House of Many Tongues (2 page)

ALEX in his room, writing.

Alex:
My dad’s a liar.

Under his mattress there lives a woman named Melissa.

I found her.

Melissa’s beautiful. She’s glossy, folds out in three parts and comes from Ohio. She also has lemon meringue slathered permanently around her breasts. Makes her tits look like a glazed challah.

I follow her body with my eyes. Down. Down to something I’ve never seen before. It’s mysterious and beautiful and I have an urge to do something—to make contact.

Melissa’s Vagina:
Liberate me, Alex.

Alex:
Oh my God… her thing… it speaks.

Melissa’s Vagina:
Liberate me.

Alex:
It says.

Liberate you?

Melissa’s Vagina:
Take me away from him.

Alex:
It says.

But I’m only fifteen,

I say.

Melissa’s Vagina:
It’s time for you to become a man.

To travel to where no Israeli has ever gone before.

To boldly enter the cosmos.

Use your tongue—for a man needs to use his tongue

so he can learn to speak

in new ways.

Cunnilingus
.

Alex:
It says.

Cunnilingus?

I say.

Enter RIVKA.

Rivka:
Happy birthday, Alex!

Radio sounds.

Alex:
Houston, this is space shuttle Columbia. We’re ready for takeoff.

Houston:
Copy, Alex. All systems go.

Alex:
I’m heading to where no man has gone before.

Houston:
Roger that. You be careful in there.

Alex:
I’m staring into the cosmos, Houston. I’m ready for entry. And I’m terrified.

Rivka:
Did you do your homework?

Alex:
You betcha.

Rivka:
That’s fantastic!

Alex:
The truth is, Rivka… May I call you Rivka?

Rivka:
You always call me Rivka.

Alex:
I like your stockings.

Rivka:
Huh?

Alex:
You’re wearing very nice stockings.

Rivka:
Right.

Alex:
Your stockings look like silk. Are they?

Rivka:
Polyester.

Alex:
I imagine they’re not as soft as your skin.

Rivka:
Uh-huh.

Alex:
Although it’s not your skin that interests me. It’s what’s beneath.

Rivka:
What’s beneath my skin?

Alex:
Well, you know.

Rivka:
Alex. Are you coming on to me?

Alex:
No. I’m warming up my intentions.

Rivka:
What are you talking about?

Alex:
I’m going to give you cunnilingus.

Rivka:
What?

Alex:
Teach me how.

Rivka:
No way!

Alex:
Please.

Rivka:
I’m twice your age.

Alex:
Your experience is vital.

Rivka:
I’m your tutor.

Alex:
Exactly.

Rivka:
Your math tutor. I’m also your cousin.

Alex:
It has not been proven that we are of the same blood. And besides, even if we were. Isn’t it always better to keep things in the family?

Rivka:
Your dad would kill me.

Alex:
If that’s the only reason why you don’t want me to perform the act of cunnilingus—

Rivka:
That’s enough. Your father told me you were suspended from school today.

Alex:
It’s just for three days. I needed some time off anyways. I need to get to work.

Rivka:
What did you do to get suspended?

Alex:
(ignoring her)
Why are teachers so stupid? Why can’t they teach us something important, like something we might actually use in life? Something that would change the world—for good.

Scientifically he begins to move his tongue back and forth.

Is it better to go side to side or up and down?

Rivka:
Alex, your father’s worried about you.

Alex:
(takes out pen and paper)
My father says that Israeli men don’t like to perform cunnilingus. Is this true?

Rivka:
Of course not.

Alex:
(writing)
Oh. You mean some Israeli men do perform cunnilingus?

Rivka:
Of course.

Alex:
Are they any good?

Rivka:
I don’t know. I haven’t let every man in Israel go down on me.

Alex:
Roughly how many would you say do it? Plus or minus three percent.

Rivka:
Alex. We are not having sex together.

Alex:
I don’t want to copulate with you. I want to learn how to give you oral pleasure. Perfectly.
(a beat)
Hey. You’re blushing. What are you scared of?

Rivka:
I’m not scared.

Alex:
Then you’re ashamed.

Rivka:
I am not ashamed.

Alex:
When a person feels shame it’s because they can’t handle the truth of things. Because the truth is too much and it weighs on you like a stone. But you haven’t done anything bad, Rivka. All you want is to feel good. Like any human being. And I want to help you.

He writes in his notebook.

Rivka:
What are you writing?

Alex:
(reading)
An anonymous source said, “Older women prefer not to talk about oral sex.”

Rivka:
I didn’t say that. You’re misquoting me.

Alex:
You’ve implied that by your actions.

Rivka:
What are you writing this down for?

Alex:
My social studies independent project: the
Cunnilingus Manifesto
.

Rivka:
Good God.

Alex:
My father says no Israeli men like to go down on women.

I say, that’s the problem right there.

If Israeli men went down on Palestinian women.

And Palestinian men went down on Israeli women.

And if these men could put in the time, and do it well, the world would be a completely different place.

I read that orgasms alter your DNA. Isn’t that what we need? A radical altering of perspective?

Rivka:
Please don’t tell me this is why you were kicked out of school.

Alex:
I saw the burning bush. It spoke to me!

Climbs onto his desk.

“From Jaffa to Jericho,

Eilat to Eilon,

You, Alexander, must go forth into the nation of Israel!

And you will recruit five hundred men into your legions,

and you will set forth upon the land,

and bring pleasure to the women of Palestine.

Happy and satisfied will be the women of our enemy.”

Rivka:
You want sex, Alex. That’s healthy. Go find someone your own age and use a condom.

Alex:
I read in Wikipedia that there’s a part of the female body that exists only for the sake of pleasure. Is this true?

Rivka:
It’s called the clitoris.

Alex:
That’s right.
(writes)
Cli-toris. Is it hard to find?

Rivka:
For most men, yes.

Alex:
Would you show me where it is?

Rivka:
No.

Alex:
You’re my tutor. I trust you. I don’t trust anyone else.

Rivka:
It’s not right.

Alex:
What’s right, Rivka? Is war right? Is learning how to shoot a gun at your enemy right? You’re going to reserve duty in a couple of weeks. Wouldn’t you rather there be peace? To not have to fight?

Rivka:
Of course I want peace. Who doesn’t want peace? But oral sex is not going to stop martyr wackos from blowing up innocent people.

Alex:
How do you know cunnilingus won’t save the Middle East?

RIVKA affectionately touches ALEX.

Rivka:
You’re sweet, Alex.

Now. Can we get to your homework?

You don’t want to fall too far behind.

That same afternoon. SHIMON speaks into a tape recorder. Drinking beer.

Shimon:
Now. The General led the campaign of the ’67 War into East Jerusalem. He shot whatever was in his path. He was wild and unstoppable. Did he have regrets? There was no time for regret. It was three nations against one. For six days the General protected his country. He was fearless and bold. That was his genius.

He was young.

Beautiful.

Even the killing was beautiful.

There was Dan and the General on a hill.

They were talking and laughing when a bullet went through Dan’s left eye and his skull exploded like an apple.

Everything is beautiful when you are young.

Thousands of us marched into East Jerusalem, singing “Yerushalayim of Gold.”

He had shivers in June.

He wept at the Wailing Wall.

The General was wounded in the left shoulder.

He wandered out of the city in a fever and followed the tracks of the old Palestine railroad.

There was no one around. It was quiet. Everyone was either celebrating or dead.

All of a sudden, he was surrounded by silence. The impossibility of space in Jerusalem. And in that space, a house. It appeared before his eyes.

Tape:
A house. It appeared before his eyes.

A house. It appeared before his eyes.

SHIMON’s vision, 1967. Lights up on THE HOUSE. SHIMON is wounded.

The House:
Hey you. Got anything to eat?

Shimon:
Are you talking to me?

The House:
No. I’m talking to the leaky faucet. Of course I’m talking to you.

Shimon:
But you’re… a house.

The House:
And you’re a moron. But we can still have a conversation. Amazing, isn’t it? Now. What do you have to eat?

Shimon:
Nothing. I’ve barely eaten in days.

The House:
God. What are you good for?

Shimon:
I can fight.

The House:
That’s not gonna help. Can you eat a fight? Can you sleep on a fight? What else do you got?

Shimon:
Well, it depends on what you want.

The House:
Ah. I sense a negotiation coming. I like a good negotiation. What are your terms?

Shimon:
For what?

The House:
The negotiations.

Shimon:
I don’t know what we’re negotiating.

The House:
We’re negotiating what you’re going to give me.

Shimon:
For what?

The House:
For whatever you want.

Shimon:
Well, I want to come inside.

The House:
That’ll cost you.

Shimon:
How much?

The House:
That remains to be determined.

Shimon:
How do we do that?

The House:
What do you have to offer? A knife. Still sharp. Recently used. And. A ’34 Mauser. Empty cartridge. Ahh… a photograph. Who’s the broad?

Shimon:
My mother.

The House:
That’s no good. Not at all.

Shimon:
What am I doing wrong?

The House:
You’re just not the right type.

Shimon:
The right type of what?

The House:
The right type of person to live here.

Shimon:
Live here?

The House:
That’s what you want, isn’t it?

Shimon:
I didn’t know it was available to live in.

The House:
Well there’s nobody here.

Shimon:
Where’d they all go?

The House:
They just picked up and left.

Shimon:
Just like that?

The House:
Just like that.

Shimon:
So you… could be my house then?

The House:
Ah.

Shimon:
You’re a Jewish house.

The House:
I speak sixty-seven different languages. Hebrew happens to be my favourite.

Shimon:
Well I need a house. I need a home.

The House:
And what do I get?

Shimon:
I promise to take care of you. To be good to you.

The House:
I’m going to need at least one child.

Shimon:
But I have none.

The House:
Then get started.

Shimon:
I have no wife.

The House:
A house demands a child.

Shimon:
And if I don’t provide one?

The House:
You don’t get to keep me.

Shimon:
How long do I get?

The House:
I’ll give you twenty-one years.

Shimon:
That’s a reasonable offer.

The House:
I’m a reasonable house. Oh yes. And when your child is old enough, it must have a child too. In this very residence.

Shimon:
Lineage.

The House:
I’m a sucker for tradition.

Shimon:
I promise. There’ll be a child. There’ll be life.

The House:
You’ll promise in blood.

Shimon:
You are the vision of an entire nation!

The House:
Do you see the leak in my roof? It means I’m crying. I need a garden. I need paint jobs and touch-ups, the smell of cooking and good pipes—

2003. Enter ABU DALO.

Abu Dalo:
Hello? Hello? Is anybody here?

SHIMON picks up a beer, takes a swig, then opens the door slightly. ABU DALO, haggard, bearded, looks like he’s crawled out of a sewer.

Shimon:
What do you want?

Abu Dalo:
I’ve come for the room to rent, sir.

Shimon:
There’s no room.

Abu Dalo:
(looking around)
This is number six, isn’t it?

Shimon:
I said there’s no room for rent here.

Abu Dalo:
Do you live here?

Shimon:
Yes.

Abu Dalo:
Alone?

Shimon:
No.

Abu Dalo:
So you’re married?

Shimon:
No.

Abu Dalo:
Well? Aren’t you going to invite me in?

Shimon:
Of course not.

Abu Dalo:
I don’t seem friendly?

Shimon:
You smell like shit.

Abu Dalo:
But I’m trying to be nice.

Shimon:
Niceness has nothing to do with how you smell.

Abu Dalo:
You’re right. There’s bad smell and there’s bad people.

Shimon:
I like to distinguish between those who smell good and those who smell bad.

Abu Dalo:
That’s a little peculiar.

Shimon:
I don’t see it that way.

Abu Dalo:
What if I was a good person?

Shimon:
I don’t care if you’re a good person. You smell bad. Good day, shit pants.
(He slams the door shut.)

Abu Dalo:
Don’t care if I’m a good person? What the hell?

I
like
the way I smell. In fact, I
choose
the way I smell. My smell is my humility. My humanity. I
own
my smell.

Shimon:
Who is this Arab asshole?

Abu Dalo:
You know you’re not a man.

Shimon:
Fuck off.

Abu Dalo:
A man stops being a man when he no longer has any manners.

SHIMON opens the door.

Shimon:
Go away. Please.
(pulls out the Mauser)

Abu Dalo:
Better. More respect in your tone. At least you sound genuine. Now we could really have a discussion.

ABU DALO pulls out a piece of paper. Hands it to SHIMON.

Please. Read it.

Shimon:
No.

Abu Dalo:
We’re going to get nowhere if you say no all the time.

Shimon:
I don’t want to read it.

Abu Dalo:
You’ll notice the official stamp in the bottom right-hand corner.

Shimon:
Screw the official stamp. Get off my property.

Abu Dalo:
Well that’s just it. I’m entitled to this house.

SHIMON tears up the paper and eats it.

Now how does this help us?

Shimon:
This is my house.

Abu Dalo:
No it’s not.

Shimon:
You’re a fucking Arab.

Abu Dalo:
Actually I have a name.

Shimon:
I’m not going to let a fucking Arab take my house—

Abu Dalo:
Abu Dalo’s the name. And thirty-five years ago you took this house from me, Mr.—

Shimon:
This house was empty.

Abu Dalo:
We left our things in it.

Shimon:
Yeah, I heard some Arabs camped out some time ago.

Abu Dalo:
Camped out? For ten generations?

Shimon:
I was
given
this land.

Abu Dalo:
Good God you’re difficult to talk to.

Shimon:
I’m difficult? You should try smelling yourself.

SHIMON points the gun at ABU DALO.

Abu Dalo:
Put that down already!

Shimon:
This gun is the hope of a nation.

Abu Dalo:
That’s nice. I’m sure you and the gun are very good friends.

Shimon:
Best friends.
(SHIMON aims the gun.)
We’ve lived here for thirty-five years.

Abu Dalo:
We lived here for three hundred.

Shimon:
We returned after two thousand.

SHIMON points the gun at ABU DALO’s head and cocks it.

ABU DALO pulls out a cigarette from behind his ear. Smokes.

Don’t smoke on my property.

Abu Dalo:
If I don’t smoke, I get nervous. If I get nervous, I pee in my pants. Shit! I already have.

Shimon:
I don’t believe this.

Abu Dalo:
Don’t worry about it. It just adds to the overall smell of myself.

Shimon:
You just pissed yourself?

Abu Dalo:
Happens to the best of us.

Shimon:
You’re revolting.

Abu Dalo:
That’s my intention. To revolt.
(a beat)
1967. I was sixteen years old. It was war and we lost. We were terrified. What were you going to do to us?

There were soldiers. My family ran away to the village down the tracks. We were safe there. But we never gave up this house.

For thirty-five years I wanted to see her again.

I dreamt about her, imagined her, promised I’d come back.

The house speaks to me.

The House:
Abu Dalo, is that you?

Abu Dalo:
(laughing)
Habibi, how are you? I missed you so much.

The House:
What a nice… surprise.

Abu Dalo:
How is your cedar toilet seat?
(THE HOUSE laughs.)
And the fig tree my great-grandfather planted? God, I love that tree.

SHIMON puts down the gun.

Ya Habibi, I’ve come back.