The Domino Effect and Other Plays for Teenagers Page 10
Driven by Patience Ademola
A newly qualified family-law solicitor
On her way to an early-morning meeting.
The vehicles miss each other
And neither driver is hurt
But the resulting road-rage incident
(For Patience is patient in name only)
Catches the attention of halal butcher Joynul Uddin
Who, momentarily distracted from his high-powered butcher’s bandsaw,
Accidentally chops off two of his own fingers.
Mr Uddin survives
But the fingers cannot be replaced
Resulting in him having to give up
For ever
His beloved piano
His lifelong passion
And the one source of peace and beauty
In his otherwise monotonous and mundane life.
The depression Mr Uddin subsequently suffers
Ultimately leads to the break-up of his marriage to Mrs Uddin
A nurse in the neonatal ward at Royal London Hospital
Leading her
At the age of forty-two
To embark on a string of disastrous affairs
With several wholly unsuitable men.
Mrs Uddin’s ensuing suicide attempt
Is the final straw in a hospital department beset by staff shortages
And a major contributory factor to the preventable death
Of Stanley Trout’s premature baby girl Clara
A loss which plunges the domestic-heating engineer Mr Trout
And his wife Tina
Into an endless winter of alcoholism and debt
From which they never truly recover.
Pause.
Grumpy Mrs Khan
And the fox
Suffered no consequences at all.
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock.
Pause.
On the twenty-seventh of June 1997
At 4.03 a.m.
Ali Mustafa and Mahmud Nazim
Two teenage vandals
Break in to Spitalfields City Farm
Where a sheep called Judith has just given birth
To a trio of baby lambs.
As Mustafa and Nazim proceed to daub the sheep enclosure
With graffiti expressing their loyalty to local gang
The Brick Lane Massive
The resulting panic among the sleeping animals
Causes all three baby lambs
To suffer heart attacks and die.
When the farm opens to the public at 8.30 the next morning
The sight of the three dead baby lambs
Upsets five-year-old Fahida Begum so much
That she becomes inconsolable
And has to be taken home.
Her mother Laila
An engineer at Bow Gasworks
Is thinking about this the following Monday
Causing her to neglect to double-check
That an important safety valve is adequately sealed.
The force of the subsequent gas explosion is substantial enough
To flatten three rows of nearby terraced houses
And knock Laila Begum to the ground
Shattering her left arm
Like a glass rod dropped onto concrete.
The arm has to be amputated
And the rows of terraces bulldozed
But the sight of this rare patch of open space in the East
London landscape
Inspires a forward-thinking Tower Hamlets councillor
To suggest the site as one possible area
For a future London Olympic Games;
An event at which Ali Mustafa and Mahmud Nazim
(Our teenage vandals;
By now grown men with families)
Are able to make a considerable profit selling fake 2012 merchandise
In and around the stadium.
Judith the sheep, meanwhile
Is assumed to be genetically substandard
Sold to a local mutton factory
And made into dog food.
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock.
Pause.
On the nineteenth of September 1997
At 11.59 p.m. and fifty-nine seconds
Amina Rahman
This story’s hero
Is watching all this unfold
From her vantage point high up inside a storm cloud
At that moment drenching her soon-to-be home of Tower Hamlets.
For at this precise moment in time
Amina is not yet born
But is instead a tiny spirit
Observing the world she will soon inhabit
Trying to decide which unborn fetus she will possess
And which set of parents she will make her own.
Two actors step forward and become AMINA’s parents.
She settles on Samit Rahman
And his wife Nabijah
A couple of modest means
But with honest hearts
He, a watchmaker by trade
Quiet
Studious
Precise
(And never late)
She, the opposite
Gregarious
Ambitious
And hungry for life’s riches.
They are an unlikely match,
But then
The odds of any of us having been born
Are astronomically terrifying;
Like thinking about infinity.
The NARRATORS think about infinity for a moment.
They shudder and move on.
A clock chimes twelve times for midnight.
Then
At the very stroke of midnight
On the fourteenth of December, 1997
Amina is reluctantly forced from her mother’s womb
Induced by a doctor
Two weeks overdue;
Hers is a reluctant birth.
For Amina decided long ago that this world she will inherit
Is unconscionably vile
Full of dog fights
Drunkenness
Muggings
And misery.
Take 1997 – the year of Amina’s birth:
Tony Blair is elected
Lady Diana is killed
Great Britain wins the Eurovision Song Contest
Oasis release their third album
Channel 5 is launched
And a new-style 50p coin is pointlessly introduced.
This is clearly a world without hope.
So before she is even born
Our hero
Amina
Decides to withdraw
Away from the external world
And instead to live a life looking inwards
To a world of softness
Imagination
And possibility.
SAMIT and NABIJAH stand with a newborn baby AMINA in their arms.
NABIJAH. No crying.
SAMIT. No.
NABIJAH. She’s quiet.
SAMIT. Yes.
NABIJAH. A thinker. Like her father.
Clocks tick.
NARRATORS. After her birth
Amina returns from hospital
To her new home
A modest rented apartment
In a dilapidated Victorian block
A former East India Company warehouse
Echoey
Damp
A crumbling temple to the former glories
Of an Empire long since lost
Now council-owned
And filled with her father’s clocks
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
A daily
Hourly
Minutely
Secondly reminder
Of the pointlessness and fragility of life.
The ticking clocks become louder and louder.
/> Eventually, they all chime at once.
AMINA wakes in her mother’s arms and starts to cry.
NABIJAH. I think perhaps the clocks are disturbing her, Sami.
SAMIT. She’ll get used to them.
NARRATORS. Amina’s father Samit likes:
Polishing his pocket watch;
An Egyptian antique
Sterling silver
Engraved with its year: 1898.
He loves reading about his hero, Al-Jazari
A twelfth-century inventor from Baghdad
Author of
The Book of Ingenious Mechanical Devices
Instructions on how to build:
Water clocks
Candle clocks
Castle clocks
Elephant clocks
And even
The world’s very first robot.
But most of all
Samit Rahman loves
Reading the notes on the back of his bottle of cologne.
SAMIT takes out a bottle of Ajmal Vision and reads the back of the bottle.
‘Ajmal Vision
A sparkling fragrance
For men who exude passionate dynamism
Vision is the spirit of the young, energetic male
Dominated by musk
Cedarwood
And a floral fresh heart.
Macho music swells.
Ajmal Vision ignites the spirit of the wearer
With a burning desire for triumph.
A perfect companion for men who want to conquer their tomorrow
For the future belongs only to a few men:
The men with Vision.’
A triumphant crescendo.
SAMIT sprays some into the air and breathes in the scent.
NABIJAH enters.
NABIJAH. What are you doing?
SAMIT. Nothing.
NABIJAH. Is dinner ready?
SAMIT. Two minutes.
NABIJAH. I’ve had a long day.
NABIJAH sniffs.
What is that smell?
SAMIT. What smell?
NABIJAH. Like a dirty florist’s.
SAMIT. Nothing.
SAMIT hides the bottle.
NARRATORS (whisper). He is never brave enough to actually wear any;
(Whisper.) The future, perhaps, belongs to other men.
Amina’s mother Nabijah likes:
Home-made mint and saffron tea.
NABIJAH. Gram for gram, saffron is worth more than gold.
NARRATORS. Afterwards, she likes to read the future In the leaves at the bottom of the cup.
NABIJAH looks into the bottom of a teacup. She gasps.
At the weekends, she loves visiting the British Museum;
The solid-gold exhibits are her favourites –
She likes to try to guess how much they cost.
NABIJAH examines an exhibit, reading from the label.
NABIJAH. ‘Solid-gold crown, first-century BC.’ Beautiful. How much do you think, Amina? At least a million.
NABIJAH catches the attention of a MUSEUM GUARD.
Excuse me? How much is this one?
MUSEUM GUARD. The exhibits are not for sale, madam.
NARRATORS. But most of all
Nabijah Rahman likes it
When her boss gives her compliments.
BOSS. An excellent cup of tea, Nabjiah.
NABIJAH. Thank you, sir.
BOSS. Just how I like it.
NABIJAH. Will there be anything else?
BOSS. Yes, why not. I’ll have a coffee.
NABIJAH. Coming right up!
NARRATORS. Her ambition shines out of her;
If the flashing light of Canary Wharf tower is the mountain’s peak
Beaming out its prize:
C
E
O
Then Receptionist is base camp
And each cup of tea or coffee
A milestone in the steep road ahead.
Clocks tick as NABIJAH comes home.
SAMIT is fixing one of them with a screwdriver.
Coming home reminds her
Of how far she has to climb;
Draughty windows
A birdcage lift
The smell of damp
Floorboards soft with woodworm
And a husband as quiet as a stopped clock.
NABIJAH. Any sales today?
SAMIT shakes his head, not looking up from the clock he is repairing.
Any customers?
SAMIT nods.
Did they buy anything?
SAMIT shakes his head.
Then that’s a visitor.
Pause.
Sami, I cannot support us forever. Our debts are piling up, like sand. We have a child now.
A young AMINA is playing in the corner.
NARRATORS. Amina stays quiet.
NABIJAH. How was she today?
NARRATORS. Though she is more than capable of speech
NABIJAH. Did she speak?
NARRATORS. She has discovered her power…
NABIJAH. Sami?
NARRATORS.…Silence.
NABIJAH. Are you even listening to me?
AMINA casts her hands like she is casting a spell.
There is a thunderclap.
Silence on stage.
AMINA looks blissful.
NARRATORS (whisper). But like all powers
(Whisper.) It has a dark side.
DOCTOR enters and puts a stethoscope to AMINA’s chest and stares into her eyes with a torch.
DOCTOR. There is nothing physically wrong with your daughter, Mrs Rahman.
NABIJAH. Alhamdullilah.1
DOCTOR. Mentally, on the other hand –
NABIJAH. Oh no.
DOCTOR. Everything is fine too.
NABIJAH. Oh good.
DOCTOR. She passes all our cognitive tests.
NABIJAH. That’s a relief.
DOCTOR. With flying colours, in fact.
NABIJAH. Really?
DOCTOR. Amina is a clever girl.
NABIJAH. Thank you.
DOCTOR. Which only leads me to conclude that it is her own choice not to speak.
NABIJAH. Is that a problem?
DOCTOR. This level of non-verbalism is quite unusual.
NABIJAH. You should meet her father.
DOCTOR. In fact, it is usually the sign of some terrible trauma.
NABIJAH. What?
DOCTOR. How are things at home?
NABIJAH. No. I mean fine.
DOCTOR. Happy?
NABIJAH. Very.
DOCTOR. And how are things at school?
TEACHER enters.
TEACHER. You see, Mrs Rahman, in some subjects, like art – which Amina’s very good at, I should add – silence is of course not a problem. But in others, like English, or languages, some interaction with others is required.
DOCTOR/TEACHER. I may have to make a referral.
NABIJAH. What? No –
DOCTOR. Yes, to a specialist.
TEACHER. To the school psychiatrist.
NABIJAH. You don’t understand –
DOCTOR. To a counsellor.
TEACHER. To Children’s Services.
DOCTOR. To the police.
TEACHER. To MI5.
DOCTOR. To Interpol.
TEACHER. To the FBI.
DOCTOR. The CIA.
TEACHER. To NASA.
DOCTOR. To the International Criminal Court of Hideous Weirdos.
TEACHER. Don’t you understand what this means?
DOCTOR/TEACHER. DISASTER!!
There is a disaster dance; everyone swirling around NABIJAH and AMINA.2
Eventually, NABIJAH interrupts it by shouting.
NABIJAH. STOP! I will sort this out. I will. I’ll withdraw her from school. I’ll give up work. Teach her myself. At home. I will make – her – speak!
The dancers go.
NABIJAH and AMINA are left alone.
Clocks tick in the apart
ment at home.
NABIJAH takes out some school books.
NARRATORS. And so it was that Mrs Nabijah Rahman
Gave up a promising career
To try to save her daughter from silence.
NABIJAH takes out a child’s alphabet – magnetic numbers on a blackboard. She tries to make AMINA repeat the letters after her.
NABIJAH. A. A. A. A.
NARRATORS. The tragedy was always
That there was nothing she could do.
For her daughter’s protest was not with her
Or her family
Or their house
Or her school
It was with the world.
Amina just didn’t think it was worth her while.
NABIJAH. Please, Amina. Please. Just speak. One word. Not even a word.
One letter. A.
NABIJAH takes the magnetic letter ‘A’ and holds it out.
A. A!
SAMIT. Nabijah –
NABIJAH. Go and sell some clocks!
NARRATORS. This turn of events meant
That Amina retreated
Even further into fantasy.
It was a world in which nothing was what it seemed
Where her father was not just a salesman of clocks
But of time itself
Where flustered customers
Flustomers
Burst in to buy themselves an extra fifteen minutes.
A FLUSTOMER bursts into SAMIT’s clock workshop.
FLUSTOMER. Quick! I’m late for work. What have you got?
SAMIT. Quarter of an hour?
FLUSTOMER. Perfect.
The FLUSTOMER pays.
You’re a lifesaver.
SAMIT. We have a special offer on weekends. Buy one hour, get one free.
FLUSTOMER. No time!
The FLUSTOMER rushes out.
SAMIT (sighs). But there is all the time in the world.
NARRATORS. It is a world where Joynul Uddin
The halal butcher with the missing fingers
Looks mournfully at his dust-covered piano
Which is actually an evil, ivory-toothed monster
Filled with the bitten-off fingers
Of everyone who has ever been foolish enough to try to play it.
JOYNUL UDDIN. Don’t even think about it. Vicious contraption.
NARRATORS. It is a world in which the drunk homeless tramp
Stanley Trout
Is actually a traveller through time
From somewhere long ago
Somewhere dirty
Smelly
And medieval
His endless Lottery scratchcard purchases
Are actually attempts to find the right coordinates
Which will transport him back home.
STANLEY TROUT scratches a scratchcard he has bought from MRS KHAN.
MRS KHAN watches him grumpily.
STANLEY TROUT. Fifty… twenty-five… ten… Dammit!
I wanna go back to the past!
MRS KHAN. Get out!
NARRATORS. It is a world where grumpy Mrs Khan
Isn’t just a shopkeeper
But a secret government spy
In touch with HQ
James Bond-style