohammed's own moon up there.WITCH 1:
And?PASTOR RAY ELLA:
And it bodes ill. Verily, false prophets shall rise, bringing evil to many. Today, this day, one must take extra care. Today, this day, the Lord God's line of sight is blocked. Owing to Mohammed's moon.WITCH 2:
Oh dear me!PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Mock if you must. His watching over us will be a hit or miss thing this day. Again, owing to the evil moon. Do you not sense a dark malignancy in the ether?WITCH 2:
Um. Nope.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
(Squirms)Oh drat! I need to use the bathroom!
(PASTOR RAY ELLA exits on the run. Enter CONDUCTOR)
CONDUCTOR:
Departing Bernardsville. 5:44 am. All aboard!(Exit CONDUCTOR)
WITCH 1:
What a pinhead.(Lights up, separate space. Big sign up high, WELCOME TO MAINE.
PORTLAND INTERNATIONAL JETPORT. ALL BAGGAGE SUBJECT TO
INSPECTION. MISTER ATTA & MISTER ALOMARI, wearing slacks and
sports shirts, enter space with carryon bags)
WITCH 2:
(Stirs the fire)Wait!
WITCH 1:
What? What is it?WITCH 2:
(Stirs the fire more)Sh! It may be I sense danger!
WITCH 1:
What!? Tell me!WITCH 2:
Sh!(Stirs the fire even more)
Possible danger. Potential danger. But not yet probable danger. Hard to say one way or t'other. Two men checked out of a hotel in Portland, Maine. They're now at the air terminal. Ah yes, there they are. Look. You can see them now. They're taking their bags through security.
(MISTER ATTA & MISTER ALOMARI guide their bags
thru security. They grin & freeze in place)
WITCH 2:
Cancel that. False alarm. It's all right. Nothing's amiss. Never mind. Danger's over.
(Enter PASSENGER 2. Enter CONDUCTOR)
(Enter PASSENGER 2. Enter CONDUCTOR)
CONDUCTOR:
Welcome aboard, sir. Watch your step. 5:53, departing Millington Station! All aboard!(Exit CONDUCTOR. PASSENGER 2 walks past PASSENGER 1
without greeting her, sits as far away from her as possible.
PASTOR RAY ELLA enters WITCHES Space in a rush,
straightening clothes)
PASTOR RAY ELLA:
What??! Two men, you say?? Two men??!!WITCH 2:
Yes. We thought there was danger, but perfectly innocent, they were. They sailed through baggage check-in with nothing amiss.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Oh no no! You're wrong! You're very very wrong! Soulless men adept in deadly arts shall cross by air or water under the sign of the waning crescent pointing the way to Armageddon. Quick! We must act!!(Enter CONDUCTOR)
CONDUCTOR:
Departing Berkeley Heights. 6:02. All aboard!(Exit CONDUCTOR)
WITCH 2:
We? We must act? What you mean we?PASTOR RAY ELLA:
A monumental tragedy is imminent. It will come from the air. Or perhaps from water. One or the other.WITCH 1:
Air or water. Make up your mind. I so dislike fanatics who generalize.WITCH 2:
She needs scholarly detachment. That's the key.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Come! Join me! We must act!! We must warn the world!!WITCH 1:
Admit it. You so enjoy upsetting her.WITCH 2:
I do make her day, don't I?PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Stay then! Stay! I will act without you! I will go to a high place and be a warning beacon! Cowards!(PASTOR RAY ELLA exits on the run. WITCHES 1 & 2 laugh, turn
back to the fire. MISTER ATTA & MISTER ALOMARI unfreeze.
They move to edge of airport space. MISTER ATTA takes
rolled-up prayer rug from carryon)
MISTER ATTA:
This will do.MISTER ALOMARI:
Here? In the airport chapel? This is not right.MISTER ATTA:
I said, it will do.MISTER ALOMARI:
But. But unbelievers pray here. We should do it the right way. We should go to a proper mosque. Theres a mosque in downtown Portland. I'll drive you there. There we'll be among good Muslims.MISTER ATTA:
There's no time. And you know there's no time. So why even suggest it? Unless.MISTER ALOMARI:
No. Don't say it.MISTER ATTA:
Unless you're losing your nerve.MISTER ALOMARI:
No! Don't. Do not insult me.MISTER ATTA:
Clear your heart, brother. Forget the things of this world. Which way is Mecca?MISTER ALOMARI:
That way, I think.MISTER ATTA:
You think?MISTER ALOMARI:
I. I am sure. I am sure!(Enter CONDUCTOR)
CONDUCTOR:
Departing Murray Hill. 6:06. Next stop, Summit Station, Summit, New Jersey.(Exit CONDUCTOR)
MISTER ATTA:
Leave me.MISTER ALOMARI:
Don't you want me to watch the door? So no one disturbs you?MISTER ATTA:
No. Leave me.(MISTER ALOMARI exits, frowning. MISTER ATTA rolls out prayer
rug pointing it toward Mecca, opens carryon, takes out cologne bottle
& an immaculate dark green suit. He undresses to his underwear,
applies cologne, dons suit. He prostrates himself on rug, prays
silently. Enter CONDUCTOR)
.
CONDUCTOR:
6:14. Arriving Summit. Change here for Hoboken, Battery Park and the World Trade Center. Dont forget your newspapers and coats. Have a wonderful day!(PASSENGER & PASSENGER 2 stand,
collect their belongings. They ignore one
another, as WITCHES & PASTOR RAY
ELLA rush to meet train)
You there! Don't bother the paying customers!
(PASSENGERS 1 & 2 exit train)
WITCH 1:
(Tugs at PASSENGER 1's elbow)Look at me, lady. Look! I'm starving. I haven't eaten in days. I need food. Alms for the poor.
WITCH 2:
(Grabs PASSENGER 1's shoulder)Please, just a dollar. Four quarters. Ten dimes. For some hot, nutricious soup. Alms for the poor.
(WITCH 1 snatches PASSENGER 1's purse.
WITCHES run away & exit, laughing)
CONDUCTOR:
Stop them! Come back! Shit! Excuse my French, Ma'am, but the homeless women are worse than the men. You can put in a claim for the purse at Hoboken.(PASTOR RAY ELLA draws close)
Hey you, Reverend! Stay away!
PASTOR RAY ELLA:
(To PASSENGER 2, offers Bible)Bible, sir? Food for the soul? Disaster is near, sir. By air or water or possibly both. It says in here, there shall not be left one stone on another.
(PASSENGER 2 turns up nose, pushes it away)
Do you know who said that, sir? Jesus himself! Don't push Jesus away, sir. There is but little time left!
(To PASSENGER 1)
Forget your purse, Ma'am. Forget the things of this world. Reflect upon yourself. Reflect upon your soul. It says, when you see the abomination of desolation
(Points to the moon)
Go to a high place, stretch out your arms and repent.
(Points to her belly)
Woe unto the woman great with child! In those days will be seen horrific wonders. Babies born with webbed feet and beaks.
(PASSENGER 1 gasps)
Blood the color and consistency of excrement flowing from the mother's birth canal. Wombs filled with pus. Save yourself if you.
CONDUCTOR:
All right! That's enough! I've had enough! Get out of here, Reverend. Nothing worse than a woman with too much religion! Here, Ma'am. Take my arm. I'll escort you to the connecting gate. The next train to Hoboken departs in 14 minutes with connections to Battery Park and The World Trade Center! This way!(CONDUCTOR, PASSENGERS 1 & 2 exit. PASTOR RAY ELLA watches
them exit. Then she follows them, exits. Blackout on passenger car
space. TEMPTER 1, a photo album under his arm, enters
through wall as MISTER ATTA prays. TEMPTER 1 sits, clears throat,
turns pages of album noisily. He wears a red suit. His belly shakes
when he laughs his irritatingly jolly ho-ho-ho laugh)
MISTER ATTA:
(Not looking up)This room is reserved for prayer.
TEMPTER 1:
So it is. And I see you're praying with great fervor and intensity, no? For what are you praying?MISTER ATTA:
For success.TEMPTER 1:
How original. Jews, Christians, Hindus, Buddha idol worshipers, even Chinese atheists pray for success.MISTER ATTA:
Those prayers aren't answered.TEMPTER 1:
Who said that?MISTER ATTA:
No one. But it's common knowledge.TEMPTER 1:
If only your prayers were answered, all those other people would have been stuck in the muck eons ago.MISTER ATTA:
Who are you?TEMPTER 1:
A seeker.MISTER ATTA:
Whom do you seek?TEMPTER 1:
Mohammed.MISTER ATTA:
Peace and blessings upon him.TEMPTER 1:
Not that Mohammed. Mohammed's your name, no?MISTER ATTA:
Yes.TEMPTER 1:
You're surpisingly calm.MISTER ATTA:
What of it?TEMPTER 1:
No call to snap at me. I meant it as a compliment. Considering your intentions.MISTER ATTA:
(Springs to his feet)Who are you?!!
TEMPTER 1:
You're a man of limited patience, I see. Get to the point or get out. That's your way, no? All right. Get right to the point, we shall. Come here. Look at these.(TEMPTER 1 opens photo album, holds it out for MISTER ATTA to see.
A naked woman in classic nude pose is displayed on back wall)
MISTER ATTA:
What is that??! It's filth! Pornography!TEMPTER 1:
I must say, that's a nice suit you're wearing. It's the suit a man might wear to his own wedding, no? And the cologne. Quite overwhelming. A groom aiming to smell overwhelmingly fragrant for his bride. Expectations of things to come. Expectations of conjugal bliss with whats-her-name. By the way, Mohammed, what is her name? Oh, wait! Wait! Wait! Don't tell me. Maybe it's not a her. Maybe it's a. A they! Aha! Yes! It is a they. Yes?(Laughs)
All right. Let's cut to the chase, shall we? Admit it. Its about women, yes? It's all you think about. All those women up there. At your beck and call. It's dominated your thoughts for months, yes? All the preparation. All the planning. All the plotting. At bottom, it's about women. It's about Ahbia. It's about Aina. It's about Alia. And Anasha. And Aya. And Basma and Cantara and Dalal. And. And I could go on and name them all, but what's the point? I must admit I've often wondered to myself, how can a man keep track of so many women? Imagine if you took them out to dinner. It'd be reservations for seventy-three. Or if you took them to the cinema. Think of the logistics. You'd occupy an entire section. And we're not even talking about the popcorn and sodas. All in all, quite a commentary on one's manhood. All of which makes me think one should refer to this as pornography at one's peril.
(Pushes photo album. MISTER ATTA hesitates)
Go on. We're adults here. Take a gander.
MISTER ATTA:
(Takes it, holds it as if it were a bomb)I. I find this most. Most revealing.
TEMPTER 1:
Yet tasteful, I should think.(MISTER ATTA turns page. A new graphic of a naked woman
is displayed on back wall)
MISTER ATTA:
I was thinking. If. If a daughter of mine ever posed like this.TEMPTER 1:
Not even married yet and he's making rules for his daughters. You find the ladies attractive, yes?MISTER ATTA:
(Turning page)I. I will admit they are attractive. In their way.
(A new graphic of a naked woman displayed)
TEMPTER 1:
And isn't this superior to the old ways? Where they tell you big and little lies about your intended but you never get to actually see the goods until the nuptuals are over and done with and all the kinfolk have cashed their checks? And if she turns out to be a fat lazy cow with a wart on her ass the size of the Kaaba Stone, too fucking bad, Mo, you're stuck!MISTER ATTA:
(Turns page)So. So. So you're saying that these are. Are mine. The women in the pictures. These are my. My wives?
(A new graphic of a naked woman displayed)
TEMPTER 1:
Specifically wives to be.MISTER ATTA:
(Turns page) And they're all good Muslims.
(A new graphic of a naked woman displayed)
TEMPTER 1:
Well, I'm sure they are. Why would they not be?MISTER ATTA:
(Turns page) Yes yes. Of course. I didn't mean to imply that.
(A new graphic of a naked woman displayed)
TEMPTER 1:
Of course you didn't. It's your nerves. It's quite normal for a man to be nervous before his wedding.MISTER ATTA:
It's so logical, isnt it? The way this comes together. It's divine perfection. Isn't that right?TEMPTER 1:
(Takes hold of the photo album)Yes. Exactly. Divine perfection. That's very well put. Well, it's. It's been a pleasure.
MISTER ATTA:
(Not letting go of the photo album)Yes. Yes, it has. It really has.
TEMPTER 1:
(Tugging at the photo album)It's time for me to leave now.
MISTER ATTA:
(Not letting go)Yes. Yes, and thank you. Thank you so very much.
TEMPTER 1:
(Tugging)Please. You need to let go.
MISTER ATTA:
Oh! Good grief, I. I'm so sorry. I didn't realize.(Lets go. TEMPTER 1 starts to exit)
One last thing. Please.
(TEMPTER 1 stops, does not turn)
I want you to know I'm not doing this solely for the women. I'm sorry if you got that impression.
TEMPTER 1:
I understand. And thank you for the clarification.(TEMPTER 1 exits through wall)
MISTER ATTA:
I'm doing this for the right reasons. I'm doing this for divine perfection.TEMPTER 1S VOICE:
No doubt. Oh, one last thing. I'm supposed to tell you you'll be getting three visitors. I don't have all the specifics. But the end result is, you're supposed to emerge wiser and more centered, no?(Fade to black with sound of TEMPTER 1's ho-ho-ho laugh. Lights up.
Interior of railroad car. At one side, a bathroom. PASSENGERS
1 & 2 seated. PASSENGER 2, asleep. CONDUCTOR takes tickets.
PASTOR RAY ELLA slips into empty seat, scrunches down)
CONDUCTOR:
Five minutes! Five minutes! Departing Summit Station inbound to Hoboken Terminal with connections to Battery Park and the World Trade Center! Five minutes and all aboard! Tickets please! Tickets please!(To PASSENGER 1 as he takes her ticket)
And when's the little one due?
PASSENGER 1:
January.CONDUCTOR:
January. Five months from now. A New Years baby.PASSENGER 1:
Yes.CONDUCTOR:
New Years babies are very lucky.PASSENGER 1:
I don't believe in luck.CONDUCTOR:
No? Well. Good luck to you anyway.(To PASSENGER 2)
Ticket, sir. Sir. Sir?
(Taps PASSENGER 2 on shoulder)
Sir?
PASSENGER 2:
(Awakens with a start, glares)It's on the corner of my seat! Like always!
CONDUCTOR:
Ah, not intending to contradict you, sir, but, no, it's not. If it was, I wouldn't be waking you up.PASSENGER 2:
Oh, for Pete's sake! Well, where could it be? Look! There it is. On the floor. You must have knocked it loose. If you had taken the trouble to look down.CONDUCTOR:
Ah, yes. There it is. I'll get it, sir. My mistake.(Punches ticket)
I have it. There. Go back to sleep, sir. One minute! Departing Summit Station inbound to Hoboken Terminal with connections to Battery Park and the World Trade Center! One minute and all aboard!
(To PASTOR RAY ELLA)
Well well well. Hello there, Madame Reverend.
PASTOR RAY ELLA:
God bless, sir.CONDUCTOR:
Going to the World Trade Center today?PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Yes. Yes, I am. Can you get me there quickly?(Gestures him to come close. He does)
Something is going to happen today.
CONDUCTOR:
Happen? Something? Could you be more specific as to its nature?PASTOR RAY ELLA:
I must get to a high place for it's a waning crescent moon in the sky. It signifies great danger. Evil men have entered our airspace. Or waterspace. One or the other. It's a sure sign the rapture is nigh.CONDUCTOR:
Ah, the rapture, you say. And you say you need to move quickly. Alas. We make six stops between here and Hoboken. We travel at a safe, sane maximum speed of thirty-one miles per hour. If it's quickly you wanted to get to the Trade Center for a front row seat for the rapture, you should have gone by helicopter. Or used levitation. Your ticket, please.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
The funniest thing, that. I tried getting a ticket from the machine on the platform. It refused me.CONDUCTOR:
Refused you.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Absolutely refused me. For no reason. Just kept making this sound. Kachunk. Kachunk. Kachunk. Kachunk.CONDUCTOR:
Kachunk. Kachunk. Kachunk. Kachunk.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Yes! Exactly! Uncanny how you duplicated the sound. Were you ever in entertainment? No? You should think about it. Then it went fwop fwop fwop clink fweeop.CONDUCTOR:
Fwop fwop fwop clink fweeop.PASTOR RAY ELLA:··
It took my liquid assets. Except for this one dime.CONDUCTOR:
Now that's an amazing story. The ticket dispenser on the platform is a Kommodor 4000. Made in Germany. Reputed to be indestructible. In use the world over. They have Kommodor 4000s in the Sahara Desert, above the Arctic Circle, at Mount Everest base camps. Kommodor 4000s have survived angry hippopotami, missile-toting mujahedeen and hungry rust beetles. ·PASTOR RAY ELLA:
It sure is a mystery.CONDUCTOR:
So you're saying, it took all your money.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
All of it! Except for this one thin dime.CONDUCTOR:
And I'm sure it was a round trip ticket you're going to say you were attempting to purchase.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
No. Only one-way.CONDUCTOR:
One way? Well. You're an honest lady parson. I'll give you that. Very well. We'll have to file a claim for a lost ticket. But in the meantime, listen and listen well. You see that woman? If you tell her one more time her baby is going to be born with web feet and a beak, I will personally launch you on a one-way flight to that waning crescent moon above.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
My lips are sealed. And God bless.CONDUCTOR:
Hang your blessings. Just tap the Big Man on the shoulder and ask Him to watch over my passengers and keep them, you included, safe. And sane.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
That I will.CONDUCTOR:
Ladies and Gentlemen. Now departing Summit Station at 6:28 inbound to Hoboken Terminal with connections to Battery Park and the World Trade Center! Next stop, Maplewood. Watch the doors as they are now closing.(Train leaves station. PASSENGER 2 gets up, goes to bathroom
carrying his attache case, locks door, tests door to make sure its locked.
He turns on tap, splashes water on his face, stares wearily at himself in
mirror. He turns, opens attache case, takes out bomb belt and, as he
talks, he removes coat & shirt. Then he fits belt on torso and puts shirt
& coat back on)
PASSENGER 2:
I married my present wife, Trudy, thinking I would have a companion for life. Instead I have a sparring partner. The time has come when I can no more stand the everyday nagging that I get, unfitting me for business in the morning, raising hell every night until I feel obliged to take some extreme action. Last night, I was again accused of spending money. She tells me her relations know I am not fit to support her. I made a memorandum of the ugly remarks and accusations she made. I cannot find it. She knew I made a memorandum. The only thing I can conjecture is she has taken it. Since December 14th, 1996, the day we were married, she has been the same BIG I. When she landed at Kennedy from Chicago, she claimed that she was not met at the plane. During this time I was waiting nearly two hours at LaGuardia. She left Kennedy on her own and went to LaGuardia where she found me waiting. She lit into me like a tiger with hundreds of people looking on and has kept it up ever since. To this day she reminds me that I was not there to meet her. I want to say truthfully she has been a wife in name only. Every day or so I am accused of spending for myself and do not care for her or what she has. I am accused of going out with other women even though I cannot get away from her except when I go out each day to do business and turn the money over to her.(Enter HIS WIFE through wall)
The other night I was itching where I was chafed and I was told to.
HIS WIFE:
Quit playing with yourself. No wonder you have no brains. You never had anything and never will. You are the worst looking thing I ever saw. Every time I look at you, I detest you more. You are the most brainless person I ever saw. You have no reasoning power, no business ability, no friends, no love in your heart. You are so ugly you throw it out of your face. Even now, I cant stand the sight.(Exit HIS WIFE through wall)
PASSENGER 2:
Of all the names a human being can be called, I have had them called to me. When I wrote a letter to Cousin Olive, she looked over my shoulder and grabbed the letter and tore it up. Itried to get it and she hollered like a lunatic. Then she kept it up with the most unbounded temper any one ever witnessed and I could not quiet her and someone phoned the management and the house detective came up and told her she must keep quiet.
(Enter HIS WIFE through wall)
I was told two or three times recently.
HIS WIFE:
Do not touch me. I despise you. Do not touch me ever again as I am afraid I will get some disease from someone you have been out with.PASSENGER 2:
I will not state how much I have given her in money, fur coats, diamonds and.(A knock on bathroom door. He stops speaking, stares at door. Then......)
And offering to furnish a home in New York for.
HIS WIFE:
I don't want a home. I lived in a hotel in Chicago. I want to live in a hotel again.PASSENGER 2:
I am so discouraged I think I shall do something to relieve the tension. She has dared me on this.HIS WIFE:
Yes. Do whatever you're going to do. You won't be missed. Least of all, by me. Today is as good a day as any. So go on. Do it. Just don't make a mess of it and embarrass me when I read about it.(Exit HIS WIFE through wall. A louder knock on
bathroom door. He checks himself in mirror. Satisfied
that bomb belt does not show, he opens door)
PASTOR RAY ELLA:
God bless. There you are. I was fearful you'd died in there when you didn't answer my knock. I need to use the toilet. Say now, you don't look well.PASSENGER 2:
Died, you say? Me? You'd like that, wouldn't you? Then you could go through my pockets and rob me. For your information, I'm fine. More than fine. Fit as a fiddle. Momentarily affected by the lurching of the car. Now step aside.(PASTOR RAY ELLA steps aside, lets PASSENGER 2 pass.
PASSENGER 2 returns to his seat and sits. CONDUCTOR passes)
PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Do you not sense a dark malignancy? Does it not gather strength with each mile of track we cover?CONDUCTOR:
Now that you bring it up, yes, I do sense an ever so slight universal disharmony. But God help you if you pass that information on to the passengers. They have a right to be left to themselves, as they have paid for their seats. Now excuse me. I've an announcement to make. 6:35, departing Maplewood! All aboard please!(Fade to black. Lights up, two spaces. In first space, WITCHES 1 & 2
stand at barrel. WITCH 2 stirs fire. In second space, a vanity and mirror fit
for a goddess. WITCHES pick up a window frame, carry it to vanity space.
They fit frame in back wall as they sing)
WITCHES 1 & 2:
BE A WINDOW IN THE WALLBE A WINDOW IN THE WALL
BE A WINDOW IN THE WALL
BE A WINDOW IN THE WALL
BE A WINDOW IN THE WALL
BE A WINDOW IN THE WALL
BE A WINDOW IN THE WALL
BE A WINDOW IN THE WALL
(WITCHES drape gold stockings over vanity bench. They place high-heeled
gold sandals on floor. They arrange a tea service. They place sign over
vanity: HERA'S BOUDOIR)
HERA, IN YOUR GOLDEN SANDALS,
SIP YOUR HERBAL TEA.
DOES THE LADY ON THE MOUNTAIN SEND YOU
HONEY FROM THE BEES?
HERA HERA, FROM YOUR AERIE
SEND YOUR BLESSINGS THROUGH
(WITCHES snap fingers. Grape vines
appear)
ARE THE GRAPES STILL SWEET AND JUICY IN YOUR
ARBOR ON THE MOON?
(WITCHES exit space. WITCH 1 turns, points, claps hands twice. As if by
magic, the planet earth shining bright appears in window frame. WITCHES
enter WITCH space. Stir flames. The singing fades in volume)
BE A WINDOW IN THE WALL
BE A WINDOW IN THE WALL
BE A WINDOW IN THE WALL
BE A WINDOW IN THE WALL
BE A WINDOW IN THE WALL
BE A WINDOW IN THE WALL
BE A WINDOW IN THE WALL
BE A WINDOW IN THE WALL
(MISTER ATTA approaches edge of vanity space, holding bouquet.
He stands, not daring to enter. Blackout, WITCH space)
MISTER ATTA:
Hello? Hello?(Silence. He looks left and right)
Hello?
(Enter TEMPTER 2 with towel wrapped around her. She's just come
from shower. Mister Atta averts his eyes)
TEMPTER 2:
I was afraid you weren't coming.MISTER ATTA:
(Proffers bouquet awkwardly, eyes averted)For you.
TEMPTER 2:
(Takes bouquet. Sets it in vase)How very sweet. Thank you.
MISTER ATTA:
May I enter?TEMPTER 2:
(She sits at vanity, admires herself)Yes. I'm glad you came. I was hoping you'd come.
(She giggles)
It's all right to look. It's just me in a towel.
MISTER ATTA:
(He looks)I'm happy to be here.
TEMPTER 2:
Thank you. Im happy you're here.MISTER ATTA:
Some. Some people who know you say you can be. Ah. Difficult.TEMPTER 2:
Now that's just the sort of thing some people would say.(Slowly, erotically, dons her stockings)
What do you say?
MISTER ATTA:
You. You seem very, very nice.TEMPTER 2:
And you're nice, too. May I say more?MISTER ATTA:
Of course. Please.TEMPTER 2:
I pride myself on making my mind up about people. I have a very positive impression about you. I think you're pleasant to be with. I think you're attractive. Still, I can't help but notice that you seem somewhat stiff and formal.MISTER ATTA:
Blame it on my upbringing.TEMPTER 2:
(She bends down to strap on her sandals)Oh?
MISTER ATTA:
I mean, my Muslim upbringing.TEMPTER 2:
Ah yes, that.(Beat)
So. What's on the agenda?
MISTER ATTA:
World peace, I think.TEMPTER 2:
Sounds very win-win. How do we get there?MISTER ATTA:
They say you're the expert.TEMPTER 2:
(She stands, towers over him)For starters, what we do, we set some time aside to get to know each other.··
MISTER ATTA:
I would very much like that.TEMPTER 2:
In the end, it always comes down to people. I'm good at what I do because I focus on connecting with people. People like you.MISTER ATTA:
People like me.TEMPTER 2:
Yes. Exactly. People.(She draws close. Suddenly, she pins him hard against the
wall and begins kissing him fiercely on the mouth, rubbing
herself against him all the while. This goes on for a long
moment. Then, just as suddenly, its over. She
breathes in his ear)
Help me get to know you.
MISTER ATTA:
Yes yes. Oh. Yes.(Fade to black. Lights up, interior of passenger plane.
MISTER ALOMARI seated alone. PATRICIA seated alone.
ALAN & CLOVIA seated side by side. STEWARDESS
speaks into microphone)
STEWARDESS:
On behalf of the captain and crew of American Airlines Flight 11 from Boston Logan to Los Angeles LAX, welcome aboard. Please direct your attention to the monitors above as we review emergency procedures. There are six emergency exits on this aircraft. Take a moment to locate the exit closest you.(MISTER ATTA enters, buttons coat, checks his fly,
avoiding MISTER ALOMARIs inquiring eyes as he takes
the seat next to him)
Should the cabin experience sudden pressure loss, oxygen masks will drop down from above your seat. Place the mask over your mouth and nose, like this.
(STEWARDESS voice starts fading out)
Pull the strap to tighten it. If you are traveling with small children, make sure to.
ALAN:
(Shows CLOVIA a book)Are you ready for this? Two words. Mia Farrow.
(STEWARDESS walks the aisle, checking overheads and smiling at passengers)
CLOVIA:
The actress?ALAN:
Yes! Mia Farrow. She gave me the look.CLOVIA:
(Turns book over in her hands)I do not know the look.
ALAN:
Mia is different from the others. She's deeply sensitive. She understands suffering. She spent her childhood in an iron lung. She's not one of your quote pretty faces. She's known struggle and loss. And she's extremely literate. Did you know she wrote this book? She wrote it without a ghost writer. It's about her life. And her tragedies. As with all true artists, her life defines tragedy. No! Check that. It transcends tragedy. She was at Borders at the World Trade Center signing her book last May. I flew down there. And that's where she gave me the look.CLOVIA:
How many people were there?ALAN:
A lot.CLOVIA:
Did she give anyone else the look?ALAN:
Just me.CLOVIA:
Did you ever think, she's an actress? She's had years of training. She can turn it on and off like a faucet. Did you ever think, she was maybe practicing something on you?ALAN:
Are you ready for this? When I was near the front of the line, I could feel her eyes on me. The whole time she was talking to other people, her eyes were on me. Me! She has electric eyes. It was like she knew me. And then suddenly, there I was at the front. It was like entering a cathedral. Like being in the presence of a goddess. She was peering straight into my soul, focussing all her energy on me as she signed my book. We clicked. It was a magic moment.CLOVIA:
What she did was sell you a book.ALAN:
Remember West Side Story? The scene where Tony and Maria gaze at each other longingly across the dance floor? And the other dancers freeze in place and the music stops? And, for a brief shining moment of unity, there's only Tony and Maria reaching out to one another. A beautiful spiritual coupling. It was like that.CLOVIA:
Mia felt this, too?ALAN:
Oh, I've no doubt.CLOVIA:
And, right now, this instant, she's sitting on a couch in the Hollywood Hills thinking of you. Eating chocolates and waiting for the phone to ring. She's given the answering service strict instructions to put your call straight through.ALAN:
Sure. Something like that. Why not?CLOVIA:
Tell me this. Why you?ALAN:
Why not me? There are no fences to confine love. Love goes where it will and when it will. Mia and I are alike in that we've both loved and lost. One thing I know. Love is a question with no pat answer. Are you ready for this? Don't laugh now. I went and added her as sole beneficiary to my life insurance and 401K. I sent her an e-mail telling her I did this.CLOVIA:
What did she say?ALAN:
The funniest thing. I thought, Alan, what are you doing? She gets scads of e-mails. It's beyond even her capacity to read them all. I wrote her a letter, signing it simply Alan. Just Alan. Last night, I couldn't sleep, thinking about her. Pacing after midnight. I turned on the TV. And there she was. Her face. First thing I saw when the TV came up. It was Daisy from The Great Gatsby. Is that an omen or what?CLOVIA:
I don't know what to say.ALAN:
I know what you're thinking. And no, I am not imagining this.CLOVIA:
I liked her in Rosemary's Baby.ALAN:
Can you keep a secret? I bought a ticket to LAX. I'm on my way to Hollywood to be with her. You may be reading my name in the paper. Very soon.(STEWARDESS offers MISTER ALOMARI & MISTER ATTA
beer. They wave her off, as if she were the bringer of bad luck)
CLOVIA:
Does she know you're coming?ALAN:
The thing is, her toadies, hangers-on and yes-people are withholding key information from her.CLOVIA:
There's always that to contend with.ALAN:
All that will change. When I'm there. When I'm with her. There'll be changes. Many changes. Changes for her good. And mine.(Fade to black. Lights up. Interior of bathroom on commuter train.
Sound effects of train in motion. PASSENGER 1 sits. Her hands balled
into fists, she hits weakly at her stomach and sobs quietly. In passenger car, PASSENGER 2 sits sleeping. PASTOR RAY ELLA comes up behind CONDUCTOR)
PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Excuse me, sir.CONDUCTOR:
Yes, Reverend?PASTOR RAY ELLA:
How long until we reach the World Trade Center?CONDUCTOR:
How many times have you been to the Twin Towers?PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Never.CONDUCTOR:
Well, aren't you the insular one? Never ceases to amaze me how the clergy can have an opinion on everything under the sun despite they never go anywhere. Like that Muslim preacher fellow in Jersey City. The one who told those others to park a van with dynamite under the Trade Center? The man was blind. Tell me this. Why would anyone take that kind of advice from a blind man? I'm not comparing you to a blind man. But you see my point. Another hour before you get to the Trade Center. You'll have to change to the PATH at Hoboken. Stand aside. I have an announcement. 6:39, departing South Orange! All aboard please!(PASTOR RAY ELLA & CONDUCTOR exit. PASSENGER 1
takes out a letter, reads silently, tearfully. EDNA enters
through wall, holding a swaddled baby)
EDNA:
Dear Helena: We enjoyed the fruit so much. The grapes were wonderful. Such large bunches we have never seen. Poor husband Tom is about to turn into a grape, he's eaten so much. Many things have happened. The babies are gone. Carmen is with a white woman, who is taking care of five more of the same age. Eva returned from the mountains Sunday and went to see Carmen.PASSENGER 1:
What about David? What's happening with David?EDNA:
Eva said Carmen was very dirty, but happy playing in the dirt with the others. They have a big back yard, swing, sand pile, etc, and Eva said they had vegetable soup and cantaloupe to eat. Of course, the dirt doesn't matter as long as she gets plenty of fresh air and enough to eat. David is going to a Mexican woman.PASSENGER 1:
A Mexican woman?!!EDNA:
They'll have to declare him abandoned first.PASSENGER 1:
But that's only a form.EDNA:
That's only a formality. Miss Rodgers said the Mexican lady was simply wild to have a baby. So you and I know she will adore David.PASSENGER 1:
Yes yes. Yes, she will.EDNA:
I cried all of the first day and part of the night. Which was very silly. But Tom cried too, so it must have been tears of joy. You should have been here to join your tears with ours.PASSENGER 1:
Stop it! Please stop it.EDNA:
I was so busy getting their buttons sewed that I didn't take pictures. The ones you sent are as priceless as jewels. Even now I am able to laugh at the awful face Carmen made in one of them. You are positively beautiful in the one with David.PASSENGER 1:
Stop it! Please!EDNA:
David takes wonderful pictures. Don't worry about him, dear. He's going where he will be loved.(To the baby in her arms)
Say bye-bye, David. Say bye-bye.
(EDNA exits through wall)
PASSENGER 1:
Oh, David, David! What have I done? Oh God, what have I done? I hate myself!(PASSENGER 1 stands, tearfully checks herself in mirror,
opens her skirt & blouse and adjusts bomb belt on her pregnant
torso. She closes skirt & blouse, smooths the fabric.
CONDUCTOR passes by, raps on door)
CONDUCTOR:
6:41, Mountain Station! Mountain Station!(Fade to black)
End of Act I
ACT II
(Lights up, bare stage. MISTER ATTA enters)
MISTER ATTA:
(Tightens clothing as he speaks)Tighten your clothes! This was the path of the early believers. They would tighten their clothing before battle. Tighten your shoes! Wear socks that firmly hold onto the shoe and do not come out. Let each one prepare. Tighten your teeth! The early believers did this, for it brings fear to the hearts of unbelievers.
(MISTER ATTA makes fierce facial expression. WITCHES 1 & 2 enter.
They draw close to him and grip his clothing turning him
to the left and the right)
WITCH 1:
Excuse me. Whats all this negativity about?WITCH 2:
Yeah! Whats this about tightening your clothes?WITCH 1:
And the teeth stuff. You sound like a man with issues.WITCHES 1 & 2:
ARE YOU HEARING WHAT YOU'RE SAYING?ARE YOU STEEPED IN PROVOCATION?
ARE YOU SEEING HOW THIS KIND OF
TALK CAN'T HELP THE SITUATION?
MUST WE TELL YOU, MISTER MARTYR,
THAT YOU SIGNAL AGGRAVATION
WITH YOUR BODY LANGUAGE JUST AS
MUCH AS WITH YOUR FOMENTATIONS?
CAUSE WHEN YOU GLARE
THEY STOP AND STARE
AND WHEN YOU FROWN
THEY HUNKER ON DOWN
AND WHEN YOU RAGE
THEY BACK AWAY, WAY, WAY
THEY WILL AVOID
CAUSE YOU'RE PARANOID.
WITCH 2:
Listen. Mo. You need to try to have a little fun.WITCH 1:
You need to get out more. Life's too short for.WITCH 2:
Hey, listen! I know a girl whos perfect for you. She's unattached. She's available. She's religious. In fact, she's a preacher.MISTER ATTA:
No! No! Theres not enough time for that. People are dying and you people are laughing like this is a big party. You people live your lives like you're in paradise, and people are dying elsewhere.WITCH 1:
Ooh. Struck a nerve.WITCHES 1 & 2:
ARE YOU HEARING WHAT YOU'RE SAYING?MAN, YOU'RE SOUNDING LIKE A RAVER!
ARE YOU SENSING THAT THE PEOPLE
CAN'T BUT VIEW YOU WITH DISFAVOR?
WILL YOU LISTEN, MO MOHAMMED,
WILL YOU LISTEN AS A FAVOR?
WHILE WE TELL YOU THAT
THE WORD ON YOU IS GRAVE
AND GETTING GRAVER?
BUT IF YOU SMILE
THEY'LL STOP A WHILE
AND IF YOU GRIN
THEY'LL TELL THEIR KIN
AND IF YOU'RE NEAR
THEY'LL STAND AND
CHEER, CHEER, CHEER
THEY'LL SAY HELLO!
TO GOOD OLE MO.
WITCH 1:
Remember. A smile is a carnation in the buttonhole of life.MISTER ATTA:
Yes, youre right. To smile is important.(He tries out some smiles)
Do not make apparent on you the appearance of confusion and tightness of nerves. Be happy and smiling with your chest expanding and content because you are doing an act of which God approves. And smile because the day is nigh when you will be with pure women in paradise. Yes! I will smile!
WITCH 2:
I guess, with him, thats the best we can hope for.(WITCHES exit. Lights up on a space, interior of dark Egyptian tomb.
A window up high through which we see the planet earth shining bright.
Heiroglyphics, pictograms on back wall. Sound effect of hammer and
chisel. TEMPTER 3, dressed in military fatigues with holstered pistol,
stands guard. On ground next to him, an open can of paint and a brush
handle sticking out. MISTER ATTA enters, draws knife, approaches
TEMPTER 3 stealthily from behind)
MISTER ATTA:
(Grabs TEMPTER 3 from behind, jerks his head back,touches blade to his throat)
Don't move.
(TEMPTER 3 flinches. MISTER ATTA presses knife
to TEMPTER 3s throat)
I said, don't move.
(Slowly, MISTER ATTA removes his pistol, then he moves
back, keeping TEMPTER 3 covered with pistol)
Now sit! And shut up!
(TEMPTER 3 sits. Spotlight up on TEMPTER 4 on knees
chipping away with hammer and chisel on heiroglyphics,
humming to himself. MISTER ATTA whirls to face
TEMPTER 4. TEMPTER 3 makes to strike. MISTER
ATTA shifts back, points gun. TEMPTER 3 freezes.
TEMPTER 4 sees this, sets tools calmly down,
stands. He wears a Nazi armband)
TEMPTER 4:
Peace, gentlemen, peace! We're not animals here.MISTER ATTA:
Then tell him to back off.TEMPTER 3:
I was defending myself. He broke in, pulled a knife.TEMPTER 4:
Please, Mister McVeigh. Stop making a scene. What will our visitor think of us?(TEMPTER 3 slowly sits. Keeps a wary eye on MISTER
ATTA. TEMPTER 4 draws near)
You handle yourself well. Like you were born to the blade. May I see the knife?
MISTER ATTA:
Why?TEMPTER 4:
It's a lovely knife. I'd regard it as a personal favor if you'd permit me to hold it.(MISTER ATTA hands it to him, grip first)
Thank you. The gun, too. Please.
(MISTER ATTA hesitates)
Please. We don't want any accidents. It's cramped quarters in here and things could get messy.
(MISTER ATTA hands him pistol, grip first)
Thank you.
(Puts pistol in belt. Admires knife)
Lovely. Yes, lovely. Perfectly balanced. Crafted by an expert, I'd say. Look at the grip. Is this ivory?
MISTER ATTA:
Polished stag antler.TEMPTER 4:
It's not a fighting knife.MISTER ATTA:
Its sharp enough. It can do damage.TEMPTER 4:
Nonetheless. No nicks. No scratches. It's done no thrusting or slashing. It's meant for show. All this wonderfully fine detail. Look here. On the grip. The six-pointed star. The double triangle.MISTER ATTA:
What? The Jewish star on there? I hadn't noticed.TEMPTER 4:
It was Egyptian before it was Jewish. The Hebrews borrowed it from the Egyptians.(Takes brush from paint can on floor. On wall, he paints
an upright triangle, then an inverted triangle,
forming a Star of David)
Under each pyramid
Lies inverted
Its twin
The sister-bride
To Pharaoh
(Smiles)
That's a poem. Do you like poetry?
TEMPTER 3:
Poetry!TEMPTER 4:
Yes, poetry. Soothes the savage beast, I'm told.(TEMPTER 3 snorts)
Ah! Give me a sheet of paper and a pen and set me down on an island. The further away from humanity, the better. And let me write.
(Clears throat, declaims, dramatic gestures)
From a covered pot
Steam escapes
In the confines there
Lobsters scream
And die
(Smiles shyly)
A haiku. Do you like lobsters?
MISTER ATTA:
They are permitted, but I don't care for them.TEMPTER 4:
No? Neither do I. Wait! Let me amend that. I meant to say, I don't eat lobsters. People ask, do you like eggs? Do you like tomatoes? Do you like lobsters? In the sense of, do you eat them? No. I do not. No fish. No shellfish. No crustaceans. And no meat for that matter. Nothing requiring the butchery of any being that creeps upon the earth or dwells in the briny deep. A time there was when I partook of herring, sausages and ham with a gusto. I was not a happy man. But no one around me was happy either. Thus I concluded the natural condition of man was to be unhappy. It made sense. After all, I had tested my thesis by scientific observation. But I was mistaken and the fact of my mistakenness was soon made manifest. For there comes a point in every life when one is confronted with a truth so profoundly fundamental, words cannot express. Oh no. It can only be felt. So it was with me the day Geli died. There she lay. Sweet gay Geli. Bleeding from her heart.(He stares at a spot on the floor. He takes the
pistol and places it reverently at spot)
My pistol at her side, as life, precious life, drained from her body. And the rays of joyeous light she brought to the fortunate few admitted to her happy realm flickered out. And I thought as I watched her, how tenuous life is. How fleeting. How precarious. And I thought, so it must be, not only with humanity, but also with dogs, with cats. And yes, with lobsters. It was then I vowed to abstain from all meat and fish forevermore. I did so to honor dear Geli. And, I must say, I feel better, happier, more ethical, more vital than heretofore. It is surprising, is it not, how a simple adjustment in what one ingests can affect one's perception of what is truly significant. Have you ever meditated on that?
MISTER ATTA:
Uh. I'm not sure.TEMPTER 4:
(Retrieves pistol)I was reflecting on the truth of lobsters.
MISTER ATTA:
I don't know much about lobsters.TEMPTER 4:
I know how they kill lobsters in restaurants.TEMPTER 3:
Oh Lord. Here we go again. Please don't encourage him.TEMPTER 4:
I warn you, Mister McVeigh! Stay out of this!(To MISTER ATTA)
Do you know how they kill lobsters in restaurants?
MISTER ATTA:
No.TEMPTER 4:
Well I do. I know everything there is to know on the subject. Aren't you going to ask me how?TEMPTER 3:
Please don't ask him.TEMPTER 4:
Mister McVeigh! Last warning! You've been forewarned, warned and rewarned! Aren't you going to ask me how?MISTER ATTA:
How?TEMPTER 3:
Oh Lord! Here we go!TEMPTER 4:
How do they kill lobsters in restaurants, you ask?(TEMPTER 3 mouths each word in the following
sentence as TEMPTER 4 speaks)
Let me start by saying I have researched this question in exceedingly great det.
(TEMPTER 4 turns, glares at TEMPTER 3 daring
him to say another word)
Great detail!
(TEMPTER 3 folds his arms, looks away)
I researched this in great detail. And after the July 1932 election, I commissioned a Parliamentary investigation into the manner in which lobsters are killed at commercial eating establishments. The results were an eye-opener, let me tell you. Seven, eight, nine of the poor creatures thrown into a vat of cold water. And it takes what? Fifteen minutes to come to a rolling boil? Can you imagine the pain? And all to please the palates of a few bloated plutocrats bent on flaunting their wealth in an orgy of gastronomical display. Nevertheless, the Commission's report lay in a file drawer for weeks, nay months. No one cared. Not one person. Finally simple morality compelled me to act. I alone resolved to bring this to finality. What is it they say? Evil triumphs when good men do nothing? How true. How unequivocally true. I recall it was a late Friday morning. The deputies readying themselves for a weekend back in their districts, their packed bags next to their chairs right there on the floor of the Reichstag, their minds and hearts far, far away. It was then I rose and waited for the chatter to die down. Gentlemen, I said, a modest proposal. I held up the report, shaking the dust from its cover. At first I spoke gently, softly, of the joys and pleasures of the coming weekend. I spoke of parties and receptions and formal dinners. I surmised that, at more than a few of these events, lobsters will no doubt be served and enjoyed. I proceeded to describe the perfect lobster. On the plate, a 1½ pound crustacean, rosy red and fresh from the pot with its tail curled under. Then I darkened the speech, painting a picture of what changes the poor creature underwent in its transit from fish-tank to plate. At a certain point, the temperature causes mild discomfort, then rapidly escalates to extreme discomfort. The poor suffering lobster tries with all its might to escape, but the sides of the pot are too steep. As the water approaches boiling, it experiences heat stress and muscular spasms. Its system is overwhelmed. Its body succumbs to trauma and heat rigor, during the course of which it undergoes unimaginable suffering. Scientists tell us lobsters are intelligent creatures with sophisticated nervous systems. Thus, they experience pain in all of its manifestations. Gentlemen, I said. It is the least we can do here and now to enact legislation guaranteeing every crustacean, if not a dignified death, at least a painless one. Civilization will judge us on the care we take for the creatures entrusted to us.
(TEMPTER 3 groans. TEMPTER 4 ignores him)
And beyond that, never let it be forgotten that in days of yore, these creatures served as spirit guides to man. Our ancient forefathers offered up sacrifices to bears, boars, cats, dogs, horses, ravens, snakes
and, yes, creatures of the deep. Thus I say from the depths of my soul, in truth do we disparage our past when we show undue cruelty to these.
TEMPTER 3:
I'm sorry. I am sorry, but I can no longer stay silent. This is beyond belief. This is garbage. This.TEMPTER 4:
You see? You see? Hes doing it again. He always waits until I get to my concluding remarks. Then he.TEMPTER 3:
Because he's insane. He's gone around the bend.TEMPTER 4:
He can't let things be. He always has to interject his two cents.TEMPTER 3:
He needs to be the center of attention. I tell you, he will do anything, say anything to.TEMPTER 4:
You see how it is? This is a perfect example. He's always stirring the pot. It's an obsession with.TEMPTER 3:
Because you are a crazy man! Crazy! Crazy!(TEMPTER 4 draws pistol, shoots TEMPTER 3 in head. TEMPTER 3
falls to floor. TEMPTER 4 empties pistol into him as his rage builds)
TEMPTER 4:
(Screams at corpse)Don't ever call me that! Don't ever call me crazy! I am not crazy! I am not! Not!
TEMPTER 4(Cont):
(Takes out paper, waves it over corpse)This is a certificate from an institution stating I am not crazy! Do you hear? Not crazy! Not! Do you have such a certificate? Do you? Ha! Now whos crazy?
(To MISTER ATTA)
I should have killed him hours ago. ··
(Fade to black. Lights up, airplane interior, passenger cabin sound effects. MISTER ALOMARI seated alone, an empty seat next to him. ALAN & CLOVIA seated side by side, asleep. STEWARDESS passes by, handing out magazines. PATRICIA sits alone, a small tape recorder in her hand)
CAPTAIN'S VOICE:
Morning! This is Captain John Ogonowski speaking. First I'd like to welcome you on American Flight 11. Currently we're over Worcester, Mass, passing through 21,000 feet on our way up to a cruising altitude of 35,000. The weather looks great all the way across.(CAPTAINS VOICE starts fading out)
We expect to touch down at LAX fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Weather forecast for LA is.
PATRICIA:
Hey, Dale. I don't know what's going on with you, but I've been thinking about you a lot. Thirty-six years is a long time. I'm kind of sentimental right now. I was wondering since we parted as friends if we could have a dinner or something. Maybe we could talk.(MISTER ATTA enters, on his face a troubled expression.
MISTER ALOMARI makes inquiring eye contact with him.
MISTER ATTA ignores him, sits in empty seat. MISTER
ATTA glares at him)
I'm at sober living. I've been in treatment for two months now. Sober living is an apartment you rent and work or whatever. I can stay as long as I want as long as I go to meetings and stay sober. This means everything to me.
(STEWARDESS comes by with three glasses of
wine on a tray)
STEWARDESS:
Excuse me, Ma'am. Would you like a glass of wine?PATRICIA:
Uh sure. Okay. How much is it?STEWARDESS:
We have Cabernet, Merlot and Chardonnay at five dollars per glass.PATRICIA:
Chardonnay is light-colored. Isn't that right?STEWARDESS:
Yes, Ma'am. It's a white wine.PATRICIA:
Uh okay. Wait. No. No. I better not. Anyway, I only have twenties in my purse and I know you like us to have exact change.MISTER ALOMARI:
(Turns around)I got change for a twenty.
STEWARDESS:
Ma'am. The nice gentleman has change for you.MISTER ALOMARI:
(Holds out currency)Go ahead, lady. Have a glass of wine.
PATRICIA:
No. No! Thank you, anyway. I changed my mind. I. I better not.(MISTER ALOMARI glares and turns away.
STEWARDESS exits)
Whoo! Dale, I forgot to put the recorder on pause, so you'll hear all that. I just dodged a bullet. I came this close to relapsing. But everytime I say no, I get that much stronger. I'm going to make it. I can feel it. I'm going to be okay. I'm going to live a long life. You see, Dale, it's all about God. I feel as though God put me here for a reason. I know you know God has literally answered every reasonable prayer Ive prayed. He sure got you out of a lot of scrapes. Remember when you would ask me if I prayed before we would go somewhere for our safety and everytime you drove anywhere I prayed for your safety when I wasn't with you? I still do. I still pray for your safety in case you don't. It's a nice place I'm renting. This house has three women including me in the three. I want you to know how much I miss our old house. Or I should say, your house. But in my heart, it'll always be my home, too. I still refer to it that way. I still feel there are intruders in our 16th Street house. I would love to buy it back with all my heart. I was happy there. I felt grounded there. I didn't understand a lot of things at the end. I didn't know whether you went out to hurt me or what. I recognize the co-dependency thing now. I thought I owned you or something. Maybe you can help me understand how you reacted. The damage I caused to the house was because you on four occasions said you were coming back and didn't. I took a hammer to the bathroom door when you didn't show up. Other damage I'm not aware of, I swear to you. There are some clothes. Pots and pans, silverware and furniture. I want your permission. When you're ready. To maybe go with me. Not now because I really don't have anywhere to put it right now. This place I'm in is furnished. I'm sorry about a lot of things. I was really depressed about us. Now, surprisingly, shockingly, God again has literally given me a new lease on life. My health is good. Very little liver damage, healthy heart, great blood sugar and blood pressure. I feel on top of the world. All that drinking and not taking care of myself. God was taking care of me. I'm a walking miracle. I believe I almost died four times. I was raped by a man. Got drunk, passed out in the hospital and my heart almost stopped beating. I was so drunk when I got to the hospital, I completely blacked out.
(PATRICIAs seat turns into a bed. She lies
under covers)
I don't even remember how I got there. I woke up six days later. I thought I'd only been there for one night.
(Enter DOCTOR in green hospital gown)
There was a doctor standing at the end of the bed. I said to him, are you an angel?
DOCTOR:
No, I'm not an angel. Where do you live?PATRICIA:
I told him I was homeless.(DOCTOR writes on clipboard, smiles angelically, exits. Bed turns
back into seat. PATRICIA speaks into recorder)
That was true. I was. Homeless, I mean. Donna drove off in the motorhome and took Simba with her. I never saw her or Simba again. I found out last week, Simba's with a family with two kids. I prayed she was okay. I also had a husky that I think Donna still has. ·
(MISTER ATTA stands up and walks to back of cabin. MISTER
ALOMARI watches him suspiciously. MISTER ATTA exits)
The doctor said I should go to NewHope for treatment, that it was a place where I could live for a couple of months and after that go to sober living. Dale, I'm sending this tape to you via Dale Junior. I hope you get it. Dale, I'm praying for you. Please pray for me. Patricia
(Fade to black. Lights up, interior of Egyptian tomb. Nazi
flags hang from above. Theres a window through which we
see planet earth shining bright. Heiroglyphics on wall.
TEMPTER 4 on knees chipping away at wall art with
hammer and chisel. MISTER ATTA enters.
TEMPTER 4 senses his presence)
TEMPTER 4:
So. You've returned.MISTER ATTA:
Yes. I was. Concerned.TEMPTER 4:
Concerned.MISTER ATTA:
That other man. The one you shot.TEMPTER 4:
Mister McVeigh? You've come back because youre concerned about Mister McVeigh? He's not worth your concern. Hes a pathetic simpleton. Proof? He disliked my poem.MISTER ATTA:
You had no right to shoot him.(TEMPTER 4 calmly sets hammer & chisel down, stands,
his back to MISTER ATTA. He claps dust off his hands, takes
out gloves, dons them, as he speaks the following)
TEMPTER 4:
No right? I had no right, you say? Who are you to speak of right? What do you know of right?(MISTER ATTA is about to say something)
No. Don't answer. It was a rhetorical question. A word of advice. When you are about to engage in a dramatic action of some sort, talk it up. Let the world hear you. Let your words chip away at the world's smugness and sense of superiority in the same way I chip away at the art on this wall with my hammer and chisel. And speak of your action in the present tense as if it were a fiat accompli. And include a harsh vilification
for any who would dare oppose you.
(Turns. Looks directly at MISTER ATTA)
Keep your eyes wide open as you speak. Look fearlessly into the eyes of your audience. If any one tries to interrupt you, or rises to speak against you, strike immediately.
MISTER ATTA:
You mean, kill.TEMPTER 4:
Strike. Immediately. With ruthless vigor. With dispatch. With brute force. You have the floor. Youhave the podium. It is yours to keep precisely as long as you have the power to do so. Power is right. Right is power.(Takes out pistol. Points it at him)
Which brings me back to you. You say I had no right. I should kill you for that. I definitely think I should. Kill you, I mean.
MISTER ATTA:
What?! No, please. Wait wait. Please. Dont.TEMPTER 4:
(Aims pistol, cocks it)But I must. Youre in open opposition to me.
MISTER ATTA:
No! All I said was.TEMPTER 4:
I know what you said. Your words condemn you.MISTER ATTA:
Please. Im not ready to die.TEMPTER 4:
Well, who ever is?MISTER ATTA:
Look. I. I mean. I need time.TEMPTER 4:
Time? You need time? Time to get ready to die? What are you going to do? Rehearse your death?MISTER ATTA:
I'll make a deal. You can kill me tomorrow. I. I'll sign a contract. I'll post a bond. You name it. Please. I'm begging you. Just give me 24 hours.TEMPTER 4:
A day? I don't know. It's highly irregular. And in the last analysis, what's the difference between today and tomorrow? And how would this unusual delay benefit anyone?MISTER ATTA:
Uh. You'd have time to advertise. Uh. You could gather a crowd. You could build a scaffold. Or a guillotine. Or a gas chamber. You could get a firing squad. You could make a speech.(Down on his knees)
All I need is twenty-four hours. One day.
TEMPTER 4:
(Raises barrel of gun so it is no longer pointingat MISTER ATTA)
A speech, you say. Yes! Exactly! I could make a speech. I'm good at speeches. In fact, I'm the best there ever was.
MISTER ATTA:
There. You see? There's your benefit. An extra day would give you time to write a speech and practice it.TEMPTER 4:
(Points gun at MISTER ATTA's head)No! Never! I do not write my speeches out! I never do that! Never! And I do not practice in advance! Never!
MISTER ATTA:
You. You're right! You don't! A slip of the tongue.TEMPTER 4:
(Turns away from MISTER ATTA. Gun nolonger pointed at him)
My speeches are organic. I am strictly extempore. I speak like an oracle!
(From his knees, MISTER ATTA springs at TEMPTER 4.
They fall to the ground in a struggle for the gun. MISTER
ATTA fights desperately. TEMPTER 4 emits a high-pitched
laugh as if he were being tickled. Enter TEMPTER 3 in military
fatigues, on which there are several blood-colored splotches.
His holster flap is open, his pistol missing. He has the paint
bucket. He comes near as they wrestle on the floor.
He scrunches down next to TEMPTER 4)
TEMPTER 3:
I made a decision. I'm not doing your side. I'm doing my side only. If you want your side done, do it yourself.TEMPTER 4:
(Between laughs)Idiot! Can't you see he's attacking me? Kill him!
TEMPTER 3:
You want him dead, do it yourself.TEMPTER 4:
(Between laughs)You traitor! You turncoat!
TEMPTER 3:
And that's my gun. I want it back.(TEMPTER 3 pries pistol out of TEMPTER 4's hand. TEMPTER 4
screams in pain. TEMPTER 3 stands, puts it in holster. He grabs
Nazi flags and pulls on them. They fall to floor. He exits. TEMPTER
4 & MISTER ATTA continue struggling, but they are becoming
exhausted. They separate. They lay side by side. MISTER
ATTA sounds as if hes dry-heaving. Then, TEMPTER 4
starts moving)
TEMPTER 4:
All right now. We'll just take it very easy. All right. All right. Very quiet now. We will all be. Very quiet.(TEMPTER 4 pulls himself up, extends hand to MISTER
ATTA. MISTER ATTA slaps it away. MISTER ATTA pulls
himself up)
I've changed my mind. I'm not going to kill you.
MISTER ATTA:
Thank you.TEMPTER 4:
My pleasure.MISTER ATTA:
I've been meaning to ask.TEMPTER 4:
Ask.MISTER ATTA:
What's this place were in?TEMPTER 4:
Are you joking?MISTER ATTA:
No.TEMPTER 4:
They told me you're Egyptian. Was I misinformed?MISTER ATTA:
I don't mean the wall art. I recognize that. I mean the place. Are we in a museum? Or at an art exhibit? Or where?TEMPTER 4:
Ah. The place. Well. That's different. Can't you recognize the smell? Use your nose. Take a whiff.MISTER ATTA:
It's an odd odor. Musty.TEMPTER 4:
And?MISTER ATTA:
Smell of decay.TEMPTER 4:
Yes. Decay definitely. Lots of decay. It's the smell of death. We're in a crypt. This is a burial chamber from four thousand years ago or more.MISTER ATTA:
We're inside a pyramid?TEMPTER 4:
Perhaps. Or perhaps inside a tomb in the Valley of the Kings. One or the other. Isn't it interesting that the smell of human death never completely goes away?MISTER ATTA:
That's a nauseating train of thought. Could you change the subject?TEMPTER 4:
The smell of death. It has a sickly sweet aroma. Like no other. I've grown to appreciate its qualities. To almost embrace it. You get that way when you've been here as long as I have. I imagine gravediggers and mausoleum attendants develop such a facility. I'll bet you I could go to any spot on earth where something horrific has occurred and, employing only my nose, confirm, with a high degree of accuracy, its factuality. A battlefield. A mass grave.
MISTER ATTA:
Stop it. Please.TEMPTER 4:
An extermination camp.MISTER ATTA:
Stop!TEMPTER 4:
An airplane crash site.MISTER ATTA:
Please!TEMPTER 4:
You know, I'm beginning to have my doubts about you. You're quite the fastidious one. Almost squeamish. You're the wrong type for this task.MISTER ATTA:
God's will does not depend on type.TEMPTER 4:
Bugger God's will! You need preparation. What if they mutiny? What if they fight back?MISTER ATTA:
God will give me whatever I need to deal with.TEMPTER 4:
Listen, Mister Atta. Denial is not a river in Egypt. Nevertheless, I wish you luck. You're going to need it.(Fade to black. Lights up, train interior. Sound effects of
train. PASSENGER 1, PASSENGER 2 & PASTOR RAY
ELLA sit facing each other. CONDUCTOR enters)
CONDUCTOR:
Arriving Broad Street, Newark. 6:52. Arriving Broad Street. If this is your final stop, don't forget your coats and newspapers. For all others, Hoboken is the next and final stop with connections to Battery Park and the World Trade Center. Wait for the doors to open, please.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Sir?CONDUCTOR:
I know what you're about to ask, Reverend. You're about to ask how far to the Trade Center. And I'm going to say, for the 50th time, about forty more minutes, if you get off at Hoboken and get on the PATH. The PATH arrives at the Trade Center at 7:34. Think you can remember that?PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Yes sir.CONDUCTOR:
Good. Watch your step! Doors are opening!(CONDUCTOR exits. Enter HIS WIFE, dressed to the nines,
& EDNA, in overalls, holding swaddled baby)
HIS WIFE:
I know you'll mess up. It's something I'd bet money on and win a fortune, if you ever gave me any money. I came to laugh at you.EDNA:
David was restless, poor thing. So I thought I'd take him out for some air. And just look at him. So peaceful now. The minute I took him outside, the little dear dropped right off.HIS WIFE:
Look how he sweats. Disgusting. And utterly ludicrous. He never dresses in keeping with the climate. He always ends up embarrassing himself. And me. This is not an acceptable conveyance. It's too stuffy. The ventilation in here is inadequate. Let's find a car where one can breathe in comfort.EDNA:
That's a good idea. David needs to breathe fresh air, poor sweet dear.(HIS WIFE & EDNA exit. CONDUCTOR enters)
CONDUCTOR:
Stay away from the doors! Doors are closing!(Sound effect of doors closing. Fade to black. Lights up, a
bed & nightstand. Window through which we see planet earth
shining bright. TEMPTER 2 on bed, naked, smoking cigarette,
her head and shoulders againstheadboard. Her gold high-
heeled sandals on floor. MISTER ATTA, in partial undress,
lies next to her, watching her with fascination. The
atmosphere is post-coital)
TEMPTER 2:
Do you know what bullshit is?MISTER ATTA:
Bullshit? Oh yes. I know about bullshit. Money talks, bullshit walks.TEMPTER 2:
OK. So maybe you got some kind of idea about bullshit. So let me lay something else on you. Bullshit is like. Um. OK. Like discussing the weather or something really lame because someone's too fucking chickenshit to look the other person in the eye and say straight out what they're thinking. You starting to understand me now? Bullshit is like. Um. Like playing stupid mind games to try and knock the other person off balance. Bullshit is stuff like that. Stupid chickenshit stuff. What do you think now?MISTER ATTA:
I. I think.TEMPTER 2:
And something else I want clear, just so nobody gets the wrong idea about me.MISTER ATTA:
Uh.TEMPTER 2:
When I was talking about stupid chickenshit bullshit mind games, I was talking about stupid chickenshit bullshit mind games in general, see? Hypothetical stupid chickenshit bullshit mind games. I was talking about people in general and how some of them like to fuck with other people using stupid chickenshit bullshit mind games. You see what Im saying?MISTER ATTA:
Um. Yes. Yes, I do.TEMPTER 2:
I was generalizing.MISTER ATTA:
Yes, of course. Generalizing.TEMPTER 2:
There was nothing personal in my remarks.MISTER ATTA:
No. Certainly not personal.TEMPTER 2:
(Sits at edge of bed. He watches herwith fascination)
It would piss me off if someone deliberately misconstrued what I was trying to say.
MISTER ATTA:
Cert.TEMPTER 2:
(Bends down, straps on her high heels.He watches her)
I swear, I would just explode. I mean, just. Just blow up.
MISTER ATTA:
Ab. Absolutely.TEMPTER 2:
I could. Well. I could. Could. I could really see myself seriously hurting the nearest living thing. Just ripping them to pieces. You understand where I'm coming from?MISTER ATTA:
Ab. Absolutely. I.TEMPTER 2:
You may stand up now.(He stands quickly. She stands, towering over him.
She smiles, touches his face)
I'm glad. So many people have the wrong impression of me. Like I'm supposed to be a crazy psycho lunatic or something. I'm glad youre not like the others. I like you. You know that? I get these very strong feelings about people and I'm usually right in my intuition. My first impression about you was, hey, I like this guy. You know what? You and I are gonna do some wonderful stuff together. Some truly amazing stuff.
(Squeezes his hand, first gently and then
tighter as she speaks. It hurts him)
As for those others. The chickenshit ones with the bullshit mind games. I could just strangle them in their sleep and suck their bone marrow dry. I really could.
MISTER ATTA:
I. I love you.TEMPTER 2:
Why do I get the feeling youve been waiting for precisely the perfect moment to say I love you?MISTER ATTA:
Perfect or not, I say I love you. I say it again. I love you.TEMPTER 2:
(Releases his hand)But is this in fact the right moment to say it? After all, you barely know me.
MISTER ATTA:
What I need to know about you, I already know.TEMPTER 2:
You say you already know me. Well, perhaps you do. And, truth to tell, there've been wonderful love affairs built on less.MISTER ATTA:
Youre toying with me.TEMPTER 2:
No. Not toying.MISTER ATTA:
Then what?TEMPTER 2:
You know something? You're coming on pretty strong. How about just you back off for a second, okay, lover boy? Okay now, let's just assume for the moment. That I. That I'm seriously considering what you've said and. And I don't yet have an answer for you. So. In the meantime. Perhaps. Just perhaps. I'm speaking whatever comes to mind in order to mask a loss for words upon your completely unexpected declaration of love. Take what you hear from my lips in that light.MISTER ATTA:
So. So there's a chance for me.TEMPTER 2:
A chance. A chance to be my lover? Certainly. Every man has at least that.MISTER ATTA:
There you go toying with me again.TEMPTER 2:
No. Not toying. Just sensing a nuance of loss.MISTER ATTA:
Loss?TEMPTER 2:
I'm usually the controlling one. But this time.MISTER ATTA:
That's not loss. That's love.TEMPTER 2:
Perhaps. Perhaps not. In any case, we'd better get to know each other bloody quick. Who knows?(Takes case from nightstand, opens it. Inside are pistols
and knives. She holds the case out to him)
We may end up being all we've got.
MISTER ATTA:
(Stuffs guns and knives in his belt)Just as you wish.
TEMPTER 2:
(Sets case back on nightstand)So.
MISTER ATTA:
So.TEMPTER 2:
So you say you love me.MISTER ATTA:
I say it.TEMPTER 2:
So you say. You say words. And what would you do to prove it?MISTER ATTA:
I would do whatever it takes.TEMPTER 2:
And if loving me required you to live in poverty and shame?MISTER ATTA:
I would.TEMPTER 2:
Be the butt of everyone's jokes?MISTER ATTA:
I would.TEMPTER 2:
Be the butt of my jokes?MISTER ATTA:
I would. With pleasure.TEMPTER 2:
Oh, would you now? How about if, say, I told you to watch as I made love to another man? Could you be the butt of that joke?MISTER ATTA:
I. I could. It would be hard, but I would do it.TEMPTER 2:
Yes, that would be hard. Let's try something harder. For my love, would you be willing to expose your person to death by air or water?MISTER ATTA:
I. I would expose my person in such a way.TEMPTER 2:
And what if I were to point out a number of people, unknown to you, and tell you they are my enemies? That they wish my death?MISTER ATTA:
If this were true.TEMPTER 2:
If this were true?!! If??!! Lets drop the if. In the event I say it, there should be no if. I would expect you to take my word for it, out of love for me.MISTER ATTA:
Yes, of course you are right. For you, I would kill them all. No ifs, ands or buts.TEMPTER 2:
Good. Good. Now understand, you've crossed a line and, in the event things don't work out, you may not be able to jump back.MISTER ATTA:
(Suddenly, without warning, he pins her hard against the wall,grips her hair and pulls her head down to him. He begins
kissing her fiercely on the mouth. Then, just as suddenly,
he stops, steps back)
Understand, for your love, I would plot and execute the death of all the world. No ifs, ands or buts. And without the thinnest veneer of remorse.
TEMPTER 2:
(Regains her composure with some difficulty)You may very soon be put to the test.
MISTER ATTA:
Prove me.TEMPTER 2:
I see, in your passion, you are sincere in what you say. But, over time, when youve grown tired of me, who knows where youll stand?(TEMPTER 2 begins to exit)
MISTER ATTA:
I do not blow hot and cold. My love will be constant and bright, like an eternal flame.TEMPTER 2:
Eternal flames are placemarkers of death.(TEMPTER 2 exits)
MISTER ATTA:
(Brandishes gun and knife she gave him)No! Don't leave! Prove me! Please! Prove me!
(Fade to black)
CONDUCTOR:
Hoboken is the last stop. Please collect all personal effects. Hoboken is the last stop. Thank you for riding the New Jersey Transit.(Lights up, train interior. Sound effects of train. PASSENGER 1,
PASSENGER 2 & PASTOR RAY ELLA sit facing each other)
PASSENGER 2:
Excuse me, ladies.PASSENGER 1 & PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Yes?PASSENGER 2:
This is difficult for me. Difficult in the extreme. For I am not an open person.(To PASSENGER 1)
I apologize for never talking to you, never introducing myself, never saying Good morning in the morning or Good evening in the evening. For months we have ridden this train. I've never said word one to you. For that, I apologize.
(To PASTOR RAY ELLA)
I apologize for insulting you, for casting aspersions on you based on your dress and demeanor, for making assumptions about you without knowing you. That was wrong of me.
PASSENGER 1:
What's your angle, man?PASTOR RAY ELLA:
No. Don't talk like that to him.PASSENGER 1:
Why don't you take a bath?PASTOR RAY ELLA:
God bless, sister.PASSENGER 1:
I'm not your sister.PASSENGER 2:
I have a proposition.PASSENGER 1:
Oh! So there is an angle.PASSENGER 2:
I want to give each of you one hundred thousand dollars.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
A hundred thousand! Oh God bless!PASSENGER 1:
To hell with your God blesses. What do we have to do?PASSENGER 2:
Just walk with me to my office.PASSENGER 1:
There's gotta be more.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Yes! Yes! We'll do it! Won't we?PASSENGER 1:
I wasn't born yesterday. There's gotta be more.PASSENGER 2:
My wife. A wife in name only. She says I go out each day to see women. She accuses me of all sorts of things. It's all false, but that is her belief and no amount of denying will change her. Today, I plan to terminate every connection I have with her. I plan to do so in a most dramatic manner. She is following me, watching me, at this very moment. But I don't care.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Wow! Is she dangerous?PASSENGER 2:
Only to me. I pray you accept. I would rather give you my money than let it go to her.PASSENGER 1:
Let me get this straight. You're saying, you want her to see you with us. You want to make her angry. You want this to be the last thing she sees you doing. Because you're divorcing her.PASSENGER 2:
I'm disconnecting my personage from her personage in a major manner.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
Wow! You sure have a way with words, mister.PASSENGER 2:
I'm in the North Tower on the 95th floor. Come with me there and I will hand you the cash.PASSENGER 1:
I work at the Trade Center. I clean offices. I have a pass. What about her? Will the guards let her in? I mean, you see how she's dressed. And she smells.PASSENGER 2:
The guards will do what they're told. I'm the Chief Operating Officer. You two are my guests.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
I have a confession. I saw a sign in the sky. I thought something terrible was going to happen today. I was on my way to warn people from a high point, the Observation Deck at the World Trade Center. But I misread the sign. It was just the opposite. It was something wonderful. It was you. Now I will go up there and praise God!PASSENGER 2:
The Observation Deck is in the South Tower on the 107th Floor. The elevators start up at 9:30 am. I'll get you special passes.PASSENGER 1:
Thank you. Thank you. I have a confession, too. I was so very depressed today. About a son I had to. Had to give up. Money's hard to come by. A cleaning woman's salary isn't much. And now I'm carrying another, as you can see. And I've had such angry thoughts. Thinking desperate thoughts. Horrible, hateful thoughts. You know? I'll go up there with you and thank God. I'm sorry I said those things.PASTOR RAY ELLA:
God bless, sister.PASSENGER 1:
God bless, sister.(They join hands. CONDUCTOR enters)
CONDUCTOR:
7:11. Arriving Hoboken. 7:11. Arriving Hoboken. This is your final stop. Dont forget your coats and hats and newspapers. The next PATH train to the World Trade Center is at 7:24. Watch your step, please.(CONDUCTOR exits. PASSENGER 1, PASSENGER 2 & PASTOR RAY ELLA stand up, gather their things, smile. Fade to black. Lights up. A window through which we see the planet earth shining bright. MISTER ATTA, in boxer shorts, stands at full-length mirror, studying himself, mugs for an imaginary camera, assuming various boxing and fighting poses. After a moment, WITCHES 1 & 2 enter, dressed in witchy tatters. WITCH 1 holds a robe)
WITCH 1:
After taking the death vow.WITCH 2:
But prior to the action.WITCH 1:
Shave the extra hair on your body, perfume yourself and ritually wash.WITCH 2:
For you will soon be in the presence of angels.WITCHES 1 & 2:
(MISTER ATTA mimes as they sing)SEE HIM REFLECTED
SEE HIS IMAGE THERE COLLECTED
SEE HIS GRIN
SEE HIS SKIN
SEE HIS CHIN, HOW IT'S PROJECTED
SEE HIM PLUNDER
SEE HIM THUNDER
SEE HIM RIP HIS FOES ASUNDER
SEE HIM SNEAKING
SEE HIM FREAKING
SEE HIS FOOTSTEPS, SO OBLIQUING
SEE HIM HERE
SEE HIM THERE
SEE HIM GENUFLECT IN PRAYER
(Witches drape a robe on him)
AND HE WEARS A MARTYR'S MANTLE
AND THE DEVIL-MAY-CARE.
HES A BIG POTATO
HES A HOT VOLCANO
HE A GOLLY
HE AN ALI
HE A KUKLA, FRAN AND OLLIE
HE EXTOLS
HE CONTROLS
AND HE GIVES HIS HEART AND SOUL
AND HE WEARS A MARTYR'S MANTLE
AS HIS ACE IN THE HOLE.
NOT A HAIR MISDIRECTED
NOT A BROW INTERSECTED
NOT A SPORE
NOT A PORE
NOT AN OPEN SORE INFECTED
NOT AN ILLING
NOT A DRILLING
NOT A TOOTH THAT NEEDS A FILLING
NOT A MEEKNESS
NOT A BLEAKNESS
NOT A TRAIT THAT POINTS TO WEAKNESS
NOT A SCARE
NOT A CARE
NOT A WORRY WHATSO'ERE
AND HE WEARS A MARTYR'S MANTLE
AND THE DEVIL-MAY-CARE.
HES A BIG BANANA
GOING TO NIRVANA
HE A HEEBIE
HE A JEEBIE
HE IN HEAVEN ON A FREEBIE
SEE HIM GROW
SEE HIM GLOW
SEE HIM GIVE HIS HEART AND SOUL
AND HE WEARS A MARTYR'S MANTLE
AS HIS ACE IN THE HOLE.
WITCH 1:
Okay, Bucko, you're on your own.WITCH 2:
Just don't screw the pooch. Woof! Woof!(WITCHES exit laughing. Fade to black)
STEWARDESS VOICE:
Ladies and Gentlemen, the inflight movie will begin shortly. The originally scheduled film, Mission Impossible 2, is not available. Instead we will be showing Dude, Where's My Car? Now sit back, relax and enjoy.(Lights up. Interior of passenger cabin. MISTER ATTA, in
dark green suit, & MISTER ALOMARI are at front, wearing gas
masks. They shoot CLOVIA who dies. ALAN & PATRICIA
sit, terrified. STEWARDESS, hiding in back, napkin over
mouth, speaks into cell phone)
STEWARDESS:
The cockpit's not answering. Somebody's been shot in business class. And our number one is stabbed. Our purser is stabbed. Nobody knows who stabbed who. We can't even get up to business class right now, because nobody can breathe. Our number five and our first class galley attendant have been stabbed. We can't get into the cockpit. I think there's mace. Yes, that's right, the cockpit is not answering. I'm sitting in the back. Nobody can call the cockpit. We can't get inside.(MISTER ATTA takes out knife, brandishes it at ALAN.
ALAN cringes in his seat. PATRICIA screams)
ALAN:
(Choking from mace)No! Please! You cant! Please! You dont understand. Listen. Two words. Mia Farrow. Im on my way to her. Do you know who Mia Farrow is? Shes an artist. A genius. A visionary. Shes given so much of herself to others. She lived in an iron lung and.
(MISTER ATTA slits ALAN's throat. He dies)
PATRICIA:
(Choking from mace)Are. Are you an angel?
(MISTER ATTA slits PATRICIA's throat. She dies)
STEWARDESS:
We're dropping down. I see buildings. I see water.
(Fade to black. Lights up. Bare space. A window through which we
see planet earth shining bright. MISTER ATTA, tied to chair, blindfolded, an IV tube on his arm. A spotlight on him. GUARD 1 & GUARD 2 stand behind him)
GUARD 1:
(Shakes him awake)Hey, Mohammed. Mo! Hey, Mo. You fucked up, pal.
MISTER ATTA:
(Awakens, groggy)No, no!
GUARD 2:
You fucked up big time, Mo. Big time!GUARD 1:
Your ass is grass, boy.GUARD 2:
Bet your friends are pissed. They all died in a fireball and where were you? Did you chicken out? Was it God's choice for you to chicken out? Is it God's will that you stayed alive, Mo? You got some kind of a message for us from the Big Guy?(MISTER ATTA tries to bite IV tube)
GUARD 1:
Don't give us the crazy act, boy. And don't go blaming it on the moon. We're not buying that lunatic shit. Hey! You know? Maybe God decided at the last minute you were a fuckup and cut you from the squad. Maybe that's it.(MISTER ATTA turns, tries to spit)
Go ahead, spit. Won't change nothing. We're still here. You're still here. We're still talking. We'll be talking to you for a long time, boy.
GUARD 2:
So take it easy. Relax. Enjoy the ride.(Fade to black. Lights up. Bare stage. FOLK SINGER enters)
FOLKSINGER:
Good evening. I read where a Muslim cleric in Britain told his followers that living in the UK was like "living in a toilet." He was referring to the sinfulness of the British. All the pornography and the alternative lifestyles and the like. He'd probably say the same about us. So I went and wrote a song. It's about sin. About living in a toilet. Don't look for any jokes. 'Cause I'm not laughing. And neither should you.LONG AGO IN THE ARKANSAS WOODS
YOU COULD HEAR THEM BIG BIRDS DRILL
WITH A RAT-A-TAT-TAT AND A TAT-A-TAT-TAT
OF THE WOODPECKER'S IVORY BILL
BUT THAT WAS THEN AND THIS IS NOW
CAUSE THE WOODPECKERS DONE GONE AWAY
AN THE SCIENTISTS CAME FROM THE IVY LEAGUE SCHOOLS
CAME TO SEE WHY THEY WOULDN'T STAY
WELL, IS IT SUCH A MYSTERY
WHY THEY ALL UP AND LEFT
THE LAST ONE TO FLY OUT OF THERE
EXPLAINED FOR ALL THE REST
THIS USED TO BE A PLACE WE LOVED
SHE SAID IN PLAIN LAMENT
IT USED TO FLY A GRAND OLD FLAG
THAT WE COULD REPRESENT
THEN SHE DOUBLE-KNOCKED ON A CYPRESS LOG
AND SHE LEFT AND SHE NEVER CAME BACK
BUT JOHN FITZPATRICK FROM THE IVY LEAGUE SCHOOL
THOUGHT HE CAUGHT HER ON A VIDEO TRACK
WELL, THAT VIDEO CLIP, IT WAS CLEAR AS MUD
HE SAW WHAT HE WANTED TO SEE
BUT THE FOLKS IN THE FOREST, THEY KNOW FOR A FACT
THAT'S A GHOST WOODPECKER IN THE TREE
THAT GHOST UP THERE, SHE'S A WARNIN SIGN
THAT GHOST SHE'S HEAVEN SENT
THAT GHOST, SHE MARKS THE CHANGIN TIMES
SHE'S TAPPIN OUT REPENT.
CAUSE THEY'RE TEACHIN JOHNNY THAT GAY'S OKAY
AN THEY DONE KICKED GOD OUTTA SCHOOL
AN HEATHER'S TWO MOMMIES RUN THE PTA
AN KILLIN YOUR BABIES IS COOL.
IN THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER ALLUVIAL PLAIN
YOU CAN ROAM THROUGH THE FORESTS AND THE HILLS
YOU CAN PADDLE A CANOE THROUGH THE CYPRESS SWAMPS
BUT YOU WON'T FIND AN IVORY BILL
AN TELL YOU TRUE, IT AIN'T BEEN THE SAME
SINCE THE WOODPECKERS WALKED OUT THE DOOR
BUT YOU HAVE TO ADMIT THAT WE RAN EM OUT
WHEN WE MADE LADY LIBERTY A WHORE
AN THE GHOST UP THERE, SHES A WARNIN SIGN
THAT GHOST SHE'S HEAVEN SENT
THAT GHOST, SHE MARKS THE CHANGIN TIMES
SHE'S TAPPIN OUT REPENT
CAUSE THEY'RE TEACHIN JOHNNY THAT GAY'S OKAY
AND THEY DONE KICKED GOD OUTTA SCHOOL
AN HEATHER'S TWO MOMMIES RUN THE PTA
AN KILLIN YOUR BABIES IS COOL
KILLIN YOUR BABIES IS COOL
KILLIN YOUR BABIES IS COOL
DIE, LITTLE BABY, DIE
YOUR MOMMY AND YOUR DADDY
ARE BUSY GETTIN HIGH
THEY GOT NO TIME
TO HEAR YOU CRY
SO DIE, BABY, DIE...
The End
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