Hanif Kureishi

The Black Album

Newness in the World. AN INTRODUCTION TO THE BLACK ALBUM — THE PLAY

It was in the summer of 2008 that I suggested to Jatinder Verma that we attempt a theatrical dramatisation of my second novel, The Black Album.

The Black Album was a novel I had begun to think about in 1991, not long after the publication of my first book, The Buddha of Suburbia. Unlike that story, which I’d been trying to tell in numerous versions since I first decided to become a writer, aged fourteen, The Black Album was more or less contemporary, a ‘state of Britain’ narrative not unlike those I’d grown up watching, enthralled and excited, in the theatre, particularly the Royal Court, and on television.

Around the time of its original publication in 1993, and after the BBC film of The Buddha of Suburbia, there had been talk of filming The Black Album. But instead of returning to something I’d just written and was relieved to have done with, it seemed easier to write a new piece, with similar themes. This was My Son the Fanatic, a film set in the North, and shot in and around Halifax, starring Rachel Griffiths and Om Puri.

However, as the twentieth anniversary of the fatwa was approaching, and with The Black Album set in 1988–89 and concentrating on a small group of religious extremists, both Jatinder and I thought that my pre-7/7 novel might shed some light on some of the things which had happened since.

Not that I had read the novel since writing it; and if I felt hesitant — as I did — to see it revived in another form, it was because I was anxious that in the present mood, after the bombings and atrocities, it might, in places, seem a little frivolous. But the young radical Muslims I came to know at the time did appear to me to be both serious and intelligent, as well as naive, impressionable and half mad, and my account of their activities and language reflected what I learned in mosques and colleges. The novel records the kind of debates they had. And it wasn’t as though the subject of liberalism and its relation to extreme religion had gone away.

It was debate, ideological confrontation and physical passion that Jatinder and I had in mind when we sat down to work on the translation from prose to play. The novel, which has a thriller-like structure, is a sprawl of many scenes in numerous locations: foul pubs, a further education college, a mosque, clubs, parties, a boarding house, cafés, Deedee’s house and the street. As it was impossible in the theatre to retain this particular sense of late-eighties London, we had to create longer scenes and concentrate on the important and even dangerous arguments between the characters as they interrogated Islam, liberalism, consumer capitalism, as well as the place and meaning of liter a ture and the way in which it might represent criticism of religion.

The first draft was too much like a film and would have been unwieldy to stage. Jatinder reminded me that we had to be ruthless. He also reminded me, with his persistence and imagination, how much I’ve learned about editing from the film and theatre directors I’ve worked with. If we were to create big parts for actors in scenes set in small rooms, we needed to turn prose into fervent talk, having the conversation carry the piece. We had to ensure the actors had sufficient material to see their parts clearly. Each scene had to be shaped. The piece had to work for those who hadn’t read the book.

It was this we worked on over a number of drafts, and it was the usual business of writing: cutting, condensing, expanding, developing, putting in jokes and trying material in different places until the story moved forward naturally. I was particularly keen to keep the humour and banter of students and their often adolescent attitudes, particularly towards sexuality. This was, after all, one of their most significant terrors: that the excitement the West offered would not only be too much for them, but for everyone.

The fatwa against Salman Rushdie in February 1989 had re-ignited my concern about the rise of Islamic radicalism, something I had become aware of while in Pakistan in 1982, where I was writing My Beautiful Laundrette. But for me that wasn’t the whole story. Much else of interest was happening around the end of the eighties: the music of Prince; the collapse of Communism and the ‘velvet revolution’; the rise of the new dance music along with the use of a revelatory new drug, Ecstasy; Tiananmen Square; Madonnausing Catholic imagery in Like a Prayer; and post-modernism, ‘mash-ups’ and the celebration of hybridity — of exchange and creative contamination — which is partly the subject of The Satanic Verses.

This was also the period, or so I like to think, when Britain became aware that it was changing, or, in effect, had already changed from a monocultural to a multi-racial society, and had realised, at last, that there was no going back. This wasn’t a mere confrontation with simple racism, the kind of thing I’d grown up with, which was usually referred to as ‘the colour problem’. (When I was a young man it was taken for granted that to be Black or Asian was to be inferior to the white man. And not for any particular reason. It was just the case: a fact.)

No, it was much more. Almost blindly, in the post-war period, a revolutionary, unprecedented social experiment had been taking place in Britain. The project was to turn — out of the end of the Empire and on the basis of mass immigration — a predominantly white society into a racially mixed one, thus forming a new notion of what Britain was and would become.

And now was the time for this to be evaluated. The fatwa in 1989, and the debate and arguments it stimulated, seemed to make this clear. Was it not significant that many of these discussions were about language? The Iranian condemnation of a writer had, after all, been aimed at his words. What, then, was the relation between free speech and respect? What could and could not be said in a liberal society? How would different groups in this new society relate — or rather, speak — to one another? How far could they go? What were the limits?

The coercive force of language was something I had long been aware of. As a mixed-race child growing up in a white suburb, the debased language used about immigrants and their families had helped fix and limit my identity. My early attempts to write now seem like an attempt to undo this stasis, to create a more fluid and complicated self through storytelling. One of the uses of literature is that it will enable individuals to enlarge their sense of self — their vocabulary, the store of ideas they use to think about themselves.

In the 1970s, many of us became aware, via the scrutiny of the gay, feminist and Black movements, of the power that language exerted. If the country was to change — excluding fewer people — so did the discourse, and why not? Language, which implicitly carried numerous meanings, developed all the time through creative use and misuse; if it was never still it could be revised, coaxed in other directions. There were terms applied to certain groups which were reductive, stupid, humiliating, oppressive. (Children, of course, are described constantly by their parents in ways which are both narrowing and liberating — and they have a good idea of what it is to live in an authoritarian world. It wasn’t for nothing that I had been fascinated in my late teens by Wittgenstein’s apothegm, ‘The meaning of a word is its use.’)

If there was to be better speaking, the language had to be policed in some way, the bad words being replaced by the good. This, of course, became known as political correctness, where language was forced to follow a — usually lefist — political line. Inevitably there was a backlash, as this form of political control seemed not only harsh and censorious but sometimes ludicrous and irrelevant.

Liberals were in a tricky position, having to argue both for linguistic protectionism in some areas and for freedom in others. So that when some Muslims began to speak of ‘respect’ for their religion and the ‘insult’ of The Satanic Verses the idea of free speech and its necessity and extension was always presented as the conclusive argument. Criticism was essential in any society. This could be said, but not that. But how would this be decided, and by whom?

The Marxists, too, were finding the issue of the fatwa difficult. It was only partly a coincidence that Islamic fundamentalism came to the West in the year that that other great cause, Marxist-Communism, disappeared. The character of the stuttering socialist teacher in The Black Album — Deedee Osgood’s husband Brownlow — was partly inspired by some of the strange convolutions of the disintegrating Left at the time.

At a conference in Amsterdam in 1989 I remember arguing with John Berger, who was insisting that complaints about The Satanic Verses were justified, as they came from the downtrodden proletariat. Why, he said, would he want to support a privileged middle-class artist who was — supposedly — attacking the deepest beliefs of an otherwise exploited and humiliated Muslim working class? This seemed to me to be an eccentric and perverse point of view, particularly from a writer who valued freedom, and when it was obvious that the opportunity to dissent, to be critical of leaders and authorities — and to be free of censorship — was necessary for anyone to live a good life, as the many writers, critics and journalists in prison in Muslim countries would no doubt attest.

To struggle my way through this thicket of fine distinctions, difficult debates and violent outcomes, I invented the story of Shahid, a somewhat lost and uncertain Asian kid from Kent, whose father has recently died — and who joins up, at college, with a band of similar-minded anti-racists. The story develops with Shahid discovering that the group are going further than anti-racist activism. They are beginning to organise themselves not only around the attack on Rushdie, but as Islamo-fascists who believe themselves to be in possession of the Truth.

This is a big intellectual leap. As puritanical truth-possessors, Riaz’s group and those they identify with have powerful, imperialistic ideas of how the world should be and what it should be purged of. Soon, believing the West has sunk into a stew of decadence, consumerism and celebrity obsession — a not-untypical fantasy about the West, corresponding to a not-unsimilar fantasy of the West about the sensual East, as Edward Said has argued — they believe it is their duty to bring about a new, pure world. They want to awaken benighted people to the reality of their situation. To do this they insist on a complete dominance of people’s private lives, and of women and female sexuality in particular.

Some of these attitudes were familiar to me, as I grew up in the sixties and seventies when the desire for revolution, for violent change, for the cleansing of exploitative capitalists and a more ethical world, was part of our style. Almost everyone I knew had wanted, and worked in some way to bring about, not only the modification of capitalism, but its overthrow. For us, from D. H. Lawrence to William Burroughs and the Sex Pistols, blasphemy and dissent was a blessed thing, kicking open the door to the future, bringing new knowledge, freedom and ways of living. The credo was: be proud of your blasphemy, these vile idols have been worshipped for too long! The point was to be disrespectful, to piss on the sacred and attack authority. As Guy Debord wrote, ‘Where there was fire, we carried petrol.’

But there was, mixed in with this liberation rhetoric, as in other revolutionary movements — either of the left or right — a strong element of puritanism and self-hatred. There was a desire for the masochism of obedience and self-punishment, something not only illustrated by the Taliban, but by all revolts, which are inevitably vitiated by the egotism of self-righteousness and in love with self-sacrifice. This concerns not only the erotics of the ‘revolutionary moment’, the ecstasy of a break with the past and the fantasy of renewal, but also the human pen chant for living in authoritarian societies and intransigent systems, where safety and the firm constraint of the leader are preferable to liberal doubt, uncertainty and change. As George Bataille reminds us in an essay written in 1957, ‘Man goes constantly in fear of himself. His erotic urges terrify him.’

Riaz, the solemn, earnest and clever leader of the small group which Shahid joins, understands that hatred of the Other is an effective way of keeping his group not only together but moving forward. To do this, he has to create an effective paranoia. He must ensure that the image and idea of the Other is sufficiently horrible and dangerous to make it worth being afraid of. The former colonialistic Western Other, having helped rush the East into premature modernity, must have no virtues. Just as the West has generated fantasies and misapprehensions of the East for its own purposes, the East — this time stationed in the West — will do the same, ensuring not only a comprehensive misunderstanding between the two sides, but a complete disjunction which occludes complexity.

Of course, for some Muslims this disjunction is there from the start. To be bereft of religion is to be bereft of human value. Almost unknowingly, Muslims who believe this are making a significant sacrifice by forfeiting the importance of seeing others, and of course themselves, as being completely human. In Karachi, I recall, people were both curious and amazed when I said I was an atheist. ‘So when you die,’ said one of my cousins, ‘you’ll be all dressed up with nowhere to go?’ At the same time Islamic societies, far from being ‘spiritual’, are — because of years of deprivation and envy — among the most materialistic on earth. Shopping and the mosque have no trouble in getting along together.

Some of the attitudes among the kids I talked to for The Black Album reminded me of Nietzsche’s analysis of the origins of religion, in particular his idea that religion — and Nietzsche was referring to Christianity — was the aggression of the weak, of the victim or oppressed. These attacks on the West, and the religion they were supposed to protect, were in fact a form of highly organised resentment or bitterness, developed out of colonialism, racism and covetousness. The violent criticism of Rushdie, an exceptionally gifted artist of whom the community should have been proud, was in fact a hatred of talent and of the exceptional, a kind of forced equalisation from a religion which had not only become culturally and intellectually mediocre, but which was looking to an invented past for solutions to contemporary difficulties.

Towards the end of The Black Album, with the help of his lecturer and soon-to-be-girlfriend Deedee Osgood, Shahid understands that he has to withdraw from this group in order to establish himself on his own terms at last. This isn’t easy, as the group has provided him with solidarity, friendship and direction, and doesn’t want to let him go.

He extracts himself, in part, by beginning to discover the exuberance and freedom of his own sexuality and creativity. ‘How does newness come into the world? How is it born? Of what fusions, translations, conjoinings is it made?’ asks Salman Rushdie, relevantly, at the beginning of The Satanic Verses.

It is also no accident that British and American pop, as exemplified for Shahid by Prince’s intelligent, sensual and prolific creativity, is in a particularly lively phase. The clubs and parties Deedee takes Shahid to represent a continuing form of the youthful celebration and self-expression that Britain has enjoyed since the sixties.

If, along with mythology, religions are among man’s most important and finest creation — with God perhaps being his greatest idea of all — Shahid also learns how corrupt and stultifying these concepts can become if they fetishise obedience and ritual, if they are not renewed and rethought. Like language itself, they can become decadent, and newness doesn’t have an easy time. Blasphemy is as old as God and as necessary; religion and blasphemy are made for one another. Without blasphemy religion has no potency or meaning. There’s nothing like a useful provocation to start a good conversation, and this can only be to the advantage of religion, keeping it tied to scepticism.

In The Black Album it turns out that Shahid is one of the lucky ones, strong enough to find out — after flirting with extreme religion — that he’d rather affect the world as an artist than as an activist. The others in his group are not so intelligent or objective; or perhaps they are just more passionate for political change.

Whatever the reasons — and it is probably too late for psychological explanations — something had begun to stir in the late eighties which has had a profound effect on our world, and which we are still trying to come to terms with.

~ ~ ~

The Black Album was first performed in the Cottesloe auditorium of the National Theatre, London, on 14 July 2009. The cast was as follows:

Shahid Hasan Jonathan Bonnici

Riaz al Hussain Alexander Andreou

Strapper Glyn Pritchard

Hat Beruce Khan

Deedee Osgood Tanya Franks

Tahira / Zulma Shereen Martineau

Andrew Brownlow Sean Gallagher

Chad Nitin Kundra

Chili Robert Mountford

Director Jatinder Verma

Set Designer Tim Hatley

Costume Designer Claudia Mayer

Lighting Designer Jvan Morandi

Video Designer Tom Hadley

Choreographer Shobana Jeyasingh

Music Sister Bliss

Music Assciate John Gingell

Sound Designer Fergus O’Hare

Graphics and Animation Sara Nestruk

Characters

Shahid Hasan

Strapper

Riaz al-Hussain

Hat

Chad

Deedee Osgood

Andrew Brownlow

Chili

Zulma

In a company of nine, other characters may be doubled as follows

Young Man, Councillor Rudder, Reporter (Strapper)

Heavy 1 (Andrew Brownlow)

Heavy 2 (Chad)

Old Man, Cameraman (Chili)

Tahira, Mother (Zulma)

Act One

SCENE ONE

Rural, suburban sounds, late afternoon. Lights fade up on a map of the world, followed by the legend HASAN TRAVELS. Shahid enters, wrapped in an overcoat and carrying two suitcases. He puts them down and looks at the map and the legend. Mother enters.

Mother Arey, Shahid …!

She pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, spits on it and proceeds to wipe his face.

Going to college in London and so not smart.

Shahid (protesting) Ammi …

Mother How happy your papa will be in paradise when you return with a college degree.

Shahid HND, Ammi –

Mother (dismissive) Degree is a degree. (Exclaims.) My one son charms a beautiful girl like Zulma from Karachi –

Shahid Not exactly difficult.

Mother Don’t argue. Chili and Zulma are a golden couple. And you are about to charm books into a degree! Have you packed toothpaste? All-Bran? Wake up, brush your teeth, have All-Bran with yoghurt and straightaway you will have perfect motions, smooth as the day is long. Promise me.

Shahid Yes, Ammi.

Mother And ring. Every evening I want to hear progress report, just like your papa used to. Socks — have you packed enough?

Shahid Yes.

Mother Here’s a kebab roll to eat on the train –

Shahid I’m only going to London –

Mother You’ll get hungry — why waste money? I’ve also precisely told Chili to take good care of you. He will visit often –

Shahid Oh, no.

Mother Listen to what he says. Packed the computer Papa bought you?

Shahid Of course.

Mother Papa will be so pleased. And Shahid?

Shahid What?

Mother Don’t talk to strangers.

Shahid picks up his cases and leaves. Mother hides her face in her sari and starts crying. As he walks off, soundscape gradually shifts to polyglot and frenetic late-eighties London, and we see him journey to his north London digs. Strapper bumps into him.

Strapper Want some E?

Shahid (surprised) What?

Strapper (urgent) E, man — ecstasy! Want some?

Shahid No!

Strapper Keep your shirt on, Paki!

Strapper runs off. Shahid arrives at his digs, unpacks his new Amstrad computer and sits down to work.

As he works, London day and night life passes by in the rooms around him — lodgers variously dancing, smoking dope, praying. Shahid is seen going between his computer and his bed, eating, reading, working and having a wank. The light in his room flickers off.

SCENE TWO

Shahid’s digs. There is a knock, followed by a door opening.

Riaz (in Urdu) Khariat hai? [All okay?]

Shahid (startled, in Urdu) J-ji … Aur aap? [Yes … And you?]

Riaz (in Urdu) Jho Allah-tala ko manzoor … [Whatever Allah wills.] (Introducing himself.) Riaz Al-Hussain.

Shahid (introducing himself) Shahid Hasan.

Riaz You speak Urdu well.

Shahid Rusty.

The light flickers back on.

Riaz Have you eaten? When I am studying and writing I forget for hours to eat and then I remember that I am ravenous. Are you like this?

Shahid Only when reading a good book.

Riaz You are searching for something.

Shahid Am I?

Riaz (clears space and settles himself in the room) Come.

Shahid (confused) Where?

Riaz Sit, sit. I’ve ordered food from an excellent Pakistani takeaway near here.

Shahid Thank you.

Riaz The boy will come soon. Where are you from?

Shahid Sevenoaks, Kent.

Riaz I am from Lahore originally.

Shahid That ‘originally’ is a big thing.

Riaz You recognise that, eh? You are a Pakistani at heart.

Shahid Well … not quite.

Riaz But yes. I have observed you before.

Shahid Have you? What was I doing?

Riaz You are hard-working. We all are who come here. I am without a doubt over your earnestness.

Shahid I’m desperate for good Indian food.

Riaz Naturally you miss such food.

A knock on the door.

Ah, here he is.

He opens the door to Hat, bringing the takeaway.

Meet Shahid — he’s been living quietly in the room next to mine. A proper student!

Hat Salaam-a-leikum. I am Hat.

Shahid Shahid.

Riaz His father owns the takeaway. He is paying for him to study at the college.

Hat (to Shahid) Nice room, brother.

Riaz (to Hat) Have you brought your abha’s famous brinjal pakoras to start with?

Hat (putting the takeaway cartons on Shahid’s computer table) Everything exactly as ordered. Kebab rolls as well.

Riaz (exclaiming) Masha-Allah!

He sits on the floor and opens the cartons.

Come, Shahid — eat!

Hat (to Riaz) Papa very annoyed — he say definitely no more meetings in our café.

Riaz (reassuring as he eats) We will respect his wishes. Don’t worry — now go.

Hat hesitates.

(Realising.) Ah! The money, of course. Take out a note from my pocket. Come, come, Shahid — this is the best food in London!

Hat fishes a fiver out of Riaz’s pocket, as Shahid joins him in eating.

Shahid Are you a student too, Riaz?

Riaz Yes, of the law. Before, I gave only general and legal advice to the many poor and uneducated people who came to see me in Leeds. But now it is time to make a proper study. So, here I am in London — the mecca for all students, no? (Notices Hat standing by.) You need more money?

Hat (brandishing the fiver) I have no change!

Riaz Arey, give it to me later. (To Shahid.) Your family name is Hasan, am I right?

Shahid Yes.

Riaz (glowing) A family that bears the name of the martyred son of Ali can only be of great distinction.

Hat browses through Shahid’s bookshelf.

Shahid I’d like to think so.

Riaz How, then, did they let you come to such a derelict college?

Shahid Because I met a lecturer called Deedee Osgood. I really liked her. So I enrolled. Do you know her?

Riaz Oh, yes, she has a reputation at the college.

Shahid At my interview, she only asked what I liked to read and the music I listened to. I talked of Midnight’s Children — have you read that?

Riaz (indicating Hat browsing Shahid’s shelf) Hat has never seen a book before — he is an accountant. (Returning to Shahid’s question.) That book was accurate about Bombay. But this time he has gone too far.

Shahid When that writer got on TV and attacked racism, Riaz, I wanted to cheer. He spoke from the heart.

Riaz My abha spoke from the heart. He set me on the path of showing our suffering people their rights.

Shahid That’s exactly what the man argued on TV — our rights against racism.

Riaz How do you like the pakoras?

Shahid They taste just like my ammi’s.

Hat Wicked, yaar! I’ll tell my abha. He be dead pleased.

Riaz (to Shahid) What does your abha do?

Shahid Travel agent. He bought the agency where he worked as a clerk when he first came to Sevenoaks.

Riaz (exclaiming, with satisfaction at having polished off a kebab roll) Al-hum du’lilla — he found his right path.

Shahid Mum runs the agency now with my brother Chili. His wife Zulma’s from Karachi.

Riaz While your papa enjoys a well-earned retirement!

Shahid (matter of fact) He died six months ago.

Riaz (sympathetic, as he wipes his fingers on a handkerchief) To pass your last days so far from home must have been very painful for him.

Shahid Not Papa. Every evening he’d lie in bed in his smoking jacket and entertain visitors like some pasha. His ‘centre of operations’, he’d call it, swigging whisky and soda in a long glass, with Glenn Miller on the turntable.

Riaz looks at him.

Him and Ammi — they’d never go anywhere themselves, apart from Karachi once a year.

Riaz Your brother, he is in charge of the business now?

Shahid Chili? He has a looser attitude to work.

Riaz Is he a dissipater?

Shahid bristles.

(Urging him on.) Eat, eat!

Shahid complies.

What do our people really have in their lives?

Shahid Some have security and purpose at least.

Riaz They have lost themselves.

Shahid They’ve certainly lost something. My parents always despised their work and laughed at customers for boiling their bodies on foreign beaches.

Riaz Precisely right! No Pakistani would dream of being such an idiot by the seaside — as yet. But soon — don’t you think? — we will be parading about everywhere in these bikinis.

Shahid That’s what my mother and Chili are waiting for. I’ve got to tell you, Riaz — after Papa died — this is the truth now –

Riaz Anything less is worthless.

Shahid I lost it for a while. Did badly at school. I’d, uh, got my girlfriend pregnant, and she’d had to have a late abortion. I started hitting the clubs after that, just bumming around. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I wanted — wanted to — uh –

Riaz Yes, yes?

Chad enters.

Chad Riaz, brother –

Riaz gestures for Chad to keep quiet.

Riaz (to Shahid) Speak openly — he is one of us.

Shahid I wanted to be a racist.

Chad What kind of thing are we talking about here?

Shahid Go around abusing Pakis, niggers, Chinks, Irish, any foreign scum. Slag them under my breath. Kick them up the arse.

Riaz Open your heart.

Shahid The thought of sleeping with Asian girls made me sick. I wouldn’t touch brown flesh, except with a branding iron. Even when they came on to me, I couldn’t bear it. I thought, you know, wink at an Asian girl and she’ll want to marry you up.

Riaz Oh, how is this done?

Chad You didn’t want to be a racist. I’m telling you that here and now for definite. And I’m informing you that it’s all all right now.

Shahid I am a racist.

Chad You only a vessel.

Shahid I wanted to join the British National Party. I would have filled in the forms if they have forms. How do you apply to such an organisation?

Chad Would the brother know? Listen. It been the longest, hardest century of racism in the history of everything. How can you not have picked up the vibe in this distorted way? There’s a bit of Hitler in all white people — they’ve given that to you.

Riaz Only those who purify themselves can escape it. Racism turns us away from ourselves. But there is another way. I am honoured to know you, Shahid.

He hugs him.

Shahid I’m pleased to have met you tonight.

Riaz Thank you. I too have learned.

Chad (to Shahid) I am hearing every moment of your soul cry. Call me Chad.

They embrace.

(To Riaz.) We need to sort things for the meeting.

Riaz Hat’s papa doesn’t want us to meet in his café any more.

Chad But Tahira’s bringing all the petitioners there!

Riaz Tell her to delay until we find another place — I have too many petitions and letters to work on for everyone to meet in my room.

Shahid You can meet here.

Riaz (delighted) Al-hum du’lilla — you are a Pakistani at heart!

Shahid I’ll just put my books and Prince collection away and –

Chad (quickly) You say Prince?

Shahid Yeh, I’ve got all his records — even the Black Album.

Chad No way, man — I mean brother — that bootleg.

Shahid Picked it up in Camden Market.

Chad Right. Right. It good for bootlegs.

Shahid Want it?

Chad Never! We are slaves to Allah! He the only one we must submit to.

Shahid It’s only music.

Riaz Only those who purify themselves can escape it.

Chad (to Shahid) The brother mean your soul — you got to clean yourself inside from all that white shit.

Shahid Prince is black.

Chad There’s more to life than entertaining ourselves! Brother, you got a lot to learn.

Riaz gets up.

The brother need fresh air. We all do. Phew.

Riaz We are pleased to have you with us.

They leave.

Shahid returns to his computer. Music. The college bell rings.

SCENE THREE

Morning. A run-down, inner-city further education college. Noisy class. Wolf whistles and comments fly as Deedee strides through the room.

Deedee Our subject today is the Black struggle in America –

Various excited comments fly around the class.

— as reflected in popular culture.

She clicks on a slide: a photo of young Emmett Till. Comments fly around on the look of this young, fresh-faced Black young man.

Fifteen-year-old Emmett Till — a boy living in Chicago in the 1950s. One day, he went to visit his relatives who lived in a small town in Mississippi. On the High Street, he saw a young white woman –

Someone in class lets out a wolf whistle.

Stop that! He did it for a dare. That night, the woman’s husband and brother paid him a visit. They took him to a warehouse, broke his wrists and ankles, gouged out his left eye and shot him through the head. Then, they tied his neck to a seventy-pound fan used for winnowing cotton and dumped the body in a nearby river — where it was found by fishermen three days later. This is what Emmett Till looked like after his trip to the South.

She clicks on another slide — photo of Emmett Till in his coffin.

Emmett Till’s mother wanted the whole world to see what had been done to her baby. So she insisted on an open coffin at his funeral.

Tahira How did the whites react?

Deedee Many accused her of being eager for publicity –

Tahira That’s blaspheming, right?

Deedee Only in the sense that it blasphemed the reality of what happened to her son.

Tahira So the blasphemers were racists?

Deedee You could say that.

She starts another set of slides, depicting the Civil Rights movement and popular Black musicians, writers, sportsmen and other artists.

I want you to focus on the extraordinary creativity that emerged from America by artists questioning segregation.

Shahid How’s the music of Prince relate to the Black struggles, miss?

Tahira Prince? He’s a total dushman!

Hat Yeah — he ain’t apna.

Deedee Good question, Shahid. We’ll make that the assignment for next week — how Black musicians responded to racism.

Tahira Why you shoving us always to music and them fripperies — what about the Nation of Islam?

Deedee Let’s have an essay from you on Malcolm X and how the Nation of Islam helped in the Black struggles, Tahira — when you can get your head out of Khalil Gibran. The rest, concentrate on Black musicians. On my desk by next week. And as the mathematicians say, go forth and multiply.

Hat (emulating a move of Michael Jackson’s) Thriller! I’m bad!

Tahira whacks him. Laughter from the class as they disperse while Deedee picks out Shahid.

Deedee Why do you like Prince?

Shahid Well, the sound.

Deedee Anything else?

Shahid He’s black.

Deedee And half white, half man, half woman –

Shahid Half size –

Deedee Feminist –

Shahid But macho too.

Deedee He can play soul and funk –

Shahid And rock and rap.

Deedee How are you coping?

Shahid Never been so alone before. But I’ve run into people who excite me. Your lectures fire me up to spend the time reading and writing.

Deedee You’re a good student.

Shahid (diffident) Could you — have a look at something I’ve written? About a friend?

Deedee (offhand) How sad! (Beat.) Some of my other students are coming by later to eat and talk — why don’t you join us? You can pore through my Prince videos.

Shahid I’d like that. Thank you.

Deedee pulls from her bag a copy of Salman Rushdie’s The Satanic Verses and hands it to Shahid.

Deedee Have you read this?

Shahid (taking it) Oh wow! Just the writer I’ve been talking about with my friends! Thanks.

He heads off to the canteen with the book. She lingers, watching him as he joins Riaz, who is in discussion with Brownlow, flanked by Chad, Hat and Tahira.

Riaz Communism has been a good idea to bring into the world, Dr Brownlow. But its repressive championing of atheism goes against fundamental human impulses, don’t you think?

Chad Right. Atheism only a tiny minority thing. Like transvestism.

Brownlow Y-y-you are confusing the p-p-practice with the ideal. That’s like equating the Ch-Ch-Church with the Bible.

Riaz The idea can only be as good as the practice. You have to admit Communism everywhere has failed to wipe out the base human disease of racism. Without God people think they can sin with impunity. There is no morality.

Chad Only extremity, ingratitude, hard-heartedness, like Thatcherism.

Riaz Capitalism in a nutshell, will you agree, Dr Brownlow?

Brownlow Oh, wh-wh-wholeheartedly! Her destruction of the working classes is one of the crimes of the century.

Chad They been saying God dead. But it being the other way round. Without the creator no one knows where they are or what they doing.

Riaz Allah-u-Akbar!

Deedee leaves.

All (except Shahid) Allah-u-Akbar!

Riaz We should pray.

Shahid Here?

Chad Allah’s command overtop all others, brother.

Riaz Will you join us, Dr Brownlow?

Brownlow (to Riaz) It w-w-would be an honour. I have papers to mark. This e-e-evening? If you w-w-would lead me?

Riaz Of course, of course.

Brownlow leaves.

Shahid Who is Dr Brownlow?

Hat Teaches history here. A couple of decades back he was at the Cambridge University –

Chad The top student of his year.

Hat Yeah, I’m telling you. He come from the upper middle classes. He could have done any fine thing. They wanted him at Harvard. Or was it Yale, Chad?

Chad He refused them places down.

Hat Yeah, he told them to get lost. He hated them all, his own class, his parents — everything. He come to this college to help us, the underprivileged niggers and wogs and margin people. He’s not a bad guy — for a Marxist-Communist –

Chad Leninist –

Tahira Trotskyist –

Hat Yeah, a Marxist-Communist-Leninist-Trotskyist type. He always strong on anti-racism. Isn’t that right, brother Riaz?

Riaz Dr Brownlow has a good heart.

Chad Problem is –

Hat (to Shahid) Yeah, listen — problem is — he been developing this st-st-st-stutter.

Shahid It’s a new thing then, is it?

Hat Yeah, it come on since the Communist states of Eastern Europe began collapsing. As each one goes over he get another syllable on his impediment, you know. In a lecture, it took him twenty minutes to get the first word out. He was going h-h-h-he-he … we didn’t know if he was trying to say Helsinki, hear this, help, or what.

Shahid What was it?

Hat Hello.

Chad By the time Cuba goes he won’t even manage that, I reckon.

Tahira You met his wife — Deedee Osgood.

Shahid She’s his wife?

Chad She his wife.

Tahira Keep away from her.

Shahid Why?

Tahira Riaz has evidence that her family are nudists.

Beat, as the others consider the comment.

And she always watching Top of the Pops.

Shahid Really?

Chad Without God-consciousness you can get away with everything. And when that happens you’re lost. Now I know God is watching me. With him seeing every single damn thing, I have to be pretty careful about what I’m up to.

Shahid Like living in a greenhouse?

Riaz Everything you do and think is witnessed. Time to pray.

As Riaz and the others get ready to pray, a student walks through the group.

Chad Oi — this here our multicultural democratic right, so fuck off!

The student hurries off. Bell rings. Music, as they all disperse. Shahid returns to his digs, putting away his copy of The Satanic Verses.

SCENE FOUR

Shahid’s digs. Evening. Shahid is dressing to go out. A knock on the door.

Shahid Come.

Chad enters.

Chad Hey, going somewhere, yaar?

Shahid Na, just a function, you know, student thing.

Chad Good, good. We need the room — expecting many more people coming to our meeting tonight.

Hat barges in.

Hat Hey, Shahid, there’s someone looking for you.

Shahid Who?

Hat He wearing crocodile shoes.

Shahid (quickly) Please, Hat, say I had to go out.

Chad Hat don’t tell no lies.

Shahid Sorry?

Hat No, I’m training to be an accountant.

Enter Chili, smartly dressed.

Chili How you doing, baby brother? Hug me, babe. Toot sweet.

They hug.

Shahid Chad, Hat, this is my brother Chili.

Hat Hi.

They shake hands.

Chili shakes hands with Chad, who then sniffs his fingers and makes a face at Hat, as they leave.

Chili Where the hell to sit?

Shahid gathers the manuscript to take to Deedee’s.

Why are you being in a hurry with me, brother?

Shahid I’m not.

Chili You tapping your foot.

Shahid I got an appointment, Chili.

Chili Pussy?

Shahid No! A tutor from the college.

Chili Ah-ha. You’re starting to pull — the family is delighted. Remember what Uncle Asif always said: ‘Your country’s gone to the wogs, boys! Pakistanis in England now have to do everything — win the sports, present the news, run the shops and businesses, as well as fuck the women. You’ve got the brown man’s burden.’

Shahid Which you take on personally.

Chili Cool trousers. Tartan suits you. They’re not mine, are they?

Shahid No.

Chili Where’s my red shirt?

Shahid What?

Chili Papa would be pleased. He always admired your brains. Got some jimmi hat?

Shahid is mystified.

(Explaining.) Rubbers. Johnnies. You don’t want no baby’s mama just yet, bro. Not still doing that scribbling, are you?

Shahid What do you mean?

Chili I’ll give you a slap if you waste your time like that. How the hell will you ever look relatives in the face?

He feints a slap at Shahid, but turns it into a caress.

That big boy, is he a new friend of yours?

Shahid Chad? Yes.

Chili Tell him if he sniffs his fingers at me again his children’s children will feel the pain.

Shahid Okay. What do you want, Chili?

Chili What is the world coming to, when a man can’t visit his baby brother?

Shahid You haven’t shown much concern before.

Chili You know what Papa said to me before he died? ‘Take care of the boy, don’t let him go down, Chili.’

Shahid He called me a bloody eunuch fool for reading Shelley to Sarah on my first date!

Chili laughs.

Chili I’m widening horizons — expanding the business. Can’t have only you exploiting the riches of this city. When you’re done at the college, I’m taking you on as a partner — that’s a promise. Between us, we’ll hoover up all the money this town’s flashing at whoever cares to look. It’ll be just like Karachi, being chauffeured in Uncle Asif’s Merc. I’ve got a Beamer, now, five series.

Shahid You need serious cash to have a chauffeur.

Chili Bro, if you can’t dream, you won’t get. — I need a place to shack in.

Shahid Some of the friends might be using the room for their meetings.

Chili Can’t see that big boy staying awake after midnight. She a feminist? Bad luck. They tell you your prick’s too small –

Shahid (interrupting) How is your wife, by the way?

Chili (fiercely) What the hell you saying?

Shahid Just asking after Zulma.

Chili You trying to start me up?

Shahid No, Chili, I promise.

Chili Sure?

Shahid It was a family enquiry.

Chili (kisses him) Enjoy, bro. Soon we’ll really party. And remember, no one envies another a wank.

Chili exits. Chad enters.

Chad How is he?

Shahid Who?

Chad Honestly, you are lucky enough to be living here beside him, and you’re asking who? Brother Riaz!

Shahid Not bad.

Chad Good, good. There’s some project special to his heart he has to complete. I know he’ll offer me first look soon — it nearing the end. He’s not working too hard?

Shahid shrugs.

There’s a lot to get done.

Shahid What exactly is he working on?

Chad Pardon?

Shahid I mean is there anything more than normal?

Chad He can’t talk about it, Shahid.

Shahid I know, I know. But –

Chad He up to something with the Iranians, that’s all I can say right now. What you said the other day — it touch my heart right through. A man who speaks is like a lion.

A brisk coded knock on the door.

They’re early.

Chad opens the door to a man carrying a green rucksack, which he holds up to Chad.

Wicked. Ta very much, Zia.

The man drops the rucksack (full of meat cleavers, knives, etc.) on the floor, bows and goes away. Chad places the rucksack within reach and starts rifling through Shahid’s clothes.

Shahid What are you doing?

Chad I was thinking, you know, the brother never have time for his-self. He wearing same clothes now for a week. It’s important he looks good at the meeting — like a chairman. Or general.

Shahid But Chad –

Chad What now?

Shahid I can’t see him in the Fred Perry.

Chad No?

Shahid And this purple number might make him look effeminate.

Chad What?

Shahid Like a poof.

Chad That won’t do. What you got so many books for?

Shahid I love reading stories.

Chad How old are you — eight? Aren’t there millions of serious things to be done? Out there … it’s genocide. Rape. Oppression. Murder. The history of the world is slaughter. And you reading stories like some old grandma.

Shahid You make it sound like I was shooting up heroin.

Chad Nice one.

Shahid But don’t writers try to explain that kind of thing? Just now I’m reading The Possessed –

Chad What about the dispossessed, eh? But let’s waste no more time discussing peripheries. We got many real things to accomplish. Hey, where d’you get this Paul Smith shirt?

Shahid (evasive) A shop in Brighton.

Chad Riaz’ll be thrilled. He like Brighton and he look best in red. You big-hearted, too, like a lion. Riaz was right about you.

Another coded knock.

Now what? Everyone’s in a hurry today.

Hat pokes his head round the door.

Hat Hey, Shahid, it for you. Popular guy!

Shahid Is it Chili? Say I’m –

Hat A lady.

Zulma strides in.

Zulma Hello, Shahid.

Shahid Oh, Zulma Auntie, great to see you. What’s up?

Zulma Never call me Auntie, you damn fool. In some quarters I’m a sex symbol. Here — your ammi asked me to bring your favourite aubergine pakoras.

She hands him the pakoras, wrapped in foil. He stashes them away. Chad shuffles out, taking the rucksack and Hat with him.

Shahid She shouldn’t have …

Zulma And leave those brain cells unfed? How are the studies coming?

Shahid Fine, fine.

Zulma Working hard?

Shahid Never harder.

Zulma Making friends?

Shahid The best ever.

Zulma Have you seen my beloved husband?

Shahid Yes.

Zulma When? Where?

Shahid He popped by to say hello.

Zulma That bastard Chili never said hello to anyone. Did he borrow money? What’s his number? My pen is hanging! Where’s he staying at the moment in London? Quickly.

Shahid Don’t you know?

Zulma I’ve chucked him out until he cleans up. If he can, or wants to.

Shahid What do you mean, ‘cleans up’?

Zulma Let’s just say your ammi worries about him.

Shahid He’s with his friends. Playing poker all night.

Zulma What the hell, Shahid, which damn friends? You better tell me or I’ll string you up by the balls, okay?

That brother of yours — Papa’s barely got cold and he’s off dreaming.

Shahid I must run to the library. You know Chili doesn’t tell no one what’s what.

Zulma What are you studying?

Shahid Post-colonial literature.

Zulma No finer qualification for a travel agent. Are we still colonial after so long, ‘post’ or not? Get a degree — whatever else, make sure you come out qualified, for your ammi’s sake. You haven’t got in with a rotten crowd, have you? Intellectuals or some other such fools?

Shahid (ushering her out) I’ve got to hand in an essay tomorrow, Auntie.

Zulma (forceful) Shahid! Your ammi is worried. Get Chili to ring her. He hasn’t been home for weeks.

Shahid I’ll tell him.

Zulma Remember what Papa always said — working your arse off is the only religion worth the name. Do that, and then go home.

Shahid (ushering her out) I’ll let you know as soon as I hear from Chili, Auntie. Bye.

Zulma exits. Shahid puts the pakoras away and switches on some music as he does his yoga exercises. Chad enters. For a moment, he’s entranced by the music.

Chad What you doin’?

Shahid Yoga. It gets me in the mood.

Chad That Hindu shit will infect your mind.

He turns off the music.

They listen to that Ravi Shankar shit and burn joss sticks. You don’t want to end up like George Harrison, do you? Shahid, I tell you, I used to be an addict — a music addict like you. I listened to it day and night! It was overtaking my soul!

Shahid You were controlled by music?

Chad I’m talking of the music and fashion industries. Telling us what to wear, where to go, what to listen to. Ain’t we their slaves?

Shahid I’m not living without music. Tell me the truth — you miss it too.

Chad (pointed) Don’t you want to swim in a clean sea and see by a clear light? Imagine the warm water holding you up!

He hugs Shahid.

Are we dancing monkeys? We have minds and sense. Gimme those Prince records!

Shahid Some of them are imports!

Chad Allah is the only one we must submit to! He put our noses on our face –

Shahid As opposed to where?

Chad Our stomach, for instance. How can you deny his skill and power and authority?

Shahid I don’t, Chad, you know I don’t. And you know I respect you as a brother too, that’s why I’m asking you to stop!

Chad We think we cool but we break our trust with Allah. Listen to Riaz. Don’t he say we becoming Western, European, Socialist? We must not assimilate, that way we lose our souls. Like that blaspheming writer! We are proud and we are obedient. It’s not we who must change, but the world!

Shahid Here — keys to paradise. Have a good meeting.

As he’s about to leave, Tahira enters.

Chad This wonderful sister is Tahira.

Chad picks up the foil-wrapped parcel Shahid stashed away.

Shahid (to Tahira) Hi. Did you meet my aunt on her way out?

Tahira (holding his hand) That air hostess wear sunglasses to hide her evil eye! Don’t worry — we all have auntie problems. One day all aunties will be under our control.

Shahid leaves, as people begin to gather to meet Riaz. Music. Shahid makes his way through night-time London to Deedee’s.

SCENE FIVE

Deedee’s house. Night. Deedee has had a row with

Brownlow. He storms off into the bedroom. Shahid enters.

Shahid Thanks for inviting me to look at the Prince videos. I wouldn’t be able to write my Prince paper without it. Where are the others?

Deedee I’ll heat some soup while you watch.

Deedee goes to the kitchen. Shahid watches the video. He is emulating Prince’s moves, gestures, etc., when Deedee returns.

Find him sexy?

Shahid quickly checks his notebook.

Shahid His work is … seamless … seamless and not a little cathartic, wouldn’t you say?

Deedee I hate this fucking house.

Shahid Pardon?

Deedee We’re trying to sell it. Sorry, what did you say?

Enter Brownlow, putting on his tie. Stops on seeing Shahid. He holds out his hand.

Brownlow H-h-hello, Tariq. I’m Andrew Brownlow.

Shahid I’m Shahid.

Brownlow O-o-of course. Extra lessons, hmm?

Shahid (agreeing) Prince.

Brownlow Charles?

Shahid No, the sex symbol.

Brownlow Of course. F. R. Leavis would be reassured and so would Queenie.

Shahid Who?

Brownlow What?

Shahid Queenie?

Brownlow It’s true I’m not feeling that heterosexual at the moment. (To Deedee.) W-w-well. S-s-see you. B-b-bye.

Deedee (cutting him off) Yes, all right, see you tomorrow.

He leaves.

‘Yes’ is a lovely word. I love ‘yes’. Yes, yes, yes. No victims, no victors, just ‘yes’.

Shahid My brother Chili lives by the word –

Deedee It was discovered in South America. Chilli only came to India in medieval times.

Shahid I didn’t know that. We’re from Pakistan.

Deedee Once, years ago, Andrew came home from a party and described kissing a woman.

Shahid Dr Brownlow?

Deedee I had never felt so let down — couldn’t sleep for two nights. You would hope that intimacy would leave more of a mark. But now I think, who is this person? I want a smoke.

Shahid (apologetic) I don’t smoke.

She shows him a spliff.

Whoa! I’ve only smoked that once before. In Brighton.

Deedee Enjoy it?

Shahid The person who gave it me said I should come and see you.

Deedee Well …! What do you say? It’ll make you laugh.

Shahid It’s okay, I laughed earlier. Could you have a look at this?

Offers his rolled-up manuscript.

Deedee Interesting …

Shahid You haven’t read it yet.

Deedee Give me a few years.

Shahid Thanks. (Quickly, referring to the spliff.) I want it.

Deedee Sure?

Shahid takes it, draws mightily and passes it on.

Shahid What is this?

Deedee Moroccan.

Shahid takes his leather jacket off.

What’re you doing?

Shahid Feeling good too.

She starts laughing.

What?

Deedee If my friends could see me now …! Kids, mortgages, this would not even register in their dreams! What do you want to do when you grow up?

She turns up the music while Shahid takes another long draw.

Shahid (affecting a Chili-like nonchalance) Whatever you want me to do, babe.

Deedee Yes, call me baby. Baby, baby, baby.

She starts moving to the music, slowly, while Shahid watches her dance.

Can’t wait to get a place of my own.

Shahid Why are you splitting up?

Deedee For years I was involved with his politics. Too involved. It all makes you feel guilty. It limits the imagination.

Shahid What d’you like now?

Deedee (holding up the spliff) This. Teaching. Music. When I can, I do a lot of nothing. And make stabs at pleasure. (Pops open a pill box.) Want one?

Shahid What are they?

Deedee E. Ecstasy. It’ll make you see around corners.

Shahid Is this why you invited me over?

Deedee No. Because you’re lonely and I like the way you look at me.

Shahid pops a pill. She offers him a bottle of water to swig with the pill and resumes dancing, after popping one herself.

You’ve got café-au-lait skin.

She recites.

A savage place! As holy and enchanted

As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon lover!

Shahid (continuing the rhyme from ‘Kubla Khan’)

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced!

Deedee, impressed, acknowledges Shahid’s participation. She listlessly flicks through his manuscript.

Deedee Tell me your story …

Shahid draws more on his spliff and pops another pill.

Shahid Everybody’s free, everybody’s free with Prince on the gas!

Deedee Cold, wet and worthy — that’s all Greenham Common amounted to.

Shahid I read Shelley to her, sitting by the pond. Papa was so mad.

Deedee Dress like a punk and leave home …

Shahid pops another pill while Deedee resumes dancing.

Let’s go to the end-of-decade party!

Shahid The decade hasn’t ended yet.

Deedee It will feel like it has! See how the under-classes are fighting back against Thatcher’s greed.

She grabs Shahid and they rush out of the door. Strapper is seen dealing drugs to some students on the road. Shahid and Deedee go along with them, shouting ‘End-of-decade party!’

Rave music. Shadows coalesce into a rave scene.

SCENE SIX

Shahid’s digs. Shahid returns. Preparing for bed, he retches and falls.

Riaz, disturbed by the noise, comes into his room, and is alarmed to see Shahid choking on his vomit. He picks him up and lays him to bed. Pulls down his trousers and covers him with a blanket.

Confused, Shahid calls out Riaz’s name. The latter hushes him to sleep.

When he sees Shahid finally asleep, he recites a prayer, cleans the room and slips out.

SCENE SEVEN

Shahid’s digs. Morning. Shahid’s lying on his bed, groggy. Chad enters, excited. Riaz is a pace behind, carrying a folder bearing his manuscript, with Tahira in tow.

Chad You’re definitely the lucky type. The brother asked for you particularly.

Shahid mumbles incoherently.

Riaz How are you feeling, Shahid?

Shahid continues to mumble.

Chad Shahid!

Shahid Huh? What is it?

Riaz Please.

He places the folder in Shahid’s hand.

Chad (bending over Shahid and reading the cover page) ‘The Martyr’s Imagination’ …?

Riaz Yes. It is my little book.

Tahira (excited) It’s finished?

Riaz Pen-written only until now.

Tahira Is it an attack on that blaspheming writer?

Riaz (continuing, to Shahid) Please, would you do one thing for me?

Shahid Whatever you want, Riaz.

Riaz Will you convert it to print?

Shahid Of course.

Riaz Many others have volunteered but you are the right person for this task.

Shahid listlessly looks through the manuscript.

I am from a small village in Pakistan. They are basically … songs of memory, adolescence and twilight. But perhaps they will change the world a little too.

Shahid I didn’t know you –

Riaz It’s God’s work.

Shahid With your name on the title page.

Riaz (laughing) Yes, I am entirely to blame.

Tahira (to Riaz) What message does the book have, brother?

Riaz (holding her face tenderly) The message — and all good art must have a message — is of love and compassion.

Chad Beautiful.

Shahid Brother Riaz, thank you, thank you for everything!

Riaz No, no.

Riaz and Tahira leave.

Chad Wow, that’s incredible! I offer you one warning — you must be strictly confidential about this.

Shahid Are you saying I’m not trustworthy?

Chad No, no, brother. But many important people in the community wouldn’t like him being too creative. It too frivolous for them. Some of those guys go into a supermarket and if music playing, they run out again. Why don’t you enjoy some rest before you begin such important work?

Shahid lies down, Chad reads the manuscript.

(Reading.) Magnificent, ‘Gibreel’s fragrant green sword will veil the unveiled …’

Shahid sits up and reaches for the bowl beside his bed.

‘Wet bodies and captivating tongues reek of Satan’s hot breath, Gibreel’s fragrant green sword …’

Shahid whimpers.

You know, Shahid brother, there’s something else Riaz wants you to do. He was shy of asking you, I know.

Shahid What is it?

Chad He needs your help to get the book published.

Shahid retches into the bowl.

Shahid He saved my life.

Chad He intuitive — you owe him the lot.

Shahid I’ll do whatever I can to repay him.

Chad You’ll help him find a publisher for the book?

Shahid Sure.

Tahira bursts in, followed by Hat and an Old Man.

Tahira We need clear space here. (To Shahid.) You going to help or lie there all day?

Shahid What now?

Shahid gets up wearily. He is in his underpants. Tahira looks at him, then Hat positions himself to hide Shahid from her view. She seats the Old Man on a chair. Riaz comes in.

Hat (to Shahid) Now you’ll hear something about how nice your little England is.

Riaz makes the Old Man sit at ease and listens attentively.

Old Man These boys, please, sir, are coming into my flat and threatening my whole family every day and night. They have punched me in my stomach, spit all the time at my wife when she goes out for shopping, make rude signs at my daughters when they go to school. Five years I have lived there, but it is getting worse. I am afraid.

Riaz (considers) What do you suggest we do to help, Shahid?

Shahid (offhand) Teach the beggars a lesson.

Riaz Excellent. We’re not blasted Christians. We don’t turn the other buttock. We will fight for our people who are being tortured anywhere — in Palestine, Afghanistan, Kashmir, East End! (To the Old Man, reassuring, as he ushers him out.) Action will be taken very soon. That is my promise to you.

Old Man exits.

Tahira Self-defence is no offence.

Shahid What are you talking about?

Riaz We want you with us tonight, Shahid.

Chad Shahid’s always with us.

Shahid I have to see someone on family business later — after working on your poem …

Riaz Work on the poem can wait. It is our duty to make sure this man can feel free again.

Chad No degradation of our people. Anybody who fails to fight will answer to God and hellfire!

Shahid I’ll be punished if I don’t take part?

Riaz Punishment is only for those who degrade our people. I’ve written a poem on this subject. ‘The Wrath’. Have you reached it yet?

Shahid Which one? Is it at the end?

Riaz No! It’s the second one — ‘The Wrath’. ‘The Wrath’.

Shahid No, not yet. (Sarky.) Why not call ourselves the Foreign Legion?

Chad I knew you were with us.

He picks up the holdall.

This is it, brothers and sisters. Grab something warm to wear, Shahid — it be chilly in the East End.

Tahira (chanting) Foreign Legion! Foreign Legion!

Hat (picking up the chant) Foreign Legion! Foreign Legion!

As they leave, Chili enters.

Chili Hello — where’s the bad posse headed to?

Chad (to Shahid) Catch you outside.

Chad, Riaz, Hat and Tahira leave.

Chili (to Shahid) What shit you getting into, bro?

Shahid Nothing.

Chili Where’s my Paul Smith?

Shahid What?

Chili The red Paul Smith shirt I gave you.

Shahid (quickly) You won’t believe it — coming back from Deedee’s last night –

Chili You did her?

Shahid Met some of her students who were off to an end-of-decade party — took me to this rave in a white house out of town. Man, ecstasy was flowing like confetti. I had your famous King’s Road sandwich — shagged three girls who I didn’t even know — puked all over the red Paul Smith I was wearing and had to take it to the laundrette –

Chili You shitting me?

Shahid No, I swear, Chili. I wore it to impress her up, like you said.

Chili (suddenly hugging him) I’m proud of you, baby bro. Papa will be smiling up in paradise.

Shahid Business okay?

Chili Why?

Shahid I may not get back tonight –

Chili Still haven’t told me what shit you’re getting into.

Shahid I’ve got to rush — they’ll be waiting …

Chili (fierce) I’m your brother, for Christ sakes!

Shahid I’m helping some people out, that’s all. It’s a charity thing.

Chili (dismissive) Charity! You’re still a baby, bro. There’s only one thing that matters in the world, that’s number one and money. Got myself a partner to keep an eye out for supplies while I meet demands of my varied customers.

Shahid What work are you really doing? Zulma came round.

Chili What you tell her?

Shahid You were at friends playing poker.

Chili Good boy!

Shahid She chuck you out?

Chili Temporary loss of facilities, as they say in the trade.

Shahid You’re the golden couple of Sevenoaks.

Chili laughs.

(Insistent.) Go home.

Chili You can’t never go back home.

Shahid Ring Ammi at least.

Chili (admonishing) Don’t they teach you respect at college?

Shahid I’ve got to go.

He leaves Chili looking around the room. Chili sees the copy of The Satanic Verses,flicks through it nonchalantly, then shuts the book and lays out a line of coke. After snorting, stuffs his remaining stash in the book and puts it away carefully.

Music, as Shahid and the gang, carrying rucksacks, make their way to the East End flat.

SCENE EIGHT

A high-rise flat in the East End. Night. The gang tip out knives, cleavers, etc. from the rucksacks they’ve been carrying.

Chad Weapons training.

Chad demonstrates, to the accompaniment of rousing quwaali music from his boom box. Shahid, Hat and Tahira go through a drill. Chad starts to weep.

Shahid What’s wrong, Chad?

Chad I’m moved by my people’s suffering. Can’t keep it together.

Shahid If you keep blubbing, the old man is not going to have much confidence in us.

Chad You’re right. (Blows his nose.) You stubborn but sensible. We here to defend the man terrorised by racists. Bring ’em on! United in defence of West Compton Estate!

They finish their drill. Tahira clears a study area for Hat as the guys lounge after the work-out. Shahid looks to slip away but Chad holds him back.

(To Shahid, watching Tahira at work.) This great sister here, Tahira, she been with us from day one. Riaz like a father to her. Her old man threw her out because she wanted her mum and sisters to cover up.

Tahira Park yourself here, Hat.

Hat Ta, Tahira.

He moves to the space Tahira’s cleared for him, takes out his books from his duffel bag and starts on his homework. Tahira sits with the others.

Tahira (to Shahid) Hat always studying. His father — he’s putting too much pressure on him to be an accountant.

Shahid He’s here with us tonight.

Tahira But the father thinks Hat visiting his auntie in Sunderland today.

Chad He think we stopping Hat being an accountant. But we ain’t. We only say accountants have to meet many women. And shake hands with them. They expected, too, to take alcohol every day and get involved in interest payments. We not sure Hat won’t feel left out, you know?

Tahira And you’re expected to take drugs in the City. And meet strippers at lunchtime. Chad, could you close your legs, please?

Chad brings his knees together.

Tahira I see you like wearing tight trousers.

Chad I do, yes.

Tahira Can’t you wear something looser? We have to look modest. Think it’s easy wearing the hijab? Yesterday a man on the street ripped my scarf off and shouted, ‘This is England, not Arabia.’

Chad (sheepish, looking at Shahid) I’ve been looking out for some Oxford bags for a while.

Tahira That will be progress. And aren’t you thinking of growing a beard? Look at Hat, his is really coming on now. (Feeling Shahid’s smooth-shaven chin.) Even Shahid has got something bushy on the way.

Chad My skin needs breathing space, otherwise I develop an itchy rash.

Tahira Vanity should be the least of your concerns.

Chad (to Shahid) I’ll put something bushy in your face if you don’t stop smirkin’!

Shahid Sorry, brother. How long is this vigil going to last?

Chad Could be days, you know — them racists sometimes clever.

Shahid I have to go off for a few hours — family business.

Just as Shahid is about to leave, Riaz enters, wearing the red Paul Smith shirt and jeans. The gang stare at him.

Chad All present, brother Riaz.

Riaz I am very happy you are with us, Shahid.

Shahid (appraising Riaz) Suits you.

Riaz is puzzled. Chad steps in to explain.

Chad (to Riaz) Your clothes needed washing, brother. Shahid lent his shirt and trousers. (With pride.) Brother Riaz look smart, eh!

Riaz Thank you. Thank you. (Diffident.) I just picked up what I saw on my chair — fashion passes by me.

Tahira You look like a general.

Chad Or a chairman. When the racists see the brothers strong, they whimper like dogs with tails between their legs!

Riaz Time for prayers.

There is a loud bang on the door. Startled, they pick up their weapons, as Chad pushes Shahid forward.

Chad Check it out. Don’t fear — you reinforced up!

Shahid opens the door and sees an eager Strapper, looking around curiously.

Strapper Want anything?

Shahid What?

Strapper Skunk, trips, E? Don’t worry, all the Pakibusters are indoors watching the match.

Shahid Show us where they live, then. You know who they are.

Strapper What’re you gonna do, burn them out? I can fire places up, if you like.

Shahid Who are you?

Strapper Strapper. An Asian family left their flat and I’m squatting here for my business.

Shahid What business?

Strapper You name it, man, I’ve had experience of it. Police, courts, kids’ homes, rehabilitation centres, social workers. I tell you, Blacks and Pakis, the people put down, and outside, they generous and loving. My partner — he a Paki like you — he takes me to all kinds of hip apartments in his cool car, full of birds. Keeps saying this place’s too small for him. If you’re not buying nothing, I gotta swing over to him in north London — our new base of operations!

Shahid Where are the racists, Strapper? Just point at their door and we’ll do the rest.

Strapper laughs.

Strapper You wanna find someone who hates another race? Just knock on any door. Course I used to be a skinhead, myself.

Shahid What?

Strapper Supported Millwall, see. Me Black mates were always chasing me. One time they tied a noose round me neck and tried to throw me over a bridge.

Shahid drags him back into the flat. Frosty atmosphere.

Shahid This is Strapper. Maybe he can help.

Strapper How you doing, Trevor, mate? Respect, eh?

Chad Fuck off! That’s not my truth!

Strapper Just being polite.

Chad (to Shahid) What the fuck you bring him here for?

Strapper You a Paki, me a delinquent. How does it feel to be a problem for this world?

Chad (pushing Strapper) I’m a solution, not a problem! Diseases like you need sterilising.

Strapper Don’t touch me, man — I got rights too, you know.

Shahid (to Chad) He could point out the racists — we’d seize the initiative then.

Chad He can only point to his arse. We got our sister here to think of.

Tahira Chad can be fierce when his blood races.

Brownlow rushes in.

Brownlow Comrades! Any sign of the lunatics?

Strapper Not till now!

Riaz welcomes Brownlow in.

Riaz We are so happy you received the message and are able to provide support, Dr Brownlow. So many immoral people surround us here.

Brownlow Ghastly — this estate! What has been done to these people! Crimes against humanity. Important to visit wastelands regularly. Lest we forget. Seeing them, one understands a lot. It’s obvious, not surprising –

Riaz I beg your pardon? What is not surprising to you, Dr Brownlow, my friend?

Brownlow is leering at Tahira. She moves closer to Hat.

Brownlow That they’re violently in love with beauty. I’ve been wading around, you know, an hour or two in Hades, lost in the foul damp. Breeding grounds of race antipathy — infecting everyone, passed on like Aids. Often wished in my adult life, that I could be r-r-religious.

Riaz It is never too late for higher wisdom.

Brownlow (apologetic) Read Bertrand Russell at fourteen. Expect you know him, don’t you, T-T-Tariq?

Shahid My name is Shahid.

Brownlow Of course. Does Deedee only make you watch Prince videos?

Shahid She’s a good teacher.

Brownlow Not a patch on Russell, I bet. Put the deity in his place, Russell. Said that if He existed He would be a fool. God is man’s greatest creation. (To Riaz.) Surely the act of believing is — of no practical use on these estates, to this class. It — it is — dishonest! Yes, d-d-dishonest! Even the lowest class must decide good and evil for themselves.

Riaz Please excuse me, but you are a little arrogant. First you ask these poor people to believe in the brotherhood of classes. Now, when your Communist dream has been shown to be just that, you set them adrift to think for themselves. You see now how Western civilisation is proving to be a hoax?

Brownlow But this civilisation has also brought us –

Strapper Drugs, mate — and the police.

Brownlow (ignoring the interruption) — science, psychoanalysis, a stable political culture, organised sport — at a pretty high level, mind you, e-e-except for England. And all this hand in hand with critical enquiry. Which means steely questions. And ideas. Ideas being the e-e-enemy of religion.

Riaz Why must they be? My dear Dr Brownlow, revolution everywhere has been an act of faith.

Brownlow No — that is how the working classes have been exploited. More than any other class they must be f-f-free to think for themselves.

Riaz And what did free thinking bring them with your Communism? The great gift we offer our poor uneducated — (indicating Strapper) yes, even this uneducated poor boy — is the example of our Prophet — peace be upon him! — who brought about a revolution of equality in Arabia by the simple act of belief.

Brownlow I must admit not having associated revolution with I–I-Islam. I suspect that is what F-F-Foucault discovered in the Iranian revolution in ’79.

Riaz I do not know the man personally, my friend, but he sounds like a good man whose heart has been changed by simple belief. And don’t we all strive to be good?

Brownlow Foucault saw in the revolution a clear triumph of the Iranian working class.

Riaz Precisely what we can achieve here. Come now, it is time to pray. I will be your guide.

Strapper leaves. Riaz unfurls his prayer mat and kneels on it. The others clear space and follow his example. Shahid stands awkwardly by, before Hat guides him. The ‘azaan’ is heard. When they finish, Riaz sits, with the others fanned around him.

Now I am calm. So, my subject today. Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.

Laughter.

Allah in his mercy has given us another sign of his continuing magnificence, through the disease that has now taken over the West — Aids. A name through which Allah reveals his warning — Adam is definitely Satan! For it is when Adam and Steve come together that the West is shown by Allah to have cancer in its feet — those very feet that help it to stand on the necks of the poor the world over. So what should we do with Adam and Steve? When you go to hospital to meet a cancer patient, do you argue, do you shout? No, you take the person sweet grapes and bright flowers. Gentle persuasion, reciting the words of Allah as revealed in the Koran, will help Adam turn away from Steve and start looking at Eve.

Riaz’s sermon above is interrupted by a brick crashing through the window and grazing Tahira’s forehead. Hat instinctively guards and comforts Tahira. Riaz is shocked. A stream of rubbish bags and bottles, accompanied by chants of ‘Paki go home’, follows. Chad rushes out, brandishing a cleaver, followed by Shahid. A Young Man with two others can be seen with bricks in their hands. The two racists scarper at the sight of Chad, while the Young Man is momentarily too stunned to move. Chad floors him and is about to hack at him with the cleaver when he is stopped by Shahid.

Shahid (to Chad) No, Chad! No!

Young Man (spits at them) Paki! Paki! Paki!

Shahid (to the Young Man) What the fuck has this family ever done to you? Have they come to your house? Abused you? Thrown stones? Did they make you live in these stinking flats?

Young Man (grows more venomous) Paki! Paki! Paki! You stolen our jobs! Taken our housing! Paki got everything! Give it back and go back home!

Chad Come here again and I’ll hack your head off in the halal way!

He swings his cleaver down powerfully and the Young Man scarpers.

(To Shahid.) Thanks, brother. If you hadn’t held me back, I might have done something powerful, you know.

Riaz comes up behind the boys, with Tahira, Hat, Brownlow in tow.

Riaz It takes courage to hold back. In the fierce heat of battle, you kept your head, Shahid. The true mark of a leader.

Chad He a lion — my lion!

Riaz (complimenting Shahid) Sher-e-Khan! Come, come, we must eat to mark the occasion!

Chad (to Riaz) Shahid’s ammi sent some pakoras, brother.

Riaz What better at this moment of triumph!

Chad (offering Shahid’s pakoras) Right tasty, these aubergine pakoras.

Riaz (taking a pakora) Nothing ever compares with mother’s cooking, eh, Shahid?

Shahid She used to make them for Papa.

Chad (handing Shahid a plastic bag) For you.

Shahid What is it?

Chad Look.

Shahid (extracting a white cotton salwar kameez) It’s beautiful.

Chad Yeah!

Shahid For me?

Chad Course. Put it on.

Shahid Now?

Riaz Yes, yes, come, Shahid — Tahira will turn her back while we help you change.

Shahid changes, helped by the others. Chad fits a white kufie (Muslim prayer cap) on him as the final act.

Hat Brother, you look magnificent!

Shahid Thanks, Hat.

Chad How d’you feel?

Shahid A little strange.

Chad Strange?

Shahid But good, good.

Chad What do you think, brother Riaz?

Riaz (complimenting) Now our Shahid Hasan looks a proper Muslim saint! Do you see, Tahira?

Tahira demurely offers Shahid the pakoras.

Tahira May our very own Sher-e-Khan continue to show wisdom and strength!

Riaz Have some, to mark the occasion, from the hands of your own sister.

Shahid After you.

Hat takes a pakora from Tahira, followed by Riaz.

Hat These pakoras are better than my dad’s! (To Tahira.) Hey, you think they like spinach for Popeye?

Chad You a fool, yaar, if you think saag will give you strength like Shahid’s!

Tahira That inborn, cos he is a Hasan, like the Blessed Martyr’s son!

Riaz looks at Tahira, then at the pakora.

Riaz (to Shahid) Your ammi made these?

Shahid Yes.

Riaz Are you sure?

Shahid The only thing Zulma ever cooked was Chili’s … you know what.

Riaz (expansive) Mash-a-Allah! This is a miracle. The mother of Shahid Hasan is blessed! Chad, look, look at this.

He holds out the pakora on his palm for Chad and the others to consider.

Chad What am I looking at, brother? I mean — it’s a very well-made pakora.

Riaz Can’t you see — there, running along the length of the pakora — from right to left. Tahira — can you see it?

Tahira Yes! I can make something out — dark — coming through the batter.

Riaz It is aliph — the first letter of the holy language in which our blessed Koran is written. We have been granted a sign! Through Shahid here.

Shahid What sign, Riaz?

Riaz (urgent) Dr Brownlow — we have a miracle in our hands! Allah has sent a message.

Shahid Is the message to carry on the vigil?

Riaz The racists all know now what to expect if they continue to abuse our friend.

Shahid They might return with greater force.

Riaz Then we shall be ready for them, insha’Allah. But news of this miracle will bring many more people to our side for the great work yet to come. The Iranians will hear of this. And then all will see how we stand strong when the wrathful sword of Allah slices through the air of injustice Mussulmans breathe everyday in this country.

Shahid I have to go — family business …

Riaz (expansive) Of course, of course. Take Tahira with you. We will make all preparations to unveil this miracle before the unbelieving world. Chad, inform Moulana Darapuria we must meet urgently.

Shahid puts his jacket on and rushes out. Tahira follows him out. Strapper is lounging by the door.

Tahira Where are we going?

Shahid Personal business — family, you know. I’ll be back soon.

Tahira But you mustn’t be alone at this time.

Shahid I will be all right.

Tahira I’m really not afraid.

Shahid But I’d be afraid for you.

Tahira (simpering) You are a true Hasan!

Shahid ushers her back in and walks off, followed by Strapper.

Strapper I could fix you up, you know.

Shahid I’m not buying anything from you.

Strapper Why not? I fixed you up at the rave, didn’t I? Weren’t my shit the best you had? Straight up, we got suppliers that don’t do dirty.

Shahid Listen, I got no charity, okay?

Strapper Zakat.

Shahid What?

Strapper That’s what them Muslim brothers call it, giving charity to the needy.

Shahid You don’t look needy to me and I’m not in the giving mood.

Strapper Stop running from your own — they’s the only ones to depend on, when the shit hits the fan.

Shahid I’m not running from anyone. Except you.

Strapper No need to insult, Paki.

Shahid I’m not a Paki!

Strapper Course you are. We all are, those who’ve been left behind.

Strapper runs off, as Shahid heads to Deedee’s. Music, as he rushes through a wintry London night.

SCENE NINE

Deedee’s house. Deedee has prepared a candlelit dinner. Shahid rushes in.

Shahid Sorry, sorry, sorry.

Beat, as Deedee looks at how Shahid is dressed.

Deedee In your pyjamas already?

Shahid You don’t know what’s happening out there — urgent brother business! Chad was this close to carving some serious meat.

Deedee No surprise there — he wanted to chuck a bomb on his parents. That’s after he met Riaz, of course. Changed his name from Trevor Buss to Muhammad Shahabuddin Ali-Shah.

Shahid What? Chad?

Deedee He was brought up by white foster-parents. Foul-mouthed and racist to everyone but their son. No wonder he became a shooter. Riaz took him under his wing. Insisted everyone call him by his whole new name, even when playing football. His mates got fed up shouting, ‘Pass the ball, Muhammad Shahabuddin Ali-Shah — on my head, Muhammad Shahabuddin Ali-Shah.’ So he became Chad.

She offers some wine. Shahid makes a face.

Are there any pleasures you don’t eschew? Or is it only salted lassi you drink?

Shahid What about fighting racism?

Deedee Is that what you think Riaz does?

Shahid He is pure of purpose and risking his life guarding the flat of a persecuted couple right now.

Deedee Riaz denounced his own father for drinking alcohol and praying in his armchair and not on his knees. He made you wear that, didn’t he?

Shahid What’s wrong with them?

Deedee Didn’t take you for a disciple.

Shahid Can’t I admire him for his courage?

The doorbell rings. Deedee opens the door to Chili.

Chili What are you called when someone’s asking?

Deedee Deedee. Deedee Osgood.

Chili (kissing her hands) Tell me, Deedee Osgood, is my baby bro safe in your hands?

Deedee (appraising him) You must be Chili.

Chili At your service.

Deedee One Hasan at a time is more than enough.

Chili Are you sure?

Deedee laughs

A woman’s laugh — better than any rush known to man.

Deedee Quite the priest. I can’t imagine you giving a sermon.

Chili I could be a very Jesus in bed.

Shahid What you doing here, Chili?

Chili I was concerned, bro. Thought that bad posse might have messed with you.

Deedee They have.

Chili (to Shahid) Just say the word, and Chili will have a friendly chat.

Shahid I’ll take care of myself.

Chili Just take her in your arms. Want me to demonstrate?

Deedee I’m not clean enough for him. I’ve become a sort of pork chop.

Chili But his knees used to go weak at the sight of a bacon sarni. (To Shahid.) If Papa were alive, he’d have a fucking heart attack seeing you dressed like Ali Baba.

Shahid That’s who we are, bro! (To Deedee.) We don’t sit swigging wine all evening!

Deedee What alternative are you offering?

Chili And you two not even married yet …!

He picks up a beer and leaves. Pause.

Deedee It’s very original, the way you weave Scheherazade into your story. The Arabian Nights in Sevenoaks. No one’s written like this about England — you have a voice and a future, Shahid.

Shahid is speechless.

This is the new literature — when stories from elsewhere slice into conventional England. Rushdie showed there’s a gap in modern writing that can only be filled by stories like yours. You could be the real deal. You could be published by Faber and Faber and go to literary parties, accompanied by me.

Shahid Yeah?

Deedee If you don’t get distracted.

Shahid You look ravishing, you do.

Deedee Thank you.

Shahid Deedee …

She slips his kurta off and sits him on her sofa. Puts on some music and starts applying make-up to turn him androgynous, à la Prince. She talks as she works.

Deedee London was full of Arabs in the seventies. They thought they liked girls. Didn’t treat us badly but wouldn’t talk. So we’d sit in their apartments all night, snorting coke and waiting to be pointed at … Happiest day was being accepted for university. My old man said someone common like me didn’t deserve an education … Met Brownlow there. Off to picket lines, demonstrations and Greenham Common — activists together … When I think about how far I’ve come, I’m proud of what I’ve done.

Shahid Why are you sad, then?

Deedee Am I?

Shahid A little.

Deedee The price might have been too high … I gave up the possibility of children for what?

She invites him to parade.

Shahid Now?

Deedee There’s only now. Let’s see how well you know your Prince.

He parades to music from Prince’s Black Album.

Shahid (with a flourish, quoting Prince’s songs) Aw! Lovesexy! Baby I’m a Star!

Deedee Still like Prince? Your friend Chad?

Shahid U Got that Look …! Na — he’s Rockhard in a Funky Place.

Deedee (joining in the game) I knew him with a Raspberry Beret on his head.

Shahid (concerned) Condition of the Heart?

Deedee No. Sign o’ the Times. Purple Rain. He was a One Man Jam!

Shahid Hot Thing! That’s action to the max. Like when you were on picket lines.

Deedee Our cause was clearer then. We questioned. All authority. Religion.

Shahid (jibing) Now you teach post-colonial literature.

Deedee Thatcher’s worn everyone down. (Defiant.) So let’s just Dance to the Music of the World!

Shahid You Can Be My Teacher, driving a Little Red Corvette!

Deedee I Wanna Be your Lover!

Shahid Let’s do Le Grind!

Deedee Let’s Go Crazy!

They dance.

Shahid Can’t stay tonight.

She stops.

Deedee Why?

Shahid Brother action, you know.

Deedee No, I don’t.

Beat.

Shahid Riaz has seen a miracle.

Deedee Fuck!

Shahid Can’t you just make me come?

Beat.

Deedee You know what you want — that’s something at least. Would your friends say you’re a hypocrite, coming here for a fuck after God’s shown Riaz a miracle?

Shahid I do want to be with you.

Deedee There’s quicker ways to get relief.

Shahid Don’t put me off, Deedee.

Deedee Why not? Do you really understand what’s going on with Riaz?

Shahid Please, Deedee …

Deedee You want me — fine. What’re you going to do for me?

Shahid What do you want me to do?

Deedee Thinking for yourself will be a start. He’s using you for his own ends.

Shahid Aren’t you?

Deedee You came to me with your writing, remember? Do you want Riaz to destroy your creativity?

Shahid Why do you assume he’ll do that? He’s given me his poems to work on.

Deedee I don’t trust him.

Shahid You don’t like him.

Deedee He’s dangerous.

Shahid He needs me — I’m going back.

He picks up his jacket and exits.

Deedee (shouting after him) You’ve got to decide, Shahid — who really are your people?

Interval.

Act Two

SCENE TEN

Shahid’s digs. Morning. Shahid is working at his desk. Chad enters, with Hat.

Chad Hey, Shahid, brother Riaz had the delectation of meeting your brother in the hallway earlier. An’ you know what happened? There was an incident.

Shahid What incident?

Hat Chili threatened brother Riaz.

Shahid Sorry?

Hat He claimed the brother wearing one of his shirts.

Shahid Oh, no.

Hat Riaz didn’t know what he was talking about.

Shahid (to Chad) Did you tell Riaz?

Chad (pointedly) It ain’t him nuisancing me right now.

Shahid Who do you mean?

Chad You holding something back, Shahid?

Shahid Listen, Chad — you know, brother, the first time we met, an’ I told you that as a Paki, I went through a lot of shit? I wanted to say to you, Trev –

Chad Did you call me Trev?

Shahid Yeah, I was trying to say –

Chad No more Trev. Me a Muslim. Like Mohammed Ali. We don’t apologise for ourselves. We are people who say one important thing — that pleasure and self-absorption isn’t everything.

Hat Riaz says it is a bottomless basket.

Chad Ain’t that a wicked phrase? One pleasure — unless there are strong limits — can only lead to another. Until we become beasts. The people paint their faces.

Shahid What?

Chad They wear aftershave. And they paint their faces. What happened to the clothes I gave you?

Shahid I was too cold.

Chad You hear the Iranians planning to put the fatwa on the writer?

Shahid What’s a fatwa?

Chad That when Allah take a cleaver against a sinner — like what I did against that racist.

Hat Only it green.

Chad What?

Hat Allah is green, so his sword is green — you know, the colour of fertile land.

Chad Yeah, Allah the first environmentalist. Anyway, it the law, once it passed by the Iranians. It legal then to take action against the blasphemer. And now there’s been a confirmation, no one can doubt it. It will force Iranians to issue the fatwa.

Hat What confirmation?

Chad (stating the obvious) We have been given a miraculous sign.

Hat We blessed! What sort of sign?

Chad An arrow.

Shahid An arrow?

Chad Yeah, it’s an arrow pointing straight at the author.

Hat What type of arrow?

Chad I’ll clip you upside your head! How many bloody type of arrows are there? You idiot. I’ll just say this. It’s an arrow in an eggplant.

Hat How can you plant an egg?

Chad You fool, Hat, don’t problem up a brother! Moulana Darapuria has now given his confirmation that the aubergine wrapped in Shahid’s pakora is a divine symbol. And we’re exhibiting the righteous aubergine right here! Riaz wants a squad of us brothers to watch the door, make sure the crowds behave, and the press don’t turn hot lights on God’s message.

Tahira enters with the aubergine on a silver salver. She places it in the middle of the room and begins circumambulating, followed by streams of others.

Tahira God has granted me the sight. Thanks to Shahid.

Hat It’s true, Shahid! You can see the arrow!

Chad Pointing straight at Islington.

Shahid How do you know it’s Islington?

Chad It where the writer live.

Shahid My room’s going to be wrecked by all these people.

Riaz enters, as the ‘pilgrims’ begin chanting.

Riaz As-salaam a-leikum, Shahid. You see how far-reaching is the power of Allah.

Shahid I didn’t realise Allah was vegetarian.

Riaz clocks Shahid momentarily, then laughs.

Riaz You have a good way with your words. (Taking Shahid aside.) Our people, most of them are from villages, half-literate and not wanted here. These miracles give them a voice in this land of so-called free expression. We who are educated, it is our duty to give this miracle a shape. I understand the Ayatollah is getting ready to make a big announcement.

Shahid Do you know what the fatwa will say?

Riaz It is a call to all Muslims to defend the faith against blasphemers.

Shahid What does that mean?

Riaz Surely it is obvious. The fatwa requires us to take whatever action is necessary. Just like the action we took against the racists. That writer insults us. To be against racism is to also be against blasphemers. I can see this troubles you, Shahid. Let us discuss this openly, like a family. I will tell all the brothers to assemble in your room early in the morning.

Brownlow enters, eager to talk to Riaz, who draws Shahid further away.

How is the typing coming?

Shahid I’ve had to change a few things in your poems.

Riaz Excellent. Are you having to translate my work into current English?

Shahid No, it’s more like –

Riaz Smoothing out?

Shahid Yes.

Riaz Good. What did you think of my poem?

Shahid Which one?

Riaz ‘The Wrath’. ‘The Wrath’.

Shahid I — uh — haven’t got to that one yet.

Riaz Chad says you have had some work published.

Shahid In a magazine. A while ago.

Riaz What was it called?

Shahid ‘Paki Wog Fuck Off Home’.

Riaz Did they publish it?

Shahid They were going to. Except my ammi tore up the manuscript. Said no one would want to read such filth.

Riaz Muslims like us will never get accepted.

Shahid Oh no, there’s nothing more fashionable than people like us. You, brother, could have a wide appeal if the media knew of you.

Riaz The media, yes. You must submit an article on this matter of blasphemy to the national newspapers.

Shahid It’s difficult, with my room now a pilgrimage site …

Riaz How are you getting on with Tahira?

Shahid Fine, fine. She’s a good brother — (correcting himself) sister.

Riaz An example to all our women. Modest. Obedient. She will make a good companion to a true young Muslim leader. And she wears no make-up.

Shahid What?

Riaz (reassuring) Let me see what I can do about your room. (Turning to Brownlow.) Welcome, Dr Brownlow to the site of the bona-fide miracle.

Brownlow I have arranged for Councillor R-R-Rudder to attend.

Riaz Excellent, excellent. You see, Shahid, all the great powers in the community are gathering in support of our cause. Councillor George Rugman Rudder is Labour leader of the entire elected council here. Will you write down what he says? (To Brownlow.) We need him to deliver a bigger place, Dr Brownlow.

Councillor Rudder enters, sporting a huge cigar. The crowd gathers behind Riaz and Brownlow, to welcome Rudder.

Rudder Hello there, people! Hello, all!

Riaz, Brownlow and Rudder shake hands while Hat takes a photo, and Shahid scribbles furiously.

Riaz Thank you for coming, Mr Rudder. We knew you would pay your respects.

Rudder Naturally, naturally. What a marvellous crowd, worshipping the fruit of the earth! What a popular aubergine, top of the vegetable table! What a sound method of communication the miracle is! Thank God a Tory borough wasn’t chosen!

Riaz Mr Rudder, our sincere thanks again for letting us use a private house in this public way. We understand how illegal it normally is. The whole community is eternally grateful. You are a true friend of Asia.

Chad (while continuing to circle the aubergine) Friend of Asia!

Hat (picking up the chant) And of Southall!

Tahira And of Newham!

Chad And of Brick Lane — Asia’s best friend!

Hat and Tahira lead in the chant ‘Friend of Asia, friend of Asia, Asia’s best friend!’ as they continue to circle the aubergine.

Rudder Yes, and I’ll be rewarded in heaven, no doubt. The Seventh Day Adventists have expressed deep satisfaction, and, it is said, mention my ailments in their prayers. Rastafarians shake my hand as I walk my dog. I am East London’s one true Anglo-Saxon friend! (To Riaz and Brownlow.) Naturally I have been generous enough to use my influence, against very racialist opposition, to open a private house in this way. But you are also smart enough to know, Riaz — and you are a smarty — that it can’t last for ever.

Riaz Which is why, Councillor Rudder, we have been thinking so much about the Town Hall for the preservation of the sacred miracle in public.

Brownlow (taken aback) Y-y-yes, the T-T-Town Hall.

Rudder The Town Hall?

Riaz Is there a reason why not?

Chad (while continuing to circle the aubergine) Rudder, Rudder, Rudder — he’s our Asian brother!

Crowd picks up the chant.

Rudder Yes, yes, perhaps the Town Hall. There’s plenty of room. Most of it between the ears of the people who work there.

Riaz It will have to be in the foyer. There is already hanging there a picture of Nelson Mandela. We must not be ghettoised.

Chad No! No! No! Ghettoisation — no!

Crowd picks up the chant.

Rudder Let me first witness this phenomenal example of God’s signature.

They part to allow him to enter.

(Aside, to Brownlow.) Of course, revelations are faith’s aberration, an amusement at the most. But whatever helps the Labour Party get re-elected mustn’t be scoffed at. Let’s hope they curry this blue fruit. Brinjal, I believe it’s called. I could murder an Indian, couldn’t you?

He proceeds to a viewing of the Miraculous

Aubergine. Music. All disperse.

Shahid returns to his computer. Night.

Deedee enters, carrying her bag of books and notes.

Shahid (excited) I wasn’t sure you’d come, Deedee.

She sees ‘the miracle’ on the salver.

Deedee (laughing) God in a pulpy vegetable!

Shahid Is Prince culture? Or just what you think we darkies understand?

Deedee I’m prepared to include voodoo as a subject of study because it’s part of the culture of some Caribbean Blacks, but that doesn’t mean I have to believe in it.

Shahid Please, Deedee. I’ve got to make up my own mind about things! I don’t always want to be on the outside.

Deedee Don’t ask me to believe in a communicating vegetable — and nor am I going to compete with one either. I’d heard books were on the way out, so now Riaz will want libraries to be replaced by greengrocers.

Shahid It doesn’t matter any more! The Iranians are involved. They want to ban the book! I need help, Deedee.

Deedee starts laughing.

What is it? Deedee?!

Deedee Give me your aubergine. Stick it in my earth and let me bless it with my holy waters.

Shahid I’ve forced Riaz into an open debate tomorrow.

Deedee What are you going to say?

Shahid Give me a precis? I haven’t got time to become educated first.

He gathers his notebook and stands ready.

Deedee Right then. There’s nothing new in wanting to ban a book. We’ve been down this road before — with Joyce, Lawrence, Miller, Nabokov. They were all censored in their time. And what did it change? People still read the banned books. Censorship’s never been successful. The last time it was tried was during the Inquisition — and that led to the fall of the very Church it was trying to protect. Not what your friends really want, is it?

Shahid (impressed) Can you take them on instead of me?

Deedee And what will you do?

Shahid Cook you dinner?

Deedee I’ll pass on that. These are your people, remember?

Shahid I get confused sometimes.

She hands him a pile of books from her bag.

Will you stay?

Deedee You’ve got work to do tonight.

Shahid It’ll help me focus.

Deedee The miracle and me aren’t meant to be in the same room.

She gathers her things and leaves.

Shahid Fuck!

Shahid resumes working on his computer, flicking through the books. Chili enters with Strapper.

What’s he doing here?

Chili That’s Strapper –

Shahid I know who he is! I’m working, Chili!

Chili starts scrabbling about on the floor, hunting for his stash.

Strapper Come on, Chili!

Shahid What the fuck’s going on?

Chili Didn’t think you’d met my partner.

He finds the stash he’s hidden in the copy of Satanic Verses that Deedee had given Shahid

Ah, there you are, my beauty!

Strapper Come on, Chili, I’m dying here.

Chili Patience, Strap-boy, there’s an art to satiating hunger.

He carefully unwraps the coke, cuts it up on a page and snorts.

Shahid (to Chili) Your closest brush with literature, ever.

Chili (passing the score to Strapper) There you go, Strap — you gotta trust me.

Strapper snorts.

(To Shahid.) Got a drink?

Shahid Fortunately not.

Chili Been to evening prayers?

Shahid Go home, Chili. If you can’t, just leave me be. I got things to do.

Suddenly, two Heavies burst in. Strapper shrinks back in fear. Shahid is frozen in shock.

Strapper I told you! Chili!

Heavy 1 (to Chili) So?

Chili hands over the money. The man counts it, snorts derisively and takes a step forward. Chili hands over his keys.

Heavy 2 He’s got brains.

Chili The Beamer parked outside. Full tank, too.

Heavy 1 Pardon?

Chili Full tank.

The Heavies look at each other, and kick Chili repeatedly. They leave. Shahid scrambles over to his brother.

Shahid What’s happening to you, Chili?

Chili pushes him away and goes to the still-whimpering Strapper.

Chili (knocks on Strapper’s head) There’s someone in there. Oh, yes, I know there is.

Strapper Christ. They … they gone?

Chili For now.

Strapper Right. Phew.

Chili (to Shahid, as he lays Strapper down gently) Floor’s very hard. Where’s your landlord?

Shahid What’s going on, Chili?

Chili (ignoring him) I want to complain. He’s a fucker. (Beat.) If Papa were alive, we’d be giving him heart attacks. Which of us, do you think, would he be more horrified by? I’d love to take a picture of you praying on your knees and send it to him in heaven. He’d probably say, ‘What’s my boy doing down there, looking for some money he’s dropped?’

Shahid, exasperated, resumes work on his computer.

There you have it, Strap, my hard-working baby brother. Times are moody, I have to admit, but he’ll sort us out, won’t you, bro? Hey, Strap, look at the dreamer.

Strapper Like me.

Chili You?

Strapper Yeah, me, man.

Chili They ain’t dreams, they’re drug hallucinations!

Strapper Fuck off, man. You should’ve sorted the cash! You kept sayin’ London was too small a place for ya. Is it small enough for you now, Chili, eh — this small enough?

Chili Shhh, let the boy work, Strap. Hey, what’s the score, bro?

Shahid (tetchy) What’s free speech to you, Chili?

Chili Don’t bend your knee.

Strapper Windbag! You done shat yourself when those heavies came in for their money!

Chili That’s just a game, Strap. But this here now –

He clutches hold of Strapper, as he addresses Shahid.

— this here is pure censorship. Nothing terrible will ever happen to us, unless we will it. That’s just the way it is. But evil’s been done to Strap, practically from day one he’s been censored. Don’t do this! Stop there! Stay away from that! He don’t deserve to be wasted. If you want to fight for anything, fight for him.

Shahid I think I want to be a writer.

Chili What’s wrong with being a travel agent?

Shahid You try it! Papa left everything to you. Ammi needs you.

Chili You want me to be like all the other Pakis in their dirty shops, humourlessly keeping their eyes only on the pennies dropping in their palms? Go and work there if you like it so much. I give you my place! But you won’t either. We ain’t ones to make sacrifices, are we, bro?

Shahid Just go home, Chili, please. Papa worked his arse off.

Chili remains silent.

(Insistent.) To give us a decent life.

Chili And what is that? Do you know?

He grabs hold of Shahid.

Why won’t you tell me?

Shahid Let go of me!

Chili No one knows!

He slaps Shahid. Shahid goes to punch him, but Chili slaps him again.

Now shut it!

Shahid Fuck, fuck!

Shahid returns to his computer, as Chili and Strapper lie wasted.

After a time, Shahid covers his trembling brother with a blanket and continues working.

Morning dawns. Chili gets up and takes Strapper out with him.

There is a knock on the door. Shahid shuts down his computer, tidies himself and opens the door to Riaz, Brownlow, Chad and Hat.

Riaz Salaam a-leikum, Shahid.

Shahid Wa-leikum salaam.

Riaz and the others take their seats in the room.

Riaz Come, remind everyone of the topic you want to debate.

Chad You call us here for what, when the issue is obvious?

Shahid I hope it is. John Milton said long ago that he who destroys a good book kills reason itself. The best way to respond to the book is to guard against that.

Hat Are you talking of that book?

Shahid Yes, Hat. There’s been a long history of books being banned — Joyce’s Ulysses was burned in New York and then Lawrence, when he wrote Lady Chatterley’s –

Hat Is that Lawrence of Arabia?

Shahid No, D. H. Lawrence — he wrote a lot about physical passion — sex –

Riaz So did Barbara Cartland. (Addressing the others.) See how calm I am?

They laugh.

Shahid (continuing) History shows that books can’t be suppressed. Dr Brownlow, surely you see how this is the road to dictatorship of the mind, like in those Communist states.

Riaz That is presumption and arrogance.

Shahid I am asking the brothers to consider that the telling of stories helps us all. It starts a conversation, however hard that may be.

Chad You agreeing with that blasphemer?

Shahid I am talking of what we need to do. As a poet yourself, brother Riaz –

Riaz This is not about us but the mind of the author –

Shahid And that mind you should defend!

Riaz This is the presumption I am talking of, brothers!

Shahid (powering on) He has said time and again he has your view of the world — the migrant’s view. He celebrates what you are because out of you come new things.

Riaz There is nothing new after Allah’s revelations.

Shahid But even these are not without dispute.

Riaz (angry) What do you mean?

Shahid (overlapping Riaz’s question) I have read the history. There were verses added to the Koran –

Riaz (interjecting) — and refuted by Allah himself as the work of Satan!

Shahid But the fact of those verses remains. And if these were the work of Satan, you have to agree his mischief made the faith stronger.

Riaz It enabled Allah to warn us about Satan, agreed.

Shahid Then can’t you accept that the writer is also being playful, and his new work will only make the faith stronger?

Riaz When there is so little known about us Muslims in public, we have a right to ensure the ummah — the Muslim community as a whole — is represented in ways that promote all of us.

Brownlow (to Shahid) This is a n-n-new form of racism here, when the Muslim working class is persecuted by middle-class, Cambridge types.

Shahid Aren’t you being hypocritical, Dr Brownlow?

Brownlow I have never subscribed to the British obsession with class loyalty. We should seize this moment — for the first time under Thatcher, there is the real possibility of persecuted classes making a difference. You have a cause, a passion that could place you in the vanguard of changing this country!

Shahid Isn’t it even more crucial then that the cause is a right one?

Brownlow What matters is the commitment to kick the old order out of its complacency. Stand firm, Tariq — the new world order will be created by your class!

Shahid Literature is not a political party! Brother Riaz here is asking us to become policemen of storytellers.

Riaz In these times, it is the duty of every Mussulman to become a policeman for his faith. The Ayatollah has made that very clear in his fatwa. He who does not act is not a true Muslim.

Shahid Brother Riaz, you asked me to prepare your poems for print. You even accepted I could play with the words a little to make them fit today’s way of speaking. Will playing with your words make me satanic in your eyes?

Riaz Forget this literature-shiterature talk. Let me ask you directly — if a character comes to your home in Sevenoaks and abuses your mother and sisters, what will you do?

Chad You got a problem, brother?

Shahid (snaps) Don’t call me brother! Why should you be more of a brother than any other man in the street?

Chad You confused, brother — (To the others.) Or he hiding something.

Riaz This writer has abused us in the same way that racist abused the old man and his family in the East End.

Shahid Do we have a monopoly on hurt? Why should our feelings of hurt be greater than his? If we attack him we become no better than the racists we oppose! We should debate with him. Censoring him will only limit what we can be, when the whole world could be ours.

The door opens and Zulma enters.

Zulma Shahid — come. Attend, darling.

Shahid Auntie? This is a meeting!

Zulma I’ve told you before, don’t call me Auntie! Sometimes censorship is necessary! Who is in charge? (To Riaz.) What are you doing, having a political meeting?

Riaz This is a private meeting, madam.

Shahid We’re discussing the fatwa.

Zulma And you’re going to demonstrate in his favour?

Shahid No. Not in his favour, I don’t think.

Zulma (appalled) Students are supposed to have bloody brains, aren’t they?

Riaz Have some respect, madam.

Zulma Don’t raise your voice to me! Religion is for the benefit of the masses, not for brainbox types like you. Those simpletons require strict rules for living, otherwise they would still think the earth sits on three fishes. But you mind-wallahs must know it’s a lot of balls.

Riaz (controlling his ire) I am a peaceful man. I urge all to love those of other religions, yes, even the wretched Christ-killers who lack faith in their own faith. But we need to send a clear signal to everyone, Muslim and non-Muslim alike, that our faith is not a matter for fictional debate.

Zulma Arey, practically the whole world is ringing me about this hullaballoo, as if I wrote the novel personally. Darling, things are getting so extreme I may have to read it, and I only read on the toilet.

Riaz (to the others) Come, brothers, we have work to do.

They leave, casting murderous glances at Zulma.

(To Shahid, as he leaves.) I will pray Allah guides you to the true path, Shahid.

Zulma As if my head weren’t burning up in flames with the problems your entire family has given me, thank you very much.

Shahid and Zulma are left alone.

Why are you in with those people? Oh, Shahid, what has happened to you?

Shahid Please, Auntie, I need to think.

Zulma You will certainly be needing to cogitate after I give you one tight slap.

Shahid You can’t hit me.

Zulma Well, I’m in the mood. (Tuts.) You had a decent upbringing. And now I see you hanging round with beardies who’ve already messed up Pakistan. I can’t tell you the problems darling sweet Benazir Bhutto is having with these tufty cunts.

Shahid The problem is not people like Riaz, but your class, Zulma. You and your school friend Benazir, with your foreign bank accounts, doing nothing for the country but leeching it for yourselves.

Zulma It’s people like her who help maintain some decent image of the country abroad, darling. If it weren’t for us, you’d see ZZ Top on TV, and then where would we be?

Shahid Can you hear how arrogant you sound?

Zulma How dare you speak to me in that fashion? I thought you were one notch better than that brother of yours. You don’t go in for prayers as well, do you? With that girl who should cover her whole bloody horse-face?

Shahid At least Tahira is not materialistic like you and Chili.

Zulma Let me tell you, next time I’m going to be demanding an arranged marriage. These free marriages — what are they but bad manners in the day and bad smells at night? Oh, Shahid, we’ve not always been the best of friends, but it makes me feel rotten to know you’re running in that direction. They will slaughter us soon for thinking. Have you stopped thinking, Shahid?

Shahid No.

Zulma Good. Then go back home at once and help your poor ammi.

Shahid I’ve got to finish my course! Papa wanted me to be educated.

Zulma Yes, he did. But you are spending all your time with those religious fools. Now you have to take charge of the family. When you see that wasted brother of yours, be kind enough to inform him that his place will be taken by you. Ring me when you get to Sevenoaks — I’m going back to Karachi soon.

Shahid You can’t put the mess of your married life on me, Auntie!

Zulma It’s your family I’m thinking of — you have a duty to your ammi.

Zulma storms out. Shahid sits at his desk, finally alone. Puts up Riaz’s poem on his computer screen.

THE MARTYR’S IMAGINATION

by Riaz al-Hussein

The windswept sand speaks of adultery in this godless land,

Here Lucifer and colonialists dance and Ibrahim weeps when the sun sets.

Wet bodies and captivating tongues reek of Satan’s hot breath,

But Gibreel’s fragrant green sword will veil the unveiled on the day the sun finally sets.

As he starts editing, we hear the sound of his fingers tapping on the keyboard. This segues into sounds of fists pounding on desks.

SCENE ELEVEN

The canteen at college. Fists pounding on desks and tables. Shahid enters, sees Hat, who is with Tahira.

Shahid What’s happening?

Hat Democracy in action. Student protest full on.

Shahid What about?

Hat This morning, that woman, Miss Osgood — she hold up the book.

Tahira That book. You hear?

Shahid (sarky) A book, in a college?

Hat I say, ‘Put down that book before I … You know what I’m saying, Miss Deedee Osgood?’ I say straight out, our parents pay taxes, here should be British scholarship and brainwaves, not curses. She keep going, ‘This is a classroom. There must be discussion, debate, argument!’

Shahid She’s right …

Tahira Then we start fisting the desk.

Hat All the class take it up, smashing down together.

Tahira Dr Brownlow say we have to be listened to. Our voices suppressed by Osgood types with the colonial mentality. To her we not cool, we coolies.

Hat So Miss Deedee has to stick the book away before someone sticks it –

Tahira That pornographic priestess encourages brothers of colour to take drugs. Then she force them into orgies. They tattoo one another.

Hat (curious) With what?

Tahira Tattoo equipment.

Hat (understanding) I see.

Deedee enters in a rush.

Deedee (to Hat) Thanks for the protest, Hat. It’s given me an idea for a new course. (To Shahid.) ‘The History of Censorship and the Importance of Immorality.’

Shahid Just what we need. How do we sign up?

Deedee Help me circulate these leaflets.

She hands over some leaflets.

We’re going to look at everyone from Plato to Brecht –

Tahira (to Hat) Yeah, the whole white doo-dah.

Deedee If anyone from your Nation of Islam’s made a contribution to world literature, add them to the list. Can you think of anyone, Tahira?

She stares at Tahira. A stand-off. Chad enters, carrying a copy of The Satanic Verses. A beat. He exchanges looks with Deedee. And sees the leaflets in Shahid’s hand.

(To Shahid.) Get as many students as you can, Shahid.

Deedee exits. Chad snatches the leaflets from Shahid and flings them after her.

Tahira Isn’t it funny that nudists always keep their shoes on?

Chad Give me the stick, Hat.

Shahid You’re a joker, man, if you think you’re going to start beating people!

Tahira Yeah, just what she needs!

Chad (to Hat) The string, too! What you waiting for?

Shahid (to Chad) Listen Chad, that man, whatever he’s done, he never called you Paki scum, did he?

Chad (wound up) Shahid, I mean it — where are you spiritually, man?

Shahid (considers. Pause) Chad, brother — I try never to do anything Prince wouldn’t do.

Chad (in his face) Where’s the typing we entrusted you with?

Shahid I want to talk to brother Riaz.

Chad We had a talk and you left with that air hostess! Brother Riaz more annoyed with you than ever.

Shahid Without Riaz, you’re nothing.

Chad I agree with you.

Shahid You’re a dog without a master.

Chad A dog, yeah?

Chad chucks the book to Hat and pulls Shahid down by the wrists.

Shahid A dirty dog.

Chad Least I recognise that a master is required. Did I make the world? But I do know that I not a coward. Because you are always talking, never taking action! Because you always had a sitting-down life! That shit you told me the first day, you invent it to make yourself interesting! Actions will be taken!

Shahid Make sure they’re the right actions.

Tahira (intervening) This isn’t the time for giving up, Shahid. Otherwise they’ll put us in camps and turn on the gas.

Chad Don’t forget the paraffin, Hat.

He pushes Shahid forward.

You in front with me.

He leads Shahid off into the courtyard. Hat has strung the book up and pours petrol on it. Riaz enters, followed by Brownlow, then Deedee.

Deedee My God. What is happening to us? Shahid! Andrew! What’s going on?

Brownlow’s stutter prevents him answering.

Riaz Fellow students!

Deedee Are you going to burn that book, Riaz?

Riaz If you will permit me, in one moment I will explain.

Deedee Do you even know what that means?

Riaz Is the free speech of an Asian to be muzzled by the authorities?

Various cries from the crowd around Riaz: ‘No, no.’ / ‘Let the brother speak!’ / ‘His turn on the spot!’ / ‘Say it, brother!’

You understand? This is democracy!

Deedee (incredulous) Democracy!

Riaz Are the white supremacists going to lecture us on democracy this afternoon? Or will they permit us, for once, to practise it?

Crowd cries: ‘Get off, white bitch! ’/ ‘Punk priestess!’

Deedee Why? Just explain why, Riaz?

Riaz To uphold values in our new society.

Deedee God save us from values!

Riaz You see? You see how feeble Christians are? A religion that’s lost its hatred is not a religion — it is empty!

Deedee Then hooray for emptiness! My emptiness is the value. We’ve had too many values in Europe already. Doubt is our greatest need.

Riaz It’s the sure road to filth! Filth like this book that people like you use to laugh at us. Well, it is time for your Western arrogance to understand it cannot interfere with God’s decree.

Chad Jihad!

Riaz Come, Shahid, take up your brother’s cry. Look — the TV-wallahs are here.

Shahid You called the press?

Riaz I listened to your advice.

As the crowd chants ‘Jihad! Jihad!’ a Cameraman and Reporter take up positions, filming the action.

Let loose the piercing sword of truth!

Chad Allah-u-Akbar!

Crowd Allah-u-Akbar!

Chad Don’t mess with Muslims and their religion!

Deedee This can’t happen!

Deedee rushes out.

Riaz (to Shahid) Consign this filth to the fate it deserves! Let the whole world see we shall not be overcome!

Reporter (to Riaz) Can you get a bit closer to the book?

Riaz complies. He signals to Chad, who tilts the book while Hat thrusts a lighter into the pages.

Shahid No, Riaz!

Hat repeatedly tries to get the book to catch fire.

Hat The book too thick — he written too much.

Riaz Put more paraffin!

Shahid No!

Shahid rushes out, returning to his room, where he furiously starts pounding on his computer.

In the background, the book can be seen going up in flames. Police sirens are heard, and Riaz and the gang scarper. Deedee is seen dousing the burning book.

Shahid’s typing gains in volume.

Chili comes in, with Strapper in tow.

Chili Still working, bro?

Shahid (flaring) I’ve got to be free to do what I want!

Chili Just a family enquiry, bro — chill. (To Strapper.) Park yourself in the corner, Strap, and keep mum!

They lie down, spaced out. Shahid continues his work. We see him editing Riaz’s poem on his computer screen.

THE MARTYR’S IMAGINATION

by Riaz al-Hussein

The fire-swept pavement fizzes treachery in this green land,

Here Satan and Eve dance around the Martyr weeping into the setting sun.

Wet bodies and captivating tongues promise a paradise of pleasures,

But the curved green sword slices a curtain of certainty down on the sun.

SCENE TWELVE

Shahid’s digs. Evening. Chad, Hat and Tahira burst in. Shahid closes the document he’s been working on.

Chad She against authority yet called police in! Brother Riaz has said that Osgood must be removed from her post for her attacks on minorities.

Tahira And today she prevented our free expression. Isn’t that racist censorship, Shahid?

Shahid You got your moment on TV.

Hat She’s left her office.

Chad With my usual genius I’ve thought of what to do. Tonight we visit her private home.

Shahid (alarmed) What?

Chad In order to learn, she must be taught a lesson.

Chad signals to Hat to get the disc from Shahid’s computer. Hat does so.

Shahid What are you doing?

Chad Riaz is waiting for us at the mosque.

He snatches the disc from Hat.

I’m returning his property.

Shahid (reaches for it) It’s not finished.

Chad It finished.

He tosses the disc to Hat.

Check it out. Go!

Hat leaves.

(Hauling up the prone Strapper.) And you, Mr Strapper, you’re coming with us.

Strapper (in a daze) What the — Hey, Trevor!

Chad I told you that’s not my truth.

Strapper Where we going, man?

Chad To sniff her out. Osgood — no good!

Tahira Osgood — no good! (To Shahid.) You hear?

They leave. Chili stirs.

Shahid Come on, Chili — get yourself together!

Chili What fucking mess you in, little brother?

Shahid We need to get to Deedee’s.

Chili Never chase women.

Shahid cleans him up and pushes him forward out of the room. Chili turns back into the room.

Tonight I want a human touch. Decent bed. Clean sheets. Let’s go to her place and party, toot sweet!

Shahid Got your knife?

Chili (flicks open his knife) You don’t go round London without one.

Hat enters.

Hat (in a state, to Shahid) What you do that for, brother?

Chili Respect — that’s my brother you talking to!

Shahid Where’s my disc, Hat?

Hat You know what you’ve done.

Shahid No.

Hat I converted Riaz’s poems on my printer.

Shahid Already?

Hat Yeah.

Shahid I see.

Hat I couldn’t believe it!

Shahid I hadn’t finished.

Hat Finished?

Shahid The poems –

Hat How d’you think brother Riaz will feel, standing so proud and all, waiting for his rhymes to come out printed and clean so he could hold it in his hands and show his friends?

Shahid The original manuscript hasn’t been touched.

Hat Him be shattered to pieces when he sees this.

Shahid It’s a celebration. Of passion.

Hat (realises) You been seeing that Miss Osgood, haven’t you? And collaborating with her all this time! You a raving evil spirit and a double agent!

Chili For being with a woman?! (To Shahid.) What friends you call these, bro?

Shahid Hat, did you like any of what I did?

Hat I can be a bit dirty-minded myself, but that stuff … You a sewer rat. I don’t go and put an essay on girls crossing their legs –

Shahid And on the smell of their hair, and on the skin behind their knees –

Hat Yeah! The odours of their body and everything like that — people sniffing one another’s, you know, doo-dahs.

Shahid Didn’t God give us our doo-dahs?

Hat I wouldn’t put them into print and mix it up with religious words, would I?

Shahid I want us to be friends, Hat.

Hat Why rape us then? Chad said that brother Riaz saved your life one time.

Shahid Yes.

Hat That why you turn on him?

Shahid Hat, please believe me. I was just playing with words.

Hat Our religion isn’t something you can test out, like trying on a suit to see if it fit!

Shahid Please, Hat, help me. I want to speak to Riaz alone. Just for half an hour. I want to explain everything. Will you talk to him without letting Chad know?

Hat Brother Chad and all of us, we trusted you — apart from Tahira, who say from the beginning you an egotist with an evil smile. And then Riaz put his soulful words in your hands. It would have been a privilege for any of us! But he think you special. How can you think to bother Riaz right now? He busy planning.

Shahid What?

Hat Just retributions.

Shahid Like what?

Hat I can’t tell you.

Shahid Will you give me back the disc?

Hat I can’t do that.

Shahid Then see you.

Hat Where you going?

Shahid pushes Hat out of the way. He falls. Shahid and Chili leave. Music, as they rush through London to Deedee’s.

SCENE THIRTEEN

Deedee’s house. Night. The TV is on. Shahid and Chili enter.

Shahid Where’s Deedee? Where is she?

Brownlow Thankfully, I no longer care. Probably making a list of a few more names to slip to the police.

Chili (brandishing his knife) Where’s Strapper?

Shahid (pushing Chili away) Have you seen her?

Brownlow Finished rogering my wife, Tariq? I imagined your religion frowned on such things. Or have you had enough of her? Wouldn’t blame you, sticking to your own. Especially with fiery cadre like Tahira.

Shahid Is Deedee all right?

Brownlow ‘LBJ, LBJ, how many kids you burned today?’

Chili Who’s burning kids?

Brownlow That was our chant at Cambridge in the sixties when students were a united force, pissing on the gods of authority. Now you guys, in the most reactionary period since the war, have picked up the baton.

Shahid But you’re out of it, aren’t you? You’re fucking off, leaving everything.

Brownlow What’s there to teach when there is no longer any knowledge to transmit? I’m off to Italy. Or France. Or maybe Spain. What does it matter? Everyone’s standing by their own miserable class or race. Rudder’s going to say the book’s an insult and call for it to be withdrawn. The Tory leader’s agreed to do the same.

Shahid What the fuck for?

Brownlow Don’t be naive, there’s a lot of Asian votes to be had round there. (Ironic.) Up the revolution! Did I tell you, Riaz has been invited on Newsnight to give his opinion on the fatwa?

Shahid Stop pissing me about!

Brownlow Don’t know who’s pissing whom.

Chili Any booze in the house?

Brownlow (to Shahid, referring to Chili) I see you’re enjoying a different class of friend, Tariq.

Chili Tosser.

Brownlow (to Shahid) Riaz’s eyes went all bright when he heard. He’ll make a fascinating freak on TV. For a week or month. Just when you thought God was dead and buried, you realise he was merely awaiting resurrection! Every fucker’s discovering some god inside them now. Who am I to challenge this?

Shahid Help us find Deedee!

Brownlow There we were, right up to the end of the seventies, arguing about society after the revolution, and all the while it was being taken from us. The British people don’t want education, arts, justice, equality … Everything I believed has turned into shit.

Shahid You’re a spineless bastard.

Brownlow I’ve been called worse, Tariq.

Shahid (pushing him) My name is Shahid!

Chili That’s — manly — bro.

Brownlow (leaving) Look — no stutter, see?

Brownlow exits.

Shahid (shouting) Deedee!

Chili Ahh, soft, bro — always call a woman softly …

Deedee enters from the kitchen.

Deedee What more do you want, Andrew …? (Sees Shahid and Chili.) What’re you doing here?

Shahid We’ve been looking everywhere for you.

Deedee Did Andrew let you in?

Shahid Forget it. Chad and the others know where you live.

Deedee What?

Shahid They’re out for revenge. They’re coming for you. Me too, now.

Deedee Will you talk sense!

Shahid You called in the police and I fucked around with their master’s words.

Deedee looks at him quizzically.

I rewrote some of Riaz’s poetry. Didn’t mean to. I was just playing as I was thinking of you — to see where it would take me. I was going to change it back. Riaz and the gang think it’s blasphemy.

Deedee They’re coming here?

Chili Any booze in the house? I need a pick-me-up. Booze and a little nap, yeah, just a little sleep.

Deedee (to Shahid) And you’ve brought him — (indicating Chili) — to help?

Chili puts his arms around Deedee and whispers. Deedee laughs.

Shahid (tetchy) Chili.

Deedee (to Shahid) Your big brother wants to put my tits in his mouth.

Chili It’s worth trying.

Shahid Chili!

Chili I’m lonely, all right? Tonight I want a human touch. To feel warm skin. Is that too much to ask? (To Shahid.) All right, all right. (To Deedee.) Any drink in the house, Deedee Osgood? Then I’m ready to take on any fucker who comes to annoy you. Me and my bottle will stand guard on the stairs. That’s where the enemy will come in, through the upstairs windows!

Shahid Make sure you lock it — and the back door.

Chili Toot sweet, bro, toot sweet. — Where’s your back door, Deedee?

Deedee Fuck it if they’re going to make me a prisoner in my own house. I’m going to cook. (Taking Chili.) Come on, let’s find a bottle for you.

Deedee takes Chili off. The door rattles.

Strapper (off) It’s only me, Strapper, the Strap. Official visit, man.

Shahid opens the front door. Strapper strolls in.

Shahid I thought you were with your old pal Trevor.

Strapper Chad’s a religious type, he see everything from underneath. You just wanna be white and forget your own. (He shouts.) You and your bro just wanna shag the white bitches! That why he don’t go for you no more.

Shahid I wish I hadn’t let you in.

Strapper How were you gonna keep me out, cunt? Hey, don’t touch me, man.

Shahid Get out of here.

Strapper The brothers burned the book, right? Funny how you people get into more of a state about a book than about the suffering people.

Shahid (pushing him towards the door) You’re making me suffer now, Strapper.

Strapper I wouldn’t get heavy. Thing is, brown boy, your Chili owes me money. Where’s he hiding round here?

He suddenly jumps and holds the front door wide open.

(Shouts in a military voice.) All clear!

Chad, Tahira and Hat enter.

Shahid You bastard!

Chad grabs Shahid in an armhold and offers him to Hat, while Strapper looks on.

Chad Here’s the scum, as expected — holed up with his bitch. So obvious. Now, brothers, get to work on the spy, the infidel, the traitor! Go on. Go on.

Hat But me papa will be looking for me!

Chad Your father? What’s he got to do with this?

Hat I can’t stay.

Chad Beat him! This idiot hates us and he hates God! Give Satan one!

Tahira Satan! Satan!

Tahira knees Shahid in the crotch and repeatedly boots him.

Chad The evil spirit has gone down!

Shahid staggers up. Tahira kicks him again. Deedee runs in.

Deedee Leave him!

Chad (bars her way) He belong to us now. Let us take him, bitch, and there’ll be no trouble for you! We’re going to deal with the spy.

Tahira He deceived and spat on his own, wallowing in filth.

Deedee Let go of him!

Chad Eye for an eye — that so hard to understand, Miss Post-Colonial Studies?

Deedee Very cute, Mr Trevor.

Chad (raises his hand to strike her) Don’t use that name on me!

Deedee (jibing) What’s wrong, Mohammad Shahabuddin Ali-Shah?

Riaz enters.

Chad Here he is. Sick, sick, sick as you prophesied.

Tahira More sick now.

Chad We’ve captured both of them! What now, brother? What action to take immediately? Which step do you want? Shall we take him away? Or finish him here?

Riaz (to Shahid) You’ve pierced my heart, Shahid … Do you want to stand always alone? Or be one with the ummah that is your heart’s only family?

Shahid I’ll find my own ummah, thanks.

Riaz Bring him for interrogation! We will purify those who cannot purify themselves. He must be shown the raging fires of hell.

He turns to lead them out.

Hat (in horror) Brothers! It that maniac!

Chili stands on the stairs above them, brandishing his knife.

Chili Hello, all. Robert De Niro’s waiting.

Strapper Chili-boy!

Chili O ye of little faith, Strap!

Strapper (jigging furiously) It’s going up, it’s going up! Fuck everything! Fuck you all!

Chad Right! We’ll halal them all now.

He squares up to Chili.

Chili Yeah? I don’t like kosher meat.

Chili flies into the gang, knocking Chad, Tahira and Hat out of the way and grabs Riaz, holding the knife to his throat.

(To the others.) Now fuck off, all of you! Or else this brother gets halal-ed.

Riaz (terrified) Go, go.

Chad Leave him! Or you get it!

Chad takes a step forward, Chili touches Riaz with the knife and Riaz bleeds. Chad stops.

Chili (to Riaz) And get this fucking shirt off! I told you it were mine, man, now give it back.

Riaz, confused, looks to Chad.

Now!

Riaz takes off the shirt.

Chad I’ll halal you for this, I swear.

Chili Yeah, yeah. Bigger boys than you have tried to take on Chili. (To Riaz.) Pants too.

Riaz complies.

Chad You an evil spirit — how can you make brother Riaz change in front of women?

Chili He got something he ain’t proud of? (To Riaz.) My fucking socks as well!

Riaz is forced to complete the undressing.

Chad You goin’ straight to hell!

Chili Just the place I want! Care to join me there? Now fuck off out of here with your poodles! Then I’ll release this one!

Chad There are hundreds like us, hundreds and thousands!

Chili What you waiting for — bring them on!

They go, and Chili flings Riaz out.

Riaz We will start another experiment, insha’Allah!

Chili Yeah, yeah.

Deedee (concerned) Shahid …

Shahid I’m all right. Really.

Deedee Time we had a proper meal.

Chili I’ve had all I can stomach, babe.

A beat.

Deedee Take care of yourself, Chili.

Deedee goes to the kitchen.

Chili (to Shahid) Hug me, bro.

They embrace.

Shahid Thanks for saving my balls.

Chili Cool entrance, eh? Someone should have videoed it. You okay?

Shahid Sore all over. Going somewhere?

Chili nods.

With Strapper?

Chili Yeah.

Shahid After what he did?

Chili Will you talk to Ammi for me? Say I’m okay? Getting better? You know what to say.

Shahid Toot sweet, brother.

Chili Yeah.

Chili exits, with Strapper. Deedee leaves the room.

There is a tapping on the window. Shahid grabs a knife and investigates. Hat is knocking. Shahid opens the window.

Hat Will you listen if I say something? Please, Shahid.

Shahid Why should I trust you?

Hat I trying to say I sorry about what happened.

Shahid Oh, yeah.

Hat Please listen! There’s no one else — I alone! Because Allah is forgiving and merciful, I will only show love and consideration for others. I ashamed of what we did.

Shahid Why?

Hat Whatever you done, it not my place to condemn another person. Only God can do that. I was wrong to put myself in that position, as if I never done wrong things. I hope you don’t turn away from Allah.

Shahid To tell you the truth, Hat — I’m sick of being bossed around, whether by Riaz or Chad or God himself. Brother, what we do, and the things we make, is more interesting than anything that God is supposed to have done. Do your accountancy, Hat. You’ll regret it if you don’t pass.

Hat I disagree. But I get what you say. I said what I have to.

He starts to leave.

Shahid Where are you going?

Hat To paradise. Please forgive me. Forgive all of us and may there be mercy.

Hat leaves. Deedee enters.

Shahid I want to be with you.

Deedee For as long as it lasts?

Shahid For as long as that.

They embrace.

A beat.

Dawn. Hat is seen carrying a rucksack. He bends down to take it off his shoulders. An explosion. Hat is killed. Sounds of sirens. Ambulances, fire engines, police cars and flashing lights.

Deedee and Shahid go out. There is a pall of smoke.

Shahid and Deedee look at each other.

Shahid I want to see my mother. Come with me? Then we can go to the sea — I know a place. I’ve decided. I know what to write.

She holds out her hand. He takes it and they walk off, towards the dawn.

Mobile phones start ringing, coalescing into sounds of wild celebrations at news of London winning the 2012 Olympics. Four young men appear, wearing baseball caps and with rucksacks slung on their backs.

Blackout.

About the Author

Hanif Kureishi is the author of novels (including Something to Tell You, The Buddha of Suburbia, The Black Album and Intimacy), story collections (Love in a Blue Time, Midnight All Day, The Body), plays (including Outskirts, Borderline and Sleep With Me) and screenplays (including My Beautiful Laundrette, My Son the Fanatic and Venus). Among his other publications are the collection of essays Dreaming and Scheming, The Word and the Bomb and the memoir My Ear at his Heart.